Lethal in a Kilt
Page 1
Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Anna Durand
Connect with Anna Durand
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Logan
I tapped one foot on the elevator floor and wondered for the hundredth time this morning how having killed people made me qualified for a job at a tech company. My cousin Evan swore he'd found the perfect position for me here at his company, Evanescent Security Technologies Limited. He made security and surveillance devices, but I knew nothing about that. Back when I'd served in the Secret Intelligence Service, I'd used the devices provided to me, but I didn't understand how they were constructed. Since leaving the SIS, I had worked as a bricklayer.
Why was I here? In America, in Evan's building, for a job interview. I'd never heard of Carrefour, Utah, until Evan moved to the city. I scratched my head. Evan had insisted on flying me here from Scotland in his private jet. He was up to something, that much I was sure of.
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out into the hallway. Evan had said to turn left and go to the end. I strode down the hall, past closed office doors and open ones, nodding to anyone who glanced my way. The hallway dead-ended at a reception area. Evan's closed office door was on the other side of the desk occupied by his executive assistant.
I paused at the periphery of the reception area to drink in the sight before me.
Serena Carpenter was bent over at the waist tinkering with a paper shredder. She'd removed its top and was trying to pull scraps of paper out of the many blades that spun and shredded when the device was turned on. The power cable stretched toward a wall outlet, but she'd unplugged it.
The paper shredder didn't interest me. I was fascinated by the sight of her erse and the way her tan skirt stretched tight over those round cheeks when she bent over, not to mention the way her hips shimmied as she struggled with her task. Since she stood at a diagonal to me, I got a glimpse of her breasts, thanks to her white blouse sagging away from them. A lacy white bra partially covered those apple-size mounds.
Ah, how I loved those breasts. I'd never seen them bare, never touched them either, but I'd fantasized about her tits on a regular basis for eight months.
Serena, engrossed in her battle with the shredder, growled at the machine. Though a clip held her toffee-brown hair away from her neck, strands of it had come loose. She blew them away, but they fell back onto her cheek.
I sauntered up behind her and laid a hand on her erse, molding my fingers to its shape. "Need a hand?"
She jerked, letting out a sharp squeak, and popped upright to glare at me over her shoulder, squinting her gray eyes. "Ugh, you. I'd hoped Evan was kidding when he said you were coming in for a job interview today."
Her lip curled slightly every time she spoke to me. I'd gotten used to it. Oddly, her disdain for me made me want to shove her skirt up and have her on the desk.
She slapped my hand away. "I don't need a hand from you. Ever."
"Liar." I knelt and freed the scrap of thick paper that had gotten stuck in the shredder, then snapped its top back on and straightened. "There. It's fixed."
With her brows furrowed, she contemplated the shredder.
I patted her bottom. "You can thank me later. When we're naked."
The lass growled at me this time and pulled away from my touch. "Sit down and shut up. I'll see if Evan's ready for you yet."
Sighing, I ambled over to the quartet of chairs placed against the wall opposite Serena's desk. I dropped onto one of the them. To my right lay the door to Evan's office.
His executive assistant settled her bum onto her chair and wheeled it forward until her legs were tucked under the desk. She eyed me, her lips puckering. "Why aren't you wearing a tie? This is a business meeting."
"I don't like ties." I'd worn a suit, but with a kilt instead of trousers. The plaid was cut from the MacTaggart clan tartan, the blue-and-green pattern belonging to my family. Women loved me in a kilt, but naturally, Serena had to be combative instead of admitting she liked it.
The lass punched the button on the intercom on her desk. "Evan, your nine o'clock appointment is here. Should I send"—she threw me a sharp look—"your cousin into your office yet?"
Evan's voice resonated through the intercom. "Yes, Serena. I can hear your scowl. Do try to be polite and professional."
The humor in his tone was unmistakable.
One side of Serena's mouth twisted upward. "Yes, sir, Mr. MacTaggart, sir."
I raised one brow. "Do you always talk back to your employer?"
"Evan doesn't care, and he's being snarky anyway." She waved toward the office door. "Go on. Get out of my sight as quickly as possible."
I walked to her desk and leaned in to level our gazes. "You've missed me, haven't you? Don't worry, I plan on seducing you soon. How's tonight for you?"
Her lips compressed, a breath hissed out of her nostrils, and she flattened her palms on her desk. "I hate you."
I tapped the tip of her nose. "Hate and lust often go hand in hand."
Without giving her a chance to respond, I marched into Evan's office and shut the door.
My cousin relaxed in the chair behind his desk, one elbow propped on the chair's arm, twirling a pen between the thumb and forefinger of his raised hand. "Have a seat, Logan. I'm glad you finally took me up on my offer."
"I'm humoring you," I said as I sat down in one of two chairs positioned in front of his desk. "I've even adopted your absurd tradition of wearing a kilt every Monday. Whatever job you mean to offer me is a farce, I'm sure. You and the rest of our cousins have developed an unhealthy obsession with meddling in my life."
"What farce do you think I'm acting out?"
"One that I'm sure involves getting me married off." I braced my ankle on the opposite knee, a pose that would've seemed inappropriate if a woman had been in the room, considering I was wearing a kilt with nothing on under it. "I'm not the marrying kind."
"That's what I thought about myself until I met Keely."
I made a rude noise. "Ever since the MacTaggarts started marrying Americans, all of you pod people have decided I need to be initiated into the cult."
"Make up your mind. Are we alien pod people or cult members?"
"Both. Aliens took over your bodies and formed a love cult."
"I'm offering you a job, not a wife." He dropped his pen and folded his hands over his belly. "Serena is bonnie, though."
On the inside, I was growling and glaring at Evan. On the outside, I stayed calm and unaffected. "Your executive assistant is a right bitch. If your plans are to have her ensnare me, you and your wife are wasting your time. Serena dislikes me as much as I dislike her."
"Then why do you flirt with her every time you see each other?"
"It's habit." I dropped my foot to the floor. "Besides, I wouldn't mind fucking her once."
Evan sighed. "Really, Logan, you're even stranger than I am. At least I was nice to Keely when I ruthlessly pursued her. You treat Serena like the enemy."
That woman was my enemy. She made my balls ache and my fists clench. I couldn't decide whether I should shag her or spank her. Maybe both.
I gave Evan my best disinterested look. "Let's stop talking about that woman. Tell me about this job you claim to want me to take."
"All right." He sat forward, arms folded on the desktop. "You will be the chief of security for the American headquarters of Evanescent Security Technologies Limited. You'll also oversee security at our subsidiary, Vic's Electronics Superstore."
The firm he'd bought from Vic Bazzoli, his wife's employer. My cousin had relocated to America, not because Keely expected him to, but because he'd wanted to do it. For a woman, he'd left his home.
No one would catch me doing anything as barmy as that.
"There's a problem with your plan," I said. "I'm not a security expert. You are."
"I know how to design and manufacture devices and software for security systems. What I want you to do is make sure our facilities are secure." He tilted his head to the side, smiling. "You're a former MI6 agent. Surely you can handle this job."
"Unless you want me to spy on your employees"—or kill someone —"I won't be much help. What do I know about security? In MI6, I had other people to handle the technology, and I only had to know how to turn the bloody things on. For the past three years, I've been a bricklayer. That makes me supremely unqualified for the job you're offering."
Evan's smile faded. "I need someone I can trust, Logan. After the incident last year with Ron Tulloch, I know I can trust you. Please, take the job for a while as a favor to me. If after a few months you still feel it's not the right fit for you, I won't stop you from leaving."
Ron Tulloch. Aye, I remembered that scunner. Tulloch had been the head of Evan's accounting department back in Scotland, but secretly he'd been embezzling from the company and blackmailing Evan with anonymous text messages. The bastard had threatened the lives of everyone Evan loved, including Keely. Our cousin Iain had called me in to help, but all I'd done was waylay Tulloch's cohort and scare him into telling us Tulloch's plans. Keely had stabbed the scunner, and that was one reason why I liked Evan's wife so much. She had the heart of a warrior.
"I didn't do much," I told Evan. "You and your wife did most of the work."
"Are all spies as modest as you?" Evan shook his head. "Take the job, Logan. Give it a go, what have you got to lose?"
"Your executive assistant might drive me to commit murder."
He chuckled. "It's more likely you'll be under her skirts inside of a week."
Working here would give me more opportunities to seduce Serena and get her out of my system. Since the first time we'd met, I'd known I would need to fuck her once or risk going insane. A woman with a body like hers had to be a bitch. It was a law of nature.
I rose and approached Evan's desk, holding out my hand. "Have it your way. I'll take the job."
He stood and shook my hand, grinning. "Keely will be happy to hear it. And by the way, you're coming to our house for dinner this evening."
I groaned. "I landed on this continent yesterday. Can't you give me one more night to settle in before you throw me into the wolves' den?"
"Are you calling my wife a wolf?"
"No, Keely is an angel." I squinted at Evan. "But I have a suspicion I'll turn up at your home to find Serena Carpenter there."
Evan gave me a solid deadpan look, but it didn't fool me one bit. "Would I do that? I'm a recluse, you know."
Not anymore, he wasn't. He'd been inducted into the love cult last year. These days, he spent more time with our other cousins than even Aidan, who had always been the most sociable.
"Like hell you're a recluse," I said. "And like hell Serena won't be there tonight."
He shrugged, then pulled a manila envelope out of his desk drawer. "All the papers you'll need to fill out to start your employment are in here." He offered me the envelope. "Bring them back tomorrow at nine o'clock. That's when you'll have your employee orientation."
"Orientation?" I narrowed my gaze on him again. "And who will be in charge of that?"
His deadpan expression returned. "Serena Carpenter, of course. She is my executive assistant, and I wouldn't trust anyone else to help my new chief of security get oriented."
The only orientation I wanted was to get Serena horizontal under me. Up against a wall might do, though. Actually, any position would work.
By my estimate, I should be able to quit this job within forty-eight hours.
I took the papers from Evan. We said goodbye, and I agreed to be there for dinner tonight, then I walked out into the reception area.
Serena fixed me with a cool look. "I hope you turned down the job."
"Afraid not." I ambled up to her desk and leaned over until our faces were millimeters apart. "You'll be seeing me tonight at dinner and every day after, starting tomorrow when you give me orientation."
"Evan," she hissed. "That bastard."
I chucked her under her chin. "Cheer up, lass. You've always wanted an opportunity to get your hands on my slat. Now you can fondle it anytime you want."
"You are disgusting."
"Do you know what slat means?"
"Erica and Calli clued me in to all the dirty Scottish words. For one thing, I know you're cursing when you say bod an Donais, which means the devil's penis. As for slat..." She drummed her nails on the desk. "I will never, ever, ever lay a finger, much less a hand, on your dick."
My cousins' wives had told her what slat meant. Those women blethered too much.
Serena focused on the papers on her desk, shuffling and reshuffling them.
I walked past her desk, heading for the hallway, but stopped. How could I get Serena naked? That question had tormented me since the day we'd met eight months ago. Once I'd had her, I could forget her. Now I only had to answer the question of how to make that happen as soon as possible.
Don't let her dismiss me, that was how.
I stomped back to her desk.
She gasped, her eyes flying wide.
I planted my hands on the back of her chair at either side of her head and lunged in to press my lips to hers. Soft, warm lips. Slick with lipstick. Yet they tasted faintly of strawberry.
I pulled back, gratified by her stunned expression and the way her lips parted as if begging for a deeper kiss. Not today. Not yet. If I wanted her in my bed, I needed to seduce her. And that took time.
Without a word, I strode away from her.
And bod an Donais, I still craved her.
Chapter Two
Serena
He had kissed me. The disgusting, vile, rude, obnoxious man had kissed me. What was Logan MacTaggart up to? He wanted to fuck me, that's all I knew. Never going to happen. I'd sleep with a serial killer before I'd do the bump-and-grind with him. Of course, he might be a serial killer. Nobody knew much about what Logan had done during his time as a spy for MI6.
"The Secret Intelligence Service," he'd corrected me the first time we'd met, at Keely and Evan's wedding, when I'd tried to start a polite conversation with Logan by asking about his previous career. He just had to correct me, explaining, "The official name is Secret Intelligence Service or SIS. Most people call it MI6, though."
"Is that like the CIA in America?"
"Yes, it's similar."
"What was it like being a spy?"
At that point, he had walked away without offering even a half-assed excuse.
Keely and Evan's wedding had been a low-key affair with everyone wearing casually dressy clothes, though the Scotsmen had all worn kilts. Logan had arrived wearing the requisite kilt—the MacTaggart tartan consisting of light blue and green with orange lines—and a navy-blue, long-sleeve shirt with a black suit jacket. He'd looked every bit the sophisticated and deadly spy. He always had that glint in his eyes, the one that sent a shiver down my spine and made me feel like I should back away slowly. Maybe knowing about his previous career had influenced my reaction to him. Or maybe he was just...strange, and it unsettled me.
Still, I couldn't deny he was hot.
But I would never, never, never have sex with him.
Logan was crude and bizarre. I often wanted to deck him. And sometimes I wanted to drag him into the nearest private room to—No. Oh no-no-no, never in a million years. I hated him. Never in my life had I hated anyone, but I despised Logan MacTaggart. Every time I saw him, he told me he wanted to fuck me or shag me or poke me. Maybe it was "have a poke," not just "poke." I couldn't keep those Scottish sayings straight.
Shortly after Logan left the vicinity of my desk, I barged into Evan's office without knocking and marched straight to his desk.
"You," I said, pointing an accusing finger at him, "have explaining to do, young man."
He was thirty, and I was forty-two. Sure, he was married to my best friend, but I still had the right to call him "young man" when he'd done something boneheaded.
Evan rocked his chair casually, hands clasped over his belly, his lips curving into a slight smile. "You seem to have forgotten the rules, Serena."
"Maybe you should call me Mrs. Carpenter from now on. Reminding you I'm a widow might hammer it into your head that I am not interested in your disgusting cousin."
His lips twitched, a sure sign of amusement. I'd worked for Evan for nine months, and I'd spent plenty of time around him outside of work too. I recognized his expressions and what they meant.