Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (9 Novels from Bestselling Authors, plus Bonus Christmas Novella from NY Times Bestselling Author Rebecca York)

by Kaylea Cross

  He’d email her, although what the hell he’d say he had no clue. Email wouldn’t look at him the way she did. Email wouldn’t let him touch her soft skin or smell her hair. Shit. Now was not the time to be mooning over a woman.

  When he heard the rotors growing louder he nodded to Taz, who stood and pulled away a filthy desert tarp that had hidden the gaunt, bleeding old man who now staggered stiffly to his feet. Time to go. They pulled a camouflage smock over the Russian’s head and gave him a hat. They had to get the man to the hangar where they could stow him with the gear. It wouldn’t be a comfortable ride back to Blighty but it beat a 9 mm round to the temple.

  Time to see what the hell was happening and hope he wasn’t about to lose his career because of an unwelcome epiphany. He was a soldier, not a killer. Although it wasn’t the Geneva Convention he’d been thinking about when he hadn’t murdered Volkov in cold blood. It had been his humanity.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the flight to Heathrow Axelle ignored the man next to her, who alternated between trying to hit on her and angling to stare down the front of her top.

  Kabul airport had looked more like a war zone than a commercial airport. She flexed her fingers. Somewhere in that city of ruin and desperation, two tiny cubs tumbled around a dirty broken cage to be prodded and stared at like spectacles in a circus.

  It sickened her that the organization that should have been moving heaven and earth to care for them in their natural habitat had buckled under the pressure of sensational headlines and political fallout.

  Now she was on a flight out of Pakistan, and the hours of mindless travel had given her time to think about what the Trust had done and her anger kept growing. She’d been trapped under a damn mountain. They had to have assumed she was dead. Rather than celebrate her survival, they’d got pissy because she’d done what she had to do to try to save the leopards.

  She turned her head and the man next to her lifted his glance from her nonexistent breasts. Sandy-haired, square-faced, he wore a dark green suit jacket that had a sheen from overuse. His pants were brown cord and his shoes were slip-ons that looked at least a decade old. Axelle wasn’t into appearances, but he was hitting on her in a crowded aircraft and all she could think was he was no Tyrone Dempsey.

  “You on vacation?” he asked. The lines on his face put him over forty, possibly over fifty. He had one of those completely forgettable, nondescript faces.

  “Do I look like I’m on vacation?” Her clothes were dusty with travel grime, stained with various unknown substances. She hadn’t showered in more days than she cared to remember but the guy didn’t seem to care. He must be into grunge.

  His eyes slid down her face, and he gave her a semi-hopeful smile. Jeez, the man must be simple, or desperate. She eyed him with the sort of expression that made stones squirm. Nothing worked.

  “You look like you’ve been on a backpacking adventure.”

  She huffed out an exasperated laugh. Understatement. Some of what she’d been through hit her and she turned away and stared out the window. Her fingers clutched each other in her lap. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Dempsey’s smile and felt his lips on hers. They hadn’t talked. Not properly. He’d shoved her on an aircraft, and she’d gone because she’d been too dazed and too proud to do anything else.

  Her fellow traveler turned on a movie and she ignored him for the rest of the trip; she wasn’t in the mood for idle conversation. Three of her precious cats had died and it was her fault. Volkov had said her family owed him a blood debt but she didn’t understand. Her mother had been killed by a terrorist bomb. Dmitri’s bomb? Or someone else’s? She didn’t know but maybe her father did.

  Finally they were almost in the UK. The sky over London was the sort of solar blue that made you believe in global warming.

  “Where are you staying? In London?” The guy next to her asked.

  She turned her head to pin him with her gaze. He didn’t flinch. He was goddamn persistent, though obviously not very bright, despite the handsome enough face and modulated English accent.

  She buttoned her olive green shirt over her tank top, all the way to her throat.

  “Do you have a number I could call you on?”

  “My cell doesn’t work in the UK.” A lie. She wasn’t naturally a cruel person. Or maybe she was. Hell, she didn’t even know anymore. But she wasn’t interested in him.

  The plane landed with a minor bump. She collected her laptop and bag from the overhead locker and headed for the exit. Seconds later she was striding away along the epic walkways, her legs outstripping most people who were struggling with fatigue and excess baggage.

  Agitation swirled. She hadn’t told her father she was coming. She’d wanted to surprise him, but a tiny part of her admitted she was slightly scared of arriving unannounced. He was a busy man. Austere and powerful, his loyalty was always first to his country and second to his family.

  She wanted to catch him off his formidable guard. See his reaction when he saw her and she told him about being buried alive—again—and see if he’d had anything to do with it.

  The urge to see if she could track down Dempsey was strong, but chances were he was still in the Wakhan chasing that insane old Russian. If she tried to find him she’d probably end up being arrested or something. She bit her lip to stop herself thinking about him. She couldn’t afford the angst of daydreaming about a man she couldn’t have. Why would she even be attracted to a soldier who might die any day? A man who dealt in bullets the way she dealt in academic timetables and GPS coordinates?

  It was crazy. After losing Gideon to war, she’d be damned if she’d go down that route again. She knew better than to open herself up to anyone. Getting close led to vulnerability. Vulnerability led to pain. Better to stay alone, then she wouldn’t get hurt.

  Except alone felt goddamn lonely.

  She hit customs and stood in line, a little disconcerted to see the man who’d sat beside her on the plane, ahead of her in the enormous snaking queue. He hadn’t looked like he could move that fast. She inched forward, a mother and her toddler in a stroller ahead of her. The little girl had hair that stuck up on end and enough food encrusted on her clothes to ensure that she’d survive for days in an emergency. Axelle smiled and the child started to cry.

  She rolled her eyes. Story of her life.

  She got to the customs agent and handed over her passport.

  “Reason for your visit?”

  “I’m visiting my father.”

  “Do you have an address where you’ll be staying?”

  Axelle shook her head. “I’m going to pick up a hotel room in the city. My father is the United States Ambassador.”

  The man’s eyes looked completely unimpressed. “Wait here.” He disappeared while Axelle sagged against the counter. She didn’t usually try to strong-arm her way into a country using her connections, but she was tired and just wanted this journey over with. She scrubbed her hand over her face, trying to wake herself up. She should have known it would backfire.

  “Follow me.” The guard was back and leading her across the thin gray carpet to a side door. Armed men were stationed throughout the massive room. Nerves tingled despite her weariness and exhaustion. She followed the man and entered another series of corridors. Finally she found herself in a small interview room. Sitting at the table was the man she’d spent the past eight hours ignoring.

  “What do they want with you?” she asked.

  Those soft eyes and nondescript features sharpened and hardened into something surprisingly ruthless. A quick zip of her heart rate confirmed her error. She’d been set up.

  “I’m the one doing the questioning, Dr. Dehn. You can begin by telling me what you were doing associating with a known terrorist in northern Afghanistan.”

  Associating? “I was kidnapped.”

  “The British and American embassies were never informed of any kidnapping.”

  She took a step toward him, wavering between falling ove
r and smacking him in the jaw. “There wasn’t time to tell the authorities and, anyway, do you think it was up to me to alert the authorities when I was the one bound hand and foot?”

  “Sit down, Dr. Dehn.”

  She snorted. “So you can stare down my top again?”

  His smile chilled her. “Not that I don’t appreciate the perks of my job, but no. I want to know everything that happened between you and Dmitri Volkov. Everything he did. Everything he said. Sit. Now.”

  She hesitated but the message in the man’s eyes was clear. She wasn’t going anywhere until they had this conversation, and maybe not even then.

  * * *

  Dempsey closed his eyes and rested his head against the shell of the aircraft. Two dozen scruffy men dressed just like him were stretched out in sleep or sitting in groups, playing cards. His mouth felt dry. He had a feeling he’d just screwed himself over. Taz shot him a glance. Chances were he’d screwed them all over. He stared at the large flight cases and hoped the old bugger was still alive. Otherwise they’d be burying a corpse in the Welsh hills come midnight.

  God help them if anyone ever dug him up.

  As the plane landed in Brize Norton, he waited for most of the men to head back to base in the waiting minibuses before he motioned to his captain that he needed a word.

  “What is it Dempsey?” The man’s shoulders were slouched with tiredness.

  He wasn’t a bad officer. Just inexperienced.

  “I’ve got a little confession to make, Captain.” Dempsey stood to attention. “And I need you to know it was my decision and my troop was not in any way responsible—”

  “We didn’t kill the Russian,” Cullen piped up.

  Taz shook his head. “Though we did shoot him so he’d bleed—”

  “All over that shirt you have in your plastic bag, boss,” Baxter finished.

  The captain’s impressive jaw dropped and his skin blanched. “You did what?”

  “We didn’t kill him.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No, sir!” the three stooges shouted.

  His mates. His family.

  Dempsey shook his head with an internal sigh. Tapped a crate with his toe. “We brought him back with us.”

  The box started talking. “Get me out of this box, stupid mudak. You are torturing me!”

  Blood drained away from the captain’s cheeks as he stared at the talking box. His hands started to shake. “You disobeyed orders—”

  “I followed the rules of engagement—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” The captain backed away a step.

  Dempsey grabbed his arm and stared him dead in the eye. “Something is going on. Something that doesn’t make any sense. I’m almost blown to shit. The American ambassador’s daughter is almost blown to shit. Russian Spetsnaz forces are doing their best to start a war over this guy. He’s been inactive for years and yet we’re ordered to kill the old fecker, rather than apprehend? Why? I mean, he isn’t Bin Laden. No one is going to rally to his war cry. Hardly anyone even knows he exists.” Dempsey could see the cogs turning in the officer’s mind. He kept his voice low and fervent. “He knows stuff that could help in the war on terror. Save lives.”

  “I’m not telling you anything until you find my grandson and get him a liver transplant.” Volkov yelled from the box. “Get me out of here.”

  The captain looked around to see what everyone else was thinking. Realized belatedly it was just the five of them and the captured Russian.

  “The Firm is up to something.” Taz stood by his side.

  “Civil serpents,” said Cullen.

  Dempsey put his not inconsiderable frame in front of the ranking officer. “I didn’t mention it before now because I didn’t want to be diverted to a black camp or shot down on the way home.” The captain’s eyes flashed. “Because whatever they’re all scared of is worth more than a plane full of soldiers.”

  “You really think the Russians would start a war over this guy? Why?”

  “That’s what we need to find out.” Although to be fair, he hadn’t said it would be the Russians shooting them out of the sky. “Did you leave your Jeep here?”

  The captain nodded. Dempsey tilted his head toward Taz, Cullen and Baxter. “Grab the luggage, lads.” He tossed an extra kitbag to the captain who staggered under the weight. “We’ll bring the rest.”

  * * *

  “What the hell were you thinking, Sergeant? You’ve put the Regiment in an untenable position.”

  Apparently, getting a new asshole did hurt. Funny that.

  “I was put in an untenable position when I was ordered to shoot an unarmed man, sir.” Dempsey stood at ease but didn’t drop his guard. “The Geneva Convention—”

  “I am well aware of the Geneva fucking Convention, Sergeant.” Flinty eyes of the Regiment’s CO stared him down.

  “Sir.” Dempsey lowered his voice. “You know something weird is going on here. GCHQ bomb the fucker. The Russians sending Special Forces after him.”

  “He’s a deserter; they have a right to him. More than we do.”

  “He deserted more than thirty years ago, but they still want him dead. The Yanks want him dead too.”

  “He’s a terrorist! Everyone wants him dead. The change in orders from capture to kill came direct from the PM, and you disobeyed.” A court-martial offense. The CO pulled on his lower lip, thinking. It was no secret the CO was a true-blue Tory, but no soldier liked politicians messing with their army. Recent cuts and bad military decisions had deepened the growing divide.

  “Why is this old soldier worth so much to so many?”

  The CO remained quiet for a moment, then added, “I had a report the Volkov family managed to sneak out of Russia and walked into the American Embassy in Paris, claiming asylum. There are rumors the Aga Khan had a hand in whisking them away from under the nose of the Russian authorities. They have a boy with them who is in desperate need of medical treatment.”

  Which confirmed Volkov’s story. “Can they get him sorted?”

  “The Americans can probably keep him alive long enough to receive the operation he needs, as long as someone is willing to pay their price.”

  “The price is?”

  “Volkov.” From the look on the CO’s face, this wasn’t good news.

  “They know he’s alive?”

  “They suspect. Someone was watching that satellite feed very carefully.” Dempsey had been afraid of that. Still it had bought them enough time to get home. That was something.

  “Any reason we can’t hand him over to the Yanks?”

  The CO spat out a laugh. “Yes. Our esteemed new PM won’t allow it. Seems he has some sort of personal grudge against Volkov that he’ll even risk the old ‘special relationship’ for.”

  Sweat broke out over Dempsey’s brow. He’d promised the old man he’d get the boy the treatment he needed. He didn’t fancy breaking into the American Embassy in Paris to keep his word. On top of everything he had this driving need to talk to Axelle, to make sure she was okay back in her quaint little yurt. Because there was this feeling in the pit of his stomach that they’d somehow stoked a hornets’ nest, and she was the most likely to get stung. She’d become important to him. Very important.

  “I put the Regiment in a difficult position, sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I was concerned we were being played by spooks and God knows who.” He resisted fidgeting. He still didn’t know if he’d fucked up or not, but at least he hadn’t executed an unarmed old man. He could live with that. After twenty-two years in the army, he’d finally made peace with his past. He’d finally done enough to forgive himself his heritage and could live with his choices even if he got kicked out of the Regiment. Axelle had a hand in that.

  “You’re a good soldier, Dempsey. As far as you’re concerned you were following my personal orders, got it?”

  Dempsey blinked in surprise. The man was saving his ass, possibly at his own expense. “Why? Why wou
ld you go to bat for a man like me, sir?”

  “A man like you?” Keen gray eyes assessed him. “You know way back when you applied for selection?”

  Dempsey nodded.

  “I was there, son. No one ever intended for you to get in to the Regiment.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Trouble was, no matter what we threw at you, you never gave up. You never stopped fighting. You never quit. The DSs started looking at one another and shrugging as if to say, ‘I’m not going to axe the best guy here.’ The hypocrisy was too great. We kept waiting for you to fail. To not make the cut, but you just kept coming.” The man smiled and Dempsey felt emotion expanding in his chest so much he couldn’t speak. “Then the Regimental CO at the time called a meeting and said something that stuck in my mind ever since. That you were probably one of the few soldiers who really understood what we were fighting for in Northern Ireland. Having lost your sister to your father’s bomb, you understood the stakes better than any of us. So you passed and have been a great asset to the Regiment ever since.”

  Dempsey’s mouth felt as dry as the Gobi.

  “Now I need to make some phone calls. You keep Volkov secure before the various factions arrive to start a tug-o-war over him.”

  “And the grandson?” Dempsey grated out.

  “Not in my remit, Sergeant. Not in yours either.”

  No, but making a pawn out of a child’s life didn’t sit well. Didn’t sit well at all.

  * * *

  “Do you deny you spent a day in Dmitri Volkov’s company?”

  Axelle didn’t bother trying to hide her utter disbelief. She leaned across a small square table and told herself not to hit the sonofabitch. They’d been over this ten times already. He was trying to rile her. “He kidnapped me, twice, shot at me, and strapped me into an explosive vest. It was hardly frickin’ date night.”

  “So you say.”

  Whoa, the guy’s eyes contained the same emotion as a bullet, but a bullet was warmer.