When her secretly filmed tryst shows up on the internet, Michelle Alger goes on the run. She has no choice. Not only was her one-night stand the son of a US senator, but he’s been murdered—and she’s the number one suspect. With both the senator and an avenging drug lord on her trail, her life is in danger. There’s only man she can trust. He saved her once, but will he still be her hero six years later? Captain Jeremy Malone and the rest of Delta Squad have the senator’s order: find the mystery woman who killed my son. But to Jeremy, she’s no mystery. Six years ago his team of Green Berets rescued her from the torturous clutches of a Colombian cartel, and he’s never forgotten her. His personal and covert mission: find Michelle before anyone else. When he and Michelle do meet again, the sparks are explosive and consuming. They’re also dangerous as hell. Because with each new bit of evidence, Jeremy suspects that Michelle’s innocence may be a ruse—a beautiful trap set by a woman who has even more secrets yet to bare.
Cappy was going to hell. The sight of Michelle’s perfect ass disappearing out the window was now permanently burned into his brain. He was such a bastard for avidly watching it wiggle as she forced her body through the tight opening. Every nerve ending north of his toes still vibrated from touching her. Though he had sounded like a bumbling idiot earlier, he had meant it when he blurted out how amazing she looked; so healthy and whole. The antithesis of the bloody, broken woman damaged by the Osvaldo cartel in that shithole room six years ago. This beautiful, vibrant, sexy woman had his blood surging and his fantasies on overload. Her body was built for a man like him. For deep, hard sex, be it up against a wall or bent over a chair . . . Goddammit. Straight. To. Hell. Remember the mission. He couldn’t think of her in any other terms than professional. He had to find out if she killed the Senator’s son, for Christ’s sake. Not have her starring in his latest mental-porno-flick. He pulled a disposable phone from his leg pocket and dropped it inside her overlarge bag. Once he zipped the thing closed, he called, “Heads up. Purse coming through.” He gave it a little nudge over the sill, hearing it thud into her hands before he yanked the battery out of the back of her cell phone. Now she couldn’t be traced from the GPS in the device—which had been his plan if she hadn’t called him. He dropped the pieces into his leg pocket for later disposal. Putting on his sunglasses, he ensured his gun holster wouldn’t knock into the edges of the frame, and slid soundlessly through the small opening, then closed the window. Turning, he half expected to find her gone, but she stood just to the left, chewing on her lip with fear lacing her irises. “This way,” he whispered, grabbing her hand and motioning toward a grungy building next door. The electricity from the contact instantly had him hard. He grunted and urged her forward. He pulled her around the back corner of a convenience store and stopped, shifting his hips to relieve the pressure. “Cutting it too close, Cappy,” Talon admonished softly. Michelle jumped, squealed, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Yeah. Talon had that effect on people. He was so damn good at blending into the background, he caught most by surprise. Cappy seized Michelle’s hand to stop her from inching backward. “Relax.” Her eyes were as large as her face and she didn’t seem to be able to look away from his teammate. A sudden shot of jealously spiked through his veins. Stow that shit. He had no time for that destructive emotion and it was wrong on so many levels. “Where’s the car?” he barked, jolting them all. Christ. Engines raced into the parking lot next door and instantly shut off. Car doors opened, then slammed shut. Cappy didn’t need to see his teammate’s eyes to know they were both thinking about how they had just barely made it. Michelle trembled underneath his palm. “Car’s on the other side of the dry cleaners, as commanded.” Talon pointed to a building that had seen better days adjacent to the convenience store. Dear God, who is this guy? Michelle couldn’t stop staring at the wicked knife with the onyx blade still protruding from SCK’s fist. She shivered. A male voice yelled from the hotel’s parking lot, “You two cover the back. White, start peering in windows. I’ll talk to the desk clerk.” “Our signal to move,” Jeremy whispered, jerking her arm as he pulled her forward. She ran as fast as she could but knew she wasn’t even close to the speed both men wanted. Tough darts. She didn’t live in a gym like them. Did she do the right thing, calling Jeremy? She trailed behind the two men, still rattled by his blatant connection to the FBI’s investigation. He saved you before. Yeah, he did. Was he doing that now?
About P.A. DePaul:
“I'm a multi-genre romance author including paranormal fantasy and romantic suspense. “I originally hail from Carroll and Baltimore County, Maryland, but also lived in Macon and Warner Robins, Georgia. I currently reside in a beautiful community just outside Philadelphia. “When my head is not completely absorbed with listening to very demanding characters, I can be found with my nose in a book—not only enjoying the story but studying what makes the novel work. I love action-adventure movies (if it blows up spectacularly, I'm there) and watching way too much TV. (Can everybody say “Procrastination?” To which I usually reply, “But it’s research!” Yeah, they don’t believe me either.). More times than not, my husband and Shi Tzu stand outside my closed office door wondering, “Is she still alive? Do we dare bother her? What if she’s on a roll?” Monty usually answers by scratching on the wood anyway. Gotta love a dog who doesn’t care about boundaries! Good thing he’s so cute!”
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