2
"So what the hell Iskira Porter?" Ian slammed the door to his office the next night and faced
the bodyguard who had stepped inside with him.
His orders to Deke that morning had been simple: Find Kira Porter.
Deke looked as damned tired as Ian felt. Waylaying assassins and buying arms from gun smugglers at
midnight, trying to justify letting the scum of the earth live another day, and doing it with only a few hours'
sleep in the past two days hadn't helped his mood.
Nearly being knocked on his ass by a pint-sized black-haired witch with more guts than common sense
wasn't helping either. It didn't matter to Ian that she was one of the most experienced and competent
contract agents that he knew. It sure as hell didn't help that she likely knew exactly what she was doing.
The fact that she was there had the blood boiling in his veins. Unfortunately, it wasn't all anger that was
causing it.
"Miss Porter checked into one of the hotels on the beach," Deke reported as he frowned down at the
pocket PC he was tapping quickly into. "We tracked her down pretty fast. We lost Algeria Winters
though. She was on a private flight off the island within hours of the hit the other night. She's slick."
Ian grunted.
Deke was able, a master at strategy and a hell of a gutter fighter.
"And we're just now finding out Kira's here?" he gritted out, stalking to his desk and planting his hands
flat on the deep, glistening wood as he stared back at Deke. "Where the hell are these informants I'm
paying good money for? Wasn't her name on the fucking list?"
It was all he could do to keep his voice level, to rein in the need to pull at every hair in his head. Kira
Porter had a habit of doing that to a man. She raised a man's frustration level just by being in the same
room with him.
For a moment, one flashing second, he remembered more than frustration though. He remembered
slipping into her Atlanta condo, trapping her in her bed, and demanding to know just exactly what she
was doing there living next door to a senator's daughter who had been kidnapped two years before by
Diego Fuentes.
He remembered waiting for an answer as his cock swelled beneath his jeans and visions of fucking her
until she screamed his name had danced in his head. Those dreams still danced in his head. He was just
smart enough to keep them under control. For now.
Damn it to hell. He didn't need her here.
"I'm not hearing any answers," he snarled. "Did I or did I not put her name on the list of those that I
wanted to be notified if they arrived on the island?"
"You did." Deke nodded. "Someone must have been sleeping on the job. She's been here a week now,
her and her bodyguard. Evidently her uncle owns some interest in a few of the hotels on the island and
she's here checking those out. I got the information on our way back from the buy. I don't know why her
name slipped past our informants."
"Then maybe you should wake someone's ass up," he snapped, glaring at the other man furiously. "It's
your job to get this information and to make certain those well-paid little snitches stay on the ball."
He dropped into the chair behind him, pushed his fingers wearily through his long dark blond hair, and
glowered back at the other man.
Hell, this was just what he needed. He had a hard-on stiff enough to hammer nails.
He rubbed his hand over his cheek, grimacing at the rough day's growth of beard and wondered why the
hell he hadn't just killed those damned Missern brothers rather than letting them go. Son of a bitch, he
had known those two were going to betray him the minute the runner had arrived that afternoon changing
the location of the buy. Not that either of the Missern twins had actually been there. Hell no. A highly
trained team of assassins had been there instead, and one luscious little spy.
He should have put a bullet in both their heads and left them lying there after he wiped out that
warehouse. He knew they had betrayed that buy to Sorrell, knew they were behind the information
suddenly leaking to the French terrorist intent on taking over the cartel that Diego Fuentes had built.
If it were anyone else but a terrorist, he would have handed it to them on a silver platter rather than using
what he was learning was considerable skill in deceit, treachery, and running drugs to keep the cartel
growing in blood money.
But he was running out of time as well. If he didn't have Sorrell's identity soon, then there would be no
way to counter the terrorist strike Ian and DHS knew Sorrell had planned against a major U.S.
installation. Which one, they didn't know. When and where, no one was certain. All Ian knew was that
he had until the next month, because after that, it could happen any day.
He shook his head wearily. "Get out of here," he ordered. "Catch a few hours' sleep. We'll be heading
out tonight and we'll need to be on our toes to deal with that one. She's hell on wheels and damned hard
to pin down."
"She's been hitting the clubs since she arrived as well, pretty much nightly, several a night and never the
same one twice. Our guys at the clubs claim she watches the door for a few hours, sips at a drink, then
leaves quietly. She's been watching for you," Deke reported.
Tonight she was going to find him.
He nodded abruptly at the information and waved toward the door, almost groaning at the need for
sleep as Deke closed it behind him.
He felt like a man with a hangover and he knew he hadn't had that particular pleasure for too many
months now. And it was too early this morning to start drinking.
He stared around the room instead. The wide windows that caught the sun, shades partially drawn
across them and spilling slanting rays of light onto the wood floors. The cream-colored walls, the heavy
wood furniture. It was a masculine room. Two heavy, dark leather chairs sat in front of his desk; along
the side of the room an overstuffed couch and two chairs were grouped around a coffee table. A bar at
the far end and a plasma television on the wall close to his desk.
It wasn't his office. The villa was leased, the grounds heavily patrolled, and the small island a haven from
the estate in Colombia that had seemed to grate on his nerves worse by the day when he had been there.
Hell, he didn't need this.
He ran his hands over his face once again and restrained another curse. Kira was a complication that he
knew he should have anticipated. He had known a year ago that she could fuck his plans up royally.
Because he wanted her. He wanted her until the want burned in his guts. Until the hunger for her
interfered with his ability to even take another woman.
He hadn't had a woman since meeting up with Kira in Atlanta last year. Since he lay over her in the
monstrous bed in her condo, felt her body conform to his, and her kiss burn into his soul.
He had been insane to kiss her at that point and he had known it. If it had stayed at a kiss, maybe he
could have retained a measure of control. But now, he had to touch, taste sumptuous flesh and push to
the edge before he pulled back in the gathering realization of where it was going.
If he had taken her that night, he never could have never walked away from her.
He shook the memory away at the sound of a brief knock, his head lifting as Deke stepped back into the
office.
"I told you to get some rest, Deke," he sighed.
They had existed on catnaps for most of the week, working to get the arms shipment in place on this tiny
island and make certain that parts of it headed to Colombia in a timely fashion. The processing
warehouses for the cocaine the Fuentes cartel dealt in was in too much danger from the forces looking to
take over the business.
He had to hold on, just a little bit longer, then he could blow those fucking warehouses to hell and back
himself.
"I'm heading that way soon, boss." Deke stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "I was
checking a few things. I don't like it when people slip in that we don't know about. These came in after I
made contact with some other informants."
Deke handed him the reports as well as several grainy color photographs. He laid the report aside and
looked at the photos first.
Two known Sorrell agents had come in by way of New York. Ian recognized the French nationals with
a little sneer of his lips. The other was the assassin they had taken out in the warehouse the night before.
The assassin's dossier was thick, his kill rate nearly one hundred percent.
"They paid good money for him," Ian murmured. "Sorrell isn't going to be happy that he failed."
"We got lucky last night, boss," Deke said. "I can't see the Missern brothers fucking up like that, even if
they are in bed with Sorrell. It's all about the profit to them. I'm suspecting a leak in-house."
Ian suspected that as well. It wasn't the first time Sorrell's men had been where they shouldn't have.
"Look into it." Ian flipped the pictures to the desk and ran his hands over his face before leaning back in
the chair and staring back at Deke thoughtfully.
He waved at the bodyguard to take a seat, his eyes narrowed as Deke stared back at him expectantly.
"Sorrell's gearing up," he murmured. "He wants the cartel bad enough to try to take me out now. What
would his next move be?" He knew what he suspected, but he needed confirmation of it.
"He'll keep trying. Odds are, he'll get lucky," Deke told him. "Until we find a way to neutralize it. We
need a position of strength, Ian. Something that will make him crawl out from his hole."
"What about this rumor of a daughter that we keep hearing about? Have you managed to learn anything
there?"
Deke shook his head. "Nothing substantial. Just that she exists and Sorrell is searching for her. We know
he has a son, but only because he's slowly shifting some of the smaller responsibilities to that son's
shoulders. He goes by the name Raven."
Ian rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Pull in a few of our contacts in France and see if you can't learn
more. If we get to her first, we could use her."
His gut clenched at the thought of that. If Sorrell had a missing daughter as they had heard for years, then
no doubt she was better off staying anonymous. Unfortunately, if she did exist, he couldn't allow that
anonymity. He needed her too damned bad.
A second, a moment's thought went to the fact that he was willing to use such an innocent before he
hardened his resolve. There was no time to worry about the innocence of Sorrell's daughter. The game
he was playing here was too deadly, too imperative.
"There was a call that came in this morning as well." Deke nodded to the report. "Joseph Fitzhugh and
his son. Some kind of English aristocrats that say they know you. They wanted to meet and talk."
Ian grimaced at the names and shook his head. Fitzhugh and his son had flown to Colombia when Ian
first left the SEALs and arrived at Diego's estate. He had met the diplomat in the line of duty years
before, and Fitzhugh felt it was his place to try to convince Ian of the error of his ways. He wasn't the
first, he wouldn't be the last.
He shook his head. "No meet."
"I assumed you would say that." Deke nodded somberly. "Must be hard as hell, boss, having all these
so-called friends coming out of the woodwork. I haven't seen Durango team yet though."
"You won't see Durango team," he said. "But they're on the island. I can feel Macey's sniper scope like
you feel a mosquito biting into your flesh."
He'd been feeling it for more than a week now. That itch at the back of his neck, the curl of anger in his
gut. For some reason, he had expected them to know better, despite how well he had laid in the
evidence that he was indeed a traitor. It was contradictory and illogical, but feeling that scope's bull's-eye
on his head was pissing him off.
Deke frowned at Ian's admission. "We can't afford to have you taken out, Ian. Not at this stage of the
game. They have to be pulled back."
Ian shook his head.
"We continue on," he told him. "He hasn't taken the shot yet, he's not going to. He's waiting. He knows
I'm aware of him. Let's see what plays out."
Deke breathed out roughly at the order. "I don't like this. They shouldn't be here."
Ian shrugged. "Kira is the bigger worry," he told the bodyguard. "She's unpredictable and she's trouble. I
don't want her involved in this, and I know her. She's here because of me, not because of her uncle's
business."
Deke's eyes sharpened at that information. "Enemy or friendly?"
Ian snorted. "What's her present mood? Your guess is as good as mine. One thing is for damned sure,
it's not going to be anything you expect. Count on that and wear a protective cup in the process. Because
that woman will end up busting all our balls if we give her so much as half a chance."
Deke had no idea the trouble Kira Porter could cause. But Ian did; he knew and he didn't like the
anticipation throbbing in his cock at the thought of it.
"So where do you go with her from here?" Deke asked.
Ian shook his head. "I'll catch up with her tomorrow night. Let her play for now. Let her think she's
safe."
His jaw clenched at the suspicious look Deke shot him. He knew the other man wondered just how
deeply Ian was letting this life affect him. And Ian admitted, it was damned deep. Sometimes, he didn't
recognize himself or what he had become.
"Your mother called again," Deke finally told him. "You have several messages on your personal
machine."
Ian stilled. Marika Richards had no idea of the game her son was playing, and the pain he knew she was
feeling cut at his soul.
She had nearly given up her life for him countless times when he was a child, fighting to keep him away
from Carmelita Fuentes's murderous hands. Diego's now deceased wife had hunted them like animals for
ten years, before Ian's stepfather, John Richards, had found them.
For a moment, just a moment, he let himself remember his mother's smile. No matter how frightened he
knew she had been, she had always found a way to smile at him, to promise him that all things pass:
anger, pain, danger.
Be the best you can be, Ian. Be strong and brave, and know you're being just. That's all that
matters. Know you're being just.
Those words whispered through his mind and sliced at his heart. He knew she wouldn't see what he was
doing as just. She would never condone him killing the father who had nearly destroyed both of them so
many years ago.
Sometimes, though, a man had to do what was necessary to protect the just, the innocent. Too many
lives were held in the balance now. Sorrell and Diego Fuentes both would have to die.
But first, he had to find Kira Porter and make damned certain she left Aruba. How the hell was a man
supposed to destroy the monsters of the world when he knew a delicate bit of satin and lace was going
to stand in his way? And she was there to stand in his way. He knew it. He could feel it. And he would
be damned if he was going to allow it.