ABOUT THIS BOOK
A THRILLING NEW STORY IN A BESTSELLING MILITARY ROMANTIC SUSPENSE SERIES!
The world’s most wanted man is back from the dead. And only one woman can stop him…
Former Army linguist Lucky San Ramos escaped with her life, but the scars an evil terrorist leader left on her skin are a constant reminder of her captivity. Now her tormentor is back—and so is the sexy Special Operations soldier she once loved.
HOT operator Kevin “Big Mac” MacDonald rescued Lucky the last time. And then he walked away when he couldn’t be what she needed. When Lucky married his teammate, Kev knew it was for the best. But now Marco is dead and Lucky is no longer safe.
When Kev and Lucky team up to capture a terrorist, they’ll have to pretend to be man and wife on an explosive military mission to a war-torn nation. With time running out and the fate of the world hanging in the balance, Kev and Lucky play a perilous game of cat and mouse with a madman during the day.
But at night, they battle the secrets of the past and the sizzling attraction that threatens to endanger the mission. Lucky shouldn’t want the man who abandoned her once before. But the passion between them is sinfully, sensuously, dangerously hot… and proving impossible to resist.
CHAPTER ONE
Hostile Operations Team Headquarters
Near Washington, DC
“Fuck me,” Kevin “Big Mac” MacDonald said on an exhaled breath.
He was the only one who’d spoken, but the expression on the other guys’ faces echoed the sentiment. Colonel John Mendez stood before the team, hands on hips, face grave. Mendez was a throwback Army officer, the kind who ate nails for breakfast and took no prisoners. Not one man in this room had ever dared to disobey an order from him.
Well, maybe one. Matt “Richie Rich” Girard had done it, but he’d nearly lost his career in the process.
“That’s right, son,” Mendez said, giving Kev a hard look. “Al Ahmad ain’t dead.”
Matt swore. Kev could only clench his fists in his lap and pray he didn’t break something. HOT went after terrorists. It’s what they did, what they lived for. Al Ahmad was a terrorist. A low-life fucking evil bastard who liked to hurt people.
He was supposed to be dead. It hadn’t been more than a few months ago now that they’d gone after his second in command, Jassar ibn-Rashad. That mission had gotten fucked up six ways to Sunday, and they’d lost two good men in the process.
Kev swallowed. God, he still missed Marco. Marco San Ramos had been his best friend, the guy he’d gone through boot camp with. Kev wouldn’t have made it this far if not for Marco.
Thoughts of Marco inevitably led to Marco’s wife. Lucky. Kev squeezed his fists tighter, trying to keep himself from going down that mental road.
It was no good. He always thought of Lucky. Always felt the guilt and regret roiling away in his gut. Goddamn he was an asshole, thinking of his best friend’s wife.
Widow.
Yeah. Wife, widow, what the fuck. He wasn’t allowed to think of Lucky, not like that, but he hadn’t ever been able to turn it off. Not since the first moment he’d seen her, before she ever belonged to Marco.
“If I don’t get out of here, take care of Lucky. Promise.”
“You’re getting out. We’re both fucking getting out.”
“Promise anyway.”
“Yeah, fine. I promise.”
Some promise. Lucky hadn’t spoken to him since they’d shipped Marco back in a casket. She’d left the military, taken Marco’s military life insurance, and gone to Hawaii.
“We’re going after him,” Mendez was saying. “This time, we’re getting that bastard.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said for them all. “What’s the plan, sir?”
Mendez eyed them very deliberately. He was a wily bastard, but Kev knew there wasn’t a better soldier in the whole damn Army. “We need someone who can ID him, someone who can get close enough to do so.”
Kev’s blood ran cold. He told himself there was no reason for it, no way Mendez would want to bring in an outsider. But Al Ahmad was a tricky bastard. Unlike other terrorists, he didn’t like to make videos and broadcast them to the world. Because of that, few knew what he looked like. There were sketches, always sketches, based on intel they’d collected here and there.
And then there was Lucky’s debrief. The only person who’d gotten close enough to see his face and survived.
Mendez’s eyes were cool and penetrating as he swung his gaze toward Kev. “We need someone who got close once before. We need Lucky San Ramos.”
Kev felt like he’d been sucker punched. Matt looked at him, and he knew the horror was written on his face. Goddamn.
The two new guys—Sam “Knight Rider” McKnight and Garrett “Iceman” Spencer—looked confused. The others glanced at each other, faces grim. Kev’s gut twisted into knots. He’d been the one who’d gotten Lucky out the last time. The one who knew what that evil bastard had done to her.
He’d lost Lucky, thanks to Al Ahmad. Given her to Marco and walked away. Because he knew he couldn’t be what she needed then, and Marco could. Because Marco loved her, and Kev owed Marco too much to let one woman stand between them.
Coward.
Kev sat immoveable, like a block of granite. How was it cowardly to let a woman go because you couldn’t be what she deserved? Because all you wanted was to have sex with her until it burned you up and you could move on to someone else?
Because a man like him didn’t do forever and happy ever after and all that bullshit. It didn’t exist. Not in his world. He might have been tempted to think so once, when he was much younger and far more naïve, but he’d learned in the hell of his childhood that love—or what passed for love in his family—was often a brutal thing.
“She’s out now,” Kev said, focusing on the problem at hand instead of the nightmare of his past. “And it’s been two years since she’s seen Al Ahmad. How do we know he hasn’t changed his face? Hell, how do we even know it is Al Ahmad? What if someone in his organization is trying to make us think he’s alive? Ibn-Rashad might be yanking our chain.”
Mendez’s expression didn’t change. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t necessarily a good sign. “Good questions, Sergeant. But trust me, if we didn’t have confirmation at the highest levels, we wouldn’t be here now. Do you think HOT goes out in the field for nothing, son? You’ve been here long enough to know better.”
He leaned forward then, two broad hands on the desk in front of him. “We need Lucky, and we’re getting her back. One way or the other. We can do it nice, or we can do it hard. But since my mama always said you get more flies with honey, I’m sending you after her, son. Go to Hawaii and convince her to come back. Or I’ll make her come back.”
Acid roiled in Kev’s stomach. He wanted to stand up and wrap his fists in the man’s perfectly starched collar. But he wouldn’t do it. Not if he wanted to keep his ass and his job. Not if he wanted to remain a part of HOT—which he did because he damn sure couldn’t imagine a different life than this one.
No, there was only one thing to say. Only one thing he could say, even though it about killed him to do it. He stood and snapped a salute.
“Sir, yes, sir.”
* * *
December
North Shore, Oahu
Hawaii
Lucky flipped the surfboard upright after she paddled to shore and stepped out onto the sand. It was a typically beautiful Hawaiian day—or it would have been if she hadn’t just spotted the man standing cross-armed at the top of the shore break. For a second, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. Th
ere was no way that Kevin MacDonald was standing up there waiting for her.
But the mirage didn’t fade, and her heart reacted with a crazy rhythm that made her head swim. Part of her wanted to turn around and race back out to sea. Part of her wanted to march up to him and plant a fist in his handsome face.
And part of her wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight.
Lucky hardened her heart and lifted her head. She wasn’t running, damn him. She thought he’d given up. The phone calls had ceased months ago, and even though it had made her ache deep down, she figured he’d finally gotten the message.
Looks like she’d been wrong.
She clutched the board tighter to her side and climbed the sharply sloping beach at Waimea Bay.
Kev stood impassive, arms crossed, chewing gum like he had no cares in the world, aviator sunglasses reflecting her wet form. Like he belonged here. Like he showed up every day and watched her paddle out to sea before turning and shooting the pipeline back to the beach.
Except he didn’t look like he belonged at all. A white T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, tapering down to disappear into the waistband of a pair of faded, loose-fitting Levi’s. His only real nod to beach culture was a pair of flip-flops, or slippahs, as the Hawaiians called them, and she knew it must have given him pause to don them. Kev was usually a cowboy- or combat-boot kind of guy.
Fresh anger flared to life inside her. But before she could speak, he said the one thing guaranteed to make her listen. Guaranteed to make her wish she were dead.
“Al Ahmad’s back.”
A cold finger of dread slid deep into her belly, tickled her spine, threatened to turn her knees to liquid. Al Ahmad.
He was supposed to be dead. She’d slept at night because he was dead. Because he could never come for her. Never force her to listen to that lovely, evil voice ever again.
“And what’s that mean to me?” she asked. She didn’t bother to ask how the bastard was still alive. If Kev was here, then he just was. It wasn’t debatable.
But she wasn’t about to let Kev know just how horrified that information made her or how much she wanted to sink into the ocean and never come out again.
“We need you, Lucky.”
Her breath seized in her lungs. “No way in hell,” she said hoarsely when she could talk again. “I’m not on active duty anymore.”
As if that had anything to do with it. When she’d been active, she’d wanted to be a part of the Hostile Operations Team. She’d gotten her wish when she’d been assigned to them for interpreter duties. It wasn’t the excitement of full-blown ops, but it was important.
She’d been so idealistic. Though women weren’t allowed to go on missions, she’d wanted to be the first. She’d hoped she’d get the chance to train hard and save the world, but she’d learned just how unsuited she was for that task, thanks to Al Ahmad.
“We could reactivate you.”
Lucky clutched the surfboard harder, the urge to gut him with it burning into her. He stood there so casually, threatening to upend her world as if it were nothing. Threatening to drag her back into that life when it had nearly destroyed her. “Mendez wouldn’t dare.”
“You know he would.”
Lucky slicked back her wet hair with one hand, hoping it didn’t shake, and bent to remove the ankle strap anchoring the surfboard to her leg. She didn’t have to look at Kev to know he was following the movement of her leg as she thrust it to the side to reach the strap.
She could feel the burn of his gaze on her skin, just like she always had. And it made her sick to her stomach. Angry. How dare he make her feel anything.
Especially now.
She hardened her heart. She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. She owed them nothing. She’d done her time, and she’d gotten the hell out. She straightened and lifted her chin. “Get someone else. You’ve got any number of people who can interpret for you.”
Those firm lips turned down in a frown. “It’s more than translation. We need you on the inside.”
Her heart thumped. “I’m not in that business anymore.”
As if she ever had been. Her stay with Al Ahmad had not been planned. His people had grabbed her at a market in North Africa when she should have been out of their reach. They’d proven she wasn’t. That none of them were.
Day after day, she’d thought her life was over. Day after day, he’d toyed with her. Poisoned her mind.
Broke her.
She faced Kev head-on, a current of defiance growing inside her with every second. No way in hell was she letting them shatter her carefully reconstructed life. It didn’t matter that Al Ahmad had resurfaced, that she damn well wanted to nail the bastard to the wall with a rusty railroad spike.
If she were a different person, a braver person, she would take this chance. She’d get close enough to kill him herself. And then maybe she could forget how weak she was. How needy. How malleable she’d been in his hands. She’d fought him, but not hard enough.
Kev pulled the sunglasses from his face and tapped them against a muscled forearm wrapped in ink. “This is too important. It’s you we need. No one else.”
Lucky had to remind herself to breathe when faced with the full effect of blue eyes and silky, dark hair that was much longer than Army regs allowed. But Kev was a Spec Ops soldier, and that made the rules different for him.
Women, as she knew from firsthand observation, couldn’t help but fling themselves in the path of Kevin MacDonald. Which was precisely why she’d been determined not to do so when they’d first met a couple of years ago. There’d been something between them, some spark, but she’d never found out what it was. Because as quickly as it ignited, it was gone.
It still hurt, remembering the way he’d held her so close when he’d gotten her out of Al Ahmad’s compound, the way he’d seemed so intent upon her. He’d kissed her. The one and only time he’d ever done so.
Even now, her lips tingled with the memory. Her body ached with heat.
But it had been nothing more than a beautiful lie. When she’d looked for him afterward, when she’d expected him to come to the hospital to see her, it had been Marco who came instead.
And now Marco was dead, and she had no right to feel anything but grief. Yet that didn’t stop her belly from churning at the sight of Kevin MacDonald.
He watched her with an intensity that both unnerved and angered her. How dare he walk back into her life looking like something straight from a Hollywood movie set and calmly inform her that her world was about to be turned topsy-turvy?
Again.
She picked up the surfboard and started up the beach. “Go tell Mendez to reactivate me,” she called over her shoulder. If they wanted her back, they’d have to force her. “If he could do it, he’d have done it already.”
“Aw, sweetheart, don’t be like that,” Kev said in that Alabama drawl of his, and she stopped short, swung around as fury lashed into her.
“Don’t you dare call me that!”
He held up both hands, backed away a step. “It’s all right, I can take a hint. No sweet nothings.” He dropped his hands to his sides, but not before sliding the sunglasses back into place over those beautiful eyes. “But you and I both know Mendez could reactivate you with a phone call. Don’t make it happen, Lucky. Help us out, you’re done. Get recalled to duty, and God knows what comes next when this is over.”
Hell, yes, Mendez could do it. She knew that. But it would take slightly longer than one phone call.
“Tell him I’ll think about it,” she said, but she wouldn’t do anything of the sort. Yes, she’d love to get Al Ahmad. But she’d like to live even more.
“He’s dangerous. You know that better than most.” He seemed to hesitate for a second. “Marco would want you to help us get him.”
Lucky whipped the surfboard in an arc and let it go. Kev leaped backward as it crashed to the ground. He stumbled and fell against a coconut palm, the fronds shaking with the impact.
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“Jesus Christ,” he yelled. “What’s the matter with you?”
She was shaking. “Don’t you ever tell me what Marco would want. Invoking his name won’t get you anywhere with me.”
Kev looked solemn. For the first time since he’d started talking, she felt like she was seeing the real him. The man who’d called her almost nightly for months, trying to make sure she was all right. That Marco’s death hadn’t killed her too.
“We all lost him, Lucky. We all miss him.”
Tears boiled near the surface. Fury ate at her like battery acid. He had no idea. No idea.
Of course she missed Marco. And yet she’d been so wrong for him. She’d tried hard to love him the way she should, but loving anyone after what she’d been through with Al Ahmad hadn’t been easy.
The guilt of her failures ate at her. She’d been doing a good job of forgetting out here in the sun and surf, of moving on and accepting her life, and Kev was wrecking it all.
“You let him die out there.”
It wasn’t what she’d meant to say, but she couldn’t call the words back now that she’d released them. Kev looked as if she’d slapped him. She knew Marco’s death wasn’t his fault, but that hadn’t stopped her from blaming him—blaming all of Marco’s team—for what had happened.
She should apologize, but her throat seized up.
Kev’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fair, and you know it. Marco died doing the job. It’s a risk we all take.”
Yes, she knew it. And it was the thing that kept her awake at night sometimes, thinking about Marco, about Kev, wondering if he was still alive or if he’d met his end in some dank, lonely, war-torn country the way Marco had.
But she couldn’t say any of that. They stood there staring at each other until Kev took something from his pocket. He held out a card.
“I’m at the Hale Koa. Call me when you’ve thought about this.”
She still couldn’t speak. How could she say all the things she needed to say? The things she’d bottled up for so long? How could she ever explain where it had all gone wrong?
Dangerously Hot (A Hostile Operations Team Novel)(#4) Page 1