More Than a Mission

Elizabeth had to be good at it, Aidan thought as they reached her cottage. The woman he was getting to know didn't jive with what he knew her to be—a ruthless killer.

“Although I didn't ask you to, thanks for walking me home, Aidan.”

He shrugged. “It's the least I could do.”

She arched one eyebrow. “Really? And you expected nothing in return?”

Aidan chuckled. “Well, maybe one thing.”

“And what would that be?” She tossed down the gauntlet.

One side of his mouth quirked as he slowly leaned toward her until he was barely an inch away. “Last chance.”

His breath was warm against her lips. She imagined just how much warmer his mouth would be on hers. And so she closed that last little distance and covered his mouth with hers….

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

S
he's to be taken alive, Aidan Spaulding reminded himself as he walked the streets of Leonia, trying to become familiar with the lay of the land before heading to his latest assignment—identifying the killer of Prince Reginald, the man who would have been king of Silvershire.

Corbett Lazlo, Aidan's boss, had received information that a world-renowned female assassin was behind the killing. The Sparrow, as she was known, was believed to have poisoned the prince. Aidan was to confirm that and try to capture the elusive gun for hire.

Aidan had more personal reasons for wanting the Sparrow caught. Two years earlier, he and his best friend, Mitchell Lama, had been on the trail of a suspected terrorist as part of another Lazlo Group detail. They had been about to close in on their suspect, unaware that the man they were seeking was also being sought by the Sparrow.

Mitch and he had split up in the narrow and twisting alleyways of Rome's Trastevere section, communicating via walkie-talkie as they attempted to corner their man.

When the walkie-talkie in his hand had gone dead, Aidan had realized his friend was in trouble. After years in the military together, Mitch knew better than to go incommunicado without signaling his partner. The nature of the mission had changed suddenly as Aidan raced through the alleyways, now trying to locate Mitch. He had finally found the friend who was almost like a brother sprawled on the ancient cobblestones of a back alley.

Mitch had been nearly gutted and was barely alive. Somehow, though, his friend had managed one last word before he died in Aidan's arms—
Sparrow.

He had been looking for her ever since, intent on avenging Mitch's death. Now here she was, being handed to him on a silver platter. The only problem was, he could do nothing about it until after the Lazlo Group had all the answers it needed regarding Prince Reginald's murder. But after that…

Nothing would keep him from giving the Sparrow just what she deserved.

The young woman they suspected of being the Sparrow—Elizabeth Moore, aka Elizabeth Cavanaugh—ran a restaurant in this modest seaside town. The restaurant—apparently a cover for her real occupation—had become quite well-known for its seafood and Silvershire-inspired cuisine.

He had seen the help wanted sign go up late yesterday morning in her restaurant's front window, so it was the perfect time to see about applying for the bartending position.

Pulling his PDA off his belt as he approached the Sparrow's restaurant, he used the walkie-talkie adapter he had built into the unit to cue Lucia, the Lazlo group's top computer specialist, to see if she was picking up the signal from the earpiece he was wearing.

“Mixmaster to Red Rover. Come in Red Rover. I'm about to go in.”

Lucia's chuckle crackled across the airwaves a moment before she said, “Mixmaster…Do we really have to do this stupid name thing?”

Aidan smiled. Lucia was never one for clandestine shenanigans. Shutting off his walkie-talkie, he replied, “No problema, Lucia. Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Blender Boy,” she responded.

He immediately asked, “Kir Royale?”

There was a barely noticeable pause before Lucia said, “One part creme de cassis to five parts champagne.”

Satisfied that the wire was working, he started walking toward the restaurant and said, “Let's get this show on the road.”

 

The sun was warm on her back as she tended the garden at the front of the restaurant. Wildly spreading nasturtiums lapped over onto the large granite slabs that made up the patio where guests shared drinks while they waited for a table inside the ivy-covered stone building that housed her restaurant.

Carefully she deadheaded older blossoms and picked others for inclusion in one of the seasonal salads she was offering on this week's menu. She was just about finished when she heard a footfall behind her. A man walked through the opening of the low stone wall that separated her property from the main road. A very attractive man.

Slipping the basket holding her gatherings onto her arm, she strolled toward him, easing off her gardening gloves as she did so.

“May I help you?” Elizabeth asked as she met him by the path leading to the restaurant. She realized she had to look up slightly to meet his gaze. He was about half a foot taller than her with a lean athletic build that accentuated the long lines of his body.

He motioned to her front window with one hand and replied, “I noticed the sign. I'm here to apply for the bartender's position.”

She examined him more carefully, from the faded and sinfully tight jeans to his logo T-shirt and black leather jacket. He looked more like a tourist on vacation than someone interested in permanent employment. “I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch your name.”

He held out his hand with a brisk, almost military snap. “Aidan Rawlings. Are you the owner?”

With a quick glance at her hand to make sure it wasn't too dirty from her gardening, she shook his hand and said, “Elizabeth Moore. Chief cook and bottle washer. Literally.”

He smiled with teeth too white and too perfect for normal humans. They seemed apropos with his shaggy and sunstreaked blond hair and eyes so blue she couldn't believe he wasn't wearing colored contacts. His smile broadened as he noticed her perusal of him and that she was still busily shaking his hand.

Yanking it away, she wiped her hand down on the gardening apron she wore, realizing her palm had gotten sweaty from the brief contact. “I'm sorry. You said you were here for the bartender's job?”

He nodded and tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. Or maybe it was better to say, tucked the tips of his fingers into those pockets, since the jeans were so tight they didn't really leave a lot of room for anything else besides his long lean legs and…

She stopped herself from proceeding with the perusal.

“Is the job still available?” He rocked back and forth on his heels as he asked, apparently growing uncomfortable, but then again, so was she. Not much of a surprise considering she generally avoided strangers, in particular, men like this one.

Handsome, danger-to-your-common-sense kind of men.

“Do you have experience?” After she asked, she began to walk toward the door of the restaurant and he followed beside her, keeping his paces small to accommodate her shorter legs.

“I've worked in a number of bars,” he replied with a careless shrug.

She supposed that he had, but not as a bartender. There was something about him. Something in the way he moved and in the slight swagger that screamed Bad Boy. She could picture him as either a bouncer—he had an air that said he could take care of himself—or an exotic dancer, but not a bartender.

As she reached the door, she faced him. “I'm sorry, Mr….Rawlings was it?”

“How about you just call me Aidan?” he said with a practiced smile that had probably swept more than one woman off her feet. Aidan, however, was going to get a swift lesson in the art of Just Say No!

“I appreciate you coming by, but the position—”

“Is still available, right?”

She responded to his statement with a subtle drop of her head as if she didn't want to acknowledge it. “Quite frankly, my restaurant isn't the kind of place for a Tom Cruise
Cocktail
redux.”

He actually jerked back as if slapped and a stain of color came to his sharply defined cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“I just don't think you're the right type.” And he definitely was not used to being turned down by a woman.

Surprise appeared once more on his face, followed by what she would possibly call admiration until he carefully schooled his expression.

“And what type are you looking for exactly?” he asked and placed his hands on his hips.

“Someone more…professional. This is a four-star restaurant and my patrons expect—”

“Uptight and pompous? Fair enough.” With that, he turned and walked away, but she couldn't help but notice just how nice a derriere he had. Not that it would change her mind.

She needed someone who wouldn't cause trouble and, although pleasant to look at, Aidan Rawlings was trouble with a capital
T.