COWBOY ROMANCE: Justin (Western Contemporary Alpha Male Bride Romance) (The Steele Brothers Book 1) (151 page)

Chapter Five

              Simon woke reaching for Anna, but found himself alone on the office sofa.  During the night she’d draped him with a light throw, and when he brought it to his nose, he smelled her honeysuckle perfume.

“You should be flogged,” a sweet voice said.  “In public.  Really, Simon, couldn’t you keep it zipped for once?”

“You’re supposed to be in America.”  He sat up to see Kameko Saito sitting behind his desk.  “And how did you get in here?” 

“Oh, please.”  The slender Asian woman ignored his glare as she rose and tossed his pants at him.  “We have a situation.  Get dressed.”

“We always have a situation.”  Simon looked out into the reception office as he pulled on his trousers.  “Where’s my secretary?”

“Gone home to pack up, I imagine.”  Kameko showed him a folded sheet of paper.  “She writes a lovely resignation letter, by the way.  Blames herself for overstepping and all that.  She’ll likely be in therapy for years, because of you.”  

He snatched the letter from her hand and read it.  Anna had been polite and brief, and thanked him for the wonderful work experience he had provided for her.  He crumpled the letter and tossed it away.  “I have to deal with something.”

“No, you have to stop Umbra from leaving the island,” Kameko corrected him.  “From here he plans to go to Hawaii, where it just so happens the President of the United States will be vacationing with his family next week.  You’ve heard the chatter.  He’s going to kill him.”

“He’ll never get near him,” Simon told her flatly.

“With ordinary weapons, no, I doubt he would.”  Her expression turned grim.  “But last night he took delivery of a new compact missile drone before he killed the entire crew of the ship that brought it to him.  You might remember the field test the cartel performed with the prototype last month, when they blew up that embassy in South America.  Over three hundred dead.”

“Where are you getting your intel?” Simon asked as he pulled on his shirt.

“Umbra’s favorite submissive.  She contacted me after the bastard broke her arm, and then made her service twelve of his men.”  She picked up Anna’s crumpled letter and placed it on his desk.  “She told me Umbra will make one last visit to the club before he leaves for Hawaii.  Simon, we have to get him and this drone -- tonight.”

* * *

              Anna took her suitcase from the closet and opened it on her bed.  Once she arrived home, she’d have to get some of her clothes out of storage, for everything she had now was far too light for London’s damp, chilly climate.  That meant wearing outfits five years out of fashion until she could go shopping for a new wardrobe.

              Her old boss had been very understanding.  “Of course you’re welcome back, my dear.  We’ve been rather lost without you running things.  But I know you’re needed there, too.  Are you certain you can’t fix this with Denning?”

              Anna wanted to.  She’d picked up the phone a dozen times.  She considered all the angles, even becoming his mistress so she could stay a little longer.  Finally, after booking her flight back home, she’d thought of someday having to identify Simon’s burned body, as she had Gareth’s.  To imagine her love killing another man had made her burst into great, sobbing tears that racked her for almost an hour. 

Now she was resolved.  “No, sir.  I’m finished here.”

“Right.”  His tone turned brisk.  “I’ll send a car to Heathrow for you tomorrow morning.  Until then, be safe, my dear.”

It took the rest of the day to finish packing and tidying up the cottage so she could turn the keys over to her landlord.  The sun sank down into the sea and disappeared as the vivid skies darkened to violet.  By then Anna was so tired and heartsick that when the phone rang, she picked it up without bothering to check the caller ID.  “Yes?”

“It’s Kameko,” the Asian woman whispered in a tight voice.  “Simon is in danger, Anna.  Umbra has lured him to the club in order to kill him.  I need you to warn him.”

Anna tightened her grip on the phone.  “Where are you?”

“I’ve been shanghaied by my billionaire, I’m afraid.  Don’t worry, I can manage him – but you have to get to Simon before Umbra does.”  She caught her breath sharply and added, “I must go now.  He loves you, Anna.  Good-bye.”

The line went silent, and Anna dropped the phone as she hurried into her bedroom to retrieve the metal briefcase on her bed before she ran for her car, using her mobile to dial the office and then the condo where Simon lived.  Both numbers went to voice mail.

“Damn, damn, damn.”  She tossed down the mobile and flipped the locks on the briefcase.  Inside, packed in cushioning foam, were five hand guns of various calibers, a pair of razor-sharp daggers, several vials of drugs, and a dozen smoke grenades.

Anna picked up the nine millimeter, popped the clip and began to load it with shaking fingers.  She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, and saw the terror in her own eyes.

“No, not again,” she murmured, beginning the breathing exercises she’d learned during her training.  “Never again.”

Once she had loaded the weapon, she tucked it in her purse along with the other weapons.  She then drove as fast as she dared to the street behind the club.  Panic kept punching her lungs as she slipped through the shadows.  Anna fought back the terror, knowing it wouldn’t help her get to her lover.

I am not going to lose Simon.

When she walked up to the front of the club, the armed guards both gave her a sour look.  “You cannot come in alone,” one of them told her. 

“Charles called and said he needed me.”  Anna put on her best confused look.  “I’m to entertain one of your important VIPs.”

The men exchanged a look before the second guard said, “Charles said nothing about this.”

“Well, if you wish to explain this to Mr. Umbra, I’m sure he’ll understand.”  Anna almost laughed as they quickly opened the doors for her.  “Or not.  Thank you, gentlemen.”

Inside the dark, smoky club, she spotted Charles talking with a pouting blonde dressed in black leather.  She went directly to him and tucked her arm through his.

“Ah, the sweet girl.”  Charles’s expression turned lecherous.  “Did you come back to see me?”

“Of course.  Excuse us,” she said to the blonde before she drew Charles toward the stairs.  “Actually, I’m here to meet Simon.  Would you take me to him?”

The islander’s dark eyes became slits.  “Simon is not to be disturbed.”  He went still as he felt the gun she pressed into his ribs.  “You do not wish to do this here, sweet girl.  My men will tear you apart.”

“Yes, they will, but first I’ll shoot you and every important-looking man around me,” Anna assured him.  “Now, take me to Simon, or I start firing.”

Charles stomped upstairs with her, and took her to a room at the end of the corridor.

“Tell them to go downstairs,” Anna murmured as they approached the two men guarding the door.  “Nothing more.”

“Go downstairs,” Charles said to the men.  When they didn’t move he added a sharp, “Now.”

Anna smiled at them both as they reluctantly went off, and then had Charles unlock the door and shoved him inside before she followed.

Simon, who was tied to a chair and had a hood over his head, sat up straighter.  “Come on then.  Get on with it.”

Anna locked the door, and then used the gun to club Charles at the base of his skull.  Once he collapsed, she stepped over his body and went behind Simon’s chair.  “You’re always so impatient.  I think all rich people are, which makes no sense because you never have to really wait for anything at all.”

“Anna?”  When she pulled the hood from his head Simon stared up at her.  “What the devil are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, sir.”  She cut through the cords, and pressed the blade in his hand.  “Kameko contacted me.  She’s been taken by her billionaire, but she said she’ll be all right, which also makes no sense to me.  Where is Umbra?”

“He’ll be here any minute to torture me,” he warned her as he got to his feet.

Anna pursed her lips.  “We’d better give him someone else to hurt.”  Together they tied Charles to the chair and pulled the hood over his head.  “Right.  I’ll flank on the left, behind the door.”  She offered him the gun and then opened her purse.  “Would you like some smoke grenades?”

“Bloody hell.”  Simon looked from the gun to her purse to her face.  “You’re not a secretary.”

“Actually I am, fully-qualified.”  She stepped back behind the door.  “My handler felt it was important to be the role rather than act it, but you’d know that better than anyone.”

He took a position to the right of the door.  “So Gareth wasn’t the only one working for MI-5, I take it.”

“It’s how we met.”  She winced as someone tried to open the door, and then slammed into it from the outside.  “Here we go.”

The men who burst into the room hurried toward the unconscious Charles, and were followed by a short, reed-thin man with a scarred forehead and a big, ugly grin.

“There you are, Simon Denning,” the little man said.  “I am so happy to meet you at last, but I think you will not be the same for Umbra.”

“Think again.”  Simon quickly shot each man around Umbra before he aimed at the assassin’s head.  “Hands where I can see them.”

Umbra pulled out a large pistol.  “Can you see this?”

Without thinking Anna threw her dagger, which landed in his thigh with a meaty thump.  As he screamed and stared down at the blade Simon shot the pistol out of his hand.

“Anna, collect all the guns, if you would,” Simon told her as he moved to stand over Umbra.  “Now, old chap, let’s talk about the visit you’ll not be making to Hawaii.”

* * *

              Forty-eight hours later, Anna walked into Simon Denning’s office with a tray of freshly-brewed tea.  “Gentlemen, would you care for some sandwiches?  I can order in anything you’d like.”

“Thank you, no, Anna,” one of the London agents said.  “By the way, your old boss sends his compliments.  I think after this op, he may even have Simon drop an extra pound in your pay packet.” 

Anna left the men and went to tidy up the kitchen and finish her filing.  The London agents had thoroughly debriefed her and Simon over the weekend, but she didn’t mind.  Umbra had been neutralized, along with his plot to kill the American president, all of which had been a major blow to the cartel.

Simon escorted out the agents and then regarded Anna for a long moment.  “My office, now, please.”

She went in and sat down, helping herself to a cup of tea as Simon vented.

“All this time you were an MI-5 operative, sent to babysit me.”  He paced around her chair.  “I can’t believe it.  Why?”

“I wasn’t sent to you,” she corrected gently.  “I fled here after Gareth died because I couldn’t do my job anymore.  They simply asked me to help you maintain cover by being your secretary.”

“You could have told me, Anna.”  He crouched down in front of her chair, trapping her in it with his arms.  “Why didn’t you?”

She hated the truth, but he deserved to know.  “Then I would have had to admit that Gareth died because he borrowed my car one morning.  The bomb that killed him had been intended for me.”

Simon studied her face.  “Then you weren’t just a data analyst for MI-5.”

“Gareth was.”  She couldn’t help caressing his cheek.  “I was his section chief.  I’m sorry, Simon.  You’re right. I should have said something a long a time ago.”   

“I’ve never allowed myself to be involved with any woman for long.”  He stood and walked to the window.  “I never wanted to put anyone in danger.  Especially you – and now you tell me you running a section for MI-5.  Anna, you must have as much training as I do.”

“I do.  I’ve also made some very bad enemies.”  She rose and went to him.  When she touched his arm, he dragged her up against him and kissed her thoroughly.  Once he finished she gasped, “Simon, we really shouldn’t.”

“I know.”  He touched his forehead to hers.  “I have as many enemies as you do.  But you’re done with MI-5, and I’m rather tired of getting tied up and shot. So, I think we both should retire from field work.  Anna, if you’re willing, we can make a real go of it.”

“Oh, I’m willing.”  She wrapped her arms around his neck.  “And I’m yours, Simon.  Always.”

THE END

Bound to the Alpha Billionaire

Book 6

(Can be read as a standalone book)

By: Lucy Wynand

The Hitman’s Hunger

Chapter One

“Do you have plans tonight, Mr. Riley?” the flight attendant asked after she intercepted him outside customs.

T.J. regarded her with his skeptical, mismatched eyes.  As petite and blonde as he was big and dark, she had been eyeing him since they left Paris.  His Southie accent and leather coat always made him stand out from the Manhattan suits in first class.  Since sex with him made rollercoasters look tame, however, he had rules:  no nice girls, no fashionistas, and absolutely no one he might accidentally break. 

“Yeah, I do.”  He wondered if he should tattoo his chest with one of those measurement signs that read: “You must be this tall to take this ride.”  Might make his life simpler.  “Sorry, babe.”

She tucked a business card in his shirt pocket.  “My number, in case you change your mind.”  She sauntered off with as much sass as her pencil skirt would allow.

T.J. spotted Arthur Lecourt waiting outside the international arrivals gate.  Although he wore a chauffeur’s uniform, the small, wiry man didn’t hold a name sign.  Nor did he allow T.J. to elude him.

“Please, Mr. Terence,” Lecourt said as he appeared beside him and tried to keep up with his long strides.  “He only wishes a word.”  When T.J. didn’t reply he added, “I am authorized to use force if necessary.”

“That’d be entertaining.”  He glanced at the older man and saw strain lines bracketing his thin lips.  “Your hip giving you grief again, Arthur?” he asked, slowing his pace.

“The arthritis.  They want to replace it.”  He watched T.J. pick up his duffle from the luggage carousel.  “He gave me the Taser, Mr. Terence.”

Because he liked the old thug, T.J. followed him out to the limo parked illegally at the curb.  The back window lowered and another voice from the south of Boston said, “Get in.”

“No.”  The only way to deal with his father was in words of one syllable.  “What?” 

“Get in, Junior, and I’ll tell you,” the elder Terence Jamison Riley said.  “Or don’t, and Arthur will Taser you, throw you in here, and I’ll be late for my three o’clock class.”

T.J. got in the limo and sat across from his father.  “Class?”

“Yoga.”  As elegant in Armani as a reformed mob boss could be, Terence popped a piece of nicotine gum in his mouth.  “Your mother thinks it’ll help with my anger management issues.  I don’t mind so much.  The girls are pretty, and hooboy, so flexible.”  Terence gave him the once-over.  “Why you over here?  Work?”

The old man looked tired, so T.J. took pity on him.  “What do you want, Pop?”

Terence shrugged.  “Same old.  Give up this spy shit, come home and work for me.  I’m legit now, remember?” 

T.J. rolled his hand.

His old man sighed.  “Your mother wants grandbabies.  We’re not getting any younger, you know.  Your sister Margaret’s doing that test tube thing, but it ain’t working out.  Her and Jack are talking about adopting.”

T.J. rolled his hand again.

His father rubbed his eyes.  “Look.  You come home, marry a nice Irish Catholic girl, and knock her up.  It’ll make your mother happy.  She’s happy, I’m happy.  I’m generous when I’m happy, Junior.”

T.J. looked over the seat.  “Arthur, drop me at long-term parking, will you?”

“Do this, and I’ll write you back in the will.  I’m worth ten billion now, boy, and – you’re bleeding?”  Terence jerked aside the collar of T.J.’s shirt to glare at his bandage and then him.  “You got shot?  And you didn’t say anything?”

“Pop?  I got shot.”  As Arthur pulled over T.J. grabbed his duffle.

“Love to Ma.”  When the car stopped he climbed out and didn’t look back.

T.J. walked to a black SUV with a license plate that read HOT4U2.  He input the security code on the door panel keypad and threw his duffle in the back.  Once inside he took keys, a wallet, a cash bundle and a smart phone from the glove box.  As soon as he touched the phone it lit up and buzzed.

“Yeah?” he answered it as he started the SUV’s engine.

“Central is bloody pissed with you, Terry,” a friendly British female voice said.  “Consider yourself severely reprimanded for that cock-up in Paris.  Why are you in America?”

“I’m taking some personal time, Ash.”  T.J. reached under the seat for the untraceable handgun tucked there.  He popped the fully-loaded clip to check the rounds.  “Thanks for the nine.”

              “Can’t have you scampering about unarmed, love.  There’s extra ammo in the boot.”  Ashley’s tone turned crisp.  “We have a vastly unpleasant situation brewing in Berlin.  It will likely go critical by Monday.  That’s all the time we can spare you.”

              “Understood.  Appreciate it, doll.”  T.J. ended that call and dialed the number to his old boxing gym.  When a gravelly voice answered, he said, “Where we at, Mike?”

              “They stashed her in a brownstone in Roxbury,” his former trainer said.  “Some whorehouse for pervs run by a Spanish woman.  She’s got some Eurotrash managing the whole business.  But Terry, you need to turn on News Chat AM.  Turn it on right now.”

              T.J. switched on the twenty-four hour news radio station, and listened as publishing mogul Brian O’Hara finished giving his statement to reporters.

              “We would do anything to save this brilliant, brave young woman’s life,” O’Hara said sadly.  “But we have seven children.  If we pay this ransom, then they will instantly become targets.  We can’t allow that, so we will pray for her.  It is our hope that God, not money, brings her home again.”

                “Cheap prick.”  T.J. shut off the radio and put the phone to his ear again.  “How long we got before they kill her?”

#

              Bound and gagged, the hostage could do nothing but watch as the madam shut off the radio and paced around the room.  The busty brunette muttered under her breath in Spanish as a slender European man named Benton watched.

              “Consuela, darling, calm yourself,” Benton said.  “All is not lost.”

              “Isn’t it?  Your father is a stingy bastard, Sarah O’Hara,” the madam raged as she dragged Sarah up from the floor.  “And you, you are worthless to me now.”  She pulled a dagger from her robe.

“Kill her, and you really do have nothing.”  A slender man who had shown surprising strength when he’d snatched Sarah, Benton seemed bored with the universe.  He lit a thin brown cigar and examined the glowing tip as he exhaled smoke.  “We’ll simply have to get creative.”

The madam turned on him.  “You heard that tight-ass.  He won’t pay a penny for her.  I’d have to drug her to make her into a whore, and then she’ll probably kill herself like half of them do.  So how do you make something out of this, Benton?”

“We find someone who will pay for her.”  Benton came over and inspected Sarah.  “She’s pretty enough.  She might even still be a novice.  Surely there are gentlemen in Boston who would be delighted to enjoy such a young, tasty morsel.  We send out invitations to the right clientele and sell her to the highest bidder.”

“And what happens if she escapes?  She goes straight to the police.  Then we are all going to jail.”  Consuela made an impatient sound.  “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean sell her as a slave, darling,” Benton replied.  “We allow the winner to use her here, in our little dungeon.  We can even film it.  Torture and rape porn is quite profitable, you know.”

Behind her gag, Sarah swallowed hard.  She’d expected to be killed right away.  Now that she was facing a fate that might be worse than death; she needed to think about ways she might kill herself.

“Yes.”  The madam’s mouth stretched into an evil mirror of the slender man’s smile.  “But there is something that will make us even more money.”