CAST OF CHARACTERS

Anita Caballo—Her life was torn apart when she was framed for embezzling from the family business. Now, with a chance to prove her innocence, will she survive long enough before someone tries to silence her forever?

Brant Law—FBI special agent. Brant selected Anita for the mission, but is far from trusting her. Before long, Brant wonders if she’ll actually succeed in knocking down the walls around his heart.

Nick Tarasov—Member of the Special Designation Defense Unit. He trained the women for the mission.

David Moretti—The women’s legal advisor.

Samantha Hanley, Carly Jones and Gina Torno—The other three members of SDDU.

Tsernyakov—Illegal weapons trader. He is among the five most wanted criminals in the world.

Philippe Cavanaugh—An international businessman who is up to his neck in dirty dealings.

William Bronten—Anita’s old boyfriend.

Ironclad Cover
Dana Marton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With many thanks to Denise Zaza,

Allison Lyons and Maggie Scillia.

Contents

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter One

She was bait, dressed in clingy red silk to attract the attention of every man in the room. The spaghetti-strap gown was sleek and sophisticated, the cut over her right leg revealing enough skin to be interesting but still acceptable for the serious businesswoman she was supposed to be.

“I’ve got visual of target number two,” Gina’s voice rasped through the nearly invisible transmitter in Anita’s ear.

“I don’t see him.” She spoke under her breath toward the flower-pin-slash-microphone on her shoulder as she turned in a slow circle, her body tensing. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs to the left of the bar. Right under the chandelier.”

She looked in that direction, but too many people were standing between her and the spot Gina had indicated. The lavish reception the Cayman Islands Chamber of Commerce was throwing in honor of its members was in full swing, the black-and-white checkered marble tiles of the floor barely visible under the feet of guests who were networking, scoping out new deals and drinking copious amounts of champagne.

“I’m on it.” She moved through the crowd to get closer to Philippe Cavanaugh, target number two.

Target number one, Jose Marquez, a high-ranking city official who had several retail shops on the island, had already left. But not before Gina had worked her charm on him and gotten a business card, along with a request for a presentation next week on what Savall, Ltd., the front for the women’s covert operation, could do for his company.

One down, two more to go. They needed to get to all four of their targets. People were dying—the latest intelligence had linked Tsernyakov to the mine bombings in Africa. They needed results.

She made her way to her target without any obvious hurry, as if she were simply meandering through the crowd, maybe searching for a friend. “Excuse me. Thank you.”

The air was thick with the smell of money—expensive perfume and exclusive cigars. Her four-inch heels clickety-clicked on the marble tiles, the sound barely audible over the ebb and flow of conversation that went on in a half-dozen different languages, the ringing of glasses being touched together, the sudden pearls of laughter that bubbled above the din.

She walked to the back of the gallery, through the glittering crowd. Philippe Cavanaugh, international shipping magnate, was where Gina had said he would be, handsome and debonair in his tuxedo, deep in conversation with another man and two lavishly dressed women. He had come, which hadn’t been a certainty—although they’d had high hopes, given that the man was one of the main supporting members of the Chamber.

“I got him,” she said under her breath and let herself relax. “Where are you?”

“Downstairs by the bathrooms.”

That Gina would spot Cavanaugh first even though she was a lot farther from him and not even on the same floor, didn’t come as a surprise. She seemed to have a special sense for these kinds of things, probably left over from her cop days.

Once Anita knew where to look in the giant room, she easily spotted her partner for the night. The cream-colored dress they had talked Gina into wearing looked striking on her petite figure. The idea had been for the both of them to attract their targets’ attention and the attention of other powerful men on the island—any of who might have had some kind of connection to Tsernyakov, an elusive weapons dealer who was at the top of a dozen most-wanted lists.

The relatively new piece of intelligence that Tsernyakov had a connection on the island was a closely guarded secret about a man considered to be one of the most dangerous men in the world. The task of finding this connection and, through him, getting a location on Tsernyakov was the seemingly impossible mission that Anita and Gina along with Carly and Sam—who were staking out the house of target number three tonight—had agreed to a few eventful weeks ago.

“Ready to make contact?” Gina asked.

A man walked by too close and was watching Anita, so she couldn’t immediately respond.

He flashed an interested smile. “Hi.”

She nodded to him, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to encourage him at the moment.

“Are you here alone?” he asked.

“No, but I think I might have lost my date.” She pretended to scan the crowd below. “There he is.” She waved at no one in particular, then shrugged. “I don’t think he sees me.”

“If he could lose you, he doesn’t deserve you.” His smile widened, showing sparkling white teeth. “Can I get you a drink? I’m Michael Lambert.”

“Anita Caballo.” She offered her hand and made a point to remember his name. “Thank you, but I think I might have had too much already.”

“Then I’m definitely sticking around.” He winked. “Besides, you can never have too much good champagne.”

He was tall and sexy—dark hair, dark eyes—with more than a hint of naughty to him. In coloring and body type, he looked a little like Brant Law, the FBI agent who had gotten her into this mess, except for that battle-hardened edge on Law. Michael’s infectious grin said his focus was heavily on fun. Nothing wrong with that. Law was entirely too stark and serious.

“Michael. Hey, Michael! Stop pestering the lovely lady for a minute and get over here. I found a buyer for your boat,” a redheaded titan yelled toward them.

Michael held up his index finger to ask him for time. “I would like to sell that miserable boat,” he told Anita with chagrin. “Promise you’ll be here when I come back?”

“Promise,” she lied to be rid of him.

He looked as if he only half believed her and flashed another charming smile before walking away. She would have to have been dead not to appreciate the fine figure he cut. He probably put in his share of time on the golf and tennis courts at his country club. His compliments felt good. It had been a long time since—She cut off that unproductive train of thought and refocused on her mission. Michael Lambert wasn’t why she was here.

She turned back toward Cavanaugh and lifted her right hand to her throat, worked the tiny button on the back of her ring with her thumb and took a couple of pictures with the microscopic camera she wore on her ring finger. Hopefully she got everyone who was with the man.

“You should probably move in before you get distracted again,” Gina said. “You might trip over one of those men falling at your feet.”

“Jealousy is a very unattractive emotion.”

“Bite me,” Gina responded with dripping cordiality.

“No thanks. I don’t like bitter.” Anita glanced toward the group where Michael was standing. He was showing the group pictures—wouldn’t notice now if she slipped away, wouldn’t follow and get in her way. “Gotta go.”

She made her way toward Cavanaugh, one of only five viable leads—four now, Alexeev had disappeared for good and was presumed dead—their team had been able to scare up after a month of hard work. And even those four…The evidence that tied them to Tsernyakov was circumstantial, at best.

She stopped when she was close enough to Cavanaugh to hear him.

“So he ran naked into the water, swam out to the closest boat and somehow got them to pick him up. Crazy, n’est-ce pas? But nobody can say that Monsieur Clavat is not a good sport.”

His audience laughed with him.

She stepped forward and opened her mouth to speak but, before the small group could take notice of her, an interruption came from the other side. A short, stocky gentleman with bushy eyebrows pressed up against Cavanaugh and murmured something into his ear. Cavanaugh’s smile turned grim for a second, then he pasted on a brand-new jovial expression.

“I apologize, I must step away for a minute. Work, it finds me everywhere,” he said to his companions.

“You know what they say, there’s no rest for the wicked.” The taller of the two women threw him a look of open flirtation.

“And since I’m rather wicked, ma chérie, there’s hardly any rest for me at all,” he responded with a knowing smile before turning and following the guy who’d come for him.

Picture. Anita remembered too late and was only able to get a shot of the other man from the back.

She opened her mouth to call out then snapped it shut again. Right now didn’t seem like the right time to try to talk to Cavanaugh. He looked to be in a hurry. He might just brush her off. And she wanted to find out who the other man was, what he had said to put that look on Cavanaugh’s face. She swiped a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and followed them at a distance that didn’t seem necessary. The men were intent on their destination and never looked back as they hurried to the back of the gallery.

A hallway opened from the inconspicuous nook the men had disappeared into, partially obstructed by heavy, fringed curtains in crimson brocade. She waited a few seconds before stepping in. The hallway ran parallel to the gallery in a half circle, coming out on the other side. She was in time to see one of the tall, solid-wood doors that lined the walls close behind the men.

Now what? She strolled by, looked for cameras without being overtly obvious about it in case she was recorded, but found no evidence of security equipment.

All the doors had mottos painted above them in Latin. She passed Fortior leone justus. The just man is stronger than a lion. The sign above Cavanaugh’s door said Vincit omnia veritas. Truth conquers all things.

She would have liked to think so but she knew, better than most, that real life didn’t work like that. In her own life, truth had conquered nothing and it certainly hadn’t set her free.

She listened by the door and discerned after a few moments that it wasn’t going to get her anywhere. The thick wood blocked everything.

“Where have you gone?” Gina asked through the earpiece.

“In the back.”

“Need me?”

“There’s a curtained-off opening to a hallway. Let me know if someone’s coming.”

“Will do. Be careful.”

Feeling better with Gina watching her back, Anita kept moving in case the men came back out. She didn’t want to be caught loitering right in front of the door.

She needed to find a way to eavesdrop. She headed toward the next room as an idea occurred to her. All the windows were open downstairs to allow in the balmy night air. If the same were true for the upstairs, she might be able to listen in on what was said in Cavanaugh’s room.

The sign above the door proclaimed, Fortuna audenes juvat. Fortune favors the bold.

Anita put her hand on the old-fashioned brass doorknob and took a deep breath, prepared with an excuse if there was anyone in there. The place was empty. And the windows were open. She didn’t bother turning on the lights; enough moonlight filtered in through the giant windows.

She took off her shoes so her heels wouldn’t click on the marble floor—pink marble up here to match the draperies and the frescos on the ceiling. The opulence of the building, which had been built during colonial times, was breathtaking on every level. She stopped near the window and focused on the low, deep voices of the men.

“Then whambandot cor mantakna yesterday…”

She pushed the hair back from her ears, but that didn’t help any. The sounds were too muffled to make out individual words—or not enough of them to put together any meaning.

She thought of the old cup-to-the-wall trick she and her sister, Maria, used to spy on their brothers when they were kids, but a quick glance of the room didn’t net anything the like. She pressed her ear to the silk wallpaper and curled a hand around it. Something of an improvement, but not enough.

She liked to think she was a resourceful woman. There had to be a way.

The room didn’t have a balcony, but wrought-iron railings cupped the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows from the outside. They had a little bump-out on the bottom, six inches wide at most, just enough to hold some balcony boxes that overspilled with fragrant blooms she didn’t recognize. She’d grown up in Maryland and wasn’t familiar with the flora and fauna of the tropics.

She didn’t want to step into the boxes—didn’t want dirt on her feet that might be hard to explain away, didn’t want to leave trampled flowers behind that someone might question later.

She grabbed the railing and placed one foot onto an ornamental scroll in the design. Flat, square bars would have been so much easier. She wished she were wearing anything else but a long gown. She focused all her attention on the task, balancing her weight as she leaned out over the moonlit garden.

Steady now. A tumble to the paved walkway below wasn’t in the plans. And I won’t. Not a good idea to be thinking about falling. Focus on the task. If the mission succeeded, she could erase the worst period of her life and heal the rift in her family, start new with a clean slate. To her, that was worth any risk.

“You can’t get a building permit for that patch of land. I tried before. Environmental setbacks. Same as at Pirate’s Cove,” somebody was saying in the next room.

She could see a sliver of their window and the light spilling from it, but no one stood close enough to glimpse. Not altogether a bad thing, since that meant they couldn’t see her, either. And in any case, she couldn’t have spared a hand to take a picture. Balancing on the curves of the ironwork was tricky enough already.

Noise from the garden below caught her attention. A couple strolled by, holding crystal glasses, having a heated discussion in Italian. Anita held her breath, not daring to step down from the railing, fearing that one might catch the movement from the corner of an eye. She would have looked like a jumper as she was. She didn’t need that kind of attention.

They stopped right under her window.

Diosmio.

The man fell silent. The woman kept on, breathlessly and with high emotion. Then the guy put his free arm around her waist and pulled her to him so suddenly that some of her champagne splashed from the glass. They were kissing the next second.

She felt a small pang of jealousy. When was the last time a man had touched her with so much passion?

“Zoning can be changed,” the words came from the other room, drawing her attention.

Was that Cavanaugh?

Would the couple in the garden hear him and look up?

Probably not, she decided after a second. She could barely hear as close as she was. She didn’t think the people below would catch anything but a low murmur, and even that would probably be drowned out by the general buzz of conversation filtering out from the downstairs windows that were much closer to them.

“I sure hope so, I’d hate to lose all that money,” said yet another man next door.

How many of them were in there besides the two she had seen entering?

“Some guy is coming your way.” Gina’s voice sounded urgent in her ear.

Anita glanced toward the door. There were at least a dozen rooms opening off the hallway. What were the chances that whoever was coming would come into hers? She could hear doors open and close. Whoever it was, he was looking for someone. Probably one of Cavanaugh’s friends coming late to the meeting.

She stepped off the balcony railing, anyway, just in case. And not a moment too soon. Her door opened slowly, revealing a dark silhouette.

“There you are. I thought I saw you come this way. Still alone?” Michael Lambert stepped into the path of the moonlight and strolled toward her with a satisfied smile.

She took a slow breath and willed her clamoring heart to slow. She could have been caught. “The cigar smoke was starting to bother me. I thought I would grab five minutes of fresh air and some quiet.” She watched him. Was he buying it?

He smiled like a man who did, so she relaxed a little.

“May I just say that you’re the most beautiful woman here tonight?” He stood in front of her, too close, and held her gaze. His eyes looked black in the dark.

She couldn’t remember their real color from earlier.

“Thank you.” She accepted the compliment that would have felt even better if he weren’t interrupting her surveillance. Still, it had been a while since she’d been alone with a handsome man who found her desirable and told her so.

“So what do you do on the island? I detect a lovely accent from up north.”

“Just started a new company, business consulting,” she said, and gave a few sentences worth of details. You never knew who he could be connected to.

“Impressive,” he said.

“And you?” Maybe she would recognize the company name. If he was ruining her eavesdropping, at least she could see if he might not be a possible link—maybe a way to get introduced to Cavanaugh.

“Land development,” he said.

Any connection to the real-estate deal being discussed next door? “Sounds exciting.” She smiled and tried to look fascinated. “Tell me more.”

“Heaven forbid.” He gave her another one of his sexy grins. “Boring a lovely lady is an unforgivable offense. Especially when there are so many other fascinating things we could talk about.” He unleashed a slow grin. He was a charmer and he knew it.

“Such as?” She played along.

“I haven’t seen you at one of these receptions before. Are you new to the island?”

“—going up.” Gina was saying something at the same time as Michael talked, so Anita caught only part of it.

“Relatively,” she told Michael. Didn’t matter if they got caught now. It would look like they were up here with romantic intentions. She doubted anyone would bother with them. “You’ve been here long? I hardly know anyone here.” Hint: I wouldn’t mind some introductions.

“Hardly anyone is worth knowing,” he murmured and leaned forward. “Present company excluded.”

Before she knew what was happening, Michael was brushing his lips against hers. But despite how easy this could have been, her hands came up to his chest and pushed him away, even as her brain registered how nice it was to have that kind of human contact again.

Her heart beat a confused rhythm in her chest as the door opened behind her. Michael raised his head.

Busted, she thought and turned just in time to see Brant Law, FBI agent extraordinaire, walk into the room with a disapproving scowl on his face. He was a lawman through and through, right down to his stance—a perfect fit for his name.

He flipped on the lights and the sudden brilliance of the chandeliers forced her to squint. What on earth was he doing here?

“WOULD YOU LIKE to tour the facilities and see how the project is coming along, sir?” The man’s voice was cutting in and out.

“No,” Tsernyakov said into his phone. He had no desire to walk through a biohazard lab, to link himself in any way to this latest project or to break the anonymity of the assignment. “I’ll be sending a representative.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up the phone and thought for a moment about whom to send. He didn’t like for even his most trusted men to know too much, be involved in too many branches of the business. He kept them isolated from projects other than their own, from each other. He didn’t want any of them to put together the big picture, to get any ideas about whether they might be able to take over from him.

He leaned back in his chair and ran down his list of top candidates, then settled on one. That should work fine.

A timid knock sounded on his door that he recognized as Alexandra’s.

“Come on in, dear.” He pulled himself straight and put a smile on his face.

“Is this a bad time?” She hesitated in the doorway, young and beautiful, unaware of how the pink T-shirt stretched across her breasts made him feel.

“You could never come at a bad time.” He got up and went to her. “You look breathtaking as always.”

She looked down and blushed. “I was wondering if I could go into town today.”

“Of course, I’ll tell my driver immediately.” He turned toward his desk then stopped, pretending to hesitate. “Unless…”

“If you don’t think it’s—”

“No, no. I was just thinking that I had a busy day. I could use a little time away from the office. I’ve been meaning to take you shopping at Marks & Spencer. Of course, you probably don’t feel like spending the afternoon with an old man like me.”

“You are not old,” she protested instantly.

“I’m not Ivan Ivanoff, either.” Ivan, a famous Russian piano player about the same age as Tsernyakov, had recently married a model younger than Alexandra, the top news of TV stations around the country.

“No,” she agreed. “You’re much nicer. Do you ever think about remarrying?”

He shrugged and tried to look as modest as he could. “Who would have me, anyway?” he said before she could respond. “So shopping, then maybe a movie and dinner?”

“That would be really great.”

Yes, it would be. He hadn’t had the time to work on her lately, but tonight he would make sure she began to see him as something else than just a family friend. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so glad you are here with me.”

“Me, too.” Her smile was genuine. “Thank you for keeping me safe.”

“Nothing will happen to you, I swear.” Not as long as she pleased him. That’s what he had spared her for when he ordered the murder of her parents—something she knew nothing about.

He would end the year in style, with a new young lover and more money than he’d made on any one deal in his life before.

“Why don’t you wait for me upstairs?” He ran a finger down Alexandra’s face. “I have to make a few more calls then I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a spontaneous hug and was practically skipping on her way out of the room.

“Your next appointment is here, sir.” His secretary’s voice came through the intercom.

He glanced at his calendar. “Last one for today?” he asked to double-check. Sometimes people got scheduled in at the last minute.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He would get through it fast. Alexandra was waiting.

BRANT LAW looked at Anita seated across the table, still not over the shock of how different she looked from when he had last seen her during their briefing at Quantico. She’d been a beautiful woman in the dark blue FBI training suit, but in this dress…Every man’s head turned her way when she had walked through the restaurant’s door.

Personally, he was into leggy blondes, but he could certainly see the attraction. He tipped his glass to his lips.

“Do you always drink decaf?” she asked.

“For the past week or so.” He could hear the pain in his own voice. “I’m trying to kick a bothersome caffeine addiction.” On doctor’s orders. Since he had his hip injury, he hadn’t been moving as much as he should have and his blood pressure had been inching up. He was determined to do whatever it took to pass his next physical. “It’s all about discipline.”

“How is it going?”

He groaned just as his stomach growled. “Excuse me.”

Her full lips stretched into a sympathetic smile. “Missed your lunch?”

He nodded. He’d gotten into George Town on Grand Cayman Island late on one of those no-meal flights. His bad hip hurt from sitting still for so long. He wanted two things before he’d gone to bed for the night: a good dinner and a report from Anita Caballo on how the analysis of the financial records of their targets was going. So as soon as he’d dropped his suitcase at the hotel, he’d gone in search of her, concerned with what he might find.

Bribing four convicts to join an undercover team to bring down the king of all criminals didn’t fill him with confidence about the operation’s success. Could the four women succeed where professionals had failed? Carly was a top hacker, Sam a whiz at breaking and entering, Gina an ex-cop who’d done time for manslaughter, Anita a resourceful embezzler of four million dollars. Maybe they would have some kind of edge, a deeper understanding of criminal reasoning or whatever. Or maybe they were heading straight for disaster.

“How is the consulting business coming along?” he asked.

“Pretty well.” She seemed to relax at his choice of subject. “We have a half-dozen clients and a couple of nibbles from others. Once we complete this first round of projects, I think we’ll be getting a number of referrals.”

Since Cavanaugh had left the party minutes after Brant had discovered Anita, they’d followed him to his compound on the beach. And as they weren’t equipped for breaking and entering, he’d decided to end surveillance for the night and take her to the nearest restaurant that was still open, the Reef Street Inn. He didn’t believe in wasting time.

She looked nervous.

Did she have a reason other than being caught with a man? Frankly, he would have preferred if she spent one hundred percent of her time and energy on the mission.

He chewed his beef—a steak and potatoes man through and through—and washed it down with some decaf soda. He poured some extra steak sauce on the next slice.

“I’m tempted to throw the poor thing a life jacket. You’re drowning it,” Anita said.

He made a point in sopping up as much sauce as possible. “Best invention since the cow.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“So what have you been up to lately?” He didn’t have a good handle on the woman yet and was impatient to learn more.

She gave him a detailed rundown on all the projects the team had put into place since they had arrived on the island.

He wasn’t surprised that the business was doing well. She was a hell of a businesswoman—competent, resourceful, dedicated. He knew as much from her file. She had a fine track record with Pellegrino’s, the company she had built from nothing before she had succumbed to temptation and neatly made four million dollars disappear. “And the other end of the business?” He was referring to the money laundering they did on the sly in order to get closer to a shadier clientele that could provide valuable leads to Tsernyakov.

“I wish things would roll faster,” she said. “I was hoping to make contact with Cavanaugh tonight.”

“Got sidetracked?” He drew up an eyebrow.

She shifted in her seat, but wouldn’t look away. Good, the woman had chutzpah. She would need it on this mission.

“I was doing surveillance,” she said.

So she was using the poor bastard. How far would she have been willing to go? He thought of her shoes discarded on the marble floor. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I was trying to listen in on Cavanaugh’s meeting next door.”

“Find out anything?”

“Very little before I was interrupted. Cavanaugh is in some kind of a real-estate deal. He and a couple of friends of his are trying to rezone an area for building. They mentioned environmental setbacks and the possibility of losing a lot of money.”

“They?”

She shook her head. “Don’t have names. And I only saw one, other than Cavanaugh.”

“Got pictures?”

“Not a good one. But I have pictures of others Cavanaugh had been talking to earlier in the evening.”

“And your companion?”

“Michael Lambert, land developer.”

“What are your plans with him?”

She looked like she would have liked to say, none of your business, but said instead, “None. I have no plans for him at all. He followed me when I followed Cavanaugh.”

“Is he linked to him?”

“I don’t know. Yet.”

He nodded. “Find out.” She obviously had no problem with cozying up to the guy. And Lambert had wanted badly whatever she’d been offering. Brant had seen the flash of anger and disappointment in the man’s eyes when he had walked in and interrupted.

Was Anita looking for suspects, links to Cavanaugh and Tsernyakov, or was she looking for allies for her own purposes? Lambert had money, you could tell by looking at him. And with money came influence. Was Anita working him? Sure looked like it from where he was standing.

He didn’t trust her, didn’t trust any of the women, had argued against the mission and lost. He had accepted the assignment of working with the team—somebody with realistic expectations had to be involved—but he still thought it was nothing but an invitation to disaster.

You wanted to know how someone would act in the future, you looked at how he or she had acted in the past. By and large, past behavior predicted future behavior. What the hell were they doing conducting a mission based on criminals?

The way he’d seen Anita play Lambert tonight had left a bad taste in his mouth, an odd reaction since that was exactly what she’d been recruited for. And she had been good, he had to give her that. She had looked the part of a woman about to be seduced.

Anita, more so than the others, bore watching. She was the most beautiful of the four women on the team—dark hair, nearly black, cascading to her waist, the body of a dancer, legs that could mesmerize anyone. He was a sucker for high heels and she worked them like nobody he’d ever known. She was a lethal weapon even when armed with nothing but a smile. And he would just bet she was smart enough to know how to use what she had.

In addition to her intimate knowledge of financial wizardry, those looks had been responsible for getting her involved in the mission. He had picked her himself, from the list of possible candidates.

His attention lingered on her full lips, annoyed as the picture of Michael Lambert kissing her popped into his mind. What did he care?

Then all of a sudden his instincts prickled and he turned his focus to the rest of the room, scanning the tables one by one. Nobody was paying them special attention. Maybe he was just too tired and out of sorts. Still, he had learned to appreciate intuition over the years.

“How about if we have our food wrapped and take it back to my hotel?” he asked, unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched.

“What’s wrong with here?” She didn’t look comfortable with the suggestion.

He glanced around surreptitiously as he took a drink, and from the corner of his eye caught a dark shape at the window, the glint of metal. Instinct honed by years of conflicts in the field pushed him forward. He registered the surprised expression on Anita’s face as he took her down, protecting her, softening her fall.

At the same time, the bottle of mineral water that had a split second ago been in front of her exploded all over their table, showering them with shards of glass from above.

Chapter Two

A woman screamed as people all around ducked for cover. With four years of federal prison and an intensive FBI crash course behind her, Anita managed to stay reasonably calm as she kept her head down.

“Unarmed?” Brant poked his head out, trying to see.

“Sorry.” She had thought about bringing her gun to the Chamber of Commerce reception, but there hadn’t been room to hide it under her slinky dress and her evening bag was barely sufficient to hold her cell phone, a tube of lipstick and the stack of business cards she had collected during the evening. She’d gone to the party to make connections, not to engage in a gunfight. She hadn’t thought the weapon would be necessary.

He didn’t chastise her for the lapse, but pushed her forward. “Let’s go. Toward the kitchen.”

All for getting out of there, she crawled under the tables among people who looked stunned, scared and confused. Spilled food and broken plates littered her path—a few tablecloths had been pulled down in the panic of the moment as people reacted on reflex.

Whispers came from everywhere, punctuated by a few sobs and some swearing. “Where did it come from?” “Is the shooter in here?” “Stay still.”

“Stop moving around. You’ll draw attention,” an older gentleman snapped as Anita pushed by him, then fell silent as he looked at Brant behind her.

She nudged the swinging door open and slipped through into the hot and humid air of the kitchen, which smelled of frying onions and burning oil. She didn’t rise until the metal door was closed behind them and even then she stayed in a crouch.

“This way.” Brant headed to the back.

The man could move. The only two times she’d seen him before—at the Brighton Federal Correctional Institute in Maryland and at their briefing at Quantico, he seemed more the corporate type than law enforcement—crisp suit and calm, professional manners. But right this moment the FBI agent was clearly visible.

They passed kitchen staff huddled in groups some in the cover of refrigerators, others squatting behind the counter.

“Is there a shooter in the restaurant?” one of the cooks, a lanky Chinese man, asked, gripping his white apron with one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. At first glance he seemed prepared to protect the staff, but when Anita looked closer, his darting eyes said he was ready to run.

“Outside,” Brant said. “Stay in here. Call the cops. Where is the back door?”

The man pointed with the cleaver, his arm jumping with nerves when a chair crashed behind them in the dining area.

Brant moved forward. “Let’s get out of here.”

Anita followed him down a narrow hall that led to cavernous storage rooms and stopped when he did at a door with peeling green paint on its wood panels. He paused a second then pushed the door open a few inches to survey the outside. Then he reached back to take her arm and pulled her behind him, into the deep shadows of the night.

The back alley was empty save the Dumpsters. She held her breath at the sour stench. Hundred-degree heat did nasty things to garbage.

“Come on.” He strode to the street and looked in both directions before stepping out from the alley. He walked to the nearest car and had the door open and the motor started in under a minute. “Get in.” The vehicle was in motion before she shut the door behind her.

“Did you see who it was?” She kept her eyes on the street.

“No. Are you hurt? Any of that glass hit you?”

She didn’t feel any pain but looked down at her bare arms anyway. Other than being dirty from the crawling, they looked okay. “I’m fine.”

“Call the others and put them on alert. Call Nick.”

Nick Tarasov was special ops, the man who had trained the four-woman team at Quantico after their release from prison. He had come to the island with them right at the beginning to keep an eye on things.

“Have you heard from him yet?”

Brant shook his head. “He’s only been gone for a day.”

Nick was off to look for Xiau Lin, one of their four remaining suspects who was believed to be on a business trip in China. Marquez and Cavanaugh were on Grand Cayman. They had not been able to locate Ian McGraw so far.

Life at Savall, Ltd. had been relatively calm since Ettori had been shot—a revenge-obsessed hitman who had gone after Carly big-time because Savall had stolen a few of his boss’s clients. After that danger had been taken care of, they had all felt it was safe for Nick to leave them for a while.

Obviously not.

She made the calls, reaching Sam and Carly first. Gina had just gotten in. She had stayed at the party after Anita had left with Law, to see if she could make some useful connections. Nick didn’t pick up. He was probably stalking Lin. She left him a message.

“You think it’s connected to Ettori?” she asked Brant when she was done with the calls and assured everyone that she was all right. She hadn’t fully known until now how Carly had felt for those weeks when she had been under attack. “Maybe he didn’t work alone.”

“He had a driver that one time,” Law said. He was referring to the kidnapping attempt Nick had stopped.

“Right. But that guy never entered the picture again. We assumed he was a one-time deal—a friend helping out.”

“Don’t assume.” He pulled into the hotel parking garage and stopped the car as close to the elevators as possible. “Could be he took over Ettori’s assignment.”

“But Ettori only targeted Carly.”

“Maybe Ettori’s death upset the boss and now he wants all of you taken care of.”

Not a happy thought. She got out and looked for anything suspicious, but the parking garage seemed deserted. Then she caught a glimpse of Brant and all she could do was stare. He was covering her, moving like she’d only seen people move in action flicks before: alert, gun drawn, ready for anything. Watchful energy and strength rolled off his body in waves. She could practically smell the testosterone.

He looked dangerous and capable and more than a little sexy, not that she was prepared to dwell on that.

The elevator dinged. She glanced down her dress, which was covered with food stains, and hoped they wouldn’t run into any other guests. They didn’t need any extra attention or questions from anyone.

They lucked out. The elevator opened on his floor in less than a minute without any incidents.

“This one.” He pulled a key card from his pocket and opened the door, went in first, made sure the place was secure. “Okay.” He locked the door behind them.

The room was spacious, the bed and armchairs covered in tropical prints that matched the curtains. She walked to the window to put some space between them, could see their dark office building across the street. She could even find their offices on the fifth floor, a little lower than Brant’s room. Would he be able to see into her office during the day?

She was too nervous to sit, shaken by the attack, wary of the man whose presence filled the room. All of a sudden she had the ominous feeling like she had just walked into the lion’s den. She looked around, feeling out of place. What am I doing here?

It might have seemed on the surface that they were on the same team, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. He was using her to get to a dangerous criminal he wanted. She was using him and the resources he’d made available to clear her name. With little luck so far.

“Would you like a drink?” He was opening the minibar.

“Water would be fine.” If she ever needed a clear head, it was now. Somebody was trying to kill her. “This is crazy.”

“Did you expect it to be easy?” He watched her as he handed her the plastic bottle.

“I don’t know. There hasn’t been that much time to think about it. We’ve been going nonstop since we joined the team.”

“And you’ve gotten some results.”

She nodded. They had a list of possible links to Tsernyakov. That was something.

Her gaze fell on the suitcase by the window, a small carry-on. No other cases in sight. Didn’t look like he’d planned on staying long. They hadn’t expected him, at all. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Thought I’d check in, see how everything’s going. I’m a hands-on kind of guy. And, of course, I can never pass up a chance to go someplace where there’s even the remotest possibility of boating.”

Naturalmente. And it was just a coincidence that he showed up the day Nick left.

“How long are you staying?”

“Until Nick gets back,” he said.

He was here to check up on them. The thought made her mad, even knowing his mistrust was justified. She was pursuing her own agenda on the side. But that didn’t mean that she was short-changing his. She’d given her word and she would keep it.

Here they were, risking their lives, doing whatever they could to bring his mission to success. The least they would have deserved was a vote of confidence. “You don’t trust us.” She was still jumpy from the shooting at the restaurant, full of nerves and unexamined emotion. It was easy to snap.

He was watching her, his mahogany eyes unblinking. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

The nerve he had. “You don’t think we can do it, do you? Unwilling or incapable. Which one is it?”

He said nothing.

What did it matter? “Bottom line is, you don’t think we have what it takes. And yet we are here. Which means you’re risking our lives just so you can say you tried everything. I could have been shot and killed.”

His expression turned dark. “Believe me, I’m well aware of that. And for the record, I never said I thought you couldn’t do it.”

“Just that you don’t trust us.” Her words slapped his back.

He drew up a dark eyebrow. “You want the truth?”

She nodded.

“I gave it to you. Now deal with it.” His manner was brusque and hard, the attitude she imagined he used with suspects during his investigations.

Maybe she should go back to her apartment. She had been checking the whole way here—they hadn’t been followed. She could call a cab at the front desk and be just fine.

As if he could read her thoughts, he stepped in front of her, solid as a construction barricade. “I’ll take you home in the morning.”

He was too close. She couldn’t move forward and she wouldn’t move back, despite the fact that he made her jumpy in a way Nick Tarasov, with his tough commando-guy stance, never did. Neither had Michael Lambert, even when he had his lips on hers.

Brant Law’s mahogany eyes said he meant business. He was not a man to cross. She couldn’t wait until he’d gone back to wherever he’d come from.

It would be better if he thought he had her full cooperation. She pasted on a smile. “Sounds good,” she said, and turned from him. She would pick her battles.

“You take the bed.” He went around her to the two armchairs by the wall and pushed them to face each other.

Was that where he planned to sleep? And was that a limp?

“Are you hurt?” He seemed such a wall of solid strength, it hadn’t occurred to her that he could be.

“No.” His response was quick, his voice sharper than necessary.

“Looks like you’re limping.”

“Trick of the light.”

The light was perfectly fine as far as she could tell. What was his problem? This macho man didn’t want anyone to know that he wasn’t invincible?

“Okay. You’re fine.”

What did she care? She made herself relax, sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him and bent to take off her shoes, wrinkling her nose as her hair fell in front of her face. She reeked of cigar smoke from the Chamber of Commerce reception.

“Mind if I take a shower?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Help yourself.” He was digging through his suitcase. The next second, he tossed something large and white toward her.

A cotton undershirt, she recognized the thing as she caught it.

“You can’t sleep in that.” He nodded toward her soiled dress, without meeting her eyes.

“Thanks.”

He bent back to the suitcase, pulled out a laptop and set it on the desk. Looked like he meant to work. She was more than willing to let him.

Shirt in hand, she retreated to the bathroom, into the bliss of privacy and the cascade of water, washed her hair, using up one full minibottle of shampoo and conditioner. She was drying herself when he knocked on the door.

“I called down for a courtesy kit for you.”

She wrapped the towel tight around her body, opened the door and stood aside so she’d be covered and blindly reached a hand out. She pulled in the small plastic bag he placed in her palm then closed the door shut. “Thank you.”

“I ordered room service, too.”

Something to eat would be nice. All she’d had were a half-dozen microscopic hors d’oeuvres while scoping the crowd for Cavanaugh and Martinez at the party.

She unzipped the courtesy kit and looked at the comb, toothpaste, toothbrush and razor inside. She rubbed her arm where it was sore from when he’d taken her down, out of the way of the bullet.

He’d saved her life. He’d done so efficiently, with practiced ease, a true professional. And it just occurred to her that she hadn’t even thanked him. She’d been too focused on figuring out why he was on the island and how much he would interfere with her private investigation.

“Thank you,” she yelled through the door. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome. For everything.” He sounded tired and distracted. He was probably on his laptop, checking e-mail messages.

He seemed sharply efficient while staying studiously detached. But then there were those acts of unexpected kindness, the shirt in her left hand, the small bag of essentials in the other, room service.

Brant Law wasn’t an easy man to figure out.

HIS HIP THROBBED. It ticked him off. Brant walked into the George Town police department, using every ounce of will he had not to limp. He wasn’t going to pass his next physical. This assignment would be his last. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

All the more reason for him to want to succeed with this case, a big one, something to remember him by other than that one miserable, glaring mistake he had made five years ago. He needed this case. And he’d had to hand it over to a bunch of criminals. It was enough to put him into a permanent bad mood even without the pain.

“Brant Law, FBI.” He flipped his badge to the man at the front desk. “I’m here for a consult. Mind if I get a cup of coffee first?”

The young cop looked at him, duly impressed by the badge. “Help yourself. It’s in the back.”

“Thanks.”

“Yes, sir.”

He headed down the narrow hall, turned at the end. Damn if the evidence room didn’t conveniently have a sign on it. Locked. He looked around, produced his small tool kit, was inside the next minute. He riffled through the plastic bags in the in-box, found one with Reef Street Shooting scribbled on it along with the case number and date, then pocketed the bag with the lone bullet inside.

On the way to Savall, he stopped by a FedEx store and overnighted the evidence to his office for analysis.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW the bullet wasn’t for you?” Gina was drilling Brant. She stood next to Anita’s chair, Carly and Sam were engrossed in sorting printouts by the front desk. “What if you were the target?”

He’d thought about that last night when he couldn’t sleep. The semi-sitting position the uncomfortable hotel armchairs allowed had been murder on his aching bones. And Anita’s soft breathing, which should have been soothing really, tickled something inside him that wouldn’t let him rest.

“The bottle it hit was right in front of Anita.” The man had to be aiming straight for her chest. The muscles in Brant’s jaw tightened. He was about to say something else when the mailman came through the front door, cutting him off.

The guy flashed an industrial spotlight of a smile around the room. “Hello, my lovelies.” He stopped in midmotion and glanced around at the tense silence. “Came at a bad time?”

“Of course not.” Anita, gracious as always, met him halfway and took the mail.

He gave Brant the once-over then threw Anita a questioning look. She shook her head with a barely repressed grin.

“Goodbye, then.” He was pouting as he walked away.

Brant rubbed his hand over his face. He didn’t even want to know what that was about.

“What do we know about the assault weapon?” Gina asked once the door was closed behind the guy.

“A nine millimeter handgun. I’ll know more when the paperwork on the bullet comes back.”

“Tsernyakov?” Gina threw out the name.

“That would be bad news all around.” They weren’t anywhere near Tsernyakov yet. If he had somehow been tipped off about the mission, the women would be sitting ducks. The safest thing to do would be to evacuate them as soon as possible. Which would end the mission.

Damn, but he didn’t like that option. As little chance as he thought the women had of succeeding, he had no better ideas just now. They had put too many resources and too much effort into this to abort before seeing the operation to the end.

And they had made some progress. They had formed something that was beginning to resemble a team. They had identified a handful of possible links to their main target. If they could figure out who the true connection was to Tsernyakov they could get close enough to him maybe to get a location on the man, which would be more than any unit trusted with his capture had ever been able to accomplish.

Except, that now there was the extra complication of the shooter. Who was he? And what did he want?

“Any enemies?” He looked at Anita.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“How about your family? They know you’re out, right?” Gina’s and Anita’s families had been told the women had been released and entered into some kind of rehabilitation program where they weren’t allowed visitors for now. Carly and Sam had no close family who needed notification. “They must be ticked off over the money.”

Anita looked uneasy as she glanced at the other women, then at him. “No,” she said that too fast, as if wanting to close the subject.

What was the matter? Hadn’t she told the others that she’d stolen from the family business? Pellegrino’s was one of the largest construction companies in the state of Maryland, all of it family owned and operated. He watched her as she brought her expression under control. You wouldn’t know that she was a thief by looking at her. Beautiful on the outside, treacherous on the inside. Now why did that sound familiar?

Probably because he’d gone down that road before.

“I have an off-site consult today,” she said, probably looking for an excuse to leave.

“Cancel it.”

“Could be the shooter was connected to Cavanaugh,” Sam remarked from the reception desk. “Maybe someone connected to him picked up on Anita following him at that party or whatever.”

Samantha Hanley, the youngest member of the team at twenty-one, wore nothing but black and had a fair number of facial piercings. Small scars around her eyebrows indicated that even now she was holding back for the sake of the professional image she was supposed to be projecting.

“Like Michael Lambert,” Gina said.

“No, I don’t think so.” Anita shook her head.

Sam shrugged. “I mean, it’s an option, but not likely. I think in that case someone would have caught her and questioned her. You know, like what she wanted, who she worked for kind of stuff. Probably wouldn’t want to take her out without getting some explanation out of her first.”

“Correct,” Brant said. But he was going to look into it anyway. And he was definitely going to look into Michael Lambert. He had already sent off a request to his office for a full background check on the man.

“You stay put for now,” he said to Anita.

“If we cancel work every time something happens, we will never catch Tsernyakov.” Gina was watching him. “It’s a dangerous mission. Stuff is going to keep happening. Right?”

Gina Torno was a tough one. He supposed she had had to be. Being a cop was no cakewalk and being an ex-cop in prison was downright hazardous to a person’s health. But Gina had made it through—although, not without some scars.

She was right about the mission. He just hadn’t expected something like assassination attempt to start happening this fast. First Carly and now Anita. Were the two connected? If not, it was a hell of a coincidence. And yet, as Gina had pointed out, they were working a risky case. Incidents were going to happen, dangerous incidents because they were entering increasingly dangerous situations. And that was exactly why they were here. He had known the score from day one. And so had they.

“I’ll go with her,” Gina offered.

He took a slow breath and considered that option. He would have preferred going with Anita himself, but if one of Tsernyakov’s men was watching her, it wouldn’t be smart for him to spend too much time with her, risking them identifying him. Tsernyakov had connections, “bought men,” in just about every branch of law enforcement in every country that counted, the reason why they needed a team with a one-hundred-percent authentic criminal background, an unbreakable cover. “Okay,” he said. “Be careful.”

It was good for Anita and Gina to work together. The whole idea had been to forge the women into a team that could handle anything. He had to trust these two enough to let them head off to a business meeting in broad daylight.

He looked at Anita. “Mind if I use your office while you’re gone?”

The look of panic that flashed across her face was quickly covered up with a forced smile.

“Of course. Let me gather up a few things for the meeting.”

“I’ll grab my bag,” Gina said on her way out as she passed him.

He stayed and kept his eyes on Anita as she rummaged through the files on her desk. She wore a light suit that covered considerably more of her than the silk gown she’d worn the night before. Her hair was pinned back. She had the tight look of business efficiency. He tried not to linger on her red stiletto sandals or her toes that were tipped with matching shiny red polish. She glanced up at him and smiled again, and he got the distinct feeling that she was playing for time, waiting for him to step out.

Not a chance, he thought as he willed his gaze not to return to her legs. Not a complete victory as his attention was now captured by her full lips. Man, he was a fool. Women always smiled the sweetest when they were trying to screw you over the worst.

HE HADN’T PLANNED on tossing her office, but once she was gone, the idea that something was off wouldn’t leave him. He glanced through her files. Nothing jumped out. Nothing on her desk, either, or in her drawers. She was neat and orderly—that was about all the information he gained.

The space she created fit her. It even smelled like her—some exotic scent that included Caribbean fruit.

He plugged in his laptop and read through his e-mail, thought about asking Nick to scan through hers. Thinking of the devil, Nick Tarasov had forwarded some background info on Xiau Lin whom he still hadn’t located, although he had found some kind of a trail. Brant sent that file to the printer, but nothing happened. Out of paper. He grabbed a handful from the cardboard box under the desk and refilled the tray. As he did so, the printer moved a half an inch, revealing the corner of a dark blue folder.

Damn. He pulled it out, looked at the shiny new cover for a second or two without opening it. She wouldn’t have hid it unless she was doing something she didn’t want anyone to know about.

He wouldn’t have minded being wrong about Anita, but he wasn’t surprised. She had betrayed her family. And family should have been everything to her. It certainly was that to him. He couldn’t imagine any of his sisters doing something like she had.

He read through the papers inside, press releases about Pellegrino’s, about some of her family members who were now running the business: her two brothers, her younger sister, her brother-in-law. There were a couple of financial statements, too, and other stuff—calculations.

On what?

Then it hit him.

She was, at the moment, the managing director of a consulting firm that did money laundering on the sly. If she hadn’t before, now she sure knew all about that subject. Hell, the FBI had trained her on it.

Brant slapped the folder shut and swore.

She was working on accessing the four million dollars she had embezzled and hidden and was getting ready to wash it squeaky clean. She was manning her own operation, probably thinking of skipping the second she had everything in hand.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

Chapter Three

She was out of prison.

He rubbed the headache at his temple. She was out and at the worst possible time. And she had lied. Whatever she was doing, this was not some government program to help her to readjust to society after her years of incarceration.

Where had she gotten the car from, the apartment and the job? He had expected some halfway house where he could get to her easily, where there’d be a bunch of other ex-cons and weapons and drugs, so when her body was found, not much would be questioned.

Instead, here she was in the Caribbean, as high and mighty as she had ever been, with another company and employees and money. What game was she playing?

And who was her guy? They’d left the party together, drove to the ritzy part of the island and parked. Probably making out. He should have taken care of her then and there. Maybe both of them. But it had been dark and to top it off the car had tinted windows. He didn’t want to miss.

So he had waited until they were at the restaurant, all lit up, and he had missed anyway. And then they disappeared. He’d spent the rest of the night in front of her apartment, waiting for her to come home as anger and frustration boiled in his guts.

She wasn’t going to let the last four years go. She would investigate, had started already, the alarms he had set in place had been going off one after the other.

He had to get to her before she got to him. It was as simple as that.

SAM WAS SLAPPING STAMPS on a stack of envelopes at the front desk as Anita walked in the door, back from her business meeting that was likely to net them another contract, but was—thank God—uneventful otherwise. No sign of the shooter from the night before.

Gina, who had reassured her that as far as she could tell they hadn’t been watched or followed, passed her and went straight for the bathroom. They’d been circling the block for a parking place for nearly thirty minutes.

They needed to make contact with Cavanaugh. The weekly paper she had read in the car on the way back gave her an idea the other three women were likely to resist. Not that it would stop her from trying.

“The coffee vendor brought some flavored coffees and I made the Italian Delight. You’ve gotta try this,” Sam said as she worked. “We’re on our second pot.”

The way she angled her head had a familiar slant to it and déjà vu hit Anita with a pang of homesickness so sharp it cut her off at the knees. She stopped and stood there, let it wash over her. Diosmio, how many times had she walked into her old office like that and been offered coffee by her sister? And Sam looked a little like Maria, too, around the eyes.

Was Maria still the first from the family to arrive to the office each morning? Dee, Anita’s ex-secretary, had always come in late and left late, an arrangement she’d been happy to make for the single mother who needed the flextime to work around her babysitter’s schedule. Dee worked for her brother, Rob, now.

Anita wondered if Dee was in love with him yet. Dee had the habit of falling in love with the men around her. Unfortunately, they tended to use her then discard her. She couldn’t remember how many times this had happened since she’d known the young woman. But Dee dusted herself off each time then tried again. Some people accused her of being promiscuous for going after so many men. But Anita understood what was behind it all—a deep-seated, desperate need for love that she was always trying to find in all the wrong places.

Rob wouldn’t take advantage of that. He simply wasn’t that kind of guy. And Dee wasn’t Rob’s type, in any case.

Roberto, her oldest brother, handled safety at Pellegrino’s. Maria, the youngest of the four siblings, did human resources. Nigel, Maria’s husband, headed sales. Chris, the middle brother, just a year younger than Anita, worked IT. Anita had been responsible for the finance department. The rest of the directors were outsiders, hired for their skills, well paid and well appreciated, but the family definitely formed the driving force behind the business. They wanted to keep it like that for as long as possible.

On any given day, family members who were in the office would have coffee together in the morning, catching up before heading off to their individual departments. Pellegrino’s was a beehive compared to Savall, the difference between an established company and a struggling new one.

Pellegrino’s had more than two dozen employees in the office alone, in addition to the hundred or so construction workers and specialists they employed. They worked on several projects at a time, mostly residential. The hours were murder, but she wouldn’t have traded her job for anything. Although, William, the last man she’d been semi-seriously seeing, had tried to talk her into quitting often enough. He’d been jealous of the time she’d spent at work. He never understood her—one of the reasons why they had broken up eventually. Still, the relationship hadn’t been a complete wash. Her sister, Maria, met William’s brother, Nigel, and the two were blissfully married to this day.

Nigel didn’t resent the company like William had, instead, he became part of it. He understood that Pellegrino’s meant family to them, especially to Anita.

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