Looking for a new book of mine to read? Here's the first chapter of my contemporary romance, Tempting the Tycoon. I wrote it a couple years ago and am now considering it for publication. Check it out below, and then let me know what you think. Follow me, cerebral-1, so you won't miss reading the latest from me!
Chapter 1
“What the hell is this place, bro? We can’t even get through the damn door. This isn’t your usual style of watering hole.” Orrin Verga stopped at the crowded entrance to the unfamiliar bar and shot a disgusted look toward his older brother.
“Quit your whining, Orrin. You’ll get your infusion soon enough,” Alexios replied in a mild tone, pressing forward into the throng, his height allowing him to see over most everyone’s heads.
Jimmy’s Bar, where he and his brother were at this moment, was packed on a Thursday night, just like every other night Alexios had visited the past week. Since this was Las Vegas, that detail shouldn’t have been a surprise. But the fact that Jimmy’s was located nowhere near the Strip clanged bells in his head. It was a neighborhood pub, not some glitzy nightclub, yet there was standing room only. And Alexios wanted to know why. Needed to know why. His current lifestyle depended on that knowledge.
He pushed deeper into the crowd, eyes sweeping the environs in search of a table. His brother hated to stand and drink, and Alexios wasn’t a fan of the practice, either. And for this reconnaissance mission he preferred comfort.
The tables surrounding the packed dancefloor were all taken, while the oldies music blaring from high, corner speakers had the dancers gyrating on the floor like Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve. A roar from the rear of the place snagged Alexios’s attention, but it was just a group of guys around a pool table congratulating each other on a shot well-taken. Near them stood a couple playing darts and swigging beer, while a woman in jeans and a tube top kept yanking on an old time, one-armed-bandit like it was giving the money away.
“Found one,” Orrin announced, and Alexios turned to follow his younger brother to the round table he’d obtained near the dance floor. They both sank into the waiting chairs on twin groans.
A short, perky brunette waitress appeared at their sides almost immediately. Dressed in black pants and a black, button-down shirt opened to display a generous amount of cleavage, she slapped down two drink napkins. “Welcome to Jimmy’s, boys. What can I get you two?” She’d pitched her voice over “Mustang Sally” as it blasted from the speakers.
Alexios smiled at her, glancing over the well-stocked bar behind the bulging-with-people counter. “A single malt scotch, neat.” She raised her brows with a nod, then turned her attention to Orrin, who said, “A Guinness.”
Alexios blinked. Since when did Orrin order a Guinness? His brother’s taste ran to the more common, much to their mother’s distress. While Alexios preferred to follow in his parents’ footsteps throughout his life, Orrin, the more daring of the two of them, had been more apt to join the circus than a fraternity at Harvard. So, what was up with the specialty draught?
“Oh, she’s gonna love you, darlin’, ‘specially with the crowd she’s got hangin’ around her right now,” the chesty server said to Orrin with a grin. “Comin’ right up.” She turned and wove her way back to the bar, with stops at other tables along the way.
Alexios pinned his brother with a narrow-eyed look. “What’s with the Guinness? You drink any shit beer available.”
Orrin sat back with a satisfied grin. Oh, hell, Alexios thought. Here comes a rambling explanation for what should be a bullet-point answer.
“Well, bro. As I said earlier: you don’t frequent these kinds of joints. If it doesn’t have crystal chandeliers and a string quartet in the corner, you won’t step your Brooks Brothers shoes into it. While I, on the other hand--”
“Yes, we all know you’d make friends with the Tattooed Man from the circus.” Alexios tried like hell to cut Orrin’s long-winded explanation off. His brother shrugged with a nod, seeing the truth in the statement. Then he sat forward, all humor wiped from his face.
“I’m not stupid, Alex. I figure you’re here because of Papa’s ultimatum last week. Which you still haven’t told me about, by the way. Our lounge looks like a ghost town most nights. It stands to reason he’s not happy with that. And, although he wouldn’t be caught slumming down here, he’d really like the way this place is packing them in.
“I figure you’re seeing what makes this place popular. Doing your research, like a good little college grad. But I like this kind of research. Hell, I’ll even do your homework,” he concluded, glancing pointedly at their neighbors, who were downing their drinks as if Prohibition loomed.
Rolling his eyes, Alexios settled back in his chair and looked over at the bar. He couldn’t see past the throng surrounding it but knew from earlier visits that it was manned by a couple of bartenders, only one of whom he was interested.
His attention snapped back to Orrin as his brother leaned his elbows on the table and said, “What did Papa say the other day that had you slamming out of his office? It had to be something spectacular, because that’s usually my kind of exit.” Orrin grinned, and Alexios reluctantly returned one.
His brother was right. Of the two of them, Orrin typically left a meeting with the old man all fired up a lot more than he did. Orrin didn’t understand their parents’ old-fashioned ways, and butt heads with them because of it. He embraced everything American, while their parents clung to their homeland’s ways. Greek ways. Oh, they’d become American citizens, and immersed themselves in American business, even sent their sons to American schools, but “home” remained their country of birth.
Alexios got that, could see the importance of maintaining his culture, his birthright, even while he made his mark in America. He considered himself a Greek American, while Orrin comfortably dropped the Greek from his description.
But in this particular instance, their father was acting totally archaic, a throwback to their autocratic ancestors. Remove him from the helm of the Midas Touch casino and lounge? And make him work for his younger, more dissolute brother? Was he serious?
Unfortunately, Alexios knew he was.
Tugging now on the collar of his fitted dress shirt and loosening the knot of the matching tie, Alexios met his brother’s expectant look with a surly one of his own. And came clean.
“He told me he was disappointed in my performance as CEO of the entertainment side of the Midas Touch. He said revenues are down from last year’s numbers and continue to decline month to month. More people get free drinks at the slots than actually step foot in the lounge.” He took a deep breath at this juncture and looked around at the crowd.
The song “Cocaine,” by Eric Clapton, pounded out of the speakers now, and the people around the bar shouted in unison with fists in the air whenever they heard the word “cocaine.” It was a raucous gathering, and Alexios couldn’t help but feel the energetic vibe. It made him want to get up and join the throng, and he didn’t even like Oldies.
For once Orrin waited patiently for the end of his sentence. Alexios shifted restlessly in his chair. “He said that if I didn’t improve the lounge’s liquor sales and overall attendance, he would demote me and put you in charge.”
Now he met Orrin’s look, which was positively glittering with possible comebacks. Alexios readied for the expected quips by squaring his shoulders but was momentarily saved by the waitress’s reappearance with their orders.
She set the drinks down with a generic “Enjoy,” but Alexios impulsively reached out and grabbed her elbow. It was time to address the reason he’d come to Jimmy’s every night this week.
The waitress froze. She stared pointedly down at his tanned hand, which he immediately removed from her arm.
“My, apologies, miss.” He gave her a contrite smile to dissolve her ire. “I didn’t mean to manhandle you.” Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he pulled out a folded fifty-dollar bill and extended it to her. “If you would be so kind, could you fetch Ms. Hughes, the bartender, over here? I want to talk to her in relative privacy. There’s another of these for you if she does.” He widened his eyes. His mother always said that was his overly innocent look. But the waitress wouldn’t know that.
She glanced between him and Orrin, and then toward the bar. Finally, she took the money, stuffed it in her bra. Of course, she wouldn’t add it to the tip pool.
“I’ll relay your message, mister. But, as you can see, we’re mighty busy.” She started to step back. Alexios reached out and took her hand. Bent his head and kissed the back of it. “Give it a try. That’s all I ask.” He released her fingers and watched her stumble and turn away, the hand he’d kissed hanging limply at her side.
“Smooth move, Romeo,” Orrin snorted, lifting his perfectly poured Guinness. “What’s all that about?” He took a sip and nearly grunted with pleasure.
Raising his own glass and nosing his Scotch, Alexios replied in a bored tone, “I’m about to make Ms. Hughes an offer she can’t refuse.”
***
“Sydney, got a minute?”
“Just about that,” Sydney Hughes replied, wiping down the bar during a momentary lull between orders. She looked up at the waitress after tossing the rag aside, tugged down on her black vest, which she didn’t wear over anything more than a bra most nights. She’d found it easier to wipe spills off her skin than constantly working stains out of shirts. The bowtie around her neck was her humorous nod to formal dress. It certainly got the men’s attention.
“There’s a guy over at table twelve that wants to speak to you. He said he’d double-tip me if you actually went over and talked to him.”
Sydney rolled her eyes. Why was Tamara even telling her this? She wasn’t about to go sit on some drunk’s lap just so her waitress could keep her tip. Tamara certainly hadn’t offered to share the tip with her, had she? Of course, that might be because Sydney was the owner’s daughter.
“Is he a sleaze?” She now asked, trying to see through the patrons to table twelve, but there were just too many heads in the way. Tamara shook her head no.
“Business formal. Gorgeous suit, styled hair, and the sexiest bedroom eyes I’ve seen on a man.” Tamara looked down at one of her hands, and Sydney was surprised to see a guilty smile cross her face. This guy must be a real hottie, because Tamara was usually too jaded to be affected by any of their clients. That single fact made up her mind.
Heading to the lift-up pass-through, Sydney told the nearest of the other bartenders, “Taking five,” and joined Tamara on the other side of the bar. Squinting her eyes, she still couldn’t make out the occupants at table twelve.
“Alright, I’ll see what he wants. Come rescue me if I haven’t returned in five minutes.” She smoothed the blonde hair she’d pulled into a ponytail at the beginning of her shift and straightened her black apron before winding her way toward the man who’d manage to fluster Tamara.
Moving through the crowded room, she paused when she found an opening, studied the pair of men at table twelve. And felt her pulse quicken, though she didn’t know which of the two occupants she was confronting.
She could tell that, even sitting down, they were tall, dark and gorgeous. One slouched a bit in his chair. His maroon tie was untied, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and his thick hair looked like he’d run his fingers though it recently. His face was classically handsome, all its features symmetrical. She bet he joked a lot, for even from this distance she could see the humorous glint in his eyes, the smile lines bracketing his mouth. The Guinness she’d prepared a few minutes ago sat before him.
Her attention moved to his companion. He sat tall and straight in his chair, a very sophisticated glass of scotch before him. The good stuff, not from the well. She knew, because she’d poured it, too. While he’d loosened his tie like his companion, it still hung neatly around his neck, embracing the shirt collar he’d unbuttoned beneath it. The white expanse of shirt hinted at an impressive chest beneath it. Her eyes rose to his face, and their gazes collided. Her heart skipped a beat.
His look was penetrating. Sydney felt heat creep up her neck and into her face under his intense scrutiny. His stare seemed to go right through her. She was vaguely aware of his other, well-balanced features. The straight nose, the slash of an unsmiling mouth, but it was his dark eyes that held her in their depths. She felt as though he were pulling her toward him with his gaze. And she complied.
He never took his eyes off her as she approached. She saw his mouth move, though the music was too loud for her to hear what he said. But his companion looked toward her. And then they both rose to their feet.
She faltered slightly at their old-world manners, recovered and chastised herself for the misstep. She had to remember that she didn’t like being summoned, even if it was to a pair of Adonis’s.
“Evenin’, gents,” she said in her best southern drawl, dropping one negligent hand on the more conservative-looking man’s chair back. Her clumsy attempt at humor was more for her nerves than theirs. Unsmiling, both men dipped their heads in return. The shorter one snagged an empty chair with his foot from a table nearby, and indicated she sit in it.
“Thank you, Ms. Hughes, for agreeing to our request during your busiest time of the evening,” said the Ivy League one while she sat down. She promised herself it would only be for a moment, to satisfy her curiosity, as well as secure the extra tip for Tamara.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued, sitting down after she had settled in her chair. “My name is Alexios Verga, and this is my brother Orrin. We are co-CEO’s of the Midas Touch Hotel and Casino.”
Sydney raised one brow. The Midas Touch? Those gilded, twin high rises whose adjoining parking lot and grounds sprawled over several city blocks? The newest entrant in the Strip’s race for tourist gold? There was serious money involved there, and these two were at the helm. What were they doing rubbing elbows with the working class here at Jimmy’s?
Alexios, the one whose intent gaze made her pulse trip uncontrollably, seemed to be waiting for a reaction. Sydney schooled her features into polite interest, even as she took in his dark hair combed into a short, cosmopolitan cut, and those full lips that didn’t look like they smiled as often as his brother’s. He was definitely the business end of the pair.
Finally she looked back into those slumberous, sexy eyes. “Well, if I’m busy, you should be as well. So how did you manage to get the time to come over into my neck of the woods?”
A snort from the brother had Sydney glancing over at him, but he’d hidden behind the up-ended glass of Guinness. She looked back at Alexios Verga and saw his jaw tighten while his long-lashed eyes narrowed in response to his brother’s inelegant reply. In a second his features returned to that polite, urbane façade he’d up to now been maintaining.
“That is exactly what I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Really,” she said with some sarcasm. A shout from the bar grabbed their attention, but it was simply a group response to the basketball game being played on the TV behind the counter. Sydney took the moment to try and guess why these two handsome, obviously rich casino owners would want to talk to her.
Her first thought was that they were interested in the land Jimmy’s sat on. But that was unlikely, being so far from the Strip as it was. Though you never knew with these rich types. They could be choosing to—what was it called?--diversify their investments, and owning a business in an “up and coming neighborhood” might be what they were looking for.
Well, she had news for them. Even if Jimmy’s really belonged to her dad, she was well-acquainted with being his mouthpiece. And she’d definitely share her thoughts on that subject.
“The Midas Touch’s lounge needs a facelift,” began Bedroom Eyes, as she’d already begun to call the more intense brother in her head. The one that managed to flutter her heartbeat like she was some young Southern belle, instead of a twenty-eight-year-old bartender working in her dad’s pub.
“Be real, bro. The Midas’s lounge is on life support,” the other one, Orrin, slammed his empty glass on the table and sat forward. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the one called Alexios jerk his head slightly, like he didn’t want his brother to say what he just had. But she’d already heard.
Their lounge was going belly up? These two silver spoon graduates couldn’t make a go of their business? So, what did they want with her? Yes, she had a degree in hospitality management, but they didn’t know that. And they wouldn’t, if she had anything to say about it. Call her a reverse snob but helping the “haves” when you were one of the “have not’s” just didn’t sound right.
“What my younger brother is trying to say is that I’m in the process of reinventing our lounge,” Alexios smoothly amended, emphasizing the word younger with a flash of his eyes at Orrin.
“What’s that have to do with me? I’m your competition, of sorts,” Sydney asked. And received a scorching once-over from Alexios that sucked the air out of her lungs. Her stomach clenched, her face heated. Even her nipples tightened in response to the feel of his lingering gaze upon her face. It was like he’d physically touched her.
“We are no competition of yours, Ms. Hughes. Trust me, we would come up a distant second.
“No, I have heard good things about you, and, having watched you this past week, have seen even better with my own eyes. You’re not just a bartender. You’re an entertainer.” Alexios sat back in his chair. Lifted his scotch and gently swirled it in the glass while watching it.
Sydney’s mind whirled much as the scotch did. Her body’s reaction to Alexios Verga’s predatory survey of her faded as his words sank in. He’d been here, in her establishment this whole week? Watching her? Why? He wasn’t some white-collar stalker, was he?
As if reading her mind, he put down his glass and leaned forward. Snared her in that piercing gaze of his. He was so close she could see the faint shadow of evening whiskers along his jaw, though his skin looked smooth to the touch. She blinked her eyes back into focus.
“The Midas Touch needs your brand of showmanship, Ms. Hughes. And I’m prepared to make you a very lucrative offer in exchange for your expertise during the next six months.” Without looking away from her, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a pen and piece of paper. He wrote something down, folded the paper and slid it across the table toward her. She stared down at it, his words still a jumble in her head.
“Go on, look at it. I’m eager to hear how much my dear brother needs you.”
“Shut up, Orrin.”
Sydney glanced up at the squabbling brothers before reaching out and pulling the quarter sheet toward her. Opening it, she barely stifled the gasp of shock from the number he’d printed and raised her eyes to gape at Alexios.
“You—you must have made a mistake,” she stammered into his half-smiling face. “That number is for headliners, not bartenders.”
The younger Verga slipped the offer from beneath her nerveless fingers. He pursed his lips and whistled as he read it, before Alexios snatched it out of his hand and returned it to her with a growl of displeasure toward his sibling.
“He wants you a lot,” Orrin said, unperturbed. “But then, the place needs a serious transfusion. It looks more like a retirement home rec center most nights.” While she stared at him, mind trying to grasp what was transpiring and not liking her first reaction, which was elation, Orrin Verga interrupted himself. “Can you really flip bottles behind your back and catch them? Or pour drinks blindfolded?”
“She’s not a circus act, numb nuts,” Alexios snapped, biting off his sentence and looking at her in embarrassment for his knee-jerk crudity. But Sydney ignored his lapse. The offer still stunned her.
She wouldn’t make the number he’d written in a year. Granted, Jimmy’s brought in that type of money on a monthly basis. She and her father should be living like the heirs to the Midas Touch. But her parents had borrowed against Jimmy’s for her education, and then her mother’s failed cancer treatments had sucked up the rest of their profits. They were up to their eyeballs in debt.
For just one moment she thought, this is the answer to their prayers. Bartending at the Midas Touch for six months would solve all her father’s financial woes. And she’d be helping him. But then she recalled how her father looked earlier this evening, hunched over his desk, running the reorder numbers and grumbling about the rising prices of booze. How his graying hair had thinned, and that his hands and face seemed to grow more lines every night. And she bit her lip at the memory.
As much as she’d love to work at the Midas Touch, as much as she’d like to help her father pay off their debts faster, if she left Jimmy’s her dad would have to go back behind the bar. They just didn’t have the money to hire a replacement for her. And she didn’t want her father working harder than he already did.
So, swallowing the huge lump of disappointment that had lodged in her throat, Sydney pushed the note back toward Alexios Verga and stood. Both men rose to their feet as well, but she didn’t give them time to speak first.
Meeting the older brother’s eyes, she prepared for the jolt of awareness when their gazes met. “Thank you very much for the generous offer, Mr. Verga, but I must decline it. I prefer to work where I am appreciated for who I am, and not just for what I can do for your bottom line. Besides, my father needs me here. Good evening, gentlemen.”
With a tight little nod in both their directions, she turned and strode back to the bar, feeling their gazes hot on her back all the way.
As she passed Tamara with a loaded tray she told her, “You can go get your extra tip from table twelve now.” Then she returned to her place behind the bar. After snatching up one of the cherries awaiting a rum and coke, she popped it into her mouth to sweeten the sour taste of discontent that hadn’t quite left her mouth.
Chapter 1
“What the hell is this place, bro? We can’t even get through the damn door. This isn’t your usual style of watering hole.” Orrin Verga stopped at the crowded entrance to the unfamiliar bar and shot a disgusted look toward his older brother.
“Quit your whining, Orrin. You’ll get your infusion soon enough,” Alexios replied in a mild tone, pressing forward into the throng, his height allowing him to see over most everyone’s heads.
Jimmy’s Bar, where he and his brother were at this moment, was packed on a Thursday night, just like every other night Alexios had visited the past week. Since this was Las Vegas, that detail shouldn’t have been a surprise. But the fact that Jimmy’s was located nowhere near the Strip clanged bells in his head. It was a neighborhood pub, not some glitzy nightclub, yet there was standing room only. And Alexios wanted to know why. Needed to know why. His current lifestyle depended on that knowledge.
He pushed deeper into the crowd, eyes sweeping the environs in search of a table. His brother hated to stand and drink, and Alexios wasn’t a fan of the practice, either. And for this reconnaissance mission he preferred comfort.
The tables surrounding the packed dancefloor were all taken, while the oldies music blaring from high, corner speakers had the dancers gyrating on the floor like Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve. A roar from the rear of the place snagged Alexios’s attention, but it was just a group of guys around a pool table congratulating each other on a shot well-taken. Near them stood a couple playing darts and swigging beer, while a woman in jeans and a tube top kept yanking on an old time, one-armed-bandit like it was giving the money away.
“Found one,” Orrin announced, and Alexios turned to follow his younger brother to the round table he’d obtained near the dance floor. They both sank into the waiting chairs on twin groans.
A short, perky brunette waitress appeared at their sides almost immediately. Dressed in black pants and a black, button-down shirt opened to display a generous amount of cleavage, she slapped down two drink napkins. “Welcome to Jimmy’s, boys. What can I get you two?” She’d pitched her voice over “Mustang Sally” as it blasted from the speakers.
Alexios smiled at her, glancing over the well-stocked bar behind the bulging-with-people counter. “A single malt scotch, neat.” She raised her brows with a nod, then turned her attention to Orrin, who said, “A Guinness.”
Alexios blinked. Since when did Orrin order a Guinness? His brother’s taste ran to the more common, much to their mother’s distress. While Alexios preferred to follow in his parents’ footsteps throughout his life, Orrin, the more daring of the two of them, had been more apt to join the circus than a fraternity at Harvard. So, what was up with the specialty draught?
“Oh, she’s gonna love you, darlin’, ‘specially with the crowd she’s got hangin’ around her right now,” the chesty server said to Orrin with a grin. “Comin’ right up.” She turned and wove her way back to the bar, with stops at other tables along the way.
Alexios pinned his brother with a narrow-eyed look. “What’s with the Guinness? You drink any shit beer available.”
Orrin sat back with a satisfied grin. Oh, hell, Alexios thought. Here comes a rambling explanation for what should be a bullet-point answer.
“Well, bro. As I said earlier: you don’t frequent these kinds of joints. If it doesn’t have crystal chandeliers and a string quartet in the corner, you won’t step your Brooks Brothers shoes into it. While I, on the other hand--”
“Yes, we all know you’d make friends with the Tattooed Man from the circus.” Alexios tried like hell to cut Orrin’s long-winded explanation off. His brother shrugged with a nod, seeing the truth in the statement. Then he sat forward, all humor wiped from his face.
“I’m not stupid, Alex. I figure you’re here because of Papa’s ultimatum last week. Which you still haven’t told me about, by the way. Our lounge looks like a ghost town most nights. It stands to reason he’s not happy with that. And, although he wouldn’t be caught slumming down here, he’d really like the way this place is packing them in.
“I figure you’re seeing what makes this place popular. Doing your research, like a good little college grad. But I like this kind of research. Hell, I’ll even do your homework,” he concluded, glancing pointedly at their neighbors, who were downing their drinks as if Prohibition loomed.
Rolling his eyes, Alexios settled back in his chair and looked over at the bar. He couldn’t see past the throng surrounding it but knew from earlier visits that it was manned by a couple of bartenders, only one of whom he was interested.
His attention snapped back to Orrin as his brother leaned his elbows on the table and said, “What did Papa say the other day that had you slamming out of his office? It had to be something spectacular, because that’s usually my kind of exit.” Orrin grinned, and Alexios reluctantly returned one.
His brother was right. Of the two of them, Orrin typically left a meeting with the old man all fired up a lot more than he did. Orrin didn’t understand their parents’ old-fashioned ways, and butt heads with them because of it. He embraced everything American, while their parents clung to their homeland’s ways. Greek ways. Oh, they’d become American citizens, and immersed themselves in American business, even sent their sons to American schools, but “home” remained their country of birth.
Alexios got that, could see the importance of maintaining his culture, his birthright, even while he made his mark in America. He considered himself a Greek American, while Orrin comfortably dropped the Greek from his description.
But in this particular instance, their father was acting totally archaic, a throwback to their autocratic ancestors. Remove him from the helm of the Midas Touch casino and lounge? And make him work for his younger, more dissolute brother? Was he serious?
Unfortunately, Alexios knew he was.
Tugging now on the collar of his fitted dress shirt and loosening the knot of the matching tie, Alexios met his brother’s expectant look with a surly one of his own. And came clean.
“He told me he was disappointed in my performance as CEO of the entertainment side of the Midas Touch. He said revenues are down from last year’s numbers and continue to decline month to month. More people get free drinks at the slots than actually step foot in the lounge.” He took a deep breath at this juncture and looked around at the crowd.
The song “Cocaine,” by Eric Clapton, pounded out of the speakers now, and the people around the bar shouted in unison with fists in the air whenever they heard the word “cocaine.” It was a raucous gathering, and Alexios couldn’t help but feel the energetic vibe. It made him want to get up and join the throng, and he didn’t even like Oldies.
For once Orrin waited patiently for the end of his sentence. Alexios shifted restlessly in his chair. “He said that if I didn’t improve the lounge’s liquor sales and overall attendance, he would demote me and put you in charge.”
Now he met Orrin’s look, which was positively glittering with possible comebacks. Alexios readied for the expected quips by squaring his shoulders but was momentarily saved by the waitress’s reappearance with their orders.
She set the drinks down with a generic “Enjoy,” but Alexios impulsively reached out and grabbed her elbow. It was time to address the reason he’d come to Jimmy’s every night this week.
The waitress froze. She stared pointedly down at his tanned hand, which he immediately removed from her arm.
“My, apologies, miss.” He gave her a contrite smile to dissolve her ire. “I didn’t mean to manhandle you.” Reaching into his inner coat pocket, he pulled out a folded fifty-dollar bill and extended it to her. “If you would be so kind, could you fetch Ms. Hughes, the bartender, over here? I want to talk to her in relative privacy. There’s another of these for you if she does.” He widened his eyes. His mother always said that was his overly innocent look. But the waitress wouldn’t know that.
She glanced between him and Orrin, and then toward the bar. Finally, she took the money, stuffed it in her bra. Of course, she wouldn’t add it to the tip pool.
“I’ll relay your message, mister. But, as you can see, we’re mighty busy.” She started to step back. Alexios reached out and took her hand. Bent his head and kissed the back of it. “Give it a try. That’s all I ask.” He released her fingers and watched her stumble and turn away, the hand he’d kissed hanging limply at her side.
“Smooth move, Romeo,” Orrin snorted, lifting his perfectly poured Guinness. “What’s all that about?” He took a sip and nearly grunted with pleasure.
Raising his own glass and nosing his Scotch, Alexios replied in a bored tone, “I’m about to make Ms. Hughes an offer she can’t refuse.”
***
“Sydney, got a minute?”
“Just about that,” Sydney Hughes replied, wiping down the bar during a momentary lull between orders. She looked up at the waitress after tossing the rag aside, tugged down on her black vest, which she didn’t wear over anything more than a bra most nights. She’d found it easier to wipe spills off her skin than constantly working stains out of shirts. The bowtie around her neck was her humorous nod to formal dress. It certainly got the men’s attention.
“There’s a guy over at table twelve that wants to speak to you. He said he’d double-tip me if you actually went over and talked to him.”
Sydney rolled her eyes. Why was Tamara even telling her this? She wasn’t about to go sit on some drunk’s lap just so her waitress could keep her tip. Tamara certainly hadn’t offered to share the tip with her, had she? Of course, that might be because Sydney was the owner’s daughter.
“Is he a sleaze?” She now asked, trying to see through the patrons to table twelve, but there were just too many heads in the way. Tamara shook her head no.
“Business formal. Gorgeous suit, styled hair, and the sexiest bedroom eyes I’ve seen on a man.” Tamara looked down at one of her hands, and Sydney was surprised to see a guilty smile cross her face. This guy must be a real hottie, because Tamara was usually too jaded to be affected by any of their clients. That single fact made up her mind.
Heading to the lift-up pass-through, Sydney told the nearest of the other bartenders, “Taking five,” and joined Tamara on the other side of the bar. Squinting her eyes, she still couldn’t make out the occupants at table twelve.
“Alright, I’ll see what he wants. Come rescue me if I haven’t returned in five minutes.” She smoothed the blonde hair she’d pulled into a ponytail at the beginning of her shift and straightened her black apron before winding her way toward the man who’d manage to fluster Tamara.
Moving through the crowded room, she paused when she found an opening, studied the pair of men at table twelve. And felt her pulse quicken, though she didn’t know which of the two occupants she was confronting.
She could tell that, even sitting down, they were tall, dark and gorgeous. One slouched a bit in his chair. His maroon tie was untied, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and his thick hair looked like he’d run his fingers though it recently. His face was classically handsome, all its features symmetrical. She bet he joked a lot, for even from this distance she could see the humorous glint in his eyes, the smile lines bracketing his mouth. The Guinness she’d prepared a few minutes ago sat before him.
Her attention moved to his companion. He sat tall and straight in his chair, a very sophisticated glass of scotch before him. The good stuff, not from the well. She knew, because she’d poured it, too. While he’d loosened his tie like his companion, it still hung neatly around his neck, embracing the shirt collar he’d unbuttoned beneath it. The white expanse of shirt hinted at an impressive chest beneath it. Her eyes rose to his face, and their gazes collided. Her heart skipped a beat.
His look was penetrating. Sydney felt heat creep up her neck and into her face under his intense scrutiny. His stare seemed to go right through her. She was vaguely aware of his other, well-balanced features. The straight nose, the slash of an unsmiling mouth, but it was his dark eyes that held her in their depths. She felt as though he were pulling her toward him with his gaze. And she complied.
He never took his eyes off her as she approached. She saw his mouth move, though the music was too loud for her to hear what he said. But his companion looked toward her. And then they both rose to their feet.
She faltered slightly at their old-world manners, recovered and chastised herself for the misstep. She had to remember that she didn’t like being summoned, even if it was to a pair of Adonis’s.
“Evenin’, gents,” she said in her best southern drawl, dropping one negligent hand on the more conservative-looking man’s chair back. Her clumsy attempt at humor was more for her nerves than theirs. Unsmiling, both men dipped their heads in return. The shorter one snagged an empty chair with his foot from a table nearby, and indicated she sit in it.
“Thank you, Ms. Hughes, for agreeing to our request during your busiest time of the evening,” said the Ivy League one while she sat down. She promised herself it would only be for a moment, to satisfy her curiosity, as well as secure the extra tip for Tamara.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he continued, sitting down after she had settled in her chair. “My name is Alexios Verga, and this is my brother Orrin. We are co-CEO’s of the Midas Touch Hotel and Casino.”
Sydney raised one brow. The Midas Touch? Those gilded, twin high rises whose adjoining parking lot and grounds sprawled over several city blocks? The newest entrant in the Strip’s race for tourist gold? There was serious money involved there, and these two were at the helm. What were they doing rubbing elbows with the working class here at Jimmy’s?
Alexios, the one whose intent gaze made her pulse trip uncontrollably, seemed to be waiting for a reaction. Sydney schooled her features into polite interest, even as she took in his dark hair combed into a short, cosmopolitan cut, and those full lips that didn’t look like they smiled as often as his brother’s. He was definitely the business end of the pair.
Finally she looked back into those slumberous, sexy eyes. “Well, if I’m busy, you should be as well. So how did you manage to get the time to come over into my neck of the woods?”
A snort from the brother had Sydney glancing over at him, but he’d hidden behind the up-ended glass of Guinness. She looked back at Alexios Verga and saw his jaw tighten while his long-lashed eyes narrowed in response to his brother’s inelegant reply. In a second his features returned to that polite, urbane façade he’d up to now been maintaining.
“That is exactly what I wanted to discuss with you.”
“Really,” she said with some sarcasm. A shout from the bar grabbed their attention, but it was simply a group response to the basketball game being played on the TV behind the counter. Sydney took the moment to try and guess why these two handsome, obviously rich casino owners would want to talk to her.
Her first thought was that they were interested in the land Jimmy’s sat on. But that was unlikely, being so far from the Strip as it was. Though you never knew with these rich types. They could be choosing to—what was it called?--diversify their investments, and owning a business in an “up and coming neighborhood” might be what they were looking for.
Well, she had news for them. Even if Jimmy’s really belonged to her dad, she was well-acquainted with being his mouthpiece. And she’d definitely share her thoughts on that subject.
“The Midas Touch’s lounge needs a facelift,” began Bedroom Eyes, as she’d already begun to call the more intense brother in her head. The one that managed to flutter her heartbeat like she was some young Southern belle, instead of a twenty-eight-year-old bartender working in her dad’s pub.
“Be real, bro. The Midas’s lounge is on life support,” the other one, Orrin, slammed his empty glass on the table and sat forward. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the one called Alexios jerk his head slightly, like he didn’t want his brother to say what he just had. But she’d already heard.
Their lounge was going belly up? These two silver spoon graduates couldn’t make a go of their business? So, what did they want with her? Yes, she had a degree in hospitality management, but they didn’t know that. And they wouldn’t, if she had anything to say about it. Call her a reverse snob but helping the “haves” when you were one of the “have not’s” just didn’t sound right.
“What my younger brother is trying to say is that I’m in the process of reinventing our lounge,” Alexios smoothly amended, emphasizing the word younger with a flash of his eyes at Orrin.
“What’s that have to do with me? I’m your competition, of sorts,” Sydney asked. And received a scorching once-over from Alexios that sucked the air out of her lungs. Her stomach clenched, her face heated. Even her nipples tightened in response to the feel of his lingering gaze upon her face. It was like he’d physically touched her.
“We are no competition of yours, Ms. Hughes. Trust me, we would come up a distant second.
“No, I have heard good things about you, and, having watched you this past week, have seen even better with my own eyes. You’re not just a bartender. You’re an entertainer.” Alexios sat back in his chair. Lifted his scotch and gently swirled it in the glass while watching it.
Sydney’s mind whirled much as the scotch did. Her body’s reaction to Alexios Verga’s predatory survey of her faded as his words sank in. He’d been here, in her establishment this whole week? Watching her? Why? He wasn’t some white-collar stalker, was he?
As if reading her mind, he put down his glass and leaned forward. Snared her in that piercing gaze of his. He was so close she could see the faint shadow of evening whiskers along his jaw, though his skin looked smooth to the touch. She blinked her eyes back into focus.
“The Midas Touch needs your brand of showmanship, Ms. Hughes. And I’m prepared to make you a very lucrative offer in exchange for your expertise during the next six months.” Without looking away from her, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a pen and piece of paper. He wrote something down, folded the paper and slid it across the table toward her. She stared down at it, his words still a jumble in her head.
“Go on, look at it. I’m eager to hear how much my dear brother needs you.”
“Shut up, Orrin.”
Sydney glanced up at the squabbling brothers before reaching out and pulling the quarter sheet toward her. Opening it, she barely stifled the gasp of shock from the number he’d printed and raised her eyes to gape at Alexios.
“You—you must have made a mistake,” she stammered into his half-smiling face. “That number is for headliners, not bartenders.”
The younger Verga slipped the offer from beneath her nerveless fingers. He pursed his lips and whistled as he read it, before Alexios snatched it out of his hand and returned it to her with a growl of displeasure toward his sibling.
“He wants you a lot,” Orrin said, unperturbed. “But then, the place needs a serious transfusion. It looks more like a retirement home rec center most nights.” While she stared at him, mind trying to grasp what was transpiring and not liking her first reaction, which was elation, Orrin Verga interrupted himself. “Can you really flip bottles behind your back and catch them? Or pour drinks blindfolded?”
“She’s not a circus act, numb nuts,” Alexios snapped, biting off his sentence and looking at her in embarrassment for his knee-jerk crudity. But Sydney ignored his lapse. The offer still stunned her.
She wouldn’t make the number he’d written in a year. Granted, Jimmy’s brought in that type of money on a monthly basis. She and her father should be living like the heirs to the Midas Touch. But her parents had borrowed against Jimmy’s for her education, and then her mother’s failed cancer treatments had sucked up the rest of their profits. They were up to their eyeballs in debt.
For just one moment she thought, this is the answer to their prayers. Bartending at the Midas Touch for six months would solve all her father’s financial woes. And she’d be helping him. But then she recalled how her father looked earlier this evening, hunched over his desk, running the reorder numbers and grumbling about the rising prices of booze. How his graying hair had thinned, and that his hands and face seemed to grow more lines every night. And she bit her lip at the memory.
As much as she’d love to work at the Midas Touch, as much as she’d like to help her father pay off their debts faster, if she left Jimmy’s her dad would have to go back behind the bar. They just didn’t have the money to hire a replacement for her. And she didn’t want her father working harder than he already did.
So, swallowing the huge lump of disappointment that had lodged in her throat, Sydney pushed the note back toward Alexios Verga and stood. Both men rose to their feet as well, but she didn’t give them time to speak first.
Meeting the older brother’s eyes, she prepared for the jolt of awareness when their gazes met. “Thank you very much for the generous offer, Mr. Verga, but I must decline it. I prefer to work where I am appreciated for who I am, and not just for what I can do for your bottom line. Besides, my father needs me here. Good evening, gentlemen.”
With a tight little nod in both their directions, she turned and strode back to the bar, feeling their gazes hot on her back all the way.
As she passed Tamara with a loaded tray she told her, “You can go get your extra tip from table twelve now.” Then she returned to her place behind the bar. After snatching up one of the cherries awaiting a rum and coke, she popped it into her mouth to sweeten the sour taste of discontent that hadn’t quite left her mouth.
***FREE FIRST CHAPTER BELOW***
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Prologue
Kabul, Afghanistan
Three years ago
It didn’t feel right.
Sergeant Cameron Harris glanced at his companion, fellow soldier Brett Gates. Was he getting the same creepy vibe from being in this back alley? Cameron couldn’t tell. The two Afghans they were interrogating were talkative enough, spilling the beans about every arms dealer in the city who had ties with the Taliban. The fact that they knew so much wasn’t comforting Cameron like it should. Something felt off.
He picked up most of what they were saying, but Brett was the real translator star here, taking the lead on this mission. He spoke the language like a native, while Cameron provided back up, with his height and breadth, as well as the M4 carbine cradled against his chest. He studied his surroundings again.
This area of the city was usually pretty safe. That’s why they’d chosen to meet these two scrawny assholes here, and had instructed Ross and Jimenez, the other two guys in their detail, to stay with the Hummer. But Cameron couldn’t shake his uneasiness. Over the years he’d learned to listen to his gut. It had saved him countless times, and he’d grown to count on it. Not family. Not friends. He’d learned that hard truth on his tenth birthday, when his father committed suicide while Cam and his friends celebrated outside. He’d learned it again when he was ostracized afterward.
So, yeah, nowadays his gut was the only thing he trusted. And today it was telling him this meet-and-greet was off-kilter.
Sweat dribbled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He swiped it away with a gloved hand. Damn, it was hot as hell in this shithole country. And it stank of animal crap, human waste, rotten food, and unwashed bodies. Sand blew everywhere, coating your lips, irritating your eyes, and filling your pores. Cameron could hardly wait for this tour of duty to end. He’d take a shower for a year when he got stateside.
How the hell Brett managed to look like he’d just unwrapped his uniform from the cleaners was beyond him. Cam could wring sweat from his camo, while Brett didn’t have perspiration stains at all. The guys were forever ribbing him that he hadn’t found a mirror he didn’t like. The good-natured teasing annoyed Brett at times, but right now Cam wished he looked, and smelled, half as good as his buddy.
After shooting another assessing look around, he returned his attention to the Afghan informants. According to them, the insurgents were abandoning this part of Kabul. Good news, but Cameron wasn’t sure if he believed them. He’d bet Brett sure as hell didn’t, either. There were too many factions wanting to claim victory in this area of the world. Cameron had seen peace erupt into war too many times to believe it had finally come to stay.
It was late afternoon, and the buildings cast eerie shadows along the ground and over the Afghan men’s faces. They resembled bearded Scream figures. Cameron’s skin crawled at the comparison, and he rolled his shoulders. More sweat rolled between his shoulder blades. He was thankful for the Kevlar vest he wore, but damned if it wasn’t like wearing a portable sauna.
“No, no, no, no.” His attention shot to the huddle before him, fingers tightening on his M4. One of the men was overriding Brett’s question, stepping into his personal space to emphasize whatever the hell he was saying. Brett pushed him back with a sharp command in Pashto, and Cameron moved to Brett’s side, jerking his M4 at the man. The guy wisely retreated. Cameron looked at the Hummer, nodded at Jimenez, who straightened behind the gun turret. Ross remained behind the wheel. Their vigilant demeanor reassured him. A little.
Enough was enough. Cameron addressed Brett without looking at him, his attention riveted on the informants, who shifted their sandaled feet, pebbles crunching loudly under their soles. “Are you getting anything worthwhile here, Brett? ’Cuz I’m having a bad feeling. I think we should pop smoke and drag their asses back to base.”
“Give me a minute,” Brett tossed back, breaking into a long question about where the gun runners had been seen last. Cameron licked his lips, tasted sand, and seethed. He couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding. Cocking his hip, he looked to his right. His muscles tensed, and he gripped his carbine tighter. Was that movement behind the charred remains of the Fiat across the street? Hadn’t he already surveilled that tin can skeleton when they’d first arrived? He shook his head. Shit, he was as jumpy as a virgin in a strip club.
As he turned his head, he saw the shorter, skinnier Afghan nod, and Cameron’s gaze narrowed. It hadn’t been a full-blown nod, not by a long shot. Just a tiny head movement, almost like ducking a buzzing fly. And Lord knew there were a shit-ton of those little bastards flying around. Keeping his gaze trained on the shorter informant, Cameron tuned in to Brett’s latest inquiry.
“What kind of weapons did you see?” Brett was asking in flawless Pashto. By his impatient undertone, it wasn’t the first time he’d posed the question. And a response sure as hell wouldn’t include a nod. Cameron reached out a gloved hand to tap Brett on the arm and warn him when the rat-a-tat-tat of a heavy machine gun exploded from the blown-out building to their right.
“Ambush!” Cameron yelled, lunging toward the two informants. Both men ran in different directions, a planned escape maneuver for sure. While Brett pulled his pistol, Cameron scrambled to the side, firing off rounds toward where the initial attack had come from.
More machine gun fire erupted, this time from Jimenez on the Hummer’s turret. Return fire popped from the top of a rattletrap jeep barreling down the alley. They were surrounded, all avenues of escape blocked.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. He and Brett had planned this right to the time of day, when most people were inside because of the heat. All Brett’s intel had corroborated what he believed: that these two informants were legit. Well, that sure as shit wasn’t true.
Cameron’s heartbeat drummed in his ears, a countdown to their slaughter. Each inhale through his mouth was harsher than the last as he tried to come up with a getaway plan from this shit-show. They were fish in a barrel, waiting to be picked off unless they thought of something. While they had plenty of rounds between the four of them, these guys, being arms dealers, had an unending supply.
“Take out the jeep!” Brett shouted to Jimenez, who crouched behind the turret, doing exactly what Brett yelled. Spent cartridges flew like Pez as he riddled the oncoming attackers with the Humvee’s .50 cal. And still gunfire peppered them from above.
Cameron squinted upward, the glint from the lowering sun blinding him. Periodic muzzle flashes had him pinpointing their attackers’ location, and he returned fire. He was rewarded with muffled screams as his bullets found their mark.
A strangled cry from the Humvee whipped his head around. Jimenez was slumped over the .50 cal. Ross clambered over the driver’s seat, dragging Jimenez down from the gun. Cameron had no idea if their comrade was dead or wounded, but the sight of his limp body plus Ross’s panic-laced obscenities sent a cold wave of fury through him.
“Brett, Jimenez is hit,” he shouted. Brett squatted in a doorway to Cameron’s left, trying his best to pick off the bastards in the jeep. It was parked crosswise, blocking escape from the alleyway, and its occupants returned fire. Their objective was plain: annihilate the U.S. soldiers.
The .50 cal erupted into life again, this time with Ross at the helm. He was out for vengeance, the way he was riddling the ambushers’ jeep. There was no way they were going down without taking the bastards with them. Defeat wasn’t an option. Like hell if Cameron was going to let them have their severed heads for mementos.
“Hit the engine,” he roared. If they concentrated their fire power in the jeep’s one vulnerable spot, they might be able to make an explosion. It was worth the try. Apparently, their attackers thought so, too, for they bailed from it like roaches in lamplight, just as one of Ross’s rounds hit home. There was a ping! And a whoosh, and then a burst of flame as the gas and oil ignited.
“Hoo-ah!” All three of them shouted, brandishing their weapons above their heads as their ambushers’ jeep erupted into a ball of fire. The heat from the blast surged across the distance, singeing Cameron’s eyebrows and lips. It was a glorious sensation, seeing the bastards on the run.
With no volleys from above, Cameron had to assume those attackers had ghosted them, too, but caution was needed. He’d learned never to assume anything in combat. That brought you home in a body bag.
The silence was deafening. The flames from the engine fire licked higher. All three of them remained crouched, frozen in position, only their eyes moving as they surveilled the battle zone. That’s why Cameron had chosen these men for this Intelligence gathering mission. They worked well together as a unit. They were like a family. Damn it all to hell if Jimenez had bit the big one.
Thinking of Jimenez reminded Cameron they needed to hit the road and head back to base. He caught Ross’s attention, gratified when that man read his mind and started the Humvee rolling toward him. Still no IDF, indirect fire from their unseen attackers, so Cameron and Brett rose and moved toward Ross.
The sound of running feet warned Cameron a micro-second before someone yelled, grabbing him from behind. Strong arms trapped him, one around the neck, the other around his waist, pinning his right hand, which grasped his M4, to his side.
“Get off me!” Cam growled, swinging around in a circle to try and shake off his attacker. He heard the Humvee’s engine rev as Ross drove closer. Brett shouted. The man on Cameron’s back reeked of body odor, tobacco, and nitro. That meant he was one of their shooters.
A blade flashed in his attacker’s fist. Cameron grabbed the man’s arm with his left hand, squeezing and squeezing, digging his fingers into the thin flesh of the guy’s wrist, hoping the bastard would drop the knife. And then Brett was there, pulling on the SOB.
“He’s got a knife, Brett!” Cameron warned, wondering what the hell was taking Ross so long to join them.
“Let go of him so I can pull him off,” Brett ordered, and Cameron released his grip. The next instant he felt the weight on his back lighten, right before the blade glinted and sliced toward his neck. Cameron reared back, but not far enough. The sting of the blade slashed across his chin before Brett threw the bastard to the ground, after clipping him on the chin with a right hook. The guy slumped over.
Blood dripped from the slash, spattering in the sand at Cameron’s feet. He grabbed his chin with both hands, amazed at how much blood seeped into his gloves, over his fingers like a crimson waterfall. Astonished also at how this jackass had managed to get the drop on him. He was always cautious, so careful that some of the other guys called him “Old Man.” How had this happened? He’d dropped his guard, that’s how. He was paying for that lapse now.
He stared at the widening puddle on the ground, shifting his bleary gaze to his left as he swayed in that direction. He could hear Brett and Ross swearing by the Humvee, wanted to ask why. And then movement on the ground caught his wayward attention. He saw his attacker rise into a sitting position, one arm behind his back. That puzzled him as his vision grayed around the edges. Hadn’t Brett KO’d the bastard?
The guy pulled out a Sig and aimed it at him. It was like being in a shooter video game, only Cam couldn’t move, couldn’t make some superhero jump to safety. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, tried to lunge forward, but his feet were made of cement. And his blood continued to pool in the sand as he waited for the round to explode inside him.
The impact never happened. Just when he thought his life was over, that he hadn’t completed even a quarter of the goals he’d set for himself, someone shoved him to the ground, not too difficult to manage since he’d been swaying in place like an elephant. He saw stars when he hit the ground, the jolt jarring his wounded chin.
Opening his eyes, he found Brett straddling him like an angry guardian angel, shoulders squared, fists clenched at his sides. In Cam’s current state of confusion, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see a glowing aura circling his friend. His savior. Brett was the only thing standing between him and death.
They were in clear sight of the enemy, no cover available. As if in slow motion, his friend pulled his sidearm and emptied it into Cam’s attacker. The guy’s body jerked like a puppet on a string. And then it lay still. Silence reigned once more, except for their harsh breathing.
Holstering his weapon, Brett turned and grabbed one of Cam’s forearms, pulling him upright. Cam raised his gaze, tried to focus on Brett. Two Bretts, maybe three. He shook his head to clear his vision. He needed to say something soulful, something weighted with the gratitude that swelled inside him. All he managed to convey aloud, however, was a mumbled, “You could have been killed saving my life, dumbass.”
“Yeah, yeah, you can thank me later. C’mon, Jimenez is in a bad way. I can’t carry both of you. We’ve gotta get outta here.”
Cameron allowed his friend to drag him to the Humvee, his head spinning, vision blurring, stomach rolling. Brett shoved him into the passenger seat, replacing Cam’s weakening hand at his chin with his own, maintaining the pressure on the wound. The Humvee jerked. Cameron’s last thought, beside the fact that he owed Brett big-time, was that Jimenez had better make it, the bastard. They were a team of four. No way could he cut out early.
And then everything went dark.
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ZONE OF ACTION is available for PREORDER at all online bookstores like Amazon, as well as at Entangled Publishing! Order your copy today, and get it delivered on July 27th. Easy peasy!
****Coming July 27****
ZONE OF ACTION
Former terror cell expert Audrey Jenkins has seen enough death and destruction to last a lifetime. When she uncovers her ex, Brett, a higher-ranking officer in her unit, selling military secrets, she turns him in and returns to the simpler life she has embraced since leaving the army.
CID Special Agent Cam Harris is a career military man with a strong sense of duty. When a military prisoner who once saved his life in Afghanistan escapes while in his custody, he requests the assignment to track him down.
Cam's manhunt leads him to Audrey's door. His prisoner—her ex—will resurface here, he’s sure of it. The feisty woman wants nothing to do with hunting down her ex, but when a terror cell she’s all-too-familiar with launches a deadly attack on army intelligence soldiers and officers, she knows it’s Brett.
Helping Cam is the right thing to do. But the attraction burning between them may be the mistake that gets her and Cam killed.
