Elite Ops Complete Series

by Lora Leigh

  Her tongue rubbed against his, fought for dominance in the kiss, and finally conceded as he wrapped his fingers around the mound of a breast.

  Bailey froze, her breath stilling in her throat as his thumb stroked over her nipple. She could feel the rioting pleasure rising inside her. She wanted to tear the material of her dress out of the way, she wanted bare flesh to meet bare flesh and she wanted to ride the wave of arousal surging through her.

  In the arms of a stranger.

  God, she had lost her mind. She had lost what little control she still had of herself, and finding it again seemed a lost cause.

  He may be some super-secret agent. It could all be a game. He could be just what his background assured her he was: a killer, a terrorist, a monster. And here she was surrendering to him without a shred of certainty either way.

  She was so desperate for the past that she was creating her own fantasy and she knew just how dangerous that was.

  “No.”

  She tore herself from his arms, stumbling away from him as she covered her lips with the back of her hand and stared back at him in horror.

  He even kissed like Trent. Just like Trent. With the same voracious hunger, the same lustful intent.

  “Get out!” she panted desperately. “Get out of my home before I have you thrown out.”

  He looked as shell-shocked as she felt. Staring back at her, his gray eyes thunderous, his lips swollen from her kiss, he looked as though the pleasure had punched him just as hard as it had her.

  “This isn’t over,” he warned her. “We will talk, Bailey.”

  “When hell freezes over,” she snapped, furious with herself as well as him.

  His lips thinned. “Invest in plenty of heat then,” he warned her. “Because it’s coming. And it’s coming fast, baby.”

  He jerked the door open and stalked out. Every line of his body was tense and hard, furious lust practically sizzling off his body as he stalked down the hall and back to the front of the house.

  Bailey followed behind him, her heels snapping against the marble floor as she silently cursed him, as well as herself.

  She’d be damned if she was going to allow him to manipulate her or to destroy what she was working on here. She knew his kind and she knew him. He would take over, he would insist on dominance, and she had no intentions of allowing anyone to dominate her at this point.

  He was too much like Trent. She had loved Trent, ached for him after his death, but she had always known that eventually they would clash. She could have handled it with Trent, but not with this man. She had loved Trent, she didnt love John Vincent.

  Stepping into the foyer, she watched as he stalked past the doors the doormen pulled open for him. One hand pressed to her stomach, the other hanging at her side, she fought to find her equilibrium once again.

  Breathing in deeply, Bailey licked her lips, then looked around, only to find her gaze caught and held by Raymond Greer’s. Her head lifted as her lips tightened. Just what she needed, for the bastard to see a weakness in her.

  He was watching her like a beady-eyed cobra waiting to strike. Calculating, manipulating. That pretty much described Raymond to a T.

  She nodded toward him sharply before moving quickly back to the ballroom and the party she had organized so painstakingly. She was on a deadline. She didn’t have time to be drawn into John Vincent’s games. She didn’t have time to allow her heart to be broken again. She had a past to put to rest, and trying to resurrect her lover in another man wasn’t part of the plan.

  CHAPTER 2

  JOHN STARED OUT INTO the Colorado mountains from the cabin Jordan rented for the time the team would be in Aspen. A frown pulled at his brows as the rest of the men began to gather in the room behind him, their images wavering in the glass of the window.

  Jordan had arrived earlier and set up a situation room of sorts. There was plenty of hot coffee, computers along one wall displaying a multitude of images, and several communication bases staffed by the redheaded spitfire Jordan had brought in just after the inception of the Elite Operations Unit.

  Tehya Talamosi Fitzhugh was the daughter of a white slaver whom Ian Richards, and the SEALs he’d worked with at the time, had brought down. She’d spent her life running from the Fitzhughs and once that was over, she had been unwilling to step into any life other than the one she had learned how to live within. One of danger.

  “I’m going to assume last night went about as well as you expected it to,” Jordan announced as the rest of the team gathered around the large table set up in the room.

  John turned away from the vista spread out beyond the cabin and faced a room filled with dead men. Noah Blake had once been known as Navy SEAL Nathan Malone. Then there was Travis Caine, a former MI-6 agent; Nik Steele, a former Russian intelligence officer; Micah Sloane, Bailey’s cousin and former Israeli Mossad agent; and Jordan Malone, Noah’s uncle and the commander who had fought to keep five dead men from living again. He had a hell of a job cut out for him, as two of them had already reclaimed parts of their lives.

  “She’s uncertain and angry.” He shrugged addressing the question. “We expected that.”

  “Then find a way to work around it,” Jordan ordered him. “We received word last night that Warbucks is getting ready to move on his next acquisition. We can’t afford to let that sale go through.”

  “We’re certain he’s here?” Nik leaned forward, staring at Jordan intently. “There’s no sense in drawing her into this and endangering her further if we’re not certain.”

  Jordan stared back at the six-foot-five-inch Russian coolly.

  “Would we be here if I weren’t certain?” he asked.

  Nik shrugged. “Knowing you, Commander, one can never be certain.”

  There were a few chuckles from the other men, especially Noah Blake. They all knew Jordan. He was sharp as hell and one of the best commanders John had ever worked with, but he was a bit prone to go with his gut rather than proof. Not that his gut had been wrong yet, but there was always a first time.

  “You’ve read the same reports I have,” Jordan finally grunted. “Code-named Warbucks, this individual or group of individuals is acquiring top-secret information and hardware and billions in sales on the black market. There’s rumor that Warbucks has acquired this.” Jordan turned to the large monitor on the wall.

  The black screen flickered to show an image of a soldier holding a shoulder-mounted missile launcher. When he fired, they watched as the missile exploded from the barrel. Within seconds it took out a military drone flying above the accepted limit for commercial airliners.

  “Code-named CROSSFIRE, the military’s new toy has exceptional speed and reach,” Jordan informed them. “But it has even more. It can be programmed to a specific aircraft either using a stealth transmitter that can be attached to the hull of the aircraft, or using the airplane’s electronics themselves. CROSSFIRE can be programmed to the transmitter, fired in Colorado, and take out an aircraft in the air or on the ground in Washington, DC. It can’t be tracked by conventional radar, and its stealth capabilities are exceptional. It’s easily transported, hidden, and completely undetectable. Last week a launcher and six missiles were stolen from a military depot in DC. Two days later John Vincent’s handler”—Jordan glanced to Tehya—“received a message that Mr. Vincent’s services were being considered for a unique sale. We suspect that sale is CROSSFIRE.”

  “Several other messages went out to Libya, Syria, Iran, China, and Africa that CROSSFIRE had been acquired and bids would be taken,” John informed them. “One of the messages was received by a suspected general with al-Qaeda and money began shifting through several different accounts associated with the organization.

  “In three weeks the president is scheduled to arrive in Saudi Arabia to meet with several dignitaries, princes and Middle Eastern factions in secret talks aimed at drawing support for a new proposal for a truce in armed areas. This new plan has drawn support from some surprising factions. It could
actually begin an initiative that could signal a turn in the tide of terrorism in the Middle East.”

  Micah Sloane, the former Mossad agent, got to his feet at that point. “This new peace plan has Jordanian, Israeli, and Iranian consideration so far. The talks are remaining highly secret until the meeting in Saudi, where all the area’s leaders will gather. Several terrorist organizations have already learned of the meeting and have been planning ways to potentially sabotage it. This weapon is all they need.”

  “The planes will be checked for transmitters before lift-off,” Travis Caine interjected. “How much success could they have?”

  “The missiles can be programmed to individual aircraft signatures,” Jordan answered him. “It can also be armed with a nuclear warhead large enough to take out the meeting area and anyone in it.” He stared around the room as tension began to thicken. “We have three weeks to identify Warbucks and find the location of the missiles and launcher,” he warned them. “John Vincent is being tapped to broker the sale.” He looked to John. “Our hard work in all your covers and our previous operations is finally paying off. Vincent as the broker, Caine his bodyguard. Nik our Russian terrorist will be in place at the ski resort for bidding. Micah is our Palestinian terrorist Jerric Abbas. Noah will be here at the cabin with me to provide backup and logistical support.”

  John lifted his gaze back to the file footage playing on the wide screen and watched once again as the missile struck the drone plane. The warhead that could be attached to the missile wouldn’t be large, but it was big enough. Big enough that it could take out the heads of more than half the Middle Eastern countries without a problem, and they had only three weeks to stop it.

  “Bailey is an important part of this operation why?” Caine asked. “A disenchanted CIA agent?”

  “Much more than that actually,” Jordan answered. “Warbucks will choose his broker based on Bailey Serborne’s approval of him. She’s in whether we like it or not.”

  “How do we know this?” John could feel the almost violent sense of protectiveness rising within him. This was new information, and it was information he didn’t like.

  “This is via Warbucks’s contact,” Teyha informed him. “The call I received was quite specific. Miss Serbourne will choose the broker. Every broker contacted received the same message. This is now our best chance of identifying him.”

  Warbucks’s connections and the information and hardware he was getting his hands on was beginning to concern not just the United States but also allied nations. The power behind Warbucks had already shown itself in previous sales. The theft of the items, their movements, and their subsequent sales over the years had led back to connections to six families. Families with enough power around the world to bring down any law enforcement agency that came after them. But even more, there was enough power that each investigation into Warbucks’s activities had been betrayed and/or stopped in its tracks.

  High-ranking political officials had died searching for answers, as had agents, investigators, and bureau directors of more than one law enforcement agency across the globe.

  That kind of power could eventually result in complete global warfare or financial meltdown if it wasn’t stopped.

  “Bailey has connections into each of the six families,” John continued. “And we know for a fact that she’s running her own op into Warbucks. Her years at the CIA were peppered with various searches into each sale Warbucks made. We also have a file taken from Orion the night he was killed. That file included her picture and copies of e-mails sent to the assassin each time it was suspected he would cross her path. He was paid well to make certain he skirted around her rather than killing her. She had a no-kill order attached to her name that went out to not just Orion, but also several terrorist organizations. Warbucks is drawing her in. She knows it, and now we know it.”

  “She could be involved,” Nik injected.

  Jordan shook his head. “The families she’s tied to are the connection. The Serborne fortune goes to charity, billions and billions of dollars if Bailey Serborne dies without an heir. That’s the key to her good health and welfare to this point. She has no heir. That fortune is still up in the air, as well as the power that backs it. Until there’s a way to claim it, Warbucks will not allow her to die. Instead, its been determined that he’s going to partner with her, or develop a relationship with her instead.”

  The monitor changed from the missile firing to a dozen pictures of the reigning patriarchs of each family Bailey was connected to.

  “You’ll receive files on each family,” Jordan informed them. “But of the twelve, we’ve narrowed down what’s considered the four most likely, and we believe Bailey has narrowed that number down even farther. Read over your files, acquaint yourself with each family and their ties and connections into the Mideast deal coming up as well as their oppositions to it.”

  “And if you can’t seduce Miss Serborne into helping you?” Travis Caine arched a blond brow as he stared back at John. “Just because she was enamored of Trent Daylen five years ago doesn’t mean she’s going to fall into John Vincent’s arms now.”

  John scowled back at him. “She’ll do her part. She wants this as bad as we do. One of the men on your list is Ford Grace, the man she suspects played a part in not just her parents’ deaths but also a childhood friend’s some years before. Bailey wants vengeance. She missed out on Orion, so she’s now returning to the source.”

  She had let them have Orion, hoping that when she returned to her former life and her place in society, no one would give it a second look. That she could find her own justice, in her own way. She had been drawing Warbucks in, waiting for this chance.

  The satisfaction for her would have been much more profound. However, there was no way Bailey could have possibly been aware of the extent of Warbucks’s crimes or power. She was after the man who hired a killer, not an international terrorist.

  “How much information are we giving her?” Noah asked, his blue eyes concerned as he watched John.

  “Everything.” John glared back at Jordan, very well aware that his commander was opposed to that. “She won’t be aware of anyone involved but myself and Travis, but she’ll be aware of the operation as well as the implications of failure.”

  The others nodded, though Jordan continued to stare back at him coldly. John wasn’t always in agreement with his commander’s tactics. Jordan liked to keep his secrets, and he liked to keep knowledge of the unit completely hidden.

  He was still pissed that Noah’s and Micah’s wives were aware of not just the unit but also its operatives. He considered each one of them weaknesses. Which, in all likelihood, they were. But John often wondered if that wasn’t what made both Noah and Micah as efficient as they were. They had a reason to return from a mission, a reason the rest of them didn’t have or had lost.

  “We have Ian and Kira as backup as well as Kell Krieger and Macey March,” Jordan informed them. “Ian and Kira are playing within the upper crust of the rich and famous while Kell and Macey are working within the security details of two of the families. I’ll make certain you get reports as information comes in.”

  “Travis and I have checked in to one of the hotels in Aspen,” John told them. “We’ll be moving into Bailey’s mansion within the week.”

  “Confident bastard, isn’t he?” Nik grunted, bringing a round of chuckles from the other men.

  “Convinced,” John informed them all coolly.

  He knew Bailey, he knew the desire was still there, just as strong and just as hot as it had ever been. It hadn’t gone away any more than his need for her had gone away.

  It had begun five years before, only months before his “death.” When he had met Bailey on a joint US–Australian operation. He’d commanded the small team searching for pirates, and Bailey had been the CIA’s agent in charge. They’d struck sparks from the first second, and within days those sparks had grown to full-blown lust.

  They’d had one night. One night that h
e had never forgotten, never gotten out of his mind. A night that haunted him until he wondered if it would eventually steal his sanity.

  Seeing her in Atlanta had nearly destroyed him; letting her go had torn his heart out. He hadn’t told her in Australia what she meant to him—that he’d seen the end of his bachelor days in her eyes. And then fate had taken the choice from him. Trent Daylen had died and John Vincent had been created from the ashes. And John Vincent had no right to Bailey Serborne.

  Fuck.

  He clenched his fists and moved from the table once more as the other men read over their files and discussed various aspects of the operation as it stood.

  Everything hinged on Bailey and her decision to accept him as her lover. She wasn’t an agent who would sleep with any man for a mission. She might pretend to, and she could be a damned good actress. But John didn’t want an act, he wanted the woman. Just one more time. Just a few nights to store inside his soul and hold him over in the bleak, lonely days to come.

  She was like a ray of sunshine that he hadn’t known he’d missed until Atlanta. Until he had looked up and seen her haunted green eyes, her hollow expression as she watched Micah and Risa leave their apartment building.

  He’d known why she was there. The assassin Orion had been hired to kill Risa, an assassin suspected to have been involved in her parents’ deaths, and proven to have been involved in her cousin’s death in Israel. She’d lost everyone in her life, and she had hungered for vengeance, for absolution. It had been a hunger he’d had to deny her.

  Hell, he was fucked up here and he knew it. This mission had the potential to blow up in all their faces. The players involved weren’t just the richest men in the world, they were the most powerful. They seated politicians and had the ears of presidents and kings. They weren’t men whom any government agency dared to trifle with, which was why Jordan had taken the operation himself. It was one they had been working for years, gathering intel from various agencies, tracking movements, shipments, and weapons.