“Deep breath and let it out slowly.”
“Get out of my fucking head, Carter.”
“Not until I have you back in my bed, Jordy.”
“Bastard,” Jordyn Alvarez muttered to herself. You would think after all this time of hating the prick, she could rid him from her mind. But it was times like this, when she was about to dispatch a target, that Carter’s voice would always flow back to her. It was smooth and sexy, and that just pissed her off even more because her body would remember what it was like to be in his arms.
One night. One fucking night that she would kick herself over for the rest of her life. If he hadn’t been the one to train her, and killing the US spy would probably be considered an act of treason, she would have slit his throat a long time ago.
Trying to ignore his familiar, yet annoying, snark in her head, she concentrated on slowing her breathing and heart rate. Her job here was simple. Wait until her target came out of the restaurant, put a bullet in his brain, then hightail it out of there before his bodyguards knew what hit him.
Jordyn lay flat on the roof of a building in Kano, Nigeria, three blocks from where Mavuto Themba was having lunch with his mistress. The dirty, local politician had signed his death warrant when he’d become part of the pipeline supplying ISIS with funds and weapons. The US government had obtained proof that the Nigerian Minister of Defense was planning a coup of his own government. The fallout would have a devastating effect on the war-torn nation and could not be allowed to happen. Unfortunately, the United States could not reveal how they’d obtained the evidence against Themba, so Jordyn’s bosses at Deimos, and probably POTUS, had been the judges, and she was here as the assigned executioner. That’s what she and the others at Deimos did—the President’s and the US government’s dirty work. Not that anyone in power would admit to that fact.
Deimos was a black-ops agency very few people knew about. The operatives took care of things that the public could never know about to keep the US safe from terrorists and other world powers who wanted to see the leader of the free world fall flat on its face. Named after the Greek god of terror, it was the perfect name for an agency that excelled in torture and assassinations, among other things.
Assessing the wind speed and direction, she made the necessary adjustments on her Remington Defense CSR—a concealable sniper rifle. It was her baby. The design was lightweight and compact. With the NATO/.308 Winchester bolt-action, a carbon fiber-wrapped barrel, and a sound suppressor, the sniper carbine was one kick-ass piece of weaponry. She could break it down in less than thirty seconds, place the individual pieces in a case designed to look like it held a laptop, and be on the move a minute after confirming her shot.
Having been in the city a full week planning the assassination, Jordyn knew her escape route and two backup routes by heart. Between there and her hotel on the other side of the city, she would make several pit stops and clothing changes along the way. Within an hour, she would be Esmerelda Cortez, Quality Assurance Inspector for the World Health Organization—her chosen cover for this mission. Tomorrow, she’d be boarding a commercial flight and returning to the United States—her adopted home.
Heavy humidity hung like a wet blanket, coating her face and hair with sweat. It didn’t help that she wore a long-sleeved shirt and black cargo pants to help her blend in with the shadows of a taller building to her left. She pushed the heat and sweat from her mind, shutting them behind a mental door, along with Carter—let him deal with them.
Through the scope, she saw the door to the restaurant open. Seconds ticked by before anyone appeared in the crosshairs. The first person was one of Themba’s goon bodyguards. Next was the politician’s mistress. A black SUV pulled up and blocked most of Jordyn’s view of the restaurant’s exit. Fuck! The goon opened the vehicle’s rear passenger door for the woman and left it ajar while waiting for his boss. Finally, Themba stepped out of the building with two more bodyguards flanking him. He said something that had all three of them laughing. Jordyn could only see their heads and necks over the top of the SUV. Center mass shots to the chest were best, but this time, she’d have to settle for a headshot and pray it was a direct hit.
She inhaled and slowly let the breath back out. Her target’s face was large and ugly in the scope. She could make out the small mole just to the right of his nose and placed it in the center of the crosshairs. In between heartbeats, she squeezed the trigger with her index finger, smooth and steady. With a barely audible pfft, the bullet was on its way, taking death with it.
One Miss—
Before the rest of Mississippi registered in her mind, the projectile found its bullseye. Themba’s head snapped back as his brains and skull were sprayed all over the bodyguard standing behind him. That man’s head also jolted, and both of them dropped like stones.
Damn, two for the price of one. Not bad, Jordy, not bad at all.
Fuck off, Carter.
Jordyn was already disassembling her rifle by the time the other two bodyguards knew what happened and pulled out their weapons. There were shouts and screams, but she ignored them all. Thirty-seven seconds after the bullet was fired, she had the rifle concealed in the case, which was in her hand, and was running to the other side of the building. Without hesitation, she let one foot land as close to the edge as possible and leaped across the narrow expanse between the two buildings. She didn’t even spare a glance down, instead hitting the next wooden roof with a muffled thump.
Pivoting, she headed for the northwest corner, where a trap door would drop her inside the apartment building. As she ran down the dimly lit stairs, her ears strained to hear shouts or sirens—anything that would indicate they’d figured out where the shot had come from. So far, she was in the clear.
When she reached the ground floor, she ducked into an unoccupied apartment. During her scouting adventures, she’d found out the old man who lived there alone worked in the food market every day, never wavering from his routine. It hadn’t taken her long to break in after he’d left this morning. Now, she shut the door behind her, retrieved a large duffel bag she’d stuffed into a crawl space in the closet earlier, and opened it. Pulling out the black burka, she threw it on over her clothes and adjusted the cloak’s veil to hide her head and face. The briefcase went into the duffel bag, which she then hid under the traditional Muslim clothing.
Jordyn was out of the apartment in under a minute, having practiced the whole routine in her hotel room until it had become automatic. Exiting the building, she fell in step with the moderate midday pedestrian traffic. She was just another local woman out running errands. Sirens sounded in the distance but weren’t drawing nearer, so she still had plenty of time to disappear. Three blocks down, she merged into the outdoor food market, where she could blend in even more. The smells of bread, fish, meats, live animals, and Lord knew what else were overwhelming in the stifling cloak, and nausea roiled through her.
Striding into one of the overstuffed tents, she acted like she belonged there and cut through to the next row of vendors. Zigzagging her way through the huge market, she finally reached the other end as sweat soaked the fabric around her face and neck—how Muslim women wore these damn things without passing out in the heat was beyond Jordyn.
Her next stop was a chicken shed behind a restaurant. So many people were hurrying about, focused on doing their jobs, that no one questioned her when she snuck inside and shut the door. Grabbing a piece of wood she’d hidden in there a few days ago, she wedged it between the door and the rickety floor so no one could get in while she changed again.
Ignoring the clucking chickens, which were most likely on tonight’s menu, Jordyn ripped off the burka, taking gulps of rancid air—at least it was cooler than breathing through the veil. Not needing the heavy cloak anymore, she tossed it behind the crates of chickens. This time, she pulled out a pair of khaki pants and a crisp, white T-shirt from the duffel, transforming into the visiting westerner she was supposed to be. A pair of glasses, which would give her a mousy look without hampering her vision, went on her face, and she quickly put her hair up into a messy bun. The cargo pants and black shirt went into the duffel bag, and then she adjusted the straps so it became a backpack.
Ready to go out in public as Esmerelda Cortez, Jordyn kicked the wedge from the door and cracked it open. The cook shouted at the workers through the backdoor of the restaurant’s kitchen, but no one saw her as she exited the shack and hurried along an alleyway leading back to the street.
Ten minutes later, she sat at a table at the outdoor café across from her hotel and tucked the duffel under her chair. A waiter, who had been flirting with her over the past several days whenever she stopped in, hurried over with a bottle of sparkling water, which she always ordered. The café and hotel were located in the city’s nicer section, catering to tourists, international businessmen, and diplomats. The WHO used this hotel for its inspectors and workers visiting the region, so it was perfect for her cover.
“Hello, Ms. Esmerelda. How was work today?”
As the waiter grinned at her, his stark white teeth contrasted with his dark skin. He was a handsome man in his twenties, but a white-and-pink, ragged scar from his temple to his lower jaw—the result of a knife attack, Jordyn guessed—was the first thing most people noticed about him. It didn’t bother her at all.
Jordyn smiled back as she took the bottle from him. “Very good, Yabani. I finished earlier than expected today, so I’m free the rest of the day.”
“Wonderful. Does that mean you will sit for a while and let me admire your beauty?”
Oh, he was a charmer. “With flattery like that, how can I refuse?”
* * *
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Smirking, T. Carter stared down the barrel of the gun, not the least bit worried it would be fired. He lounged on the queen-sized bed in Jordyn’s hotel room, with his back against a pillow, feet crossed, and arms resting behind his head, as his gaze trailed up and down her body.
Damn, the woman is fine.
Every muscle was toned to perfection, yet there was no mistaking her womanly curves. Curves he’d enjoyed only once before.
He’d anticipated and worried about her return for nearly an hour. Not knowing where she’d planned to take out her target, he’d been resigned to waiting for her there in her hotel room, and it had nearly killed him. The relief he’d felt when Ian Sawyer had reported spotting her at the café across the street had been palpable. She’d stayed there for a half hour, eyeing the hotel and its surroundings for anything or anyone out of place. The fact that she hadn’t spotted Ian or any of his men didn’t mean Jordyn wasn’t alert—it just meant the covert team was that good. Now that Carter had eyes on her, he could relax even more despite the threat looming.
When he’d gotten the phone call from his bosses at Deimos that all hell was breaking loose, he’d immediately contacted Ian and his brother Devon, Trident Security’s owners, whom he trusted with his life—and Jordyn’s. Until a few hours ago, the men hadn’t known which alphabet agency Carter had worked for—all they knew was he was a black-ops spy and assassin for the United States. But to get to Jordyn before she ended up dead, he’d called on the best team he knew for backup.
He hadn’t been surprised when she entered with her weapon drawn. As he’d picked the lock to get in, he’d noticed a nearly invisible piece of tape she’d placed between the top of the door and the molding. It was one of the numerous tricks he’d taught her. She would’ve checked to see if it had been moved before entering, unsure if it was an intruder or the maid service.
“I asked you a question.” Glowering at him, Jordyn lowered the gun but didn’t re-holster it. “What the hell are you doing here, Carter? And how the hell did you find me?”
His grin grew at her attitude. She was a feisty little thing, and, damn, he loved feisty. “Easy, love. I trained you, remember?” He sure as hell did. Eight years ago, the lovely Ms. Jordyn had been recruited for Deimos after the international jewel thief had interrupted one of their missions on US soil. The powers that be saw the raw potential in her and gave her an option—go to prison or work for the government. Wisely, she’d taken Door #2.
From the moment Carter had laid eyes on his new apprentice, he’d craved her. But professionalism, integrity, and patriotism outranked his desire and lust. He’d trained her for months—twelve- to fourteen-hour days, seven days a week, with only occasional downtime. He’d enjoyed those times when she let down her hair and relaxed. More than once, the electricity in the air had crackled between them, but neither had made a move. He’d lost count of how many fucking cold showers he’d taken during that time.
She’d been turned loose once she’d excelled in weaponry, hand-to-hand combat, logistics, how to kill a man in numerous ways, and everything else she’d needed to learn. After that, Carter had been teamed with her several times. It was during one of those missions he’d let his desire take over and—
“Don’t remind me,” she spat, interrupting his thoughts. “And I’m not your fucking ‘love.’ Now answer my other fucking question, dammit.”
He shook his head and frowned in feigned annoyance when, in fact, he was utterly turned on. “Tsk, tsk. Such a dirty mouth.” He stared at that mouth, remembering what it felt like under his. His cock twitched at the thought. Down boy. “I’m here to extract you. Your cover’s been blown.”
“Bullshit. How?”
His gaze roamed her body, and his hands itched to follow. “I’ll explain later, but we need to get somewhere safer.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Still not relinquishing her weapon, or the duffel bag he knew held her sniper rifle, she cocked her hip as she glared at him. And, damn it, that just had his dick twitching again. If he didn’t get her moving soon, he’d be hard as a fucking rock with no relief in sight.
He was about to tell her that yes, indeed, she was coming with him, whether she liked it or not, but paused, listening to the comm set in his ear as Ian’s voice came over the airwaves. “We’ve got company, dude. Three guys packing, and it looks like they’re on a mission. Getting on elevator. You’ve got less than thirty. Meet you out back.”
Time to go. He tapped his comm set once to let the other man know the message was received. Grabbing his gun from where it sat within reach on the bed, Carter leaped up and strode past a gaping Jordyn on the way to the door. “If you don’t want to go with me, love, then fine. You can deal with the hit squad on their way up here right now with orders to kill you.”
“What?” she hissed, following him out the door, leaving behind the few things she had left in the room. He knew everything she needed was somewhere on her body or in the duffel bag—everything else could be replaced.
He glanced over his shoulder but kept moving at a fast, yet silent, pace down the hall. “Changed your mind?”
Her growled, unintelligible response caused the corners of his mouth to tick up in a smile.
They were almost at one end of the hall when the elevator dinged at the other end of the long expanse, and the doors began to open. Shit! They were spotted two steps away from the closed door to the stairs. Ignoring the shouts to stop, he burst through the door with Jordyn on his heels as gunfire exploded behind them. Splinters flew from the door jamb, narrowly missing them, and Carter pushed Jordyn in front of him as they ran down the stairs. They were two levels down, with one more to go, when the gunmen slammed the door above them open. More shouts and gunfire echoed through the stairwell. Stupid fucks. Not that he minded, but these guys were idiots. He and Jordyn were skirting the walls on their way down, staying out of sight, so those jackasses were just shooting for the hell of it. Hmm. Somebody didn’t want to pay for an experienced hit squad or didn’t care how much attention they attracted in the process.
The two spies hit the ground floor, and Jordyn ripped open the door leading to a hallway. She was about to go left when Carter grabbed her arm and pulled her to the right. “This way, love. Our chariot awaits.”
He hurried through a set of swinging doors, into the laundry room, where the workers barely looked at them, and out onto the loading dock. Jumping off the dock, he still had Jordyn by the arm. A black SUV with smoked-out windows screamed to a stop in front of them. The rear passenger door flew open, and Carter pushed Jordyn into the back seat, jumping in behind her. The vehicle took off again before the door was even shut. The whole episode from the room to there had taken less than two minutes, and neither of them had fired a shot.
Leaving the hit squad far behind, Ian made three quick turns on the streets of Kano. When he slowed to a normal speed for the day’s traffic, which was still close to neck-breaking, Jordyn put the duffel by her feet, shifted to face Carter, and glared at him. “Okay, Tristan, tell me who the hell they were and why they’re after me.”
“How’d you know my name?”
Carter hooted loudly as Jordyn glanced at the man in the front passenger seat, staring back at her with narrowed, wary eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You said ‘Tristan.’ That’s my name.”
“And it’s not mine,” Carter added, still chuckling. “Sorry, McCabe. Every time the beautiful Jordyn sees me, she tries to guess my given first name. In seven years, she still hasn’t gotten it—not that I’d ever admit it if she did.”
A car pulled out in front of Ian, and he jerked the steering wheel sharply to avoid a collision. The sudden movement sent Jordyn flying across the seat into Carter’s arms and practically in his lap. He grinned at his female counterpart. “Well, hello, love. And here I thought you didn’t miss me.”
Damn, her body felt amazing pressed against his, but it didn’t last for long as she struggled to sit upright, her hand barely missing his groin, before shifting over to the other side of the vehicle again. If looks could kill, he’d be on his way to the morgue by now.
She growled at him again, but he understood what she said this time. “I didn’t miss you, asshole.”
“Jackass.”
Jordyn’s head whipped toward the front seat, and she glared daggers at the back of the driver’s head. And, yup, Ian should be on his way to the autopsy suite too. “Fuck you!”
“Sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t calling you a jackass,” Ian explained as he steered them toward the on-ramp of the highway leading to the airport. Fifteen more minutes, and they’d be taxiing down the runway. “It’s a long-standing joke. Carter’s the jackass, and our computer geek, Brody, is the asshole. That leaves my dear brother to be asshat.”
“So, what does that make you—asswipe?”
“Ha!” Ian barked, slapping his hand on the steering wheel. “You were right, man. She does have grit. I think I might like her.”
Carter eyed Jordyn smugly while she looked like she wanted to slice him six ways to Sunday. It was a good thing he’d been the one to train her, otherwise he might be in trouble. As it was, she’d hated his guts ever since they’d had a romp in the sack. And what a romp it’d been. The woman could kill a man in dozens of ways, yet in bed, she was submissive. Little Ms. Jordyn, assassin extraordinaire, was the hottest woman he’d ever enjoyed pleasuring—until the next morning when he’d woken to find her gone.
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