Personal Target: An Elite Ops Novel (32 page)
Read Personal Target: An Elite Ops Novel Online
Authors: Kay Thomas
A red laser dot reflected off the wide shoulder strap of her tank top. Recognizing the threat, he dove for her, shouting, “Down. Get down!”
Leland tackled Anna around the waist and pulled her to the floor. A bullet hit the wall with a
sphlift
right where she’d been standing a half second earlier.
He climbed on top of her, his heart rate skyrocketing, and covered her completely with his body. His boot was awkward. His knee came down between her legs, trapping her in the skirt. More shots slapped the stucco, but they were all hitting above his head.
The gunman must be using a silencer. A loud car engine revved in the street. Voices shouted and bullets flew through the window, no longer silenced.
How many shooters were there?
A flaming bottle whooshed through the window. Breaking on impact, the fire spread rapidly across the dry plywood floor. The pop of more bullets against the wall sounded deceptively benign.
“What’s happening?” Anna’s lips were at his ear.
Her warm breath would have felt seductive if not for the shots flying overhead and fire licking at his ass. He was crushing her with his body weight but it was the only way to protect her from the onslaught.
“Why are they shooting at us?” Her voice was thin, like she was having trouble breathing.
He raised up on his elbows to take his weight off of her chest but kept his head down next to hers. “They want the money.”
“How do they know about the ransom?” she asked.
“Everyone within a hundred miles knows about it.” He raised his head cautiously.
They were nose to nose, but he ignored the intimacy of the position. They had to get out of the smoke-filled room. In here, even with just half the money, they were sitting ducks.
He needed his bag. It held all his ammunition and the Glock 17. And they couldn’t leave the cash, not now anyway. Having the money might be the only thing to keep them alive when they got out of here.
“Come on.” He rolled to the side and tugged Anna’s hand to pull her along with him. “But don’t raise your head.”
Another bullet hit the wall where she had been moments earlier. God, how many men were there? Knowing that could make a difference in getting out of this alive.
Kay Thomas didn’t grow up burning to be a writer. She wasn’t even much of a reader until fourth grade. That’s when her sister read
The Black Stallion
aloud to her. For hours Kay was enthralled—shipwrecked and riding an untamed horse across desert sand. Then tragedy struck. Her sister lost her voice. But Kay couldn’t wait to hear what happened in the story—so she picked up that book, finished reading it herself, and went in search of more adventures at the local library.
Today Kay lives in Dallas with her husband, two children, and a shockingly spoiled Boston terrier. Her award-winning novels have been published internationally.
Visit
www.AuthorTracker.com
for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Give in to your impulses . . .
Read on for a sneak peek at five brand-new
e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.
Available now wherever e-books are sold.
WHITE COLLARED PART ONE: MERCY
By Shelly Bell
T
HE
W
ALLFLOWER
W
EDDING
S
ERIES
By Vivienne Lorret
A B
ILLIONAIRE
B
ACHELORS
C
LUB
N
OVELLA
By Monica Murphy
By Lecia Cornwall
By Lorraine Heath
An Excerpt from
by Shelly Bell
In Shelly Bell’s four-part serialized erotic thriller, a young law student enters a world of dark secrets and seductive fantasies when she goes undercover at an exclusive sex club in order to prove her client is not guilty of murder.
A
fter three hours of computer research on piercing the corporate veil, Kate’s vision blurred, the words on the screen bleeding into one another until they resembled a giant Rorschach inkblot. She lowered her mug of lukewarm coffee to her cubicle’s mahogany tabletop and rubbed her tired eyes.
Without warning, the door to the interns’ windowless office flew open, banging against the wall. Light streamed into the dim room, casting the elongated shadow of her boss, Nicholas Trenton, on the beige carpet.
“Ms. Martin, take your jacket and come with me.” He didn’t wait for a response, simply issued his command and strode down the hall.
Jumping to her feet, she teetered on her secondhand heels and grabbed her suit jacket from the back of her chair. As Mr. Trenton’s intern for the year, she’d follow him off the edge of a cliff. She had no choice in the matter if she wanted a junior associate position at Detroit’s most prestigious law firm, Joseph and Long, after graduation. Because of the fierce competition for an internship and because several qualified lackeys waited patiently in the wings for an opening, one minor screwup would result in termination.
Most of the other interns ignored the interruption, but her best friend Hannah took a second to raise an arched eyebrow. Kate shrugged, having no idea what her boss required. He hadn’t spoken to her since her initial interview a few months earlier.
She collected her briefcase, her heart pounding. As far as she knew, she hadn’t made a mistake since starting two months ago. Other than class time, she’d spent virtually every waking moment at this firm, a schedule her boyfriend, Tom, resented.
She raced as fast as she could down the hallway and found her boss pacing and talking on his cell phone in the marbled lobby. He frowned and pointedly looked at his watch, demonstrating his displeasure at her delay. Still on the phone, he stalked out of the firm and headed toward the elevator. She chased him, cursing her short legs as she remained a step or two behind until catching up with him on the elevator.
When the doors slid shut, he ended his call and slipped his cell into the pocket of his Armani jacket. She risked a quick glance at him to ascertain his mood, careful not to visually suggest anything more than casual regard.
He was an extremely handsome man whose picture frequently appeared in local magazines and papers beside prominent judges and legislative officials. But photos couldn’t do him justice, film lacking the capability of capturing his commanding presence. Often she’d had to fight her instinct to look directly into his blue eyes. At the office, his every move, his every word overshadowed anyone and everything around her.
Standing close to him in the claustrophobic space, she inhaled the musky scent of his aftershave, felt his radiating heat.
Mr. Trenton spoke, fracturing the quiet of the small space with his deep and powerful voice. “This morning, our firm’s biggest client, Jaxon Deveroux, arrived home from his business trip and found his wife dead from multiple stab wounds.”
Once the elevator doors opened, they stepped out into the bustling main floor lobby, and she fought to match Mr. Trenton’s brisk pace as they headed toward the parking garage. “While typically I would refer my clients to Jeffrey Reaver, the head of our criminal division, Mr. Deveroux and I have been friends for many years, and he requested me personally. Jaxon’s a very private man, but those who are in his circle are aware of certain . . . proclivities that may come up in the police’s line of questioning.”
What sort of proclivities?
An Excerpt from
The Wallflower Wedding Series
by Vivienne Lorret
When her betrothed suddenly announces his plans to marry another, Merribeth Wakefield knows only a bold move will bring him back and restore her tattered reputation: She must take a lesson in seduction from a master of the art. But when the dark and brooding rake, Lord Knightswold, takes her under his wing, her education quickly goes from theory to hands-on practice, and her heart is given a crash course in true desire!
“N
ow, give back my handkerchief,” Lord Knightswold said, holding out his hand as he returned to her side. “You’re the sort to keep it as a memento. I cannot bear the thought of my handkerchief being worshipped by a forlorn Miss by moonlight or tucked away with mawkish reverence beneath a pillow.”
The portrait he painted was so laughable that she smiled, heedless of exposing her flaw. “You flatter yourself. Here.” She dropped it into his hand as she swept past him, prepared to leave. “I have no desire to touch it a moment longer. I will leave you to your pretense of sociability.”
“ ’Tis no pretense. I have kept good company this evening.” Either the brandy had gone to her head, impairing her hearing, or he actually sounded sincere.
She paused and rested her hands on the carved rosewood filigree edging the top of the sofa. “Much to my own folly. I never should have listened to Lady Eve Sterling. It was her lark that sent me here.”
He feigned surprise. “Oh? How so?”
If it weren’t for the brandy, she would have left by now. Merribeth rarely had patience for such games, and she knew his question was part of a game he must have concocted with Eve. However, his company had turned out to be exactly the diversion she’d needed, and she was willing to linger. “She claimed to have forgotten her reticule and sent me here to fetch it—no doubt wanting me to find you.”
He looked at her as if confused.
“I’ve no mind to explain it to you. After all, you were abetting her plot, lying in wait, here on this very sofa.” She brushed her fingers over the smooth fabric, thinking of him lying there in the dark. “Not that I blame you. Lady Eve is difficult to say no to. However, I will conceal the truth from her, and we can carry on as if her plan had come to fruition. It would hardly have served its purpose anyway.”
He moved toward her, his broad shoulders outlined by the distant torchlight filtering in through the window behind him. “Refresh my memory then. What was it I was supposed to do whilst in her employ?”
She blushed again. Was he going to make her say the words aloud? No gentleman would.
So of course
he
would. She decided to get it over with as quickly as possible. “She professed that a kiss from a rake could instill confidence and mend a broken heart.”
He stopped, impeded by the sofa between them. His brow lifted in curiosity. “Have you a broken heart in need of mending?”
The deep murmur of his voice, the heated intensity in his gaze—and quite possibly the brandy—all worked against her better sense and sent those tingles dancing in a pagan circle again.
Oh, yes,
the thought as she looked up at him.
Yes, Lord Knightswold. Mend my broken heart.
However, her mouth intervened. “I don’t believe so.” She gasped at the realization. “I should, you know. After five years, my heart should be in shreds. Shouldn’t it?”
He turned before she could read his expression and then sat down on the sofa, affording her a view of the top of his head. “I know nothing of broken hearts, or their mending.”
“Pity,” she said, distracted by the dark silken locks that unexpectedly brushed her fingers. “Neither do I.”
However accidental the touch of his hair had been, now her fingers threaded through the fine strands with untamed curiosity and blatant disregard for propriety.
Lord Knightswold let his head fall back, permitting—perhaps even encouraging—her to continue. She did, without thought to right, wrong, who he was, or who she was supposed to be. Running both hands through his hair, massaging his scalp, she watched his eyes drift closed.
Then, Merribeth Wakefield did something she never intended to do.
She kissed a rake.
An Excerpt from
A Billionaire Bachelors Club Novella
by Monica Murphy
It’s Gage and Marina’s wedding day, but wedded bliss seems a long way off: Ivy’s just gone into labor, Marina’s missing her matron of honor, and Bryn’s giving Matt the silent treatment. It’s up to Archer, Gage, and Matt to make sure this day goes off without a hitch. But between brides and babies, there’s the not-so-little issue of the million-dollar bet to attend to. If only they can figure out who won . . . and who’s paying up. Is everyone a winner? Or will someone leave broke—and brokenhearted?
Gage
I
’m a freaking mess.
“Calm down, dude,” Matt whispers out of the side of his mouth. We’re standing so close our shoulders are practically touching. Wonder whether he’d catch me if I fell. “You look like you’re gonna drop.”
“I
feel
like I’m gonna drop,” I tell him, sounding like an idiot but not really caring. He’s my new best man, so I need him to step it up. If I pass out, it’s on him.
“Your girl is going to make her appearance at any minute.” Matt nods toward the beginning of the aisle, where no one stands. Where are the girls? We already made our walk down the aisle, Matt taking Marina’s mom to her seat, me leading my mother.
“Hope she shows up soon,” I mutter, meaning it. I feel antsy. My suit is too tight. My throat is dry. I’m dying for a drink. Preferably booze.
Probably not a good idea.
The flower girl suddenly struts down the aisle, cute as can be in a white lacy gown. Louisa is one of Marina’s cousins. She has about a bazillion of them.
Almost all of them are sitting in the crowd, watching me. Probably pissed because Marina and I both agreed that we didn’t want a huge, ridiculous wedding party. We blew their chance to wear bridesmaids’ gowns.
Then Bryn appears, a freaking vision in pale yellow. She walks down the aisle slowly, a coy smile on her face as she shoots me a glance, then trains her gaze on Matt. As her smile disappears, her eyes widen, and I look at Matt, who’s staring at Bryn like she’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen in his life.
Poor dude is straight up in love with Bryn. Like, a complete and total goner. I get what he’s feeling.
The music fades, and a new song starts, a low, melodic tune played to perfection by the small group of musicians set up off to the right. I straighten my spine, clasp my hands behind my back as I wait for my bride to make her appearance.
And then . . . there she is. Her arm curls around her father’s, he looking respectably intimidating in his tuxedo. A frothy veil covers her face, and the skirt of her gown is wide, nearly as wide as the aisle they’re walking down.
Tears threaten, and I blink once. Hard. Damn it, I’m not going to cry. I’m happy, not sad. But I’m also overwhelmed, filled with love for this woman who’s about to become my partner in life.
They approach and stop just before us, turning to each other so her father can lift the veil, revealing her face to me for the first time. He leans in and kisses her cheek as the minister asks who gives this woman to this man, just as we rehearsed yesterday. Her father says,
I do
, his deep voice a little shaky and my sympathy goes out to him.
I’m still feeling pretty shaky myself.
Marina steps up to stand beside me and I take her hand, unable to stop from leaning in and brushing a quick kiss against her cheek. “You look beautiful,” I murmur, my voice just as unsteady as her dad’s.
But I don’t care. I have no shame. I’m getting married, damn it. I’m allowed to cry. To smile. To laugh. I’m making this woman mine.
Forever.