Read His Captivating Confidante (Secret Sentinels) Online
Authors: Lisa Weaver
His Captivating Confidante (Secret Sentinels)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2016
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Chapter One
“Sorry, Jimmy.”
Stephanie Knight suppressed a shudder as dank, ankle-deep water sloshed over her favorite pair of stilettos. It was the third puddle of questionable origin her expensively shod feet had connected with in as many minutes. Such blatant disregard for Mr. Choo’s artistry would certainly get her blacklisted by the fashionista set.
But her haute couture transgression was the least of her problems tonight.
Continuing down the dark alleyway, she bit back an expletive that was as out of character for her prim and proper librarian persona as the racy onyx evening gown she wore. The seductive garment was essential window dressing for her assignment, but she was way out of her comfort zone. The gown’s slitted-to-high-thigh skirt and plunging neckline revealed far more than they concealed.
She reminded herself that neither her fish-out-of-water discomfort nor the collateral damage her shoes were suffering mattered. What counted was not screwing up this mission the way she had the last. She loved her work with Sentinels, a covert protection agency charged with safeguarding an elite clientele. She’d trained long and hard to earn a promotion from research assistant to one of the firm’s highly coveted field agent spots. She was determined to hold on to that position.
The graffiti-splattered urban jungle she was traversing was as far removed from the luxurious ballroom where her evening had begun as it was possible to get. She fought the urge to hold her breath as the olfactory insult of stale liquor and rotting garbage assaulted her nostrils. She couldn’t afford to deprive her body of oxygen. She would need every molecule of the stuff to navigate the challenge that lie ahead of her.
Right at this moment, she would happily trade her prized stiletto collection to be back in the library surrounded by the scent she loved best—the perfume of books. Of course, her assignment c
ould
have been carried out entirely within the confines of the upscale hotel she’d left an hour ago, so the blame for this un-scenic side trip fell entirely on her own shoulders.
Wine had been flowing abundantly at the black-tie charity gala, but since she hadn’t had a drop of anything even remotely inebriating, she couldn’t attribute her misstep to liquor-dulled senses.
No, the only thing bubbling through her system was lust.
She wasn’t proud her panting hormones had led her astray, but when it came to a certain sexy ex-CIA agent turned covert bodyguard, all of her willpower went flying out the window. Frank Ireland was far more intoxicating than any alcoholic beverage known to man.
Sadly, it was a one-sided crush. She and Frank had known each other since childhood, but he only saw her as a buddy—and lately, she wasn’t even sure of that. Their friendship had been strained since Frank had resigned from his post with the CIA to join Sentinels. That’s when he’d learned her work as a librarian was merely a cover for her real job with the covert protection agency.
He still hadn’t forgiven her for not telling him the truth about her career, so she could only imagine how he’d react if he were to discover the
other
secret she’d been keeping from him.
Frank believed she’d long since outgrown her teenage crush on him. In reality, she’d never gotten over the infatuation. If he were to suspect her feelings for him ran deeper than friendship, he’d surely hightail it out of her life faster than a juicy morsel of celebrity gossip hit the tabloids.
She’d come dangerously close to letting her weakness for him show earlier tonight. Almost as disconcertingly, she’d allowed him to talk her into this excursion.
But since resisting him under normal circumstances was next to impossible, she hadn’t had a prayer of remaining immune to his tall, dark, and devastating allure after that blasted tango.
Locked in his embrace, her legs brushing against his muscular thighs with every step of the seductive dance, she hadn’t stood a chance. So here she was—a dance and a dare later—treading through a seedy alleyway. All because she hadn’t been able to say no to Frank Ireland.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
One hour earlier . . .
Tamping down his rising impatience, Frank Ireland scoured the ballroom for his best friend. Plowing a hand through his hair, he exhaled a frustrated breath.
Where in the name of all things holy was Stephanie?
He had the utmost respect for his boss, but he’d gone through the roof when Liz had clued him in to her plan to dangle Steph under Damon Landers’s nose. He couldn’t comprehend how Liz could possibly think sending a novice to infiltrate the inner circle of a man so deeply entrenched in the underbelly of society was a good idea. It was like sending a kitten into a lion’s den.
His
kitten.
Upon hearing Liz’s plan, he’d offered to provide backup on the precarious assignment. She’d vetoed his suggestion, but he’d argued his case until he’d worn her down. Landers was a loose cannon. Someone had to have Steph’s back, and that someone would be him.
After all, she’d had his.
His desire to protect Stephanie wasn’t the only reason he’d pushed his boss so hard to get in on this mission. Damon Landers had something he wanted. He hadn’t told Liz infiltrating Landers’s inner sanctum would give him the opportunity to do some intelligence gathering of his own, of course. His business with the man had nothing to do with his work with Sentinels.
He would have laughed if someone had told him three weeks ago that connecting with the man who could lead him to the iniquitous piece of scum responsible for Pamela’s death hinged on his petite, unassuming librarian buddy. But that was exactly the situation he found himself in.
It had only taken a phone call to arrange for his and Stephanie’s insertion into Landers’s domain. Now he just needed to find her before she spent any more time alone in the pervert’s company.
Intent on intercepting Stephanie before she could connect with her unscrupulous target, he was oblivious to the admiring glances he was garnering from the female population of the ballroom—a population that heaved a collective sigh at the masterpiece of masculine perfection sharing the floor with them.
His laserlike focus on the task at hand was rewarded when he spotted Landers waltzing with an auburn-haired siren in a shadowy corner of the dance floor. The fists he had unconsciously clenched relaxed, and the tension in his shoulders melted away as relief coursed through him.
Stephanie hadn’t arrived yet. He still had time to head her off.
While he didn’t have an ounce of respect for Landers, he couldn’t help but appreciate the tycoon’s taste in women. He’d certainly outdone himself with his latest conquest. Glossy curls caressed the beauty’s bare back to flirt with her shoulder blades. He couldn’t see the woman’s face because she was looking the other way, but if the elegant sweep of her neck and the long, shapely expanse of leg revealed by the deep slit of her gown were any indication, she was a knockout.
Stephanie might not be as flashy as the sexy seductress currently keeping Landers company, but he was certain her fresh, unspoiled beauty would catch the man’s eye all the same. He was just as convinced the serial womanizer wouldn’t rest until he’d added her to his list of conquests.
There was no way he was going to let that happen.
He was about to turn away when Landers whirled his partner out of the shadows. The man leaned down to whisper something in the woman’s ear and she laughed, tipping her head up and affording Frank his first look at her face.
Shock held him frozen in place as recognition plowed into him like an eighteen-wheeler with brake failure.
Stephanie!
Although the tortoiseshell-framed eyeglasses that were typically perched on her cute little nose were conspicuously MIA and her hair wasn’t tucked up in its usual neat-and-tidy bun, he’d know the soft curve of those cheeks and the determined jut of that chin anywhere.
His CIA assignments over the past five years meant he hadn’t seen his friend face-to-face until his recent return stateside. On the few occasions they’d been together since then, she hadn’t dressed like
this.
He’d noticed she’d grown her hair out while he’d been away, but this was the first time he’d seen her with it down. Tonight, freed from its constraints, it cascaded past her shoulder blades in a glorious fall of fiery silk. The dress molded to killer curves, revealing what she’d been concealing under the loose-fitting, casual clothing she favored. It was clear she’d been hiding more than her true vocation from him.
His kitten was all grown up.
The surge of possessiveness that washed over him caught him completely off guard. It occurred to him she was doing something with Landers that she’d never done with him.
How was it that he’d never asked her to dance before?
And why was he suddenly overcome by the urge to claim her?
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Waltzing with the target of her mission, Stephanie was surprised when she felt Damon tense in agitation. Following the direction of his gaze, she stared in consternation at what had seized his attention. Or rather
whom.
Frank was striding toward them, deserving eighth-wonder-of-the-world status in the formal wear he wore to perfection. Her blond-haired, green-eyed dance partner was can’t-tear-your-eyes-away gorgeous, but Frank trumped Damon’s allure a thousand times over.
Frank was sexiness personified in a tuxedo that showcased his athletic build. The exquisitely tailored garment emphasized his broad shoulders and tapered waist to stunning effect. Brilliant blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes appeared even bolder against the white of his dress shirt. There was a predatory gleam in those eyes. He looked angry. Very angry.
“Landers,” he clipped out tersely. “That’s my date you’re monopolizing.”
Registering Frank’s stormy countenance, Damon opted not to argue the assertion. “Ireland,” he replied. The one-word acknowledgement was thickly frosted by the Arctic chill swirling around the two men.
Flashing her an apologetic smile, Damon promised he’d be in touch. Then he slithered off faster than his hands had made a beeline for her derriere while they’d danced.
She didn’t have time to respond before Frank drew her to him, resuming the waltz he’d interrupted. His overwhelming masculinity stole her breath from her lungs. He was all hardness to her softness. Even favoring his injured shoulder, he made her feel weak in comparison.
“What are you doing here?” she queried in a whispered hiss.
“What? No ‘nice to see you, Frank’?” he drawled in amusement.
“After that stunt you just pulled?
Your date?
Are you insane? And what’s with the sudden desire to make like Fred Astaire? You never dance.”
“Of course I dance.”
Not with me,
she wanted to retort.
But concern—laced with guilt—temporarily overrode her annoyance, preventing her from voicing the thought. It was her fault he’d been wounded in the line of duty. She’d aced her weapons training. She held the agency record for top score on the shooting range. Unfortunately, that hadn’t prepared her for having her heart thrown in the mix when Frank had been the one in danger.