The Titan Series 1-3 Boxed Set

by Cristin Harber - The Titan Series 1-3 Boxed Set

  At least the gun survived. That gun signified his whole world.

  After speaking into a mic, Jackson came back to Cash’s door. Two men got out of the third vehicle, both in their bombproof moon suits.

  “Now what?”

  Jackson pointed at the men. “Now, they pull your ass out while I hold down the sensor and try to disengage it without hurting your precious vehicle.”

  All right. At least the asshole had a plan. Jared took one large step back. Okay, then. The plan must not be one hundred percent foolproof.

  One man held what looked like a lead blanket, the other grasped his arm. Jackson knelt by his knee. They gave signals, someone gave a countdown. “Three, two—” and a noise. A beep. A roar. Blast!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  David drummed his fingers inside the pocket of his Armani tuxedo pants. The impeccable tailoring was only one of the many reasons he looked ready to waltz Nicola into this gala, if she’d ever show up. She was late by at least twenty-five minutes. He waited in his chauffeured Rolls for her to grace him with her unrefined presence.

  But he was refined. Refined manners. Refined looks. His high cheek bones and sculpted nose were perfect, all healed from his scuffle with the exception of fading bruises covered by makeup. He had aristocratic bone structure, bless his mother for that, and his father’s conniving skills allowed him to float in and out of this world, dripping in diamonds and silk, without so much as a hiccup.

  He’d absolutely been born into the wrong class of people, and as luck would have it, he was corruptible. Moral flexibility was a wonderful characteristic to have, once he’d learned how profitable it could be. David hadn’t even known that about himself when he’d started at the CIA. They didn’t see it in his profile. Surprise, surprise.

  Maybe Nicola was late because everything on the home front was going according to plan. Mister Nero would be thrilled, and David would love to see the look on her face once she learned her parents had been blown sky high.

  He’d tacked the blond cowboy on as an added bonus. Had that fool cracked his jawbone in their scuffle, David might’ve considered letting the Gianori mob take their time with his demise. Regardless, the guy had to die, and a bomb would do the trick. David was too powerful, had too many connections to let some wild-West blowhard get away with hitting him.

  Funny, he thought, how he now bartered and traded outside of currency. The better things in life couldn’t be paid for out of Cayman Island bank accounts.

  After David found out the how and why of Nicola’s background—that the Gianori Mob wanted her head—his plan fell into place. He knew Mister Nero wanted Nicola for infiltrating Smooth Enterprises as a CIA operative, even if she was ineffective. Mister Nero had preached the power of retaliation and could not wait to take her parents. An eye for an eye. Bloodshed for bloodshed.

  The Gianori mob wanted Nicola because the mob never forgets. He promised her to the mob only if they could complete two tasks. The first was Mister Nero’s: blow up the parents. The second was his: take out the cowboy.

  There’d be no way to connect the parents’ demise to him, and the mob would never be able to find him once he handed Nicola to Mister Nero. The Gianori clan would be shit out of luck, but it wasn’t his problem. The CIA had trained him well. David could disappear into a crowd of one, and they’d never find him.

  This was a new way of doing business and, thus far, it worked out beautifully. David chuckled at his ingenuity.

  A flurry of black silk and chiffon caught his eye, and he stared out the window. Nicola was a beautiful woman. She looked rushed. Worried. A pleased smile dripped across his face. The explosions must’ve been a success. Parents and cowboy, check.

  The worry washed away when she slipped in through the chauffeur-opened door. It wasn’t his imagination. It had been there.

  “Michael,” she crooned in front of the chauffer before he shut the door. Nicola leaned over and kissed his cheek. It was a very appropriate response for an untimely wife. “I apologize for my tardiness.”

  The chauffer slid into the driver’s seat, and the Rolls began to glide toward their destination a block away. “But of course, Sarah Beth. You look stunning, as always.”

  She did present a nice picture. Gorgeous woman, really. When Mister Nero finished with her, if she was still alive and relatively unmarked, he might keep her for himself.

  ***

  Nicola swirled the Dom Perignon in the crystal champagne flute. Slimy David had had his hand at the small of her back all night long, and it was pure training that kept her from removing it from his body and handing it to a waiter to take out with the caviar-covered trash.

  “Is something wrong, sweetheart? You look tense.”

  Yeah. You keep touching me, and I want to vomit. “Of course not, Michael.” To be this man’s wife would be torture. His fingers were both cold and sweaty. How was that possible? If he dragged them over her Pucci gown one more time, she was sending him the dry cleaning bill. That was, before he was taken to a federal pen for espionage.

  “Perhaps a massage is in order when we arrive at the hotel.”

  Do not gag. She repeated it several times. A massage wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted, no hell, she needed information.

  It was too early in the night to step out of this party. She wanted to excuse herself and hit redial again and again until someone answered. She’d tried to call Cash a hundred times before this godforsaken gala. Each time, she got voicemail. She’d called Jackson and Jared. No one answered.

  In the background, the orchestra struck up another slow number, and she glared off David’s invitation for a waltz.

  Thinking about the unanswered calls made her pulse race. Something must have happened to Cash. What if Jackson didn’t get there in time? Or if the blast took them both out? And where the hell was Jared?

  Since their arrival in Istanbul, Nicola had slipped several more listening devices onto David and his belongings. If he’d found any of them, the bastard hadn’t given it away. Maybe Cash was at home, listening to all their conversations, listening for dirt when she wasn’t in the room with David.

  That had to be it.

  Cash wasn’t going to die in a car bomb. He wasn’t. He played life too fast and furious to be taken out sitting on his ass outside some bar.

  Life’s not fair. You should know that better than anyone.

  His voice replayed in her head a thousand times, and her head spun. She threw down the rest of her bubbly, impatiently waiting for their assets to show up. Soon as this gig was done, she was pulling David out and flagging down the nearest Learjet back to the States.

  “Sarah Beth, darling.” David’s voice had a serious ick factor. “I believe we’re on.”

  The target couple stood dead ahead, living replicas of the pictures in Nicola’s briefing book. Wonderful timing. The assets greeted their marks, two men who looked up-to-their-mustaches in selling stolen third-world secrets. Everyone was in place. Showtime.

  Nicola raised a bejeweled hand and called over in her haughtiest voice. “Frederick? Elizabeth? Is that you?” She walked gracefully toward the foursome with David in tow. He too murmured their cover names. “It is them. How delightful.”

  Frederick and Elizabeth smiled. The woman waved hello. Emeralds glittered from her bouffant to her pedicure. “Oh, it’s the Penningtons. From New York.”

  The man turned to their companions and started introductions. Something about how the Penningtons made their supposed loot in the chemical market. Something vague enough to be untraceable.

  Elizabeth kissed her cheek. “Sarah Beth, I didn’t expect you!”

  “We made an unanticipated stop. Mallory had a European qualifier in her show jumping competition, and since the jet was fueled and we were so close…” Nicola shrugged a silk-covered shoulder as elegantly as she could. That was the extent of her lines. Time for David to shine.

  Nic glanced at him. He was on a roll. This was his type of work, hobnobbing and schm
oozing. How boring, especially when real life waited for her thousands of miles away. At least she hoped it was life waiting and not a soul-wrenching obituary.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Their minor assignment was a success. Nicola and David were back at the hotel, and her room was packed. Nothing left in her closet, designer or otherwise. The Louis Vuitton bags rested by the door, awaiting a bellhop. Having a jet on standby was convenient, but they both had to agree to leave. The bag brigade was nothing more than an effort to convince David they were leaving tonight, but he wasn’t budging.

  At least she’d kicked him out of the bedroom to one of the smaller adjoining rooms. Nic swept the room for bugs, set up her signal jammer as a just-in-case backup, and thought about getting the hell out of Istanbul so that someone could give her some intel. All she needed to know was that everyone was alive and kicking. That Cash didn’t blow up in his truck.

  Ring. She lunged across the room, catapulting across the king size bed to grab the phone. She didn’t look at the screen, only accepted the call and prayed for good news.

  “Nic.” The sound of Cash’s voice hugged her tightly, making her believe in the power of desperate prayers.

  “Thank you!” she cried, realizing that tears streamed down her face. “Cash, you’re okay. Oh God. You’re okay.”

  Her breaths surfaced, rapid fire. All of the pent up emotions boiled into a fierce mess of wet tears, running down her cheeks. She sniffled and rambled without the slightest clue what she said.

  “Slow down.” He paused. “I’m okay.”

  The words didn’t work. Tears raced down her cheeks, blurring her vision. Her mind sped, swirling into an anxious frenzy. “I thought this is how we were going to end,” she whispered. “That you wouldn’t be there when I came home. That I left and lost you once. That you died tonight, and I lost you—”

  “Who’s Jackson?” The sharp-tipped question sobered her from the nightmare of possible bomb blast causes and effects.

  “What?” She shook her head, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. Jackson? This morning seemed years ago. Had that really happened?

  “Tell me a lie, and I swear to God, sweet girl. You will lose me. No explosive charge needed.”

  It had really happened. Cash was alive and… angry. His voice scratched through the phone. The not knowing. The bomb scare. Everything else was trivial. Everything was trivial except him. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t imagine the words to make it better.

  “Nic!”

  “He’s a bomb specialist for the FBI—”

  “I’ve learned that much on my own. Who is he to you?”

  “We dated.”

  “You live together.”

  “Technically—”

  He coughed a harsh laugh in her ear. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is karma. This is for all the nice girls who I should’ve called and all the bad ones I should’ve left alone.”

  Are you serious? Nicola smirked into her handset. “Like Sugar?”

  “Yeah. Like Sugar. Hell, woman. You’ve got everyone fooled, including Sugar. You know, she tried to take up for you tonight. Like—”

  “I knew it. I knew you’d go see her, you ass. Fuck whatever walks, Cash. Fuck me. Fuck her. Fuck every goddamn woman you see. That’s you. I get it, but you certainly don’t know me if you think I’d sleep with you and then go home to someone else.”

  Silence.

  She checked the phone. The line was still connected. Nic was content to wait until he had something to say.

  Silence.

  He had the same plan.

  She took a deep breath, then continued. “I dated Jackson. Past tense. I broke it off more than a year ago, amicably. We’re good friends. There was no pop and sizzle. When I took the Smooth assignment, I got rid of my apartment because I’d only be home once every few months.”

  “Go on,” he said, not nearly as sharply. Hesitation still hung in his voice.

  “I crash at Jackson’s. He has the master bedroom. I have my own bedroom. I’ve stayed there three times, and you have shitty timing because I jumped in the shower after he jumped out. So there’s the truth, and I wouldn’t dare lie to you.”

  Silence.

  “Goddamn it, Cash—”

  “Tell me another truth.” Again, his voice wasn’t as angry. It still grated, and the intensity was still there, but it didn’t rasp in rage.

  “Another truth… I’m hurt you ran off to Sugar.”

  “I ran off to the closest place I could unload an automatic weapon.”

  Somewhat believable. “So you didn’t…?” She closed her eyes, hoping and listening for his response.

  “Nope. It wasn’t even a passing thought.”

  “What was then?”

  He laughed quietly. “What was on my mind? Simple. The urge to kill.”

  All right. She could handle that. “I’m glad you didn’t. Jacks is a good guy. Plus, he was useful tonight. Right?”

  “My truck’s a goner. I’m pretty sure he did it on purpose.”

  Oh, he loved that truck. Insurance would cover that, wouldn’t it? “He didn’t blow your truck up on purpose. Anyway… your turn. Tell me a truth.”

  She waited patiently, wondering if it was going to be another complaint about her being in the field working a job.

  “The phone was an excuse.” Cash spoke deliberately. A long pause expired. “It wasn’t the reason I drove back to your apartment.”

  Banging on the door drew her attention. “Hold on a sec.” She lumbered off the bed and cracked the door to see David’s weaselly face. “What do you need, David?”

  “We have to head home. Something’s gone wrong with one of my back burner projects. I’m needed in the States. You’ve been trying to go home. Let’s go.”

  A mischievous glint in his eye made her stomach tense. Instinct was a precious tool, and hers was precision honed. Something wasn’t right. Her gut screamed for her to backtrack and bed down. “I’m exhausted. We can leave in the morning.”

  “You’re already packed.”

  “I’ve been packed for two hours. Now I’m ready for bed. Leave without me, if it’s so important. I’ll hop on a commercial flight.”

  David studied her, and her muscles tensed, the hair on her forearms standing at attention. There was an edge to his voice and an off-kilter air about him that made her skin shiver.

  “Fine. I’ll have the jet prepared for a seven AM departure,” he said.

  Nic shut the door without responding. Her skin continued to crawl. She fished the phone from her robe pocket and pushed it back against her ear. “Cash? You there.”

  “Yup.”

  “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  “Nothing much. Just that this bed is lonely without you.”

  “Truth?” She missed him deep in her heart. It was just the two of them, eating through the burner phone’s minutes.

  “Truth.”

  The word made her smile. “It’s no fun to make up with you when there’s an ocean between us.”

  He laughed, and the sound felt like an embrace. She remembered the warmth of his body and how he could flash a look that made her nerves spark to life. They’d have to time their disagreements better.

  “Get in bed, and let me tell you a good-night story. Before you know it, you’ll be home with me.”

  Falling asleep to his voice, now that was a plan. She double checked the door lock and chain, shed her robe, threw back the comforter, and tucked herself into the mess of a cotton nirvana. “All right. Tucked in. Tell me a story.”

  “It’s an interactive story.”

  “Hm-okay.” Whatever. As long as he kept talking, he could call it whatever he wanted. His voice always sounded sinfully delicious. He could read her the classifieds. A thesis on temperature variables affecting long range fire power. Hell, he could recite the telephone book from A to Z. There was something so tangible in his voice that just did it for her.

  This was never g
oing to put her to sleep, but she’d give it a try. She closed her eyes and blocked out everything but his voice.

  He started, slow and deep. “So, there was this guy and this gorgeous girl. Amazon-like, mythical-proportions-kind-of-gorgeous. They were lovers.”

  Nic’s eyes flew open. “Lovers?”

  “Lovers,” he repeated. She heard the smile in his voice and felt her cheeks flush. “What do you think their names were?”

  Oh my God. “Describe the guy to me, and I might be able to tell you.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Tall, tan, and terrible with self-descriptions.”

  She shifted the phone from one ear to the other. “I think we should call him Cash.”

  “That sounds about right. We can call her Nic. Cash and Nic.”

  Nic giggled and nodded.

  “You’re nodding, aren’t you?”

  She smiled against the soft pillow. “Maybe.”

  Cash laughed quietly. “Back to Cash and Nic. They’d had a disagreement. The latest after a couple of ‘em. Nothing insurmountable, but—”

  “Does Cash say he’s sorry? You know, in the story?”

  Long pause. “Yeah. He’s sorry. But that’s back story, and that chapter is boring. Just know he’s sorry for conclusion-jumping and friend-punching.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “You know, this’d be a lot easier if you played Nic. You could do a little improv.”

  “So you’re Cash?”

  He laughed quietly again. “That works.”

  “Now what?” she asked, a little nervous and excited.

  “Now you should make damn sure your phone is charged and you have a transmission blocker turned on,” he growled. The order raked over her body like he was there, in the flesh, and purring into her ear.

  “Why?” she pushed, hoping for that feeling again. The whispered tension double-knotted her stomach.