INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1)
Read INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1) Online
Authors: Gennita Low
Into Danger (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.), #1)
Further Reading: TEMPTING TROUBLE
INTO DANGER
SHADOWY ASSASSINS (S.A.S.S.) SERIES BOOK ONE
by
GENNITA LOW
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Gennita Low
INTO DANGER
3
rd
edition
Copyright © 2012 by Gennita Low
ISBN-13:
ISBN-10:
Cover by HOTDAMNDesigns
T
his book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Into Danger. Copyright © 2012 by Gennita Low. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Gennita Low and GLow World e-books.
*This book was previously released by HarperCollins Copyright © 2003.
* * * * *
Dedication
––––––––
To Mother and Father,
my Stash, and Mike, my Ranger Buddy
Notes
T
IARA, Tactical Intelligence and Related Activities, an Intel-gathering entity that I’ve borrowed for this plot, with creative license
As explained at http://www.thefreedictionary.com/tactical+intelligence+and+related+activities
“Those activities outside the National Foreign Intelligence Program that accomplish the following: a. respond to operational commanders' tasking for time-sensitive information on foreign entities; b. respond to national intelligence community tasking of systems whose primary mission is support to operating forces; c. train personnel for intelligence duties; d. provide an intelligence reserve; or e. are devoted to research and development of intelligence or related capabilities. Specifically excluded are programs that are so closely integrated with a weapon system that their primary function is to provide immediate-use targeting data. Also called TIARA.”
––––––––
W
ashington, D.C.
There were many ways of kissing a woman. And many reasons to taste her. There were kisses that asked permission. And then there were kisses that sought an answer.
When things had gotten a bit rowdy and the topic a bit salty among the men at Admiral Jack Madison’s bachelor party, Steve McMillan had assured the amused leader of his elite covert operations team that there was a difference. In real, everyday life, he wouldn’t have dared bring up kissing and women, but everyone was having a good time ribbing the admiral about his young bride, and how he was going to kiss her after the ceremony. When someone brought up the subject of kissing...well, everyone started hooting his name to give advice to the old man.
It wasn’t as if the admiral needed lessons, Steve reflected wryly, as he recalled the festivities from a year ago. If there was a man who didn’t have to work at looking good, his leader was the one. In his early fifties, he still rated enough female sighs in the navy grapevine. But the navy grapevine had voted Steve McMillan the Best Kisser of the Millennium during some cornball poll on a website that had somehow became public snicker fodder on the naval bases. So now his buddies teased him mercilessly.
That was okay. Steve McMillan liked kissing women.
Which was not what he should be thinking about right now. He looked across the room at his target. She was a lot taller than he’d expected; dressed in black leather, she made a striking figure standing against the bar, calmly sipping a drink. She didn’t look like she was waiting for someone. Her stance was relaxed, her smile a little bored. One or two men had approached with interested smiles, but she had sent them away with a few words.
In the dark corner of the bar, he’d been watching her for almost an hour now, and her patience seemed endless, because she hadn’t glanced once at her watch or looked around at the patrons. She didn’t fidget with her dark auburn hair. She didn’t make small conversation. She didn’t smoke. Once in a while she would turn around and lean back on her elbows to watch the baseball game in progress on a giant TV screen above the bar.
At exactly an hour later, she finished her drink, picked up the small suitcase by the bar stool, and walked off. She didn’t look back, so she missed the appreciative glances admiring her long, leather-encased, shapely legs. Steve stood up and followed. It was dark and cool outside. He pulled on his jean jacket as he looked around for the woman. She was nowhere to be seen. He turned the corner, keeping to the shadows.
He was a trained operative. He knew not to show his training. So he allowed her to have the advantage for now.
Movement. Speed.
He was pinned hard against the wall, and a husky voice, whiskey-laced, drawled in his ear, “It’s been an hour, sweetheart. If you plan to make a move, you mustn’t make a lady wait.”
Steve angled his head sideways, and the light out of the windows was just enough for him to make out her face. Her eyes gleamed back, no fear in them. Her lips were temptingly close and perfectly shaped.
There were kisses that stole. And there were kisses that gave away secrets. Steve wondered which kind would persuade a hired assassin to reveal who her target was.
Her strength didn’t surprise him. After all, everything he had profiled about Marlena Maxwell showed a woman who knew how to take care of herself. What caught him by surprise was how his body responded to her. From his table watching her, he had appreciated her tall, sultry beauty, but up close and personal, the appreciation became a growing private interest.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, when he didn’t say a word. “Don’t you like it when a woman comes after you?”
“It depends on what she’s after,” Steve answered.
“Oh? Like what?”
“I don’t mind a lady after my body,” Steve said dryly, “but I do draw the line if it’s my dead body.”
She pushed an elbow hard against his lower back, forcing him to buckle against the wall. “Let’s not bicker over details. It would save me time if you introduce yourself,” she said, still in that husky drawl, “and I hope you don’t mind. I have to make sure you aren’t armed, sweetheart.”
Damn, but the woman’s elbow was sharp. The hard stucco of the building cut into the side of his face. “No problem,” Steve assured her. “Look all you want.”
She slid a hand into his jean jacket, checking for secret pockets. Then her hand glided down his chest to his jeans, obviously knowledgeable about the places a man could hide a weapon.
“Lower,” Steve suggested, reckless desire spurring him now, “and you might find something loaded.”
There was a pause. Her eyes looked into his for a moment, then she took up his challenge. And went lower.
***
S
teve didn’t blink. Or breathe. The woman, if nothing else, was bold. He supposed there was a first time for everything, even having his zipper down in front of a bar. He vaguely wondered what she would do if someone came out right now, but there was no time to think of such things when a woman’s hand was down his pants. She felt cool against his skin, moving left then right. And she certainly was taking her time.
“No small weapons, not even a knife,” she murmured. “There is nothing stashed here. This is very unprofessional.”
“Sweetheart, now you’re hurting my feelings,” he murmured back, in the same low tone.
“I’m going to let you go and you may turn around very slowly.” Her voice had a tinge of amusement. “Be careful, though, Stash, because unlike you, I’m armed. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
Steve did as he was told, letting his arms hang loosely. He looked down at her as she, too, spent a few moments studying him.
“Well,” she finally said, “you’re not whom I thought they would send.”
Of course not. Said subject had been knocked out and was currently under protective custody. That middle man unfortunately knew nothing. He only had instructions to take care of Miss Maxwell. Whoever set this up had been careful, covering his tracks with fake identities. So Steve became his substitute to help Miss Maxwell find a place to stay, get her whatever she needed, give her all the company she wanted, play goon—and wait for her contact to show up. Or contacts. Their info hadn’t been clear about that. Only one thing was certain. Marlena Maxwell wasn’t in town to visit the Library of Congress.
“Name,” she requested, her voice turning a little cooler.
“Steve,” he answered. After a moment, he lifted a shoulder, “Just Steve, sweetheart.”
She took a step back and folded her arms. “It’s Miss Maxwell to you, Stash.” She smiled suddenly. “And you’d better zip up those pants before you take me to the apartment.”
Marlena Maxwell had specific instructions in all her jobs. A luxury apartment. A foreign-made top-of-the-line automobile rented under someone else’s name. Twenty thousand dollars in cash spending money, not part of the deal. Finally, a lackey to do her bidding.
Steve zipped up his pants. A lackey, he supposed, had to be obedient.
***
M
arlena watched as the man picked up her small suitcase and headed toward the parking lot. She had to admit she was impressed. Very cool, under the circumstances. No one had ever sat and calmly waited for her first move before.
Of course she had noticed him sitting there. Who wouldn’t? He wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes. Dark and handsome, with the kind of eyes that asked all kinds of intimate questions. He gave himself away by hiding in a corner like that, but then he wasn’t a professional like her.
Steve. She smiled in the dark as she followed him. The view was spectacular, even in the shadows. The man wore his jeans well.
Sometimes Marlena wanted a normal life. But only sometimes. The perks were nice. Like this car, for instance. A Porsche Boxter. She climbed into the passenger seat while he held the door open. Breathing in the new leather smell, she ran an idle finger along the seat. Others like her preferred not to flaunt, but then she wasn’t like the others. Flamboyance was her style. She turned to face the man by her side in the car, lifting one leg onto the seat so she could rest her elbow on it. And now for the other perk.
She liked starting with an aggressive stance. It amused her how an aggressive female would affect a male psyche. Leisurely, she ran her eyes over the man sitting next to her as he backed out of the space and drove into the street.
Strong masculine features. She couldn’t tell his eye color, but his gaze had been bold. Strong nose. Stubborn chin. She remembered the imprint of his body against hers when she leaned on him, and she hid a smile. No, there was certainly nothing small about him.
She hadn’t meant to touch him, but a challenge was a challenge. Most of the others had never been quite this interesting. The last one had been so nervous, she was sure he’d peed in his pants when she’d jokingly bared her teeth at him. No, this one...she could feel he was different.