Badass: Deadly Target (Complete)
Leslie Johnson
Elle Dawson
Copyright © 2016 Leslie Johnson & Elle Dawson
Published By: Atrevida Publishing
Table of Contents
Newsletter
Deadly Target (Book 1)
Deadly Target (Book 2)
Sneak Peek - Stoking the Embers
Also By Leslie Johnson
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are all made up in my mind. In other words, nothing is to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
© 2016 Leslie Johnson & Elle Dawson
Published by: Atrevida Publishing
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Book Description
Compelling and emotional saga where danger meets desire.
Meet Mia. She’s just an ordinary girl who’s working hard and getting by when a phone call changes everything. Within an hour, her carefully controlled world turns to chaos. And a man – the perfect man – becomes the only one she can turn to. And fear. And long for.
Meet Jax. Ex-Army Ranger, now CIA operative, he keeps a tight control on his actions and his heart. Because an angel holds it, and he’s been so certain he’ll never get it back. Love is in his past, he feels certain of it. Until he opens the door for her.
Thrust together by circumstances outside of their control, they must trust each other because they haven’t any other choice. And if she is who he thinks she is, will he be able to turn her in? Or will he break ever oath he’s ever made to protect her?
Welcome to Book Two, the exciting conclusion of the sexy Badass: Deadly Target series by best-selling authors Leslie Johnson and Elle Dawson. Intended for mature audience.
Although Badass: Deadly Target is a standalone series, you may enjoy reading the other Badass series first, now in complete sets:
Badass - The Complete Series
Badass: Jungle Fever – The Complete Series
Get your free review copy of Fanning the Flames when you sign up for my VIP mailing list.
Click here to get your review copy
Deadly Target (Book 1)
Chapter 1 – Tatiana
It all comes down to this. My life.
I hang up the phone and run to my bedroom, throwing things into a bag without giving much thought to whatever comes to my hand. I need to hurry. I need to go. Now.
He’s on his way.
“Tatiana, you must go, now,” Stanislov had said only moments before, his voice demanding and rushed. “You’ve been found. There is no time. I’m sorry.”
The bastard had sat back and let me do all the work, knowing I’d been searching for those documents, had even come out of retirement after all these years to find them. Now that I have them, they will be my undoing. Because Viktor Stanislov isn’t the only person who knows I was on the trail. He had waited, watching me do his dirty work for him. And I hadn’t noticed.
But I’m on notice now. He’s planning to take those vital papers from me. It won’t be a pleasant exchange. He will kill me today. There is nothing I can do about that, not if he is half as good at killing as I used to be.
Vladivostok is far colder than my adopted home in California, so I head to the dresser and pull out the warmest clothes I can find. It has taken me ages to get used to the near constant warmth, the dryness. My childhood had been spent in the snow, nights huddled around a fire, layer upon layer of clothing heaped on at the height of the winter months. At times I still find myself stockpiling heavy woolen socks. Mia often laughs at me over that.
Mia.
My heart squeezes in my chest and tears momentarily blur my eyes. My sweet girl. The light of my life. What will she think when I disappear? She’ll be devastated, and likely look for me, I know. Our bond is simply too tight for her to let me go so easily. But if all goes as planned, she will never find me. Can never find me. I’ll never allow her to. I learned to cover my tracks years earlier, a skill a spy needs to be flawless at.
A skill that has failed me this time.
Somehow I’ve been tracked down. Perhaps I allowed myself to settle in too well. I’d been lazy, thoughtless, thinking retirement would wash away my past. Instead of staying on the move as I had when Mia was little and less likely to ask questions, I had rented a house and grown a garden. I’d put down roots. I told myself at the time that it was all right, that I would be safely hidden in plain sight. Now, I know the folly of my logic.
My throat tightens as I pack a framed photo of her, taken when she graduated high school, in my bag. She was so bright and young and happy, the very center of my existence. I wonder if she can ever forgive me for the lies and the deceit. I wonder, with heaviness settling in the pit of my stomach, whether my work will put her in danger. I pray it won’t, but know all too well how ruthless my enemies can be. I know, because I’ve been ruthless myself many times.
What sounds like a gunshot startles me, and I run to the window. A crowd gathers on the street. I’ve never seen so many people outside at once on a weekday morning. Gut instinct tells me something is very wrong. And I know what that wrong is. He’s creating a distraction because…
He’s here.
My hand shakes, the blinds trembling underneath my fingers. I drop the blinds against the window and pace the room, clenching my hands to stop the shaking. I tell myself that the stress of the past ten minutes is getting to me. There’s no reason to panic.
Pressing my fingers to my temples, I know better.
I’ve been panicky for months, in fact, because I knew my past was catching up to my present. I’d felt it but had tried to convince myself I was wrong. He’s been after me, toying with me, waiting for my search to reach its conclusion. Now, two choices stand before me. Either abandon my mission and leave the documents to fall into the wrong hands, or complete the mission and leave myself open to him. Both leave me in a lose-lose situation. No one knows that better than him.
Thinking back, I see now that I had caught glimpses of him. A man in a black suit in the middle of a park, or at the gas station. A few nights ago I noticed him at a restaurant while sitting down to have dinner with my daughter. I’d panicked, trying to tell myself I was being paranoid, old age dimming my wits. But I’d been so upset, I’d left the restaurant, horrified that he had seen me with her. I prayed he didn’t track her. I didn’t want to leave her in danger.
I curse my stupidity. Why did I accept that last assignment? I’d known the logic behind it. An older woman wouldn’t seem threatening at all. I’d thought it would be easy, in and out, then accept the cash free and clear. Cash I could give to my Mia, help her to no longer struggle, maybe leave her job as a clerk. She could go back to school and fulfill her dream of being an engineer, not working for them as an assistant. Since she already has her associate’s degree, it would only take her a couple more years.
But no, I’d apparently lost my touch. What did I do wrong? Or was I setup from the beginning? I just don’t know. And if I was set up, by whom? Viktor? No, surely not.
Other questions also spin through my head. How he’d known I’d found the documents is the most pressing. Did he also know of the document’s original location? Or that I play both team
s, Russian and American? If so, that alone could get me killed.
No, it will get me killed.
Today.
I stop. Stop everything, as that realization comes front and center. I look at my suitcase, filled with things I’ll never need again and touch her picture one last time. Her beautiful face. The bright smile. The hope that sparkles in her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Mia,” I whisper to my lovely daughter, then calmly and quickly unpack my things and shove the suitcase in the back of the closet. I’m going to die today and I don’t want Mia to learn that I’d planned to leave without a word.
It’s pointless to run.
Walking to the kitchen, I pull a tumbler from the cabinet. Now that I know the game is over, relief makes my muscles loose and relaxed. I accept the inevitable. All the running and lying and killing can stop now. Weariness washes over me like an unexpected wave. A sharp laugh bursts from my chest. I’ve been tired all along, but only noticed now, the moment I know it will be over soon.
I go to the freezer and pull the ice tray from the back, popping four cubes from their bed. Three go into my glass, while I hold the fourth in front of my eyes for a moment, before sliding it back into its small home and returning the tray to its place. I put a few packages of meat in front of it, to hide it for a little while, at least. I don’t want him to find it so easily. Maybe he won’t and Stanislov’ team will locate it once they arrive.
Lifting my glass, I take a long swallow of the vodka I’d poured so generously. The drink of my home, the one I had been raised on. One of my life’s greatest pleasures is good vodka.
The other is Mia.
What can I do now that the end is here? But first, how can I protect the documents? They can’t fall into his hands. The devastation would be incalculable. If that happens, I deserve to be dead.
After all I’ve done, I deserve to burn in hell anyway.
There’s only one person I can trust, and I pray my enemies will leave her alone. For the briefest of moments, I believe she can finish the mission for me, simply because she appears too innocent to be considered dangerous. An office clerk wouldn’t be suspect. She knows nothing about the game I’ve played for years. She won’t stand out. She won’t be a suspect because they know I’d never put my child in danger.
My child.
My Mia.
No, I can’t do that to her. Put her in such incredible danger. But who else besides Stanislov? I rack my brain, but no other names will come. Is it really so completely over?
I take another long drink. Then another, then refill my glass, staring at the clear liquid swirling inside the tumbler. I’d give anything to see her one last time, but that is impossible now. Looking at my phone, I wonder if it’s selfish of me to want to hear her voice one last time?
Probably.
I take another steadying gulp of vodka and dial her number anyway.
Chapter 2 - Mia
“Honey, I just wanted to tell you that I love you so much.”
My fingers freeze on the keyboard and I sit back in my office chair, the phone clamped between my shoulder and ear. Mom has been different lately. Tense. Sad. I’ve been worried about her. I’m worried about her now.
“Mom, is something wrong?”
She laughs, but the sound is bitter, almost sour in my ear. “No, nothing at all. I was just thinking about you and wanted to make sure you knew that I love you and am so very proud of the woman you’ve become.”
Instead of being reassured, the hair prickles on the back of my neck.
“I love you too, Mom. Are you sure there isn’t anything wrong? Want me to come over after work?”
“No!”
The word is sharp, coming at me like a whip. I startle and listen to her heavy exhale.
“No, honey. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have called you like this.”
“Mom, you know you can call anytime, for any reason,” I lie, my voice dropping to a whisper. I glance around, wondering if one of my neighboring coworkers in the cubicle farm can hear me taking a personal call.
“I’ll let you go, honey. I’m sure you’re busy.”
Mom’s voice has grown thick. Is she crying?
“Mom, please tell me what’s wrong.”
She laughs. The sound is bitter again. “Goodbye, sweetheart. I love you. Always, always remember that.”
I jump to my feet. “Stop. Don’t hang up. I’m coming over there right now.”
“No! You mustn’t!” she shouts at me, then immediately lowers her voice. “Please don’t, sweetheart. Everything is fine, I promise. I’m just being a sentimental old woman.”
Sinking back into my chair, I stare at my laptop, uncertain what to do. “You’re far from old, Mom.” I relax a little more when she chuckles, a much more natural sound.
“I remember the day you were born. I remember it so clearly I sometimes look down, expecting your pink little body to be swaddled in my arms.”
I chuckle too, having heard this story a hundred times. “I know, I know. Sixteen hours of labor with no epidural. It’s a wonder you didn’t toss me against the wall for causing you so much pain.”
She sighs so long and deep, the air causes static on the phone. “I’d go through it a million times if you were the present at the end.”
My eyes prick with tears. “You’re the best mother in the history of mothers. You know that, right?”
The bitterness is back in her laugh. No, not a laugh. More like a bark of sound. “Far from it, my love. So many regrets. So many things I’d like to do over.”
“Like what, Mom?”
The silence stretches for so long that I wonder if we’ve been disconnected or she’d hung up. “I wish I hadn’t forced you to wear those silly bows you hated so much.”
I laugh at the memory. “Aw yes, the dreaded hair bows. I’ve often wondered how many of them I threw out of the car window.”
“I think all of them.” I close my eyes, grateful that the pure musical quality of Mom’s laugh is back. I haven’t heard her laugh in a long time.
The silence stretches again as I wonder what to say next. I don’t have to worry. She speaks up. “I’ll let you go now, sweetheart. Have a wonderful day. I love you.”
I press the phone hard against my ear. “I love you too. See you soon.”
“Yes.” Her voice is thick again, like the words are blocked inside her throat. “That would be lovely.”
Before I can ask her again if she’s alright, the phone goes dead in my hand. I lower it to the desk and stare at it a few moments, the goose bumps that had been prickling the back of my neck spreading to my arms.
Something isn’t right. Not at all. Mom has raised me to follow my instincts, trust in my gut. I reach for the phone, intending to call her back. I stand instead, close my laptop, and grab my purse.
I don’t know why I feel it so strongly, but I know without question that Mom needs me right now. Not bothering to check in with my boss, I leave. He wouldn’t give permission for me to go anyway, so what’s the point? My mother will always be more important to me than a job.
Behind the wheel of my little VW Bug, I drive the familiar route, going faster than I normally do. Mom and I might not live together anymore, but we’re still close. I normally visit at least twice a week, and we sometimes talk on the phone for hours.
But I never feel like I’m getting through to her, like I really ever know her. Maybe that’s why I always look for new ways to spend time together. When my friends are out on dates, going to clubs and parties, I usually spend the night with Mom. Strange, but true. I know she loves me, and that she’d do anything to protect me. She raised me on her own, filling the roles of both mother and father. But there’s a part of her I could never reach. I’d sensed it from the time I was a small child.
Over the last few months, her behavior has become jumpy, paranoid, she’s always looking over her shoulder. One night I took her to dinner, and she got up and left in the middle of her meal, simply walked out the doo
r and got into a cab. I found her at her house later. She couldn’t explain her sudden departure, only that she “suddenly hadn’t felt well.”
As I slow in front of her house, no spots are available out front. Her car is sitting in the driveway, in the little spot between the place I still call home and the one next door. I circle around and park farther back, walking nearly the length of her block. More people are on the street today than usual and I wonder if there is some sort of festival or market going on nearby. Rather than trying to move through them, I cut between two of the houses and head to her back door.
“Mom?” I knock on the door while I search for the key I keep on a separate key ring in my bag. I unlock the doorknob and the bolt above it, and nearly jam my face into the wood when the door doesn’t budge. She’s thrown the extra deadbolt, to which there is no key.
My heart picks up its pace. This suddenly feels more serious, but I don’t want to make a scene by threatening to break the door down or pounding on it with both fists.
“Mom, please, let me in,” I beg, my mouth close to the door so my voice will carry through. “Please. I’m worried about you. Talk to me, Mom.” What sounds like a sigh comes from the other side of the door, and I realize she’s been standing there all along. “Mom, I hear you,” I whisper. “Let me in.”
The bolt clicks and the door swings open. “Quickly, inside,” she says, her eyes flicking nervously up and down the back yards. “They’ve probably already spotted you. I told you not to come!”
“Who?” I ask as she pulls me into the kitchen and slams the door, locking it again. “Who spotted me? Mom, you’re really starting to scare me.”
“It’s a scary day, Mia,” she murmurs, peering out of the glass at the top of the heavy door. “I don’t see him out there. Maybe he missed you.” She takes my arm. “Quick, upstairs.”
I follow her up the stairs to her bedroom, the sound of our running feet loud against the wood of each tread.
Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense Page 1
