Table of Contents
Dedication
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles… Armed ‘N’ Ready
Red Zone
Bound by Danger
Willing Target
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Sidney Bristol. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Heather Howland
Cover design by KAM Designs
Cover photography by Neostock
Subbotina Anna/Bigstock
ISBN 978-1-64063-726-9
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition July 2019
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
To my dream team: my husband, sprint partners, friends, agent, and editor, it wouldn’t have happened without you.
Chapter One
Friday, Washington, D.C.
Noah White glanced at the shop front windows, examining his reflection and that of the street behind him.
Four blocks, and not a single tail.
He couldn’t decide if he was pleased or disappointed. He was a damn good undercover operative, but was he this good? After three years shouldn’t someone suspect something?
When Noah had been offered this long-term contract with the CIA, he’d been close to burnout, wrung dry from back-to-back jobs in Europe that had spanned years each. Because of his in-depth knowledge helping shut down major Neo-Nazi groups, he’d been the perfect guy to infiltrate a white collar financial firm that was the front for a budding American branch of an already deadly supremacist group.
These weren’t the garden variety, truck-driving, cutoff-shirt-wearing, gun-toting kind of Neo-Nazi, white-is-right types popularized in the media. The majority of the people Noah dealt with were educated, wealthy, and twisted as fuck. Their worldview was sickening on a level he hadn’t been prepared for. Noah couldn’t wait for the day the whole firm was shut down and he could move on to another gig. Even after being with them for years Noah had to watch his back. One foot out of place and they’d get twitchy.
Good thing life wasn’t fun without risks.
Noah took a right down an alley. Tucked under a makeshift shelter of wooden pallets was a beaten-up old sport bike. Casual Friday was a blessing. He pulled an ancient leather coat from the box on the back of the bike, shrugged into it, and crammed the helmet on his head. He spared one last moment to cover the structure with a piece of oversize cardboard, then he was gone, whipping his way through the busy D.C. streets.
Tensions were high all over the city for a variety of reasons. Noah would rather not meet with his CIA handler, Hector Martinez, but he wanted to keep his job, so here he was. Being a CIA contract field asset had a lot of perks. The government needed guys like him. Guys who weren’t sworn to uphold the letter of the law. He was more about the spirit of it, which meant he bent a lot of rules that his superiors ignored. The flip side of the coin was that if Noah got caught he was on his own.
Twenty minutes later, Noah coasted into the parking lot of a remote trailhead along the river. Several other cars sat empty, their owners likely out for a stroll or jog.
He wasn’t dressed for either. He took one last look around before easing the bike up onto the sidewalk and killing the engine. He hooked the helmet on the handlebars and got off, his whole body seeming to vibrate from the shoddy shocks.
A familiar broad-shouldered man leaned up against a brick wall overlooking the river twenty yards down the shaded path.
Noah wished he knew what this meet was about. There was plenty of chatter at the day job, but nothing worth acting on. People were still buzzing about the recent election of Senator-now-President Fowler, but most had taken the wait-and-see option.
He approached the large man in the long coat slowly, directing his gaze out over the water.
“I thought you’d have been here already,” Hector drawled.
“I can’t split whenever you want to shoot the bull.” Noah braced his forearms on the railing and stared out at the river. “There’s a lot of chatter, but no real plans. They’ve stopped moving money around, but the brainstorming sessions have started again. Talk is about who to back for the midterms, what lobbies to push.”
“I didn’t bring you here to talk about that,” Hector said.
Noah frowned. What the hell else would Hector want to talk to him about?
“You still haven’t spoken to Rand or Sarah?”
“What? No.” Noah scowled while his insides were churning. Shit. Did Hector know Noah was playing a double game?
A year ago shit had hit the fan with fellow contract operative Rand Duncan. He and his girlfriend had not merely opened a can of worms, they’d blown it to pieces in a manner Noah was quite impressed with. If only those worms hadn’t been connected to a shadow organization embedded inside the CIA using government assets for profit and hanging Americans out to dry. It was the kind of heavy shit Noah didn’t want anything to do with.
There was always the danger that Hector would find out the truth. He’d been left out of things since he willingly took a step back from the events of last year. It was for the best.
So why was he asking about Rand now?
“I told you,” Noah said. “Last time I talked to Rand was a year ago. I haven’t seen or heard from that asshole since. He won’t even send me a Christmas card, can you believe it?” At least these were the events Noah was committed to where his handler was concerned.
Noah exhaled and let his eyes unfocus a tad, forcing himself to relax as much as he could. He trusted Hector about as much as he trusted anyone, which was to say not at all.
In this line of work, if he trusted someone that was when they died. Up until now the one dying hadn’t been Noah. He’d prefer to keep it that way.
“I’ve got a cleanup job for you.” Hector nodded to his right.
Noah tracked the movement to a stone weighing down an envelope just off the trail. His stomach knotted.
Cleanup jobs were not his cup of tea, but a necessary part of what he did. At least Hector hadn’t yet guessed Noah was still very much
in contact with other, former contractors.
“It’s not time sensitive, but it does need to be done right.” Hector straightened and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. “Make it look like an accident, suicide, I don’t care. Just make her go away.”
“Sending me a girlfriend, are you? That’s sweet, you shouldn’t have.”
“You’re a fucked-up son of a bitch, you know that?”
“That’s why you like me.” Noah jerked his head toward the parking lot. “Get out of here so I can go.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Noah pulled out his phone and dicked around while Hector’s footsteps faded and a car engine rumbled to life. Only when Noah was certain he was alone did he pick his way off the trail to where the envelope was.
He opened the package and peered at the contents.
A few photographs he didn’t examine and a USB that would no doubt have the rest of the target’s information on it.
The government couldn’t kill their own people, but contractors could. All the perks of being a CIA company man, but none of the rules. It was a double-edged sword.
He ambled down the path under the cover of the trees but didn’t spy another human being. He tugged the pictures out so he could get a look at the target.
Noah’s mouth went dry and the world seemed to tilt a bit the instant his eyes landed on the woman’s face. He stepped off the path and leaned against a tree for support.
Not her. Please, no.
Whoever had taken the picture caught her in a moment of surprised laughter. He’d heard that magical sound a few times, but mostly she just glared at him. He couldn’t really blame her. He had dragged a dead body through her office. Bloodstains were a bitch to get out, except then the building had blown up so she had bigger things to worry about. She’d left an impression on him though, one that had stuck with him, coming back to tantalize his memory when he should have been paying attention to other things.
Lillian Matthews was a good person with the heart of an angel. So much better than himself. People like her were the reason he did this job. They needed to be protected, and now someone had put a price on her head.
“Shit, shit, shit.” He shoved the whole package into his inner jacket pocket.
Sweat broke out along his spine and his throat closed up.
No one loyal to the CIA had issued this order.
Whoever wanted Lillian dead was dirty and more than likely part of the same secret intelligence agency imbedded within the CIA that they’d learned about close to two years ago. Lillian worked for her family’s D.C. firm as a fixer, which was how she’d gotten involved in the plot to uncover the organization they only knew of by the letters SICA, trying to uncover the evils being committed under the American flag.
From what he understood, they’d glimpsed the nightmare behind the curtain during an op gone wrong to rescue another operative’s girlfriend. Rand and Sarah had gotten involved with some scary guys and Noah had been more than happy for the chance to do something. If he’d known when Rand and Sarah called on him for help that he’d eventually be here, in this park, holding a kill order on Lillian, would he have answered?
His gut said yes. But now he was caught between the CIA and Lillian.
If it weren’t for SICA and this whole mess Noah would never have known of or met Lillian Matthews. He’d been doing his job, keeping his head down when his buddy Andy dragged him into the middle of this mess and toe-to-toe with the woman who’d haunted Noah’s dreams.
He kicked a rock, though it didn’t do anything to release the tight coil of tension inside of him.
Lillian wasn’t guilty of anything. Oh, she might be a touch full of herself, but Noah could appreciate a healthy ego. Her worst crimes were wanting to do what was right and not looking out for her own best interests.
He strode back to his bike, rolling his options around in his head.
If he went through with the job, the world would get a little bit darker. He’d done a lot of bad things in his time on this earth, but he wasn’t sure he could do this. If he didn’t, he’d be signing his own death warrant. He’d be all but admitting his part in the plot to uncover SICA. Besides, contractors who began refusing direct orders didn’t have a job—or a life—after that. The hard truth was, if he didn’t kill her, someone else would. This group would cover their ass by eliminating everything and everyone in their path. Including him.
He should kill her.
How would he do it?
Noah squeezed his eyes shut.
No, he didn’t want to go there. So what the hell was he going to do?
…
Saturday, Lillian Matthews’ Home, Washington, D.C.
Lillian Matthews watched the broad shoulders of the man in her living room through the two windows at the front of her house. How was it her life had come to this?
Every night was the same now. She’d leave work with her coworker, Jesse, and wait for him to check her home over, searching for a killer lying in wait, any sign of intrusion, and when he was satisfied, Lillian could do what she did every night. Jog miles on her treadmill, guzzle water, and lie to herself.
It would all be just fine.
Ha.
Jesse flipped off the lights and she blew out a breath.
The house was clear. She could lock herself up for the night.
Lillian gathered her things and met Jesse on the sidewalk. Even in the darkness she could feel his scowl.
Coworker. As if. He was more like the overprotective big brother she’d never asked for.
“I know. I should wait for you. I’m just tired.” She breezed past Jesse. “Thanks again.”
“Call me in the morning,” he said.
The days when Lillian could come and go as she pleased were gone.
She was living a double life.
By day, she carried on with her normal routine, working at the Matthews Corp, talking to clients, doing what the Matthews family did best. Fix things.
By night, she was helping save the world. She’d had ideas about doing her part to protect people, make a difference. She should have asked the people at the CIA for more details back then, but she’d gotten caught up in the moment, holding her best friend as she mourned the death of her mother. It sure as hell wasn’t manning a secure network of covert agents spread across the globe working to ferret out the bad guys.
She was in way, way over her head.
Lillian locked her front door and made a circuit of the living room, closing the blinds and pulling the curtains, shutting out the rest of the world. Sometimes she wished she could tune out, stop being involved, hide, but that would solve nothing.
Her stomach twisted and growled like a living thing.
Had she eaten today?
Cooking was out of the question. She was worn out, and still had so much to do, so something microwaveable it was.
Lillian unbuttoned her jacket and laid it over the back of the closest dining chair. She needed to check over the plans for work before her sister, Camilla, called, and after that chat Lillian could really begin working. If she got to bed before two it would be a good night.
She pulled the freezer door open and stared at the options.
“That pesto pasta thing is pretty good.”
The sound of a voice, a male voice at that, in her home when she should be alone sent a surge of panic coursing through her veins. Lillian gasped and whirled, clutching the first dinner she could grasp to her chest.
A pair of blue eyes twinkled at her. The light glinted in his blond hair. He sat on the bar stool across from her, as though she’d walked past him and hadn’t seen him. She was certain he hadn’t been there a moment ago. Then again, Noah White did take great pleasure in being a pain in her ass. Kind of like the boys in grade school who used to pull her hair.
“Jesus. What are you doing here?” Lillian slammed the freezer door shut, equally angry with him and frustrated with herself. How had Jesse missed a whole person?
“
Laundry. My washer is busted.” A dimple creased his cheek on one side of his mouth. His very kissable mouth. The same one he used to say things that made her want to slap him. Most days she wanted to do both.
“That’s what a laundromat is for.” She ripped the package open, taking her irritation out on the cardboard.
“But then I wouldn’t get to see your pretty face.”
His smile put her at ease, even when she knew she shouldn’t allow him to lull her into a false sense of safety. It grated on her nerves, but she had to give him credit. He was damn good at his job if he could get her to trust him when she knew better. She dealt with liars on a daily basis. “You could just Google me if that’s what you wanted,” she grumbled and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Nothing like seeing the real thing.” He winked at her and damn if she didn’t want to chuckle. He was good.
“Why are you here?” she asked again.
“I wanted to catch up. See what’s going on.” He spread his hands. “I’m totally out of the loop here.”
Lillian stared at him.
He pointed at the microwave. “You know you have to press the ‘start’ button, right?”
She pivoted and jabbed the numbers. And pressed start.
She braced her hand on the counter and stared at him. “I’ll ask you again—why are you here?”
He shrugged and leaned on the bar. “There are a lot of jobs coming down the pipeline. Curious what everyone is doing.”
She returned his smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Noah wasn’t on her roster. Yes, he’d helped save her best friend’s life, but he wasn’t part of their team. His call. She had offered. And that left her with questions.
He slid off the stool. “What kind of music do you like?”
“Noah.”
He crossed into the living room. “I couldn’t help but notice this really cool sound system you’ve got here. I’d love to give it a go.”
She followed him as far as the arch. “I do not want you here, do you understand?”
More accurately, he would be a distraction. He’d tease her. She’d end up laughing even though she knew better.
“I’ve developed a real appreciation for dubstep. You listen to the stuff?”
Traitor Games Page 1
