Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: To Honor and To ProtectCorneredUntraceable

by Debra

  A small, dark woman bent over the ground, deftly pulling up plants and stuffing them into the pockets of her full skirt. Dandelions, Abby noted. A popular edible wild green. She replaced the gun in its holster and stood. “Hello,” she said.

  The woman jumped and dropped a handful of dandelions. She turned, as if to run. “Wait!” Abby called. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She retrieved the plants and held them out to the woman. She was young, barely out of her teens, and very beautiful. Her skin was the rich brown of toffee, and she had high cheekbones, a rosebud mouth and large black eyes framed by lacy lashes. She wore a loose blue blouse, a long, full skirt and leather sandals, with a plaid shawl draped across her body.

  She came forward and hesitantly accepted the dandelions from Abby. “Gracias,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

  Latina, Abby thought. A large community of Mexican immigrants lived in the area. She searched her mind for what schoolgirl Spanish she could recall. “Habla inglés?”

  The woman shook her head and wrapped her arms around what Abby had first assumed to be a bag for storing the plants she collected, but she now realized was a swaddled infant, cradled close to the woman’s torso with a sling made from the red, blue and green shawl. “You have a baby!” Abby smiled. “A niño,” she added.

  The woman held the baby closer and stared at Abby, eyes wide with fear.

  Maybe she was an illegal, afraid Abby would report her to the authorities. “Don’t worry,” Abby said, unable to remember the Spanish words. “I’m looking for plants, like you.” She broke a stem from the desert parsley and held it out. “Donde esta este?” she asked. Where is this?

  The woman eyed Abby warily, but stepped forward to study the plant. She nodded. “Si. Yo conozco.”

  “You know this plant? Can you show me where to find more? Donde esta?”

  The woman looked around, then motioned Abby to follow her. Abby did so, excitement growing. So far, specimens of Lomatium had been rare. Having more plants to study would be a tremendous find.

  The woman moved rapidly over the rough ground despite her long skirts and the burden of the baby. Her black hair swung behind her in a ponytail that reached almost to her waist. Where did she live? The closest homes were miles from here, and the only road into this section of the park was the one Abby had come in on. Was she collecting the dandelions because she had an interest in wild food—or because it was the only thing she had to eat?

  The woman stopped abruptly beside a large rock and looked down at the ground. Desert parsley spread out for several feet in every direction—the most specimens Abby had ever seen. Her smile widened. “That’s wonderful. Thank you so much. Muchas gracias.” She clasped the woman’s hand and shook it. The woman offered a shy smile.

  “Mi nombre es Abby.”

  “Soy Mariposa,” the woman said.

  Mariposa. Butterfly. Her name was butterfly? “Y su niño?” Abby nodded to the baby.

  Mariposa smiled and folded back the blanket to reveal a tiny dark-haired infant. “Es una niña,” she said. “Angelique.”

  “Angelique,” Abby repeated. A little angel.

  “Usted ha cido harido.” Mariposa lightly touched the side of Abby’s face.

  Abby flinched. Not because the touch was painful, but because she didn’t like being reminded of the scar there. Multiple surgeries and time had faded the wound made by shrapnel from a roadside bomb, but the puckered white gash that ran from just above her left ear to midcheekbone would never be entirely gone. She wore her hair long and brushed forward to hide the worst of the scar, but alone in the wilderness on this warm day she’d clipped her hair back to keep it out of the way while she worked. She had no idea what the Spanish words Mariposa had spoken meant, but she was sure they were in reference to this disfigurement. “Es no importante,” she said, shaking her head.

  She turned away, the profile of her good side to the woman, and spotted a delicate white flower. The three round petals blushed a deep purplish pink near their center. Half a dozen similar blooms rose nearby on slender, leafless stems. Abby knelt and slipped off her backpack and took out her trowel. She deftly dug up one of the flowers, revealing a fat white bulb. She brushed the dirt from the bulb and handed the plant to the woman. “Este es comer. Bueno.” Her paltry Spanish frustrated her. “It’s good to eat,” she said, as if the English would make any more sense to her new friend.

  Mariposa stroked the velvety petal of the flower and nodded. “It’s called a mariposa lily,” Abby said. “Su nombre es Mariposa tambien.”

  Mariposa nodded, then knelt and began digging up a second lily. Maybe she was just humoring Abby—or maybe she really needed the food. Abby hoped it was the former. As much as her studies had taught her about wild plants, she’d hate to have to depend on them for survival.

  She turned to her pack once more and took out another collection bag, then remembered the energy bars stashed on the opposite side of the pack. They weren’t much, but she’d give them to Mariposa. They’d at least be a change from roots. She found three bars and pressed them into the woman’s hands. “Por usted,” she said.

  “Gracias.” Mariposa slipped the bars into the pocket of her skirt, then watched as Abby took out the camera and photographed the parsley plants. On impulse, she turned and aimed the camera at Mariposa. Click. And there she was, captured on the screen of the camera, face solemn but still very beautiful.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Abby asked. She turned the camera so that the woman could see the picture.

  Mariposa squinted at the image, but said nothing.

  For a few minutes, the two women worked side by side, Mariposa digging lilies and Abby collecting more specimens of parsley. Though Abby usually preferred to work alone, it was nice being with Mariposa. She only wished she spoke better Spanish or Mariposa knew English, so she could find out more about where her new friend was from and why she was here in such a remote location.

  Though the army had trained Abby to always be attuned to changes in the landscape around her, she must have gotten rusty since her return to civilian life. Mariposa was the first to stiffen and look toward the brush to the right of the women.

  Abby heard the movements a second later—a group of people moving through the brush toward them, their voices carrying in the still air, though they were still some distance away.

  She was about to ask Mariposa if she knew these newcomers when the young woman took off running. Her sudden departure startled Abby so much she didn’t immediately react. She stared after the young woman, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

  Mariposa ran with her skirt held up, legs lifted high, in the opposite direction of the approaching strangers, stumbling over the uneven terrain as if her life depended on it. Abby debated running after her, but what would that do but frighten the woman more? She watched the fleeing figure until she’d disappeared over a slight rise, then glanced back toward the voices. They were getting louder, moving closer at a rapid pace.

  Abby slipped on the pack and unholstered the weapon once more, then settled into the shade of a boulder to wait.

  The group moved steadily toward her. All men, from the sound of them. The uneven terrain and stubby trees blocked them from view, but their voices carried easily in the stillness. They weren’t attempting stealth; instead, they shouted and crashed through the underbrush with a great crackling of breaking twigs and branches. As they neared she thought she heard both English and Spanish. They seemed to be searching for someone, shouting, “Come out!” and, “Where is he?”

  Or were they saying, “Where is she?” Were they looking for Mariposa? Why?

  The first gunshots sent a jolt of adrenaline to her heart. She gripped the pistol more tightly and hunkered down closer to the boulder. For a moment she was back in Afghanistan, pinned down by enemy fire, unable to fight back. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, fighting for calm. She wasn’t over there anymore. She was in the United States. No one was s
hooting at her. She was safe.

  A second rapid burst of gunfire shattered the air, and Abby bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. Then everything went still. The echo of the concussion reverberated in the air, ringing in her ears. She couldn’t hear the men anymore, though whether because they were silent or because she was momentarily deaf, she didn’t know. She opened her eyes and reached into the pocket of her jeans to grip the small ceramic figure of a rabbit she kept there. She’d awoken in the field hospital with it clutched in her hand; she had no idea who had put the rabbit there, but ever since, she’d kept it as a kind of good-luck charm. The familiar feel of its smooth sides and little pointed ears calmed her. She was safe. She was all right.

  The voices drifted to her once more, less agitated now, and receding. They gradually faded altogether, until everything around her was silent once more.

  She waited a full ten minutes behind the boulder, clutching the pistol in both hands, every muscle tensed and poised to defend herself. After the clock on her phone told her the time she’d allotted had passed, she stood and scanned the wilderness around her. Nothing. No men, no Mariposa, no dust clouds marking the trail of a vehicle. The landscape was as still as a painting, not even a breeze stirring the leaves of the stunted trees.

  Still shaky from the adrenaline rush, she holstered the pistol and settled the backpack more firmly on her shoulder. She could return to her car, but would that increase her chances of running into the men? Maybe it would be better to remain here for a while longer. She’d go about her business and give the men time to move farther away.

  She returned to the parsley plants. Digging up the specimen calmed her further. She cradled the uprooted plant in her fingers and slid it into the plastic collection bag, then labeled the bag with the date, time and GPS coordinates where she’d found it, and stowed it in her pack. Then she stood and stretched. Her muscles ached from tension. Time to head back to camp. She’d clean up, then stop by the ranger station and report the men and the shooting—but not Mariposa. She had no desire to betray the woman’s secrets, whatever they were.

  She checked her GPS to orient herself, then turned southwest, in the direction of her car and the road. She had no trail to follow, only paths made by animals and the red line on the GPS unit that marked her route into this area. On patrol in Kandahar she’d used similar GPS units, but just as often she’d relied on the memory of landmarks or even the positioning of stars. Nothing over there had ever felt familiar to her, but she’d learned to accept the unfamiliarity, until the day that roadside bomb had almost taken everything away.

  She picked her way carefully through the rough landscape, around clumps of prickly pear cactus and desert willows, past sagebrush and Mormon tea and dozens of other plants she identified out of long habit. She kept her eyes focused down, hoping to spot one of the other coveted species on her list. All the plants were considered rare in the area, and all held promise of medical uses. The research she was doing now might one day lead to cultivation of these species to treat cancer or Parkinson’s or some other crippling disease.

  So focused was she on cataloging the plants around her that she didn’t see the fallen branch until she’d stumbled over it. Cursing her own clumsiness, she straightened and looked back at the offending obstacle. It stuck out from beneath a clump of rabbitbrush, dark brown and as big around as a man’s arm. What kind of a tree would that be, the bark such a dark color—and out here in an area where large trees were rare?

  She bent to look closer and cold horror swept over her. She hadn’t fallen over a branch at all. The thing that had tripped her was a man. He lay sprawled on the ground, arms outstretched, lifeless eyes staring up at her, long past seeing anything.

  Copyright © 2015 by Cynthia Myers

  ISBN-13: 9781460383018

  Cornered

  Copyright © 2015 by HelenKay Dimon

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com

  Posing as a married couple to save the world was easy compared to the very real feelings between them…

  As Bob and Lisa Sinclair, Omega Sector agents Evan Karcz and Juliet Branson were a formidable couple—until a brutal attack left Juliet traumatized. But with a powerful crime boss selling military secrets, the safety of millions depends on the undercover operatives. It’s up to Evan to rehabilitate Juliet…and not fail her as he did on the mission that still haunts him.

  Evan’s strategy is to be near Juliet night and day to practice posing as a loving couple. But soon he realizes there’s a sizzling passion between them. And it’s being threatened by forces stronger than they ever realized. With a killer stalking Lisa Sinclair, her “husband” knows he’d risk his cover—and his life—to protect her.

  How had Juliet never really noticed how ripped Evan was?

  His black T-shirt didn’t do much to hide the muscles of his biceps, pecs or abs. Thank God.

  Evan turned to the fridge for a couple of water bottles.

  “You want?” Evan held up a bottle, his dimple showing with his smile.

  Looking at him, Juliet realized she did indeed want.

  Evan. Right now. Tonight.

  She knew he wanted her, too. This wasn’t just an undercover op for Evan. She wasn’t just an undercover op for Evan.

  This time she didn’t plan to take no for an answer. She had let the attack steal too many months of her life. She didn’t plan to let it have even one more day. She wanted Evan and she knew he wanted her.

  What was that saying? Leap and the net will appear.

  Juliet leaped.

  She slid her own jacket off and walked over to him. “Yeah, I want.”

  UNTRACEABLE

  By Janie Crouch

  Janie Crouch has loved to read romance her whole life. She cut her teeth on Harlequin Romance novels as a preteen, then moved on to a passion for romantic suspense as an adult. Janie lives with her husband and four children overseas. Janie enjoys traveling, long-distance running, movie-watching, knitting and adventure/obstacle racing. You can find out more about her at janiecrouch.com.

  Books by Janie Crouch

  Omega Sector series

  Infiltration

  Countermeasures

  Untraceable

  Harlequin Intrigue

  Primal Instinct

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Juliet Branson—Once an active undercover agent for Omega Sector before she was attacked and left for dead. Now, unable to get past that event, she works as a handler/analyst for Omega.

  Evan Karcz—Juliet’s ex-partner and current Omega agent. Overwhelmed with guilt for being unable to protect Juliet when she was an agent, he will do anything to protect her now.

  Dennis Burgamy—Juliet and Evan’s boss at Omega Sector. Seems to care more about his own reputation than the safety of his agents.

  Vince Cady—Crime boss with his fingers into almost every piece of ugliness imaginable: weapons, technology, blackmail, just to name a few.


  Christopher Cady—Vince Cady’s son. Being groomed to take on the family business, but has a sinister agenda of his own.

  Heath Morel—Known associate of both Vince Cady and the attackers from Juliet’s past. Seems to have information about Juliet that couldn’t possibly be available to anyone else.

  Cameron Branson—Juliet’s brother and Omega operative, currently on active recovery due to wounds from a mission gone wrong.

  Dylan Branson—Juliet’s oldest brother. Former Omega operative and current pilot.

  Sawyer Branson—Juliet’s youngest and most laid-back brother. Omega operative, also on active recovery because of wounds received during an Omega mission.

  Megan Fuller—Sawyer’s fiancée and a computer genius.

  To my Stephanie: it never ceases to amaze me that you call me your friend. You are a tireless source of support, inspiration and encouragement not just to me but to so many others. Here’s some #nofilter for you: you are a treasure, a beauty, and someone who radiates God’s love and kindness in everything you do. I adore you.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen