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

  “Or…come with me. There’s a railway station in the village if you need to come back and face your father.” He smiled, knowing her weakness where her father was concerned.

  Still she hesitated. She wanted to talk to Dempsey but she hadn’t been to her grandfather’s cottage since she was a teenager, and the hankering to see it again, to revisit some of the photographs of her mother as a child, was strong. Generally, she tried not to remember her mother because it hurt too much, but now… Now she wanted to honor her memory.

  “You can sleep in the car on the drive down.”

  “Okay.”

  He grinned. “Grab your stuff. I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.”

  * * *

  Wakhan Corridor, Afghanistan, July 1979

  Dmitri’s steps dragged as he walked back to where the men lay bleeding on the ground. “Cut his bonds.”

  The blond cherub’s lips curled in a show of bloody condescension. Dmitri knew he’d made a dangerous enemy.

  “What’s going on, Jonathon?” the brown-haired man asked. He twisted onto his side and stared into Dmitri’s eyes. “You realized you made a mistake, didn’t you? You checked our permits?” The brown eyes were earnest. Dmitri went with the easy explanation.

  “Yes, comrade. I need to apologize for my attack on your caravan. My country has reprimanded me for the death of your guide and his family will be compensated.”

  “And I’ll personally make sure you pay.” The blond man was brushing himself down with short sharp swipes that spelled fury. He bent to pick his belongings.

  Dmitri understood the need for spies, but he didn’t respect them. They dealt in lies, betrayal, double-crossings and deception. They lived shady, underhand lives with no real honor.

  The starshiná dragged the larger man to his feet and undid the ropes that tied his wrists and ankles.

  “Well then.” The big man, Sebastian, looked nervously around. “Do we just walk back the way we came?”

  Dmitri almost pitied his naivety. “There is a village five miles east. Or you might try to catch your guides on the Pakistani border.” Dmitri pointed south.

  Sebastian took two steps in that direction. “Right then. Are you coming, Jonathon?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Laser blue eyes narrowed as the dark-haired man nodded with relief and began walking away. Dmitri flinched even though he’d expected the gunshot.

  The blond spy turned to him and Dmitri read the threat in his malefic gaze. If the Englishman could have gotten away with it, he too, would be wearing a bullet in his back.

  “Do svidaniya, comrade,” Dmitri said bitterly.

  They both served Mother Russia but this man felt like his enemy. The spy touched his revolver to his forehead and marched away, not even glancing at the body of his dead friend. “Until we meet again, comrade.”

  * * *

  What did that mean?

  Dempsey turned the words over and over. Volkov had seemed to have been speaking directly to him. If you really love someone you need to protect them.

  What the hell did that mean?

  He shifted and turned to face the tired, wrinkled face of the most wanted man on the planet. They were sitting in a Land Rover trundling toward Brize Norton, the PM’s crew creating the sort of motorcade that usually screamed “presidential visit to hostile nation.” It was the early hours of the morning. Traffic was almost nonexistent. And he was on a razor’s edge of tension.

  “What did you mean?” He held the man’s gaze and saw the first flicker of uncertainty. “If you’ve got something to say about Axelle, you need to spill it before the Yanks whisk you away to Guantanamo.”

  Dmitri flicked his eyes to the side, licked his lips. “The reason I chose Dr. Dehn…”

  “Because her father is the American ambassador to Britain.”

  “But who was her mother?” Ancient eyes drilled him.

  Jesus. “If anything happens to her, I’ll…” Dempsey dialed Cullen, who’d been assigned to sorting kit after their recent adventures in Afghanistan. “Get on the Internet.”

  He told the guy what to look for, who to search for. They were about to enter the gates of the base. Thirty seconds later, Cullen said, “Iris Boyle. Daughter of Jonathon Boyle, who’s a veteran of the Foreign Office. He has Top Secret security clearance. There’s a photo. I’m sending it to your phone now.”

  He looked Dmitri in the eye and said, “Jonathon Boyle.” The man’s eyes flared.

  Cullen kept talking in his ear. “Iris died in the bombing of the British Embassy in Rabat.”

  “It was you who killed Axelle’s mother and trapped a little girl in the rubble—because you were after that guy, Boyle?”

  Dmitri shook his head. “No. No. I didn’t plant that bomb. I was blamed, of course. I’m always blamed, but that one wasn’t me.” Dmitri swallowed and for the first time Dempsey saw real emotion cross the man’s features. “I did try to bomb Boyle in Yemen but the device failed.”

  “The trouble with bombs is they don’t discriminate.” Dread scraped along Dempsey’s nerves. “Why were you after him?”

  “I want my grandson to have a chance to live his life. Is that too much to ask?” Tears glittered in the man’s eyes.

  “What about all the kids you’ve been responsible for killing over the years?” Dempsey sneered. “Did you give a fuck about them?”

  Dmitri’s skin bleached whiter than bone.

  Dempsey’s phone beeped and he opened the image. The guy, this Jonathon Boyle, looked vaguely familiar and he had no idea why. He squinted, then pulled the photographs he’d taken from that elder’s hut in the Wakhan Corridor out of his top pocket, and bingo. There was their man looking bright and shiny, standing next to a man who he now knew to be Sebastian Allworth. “Jonathon Boyle shot the PM’s dad,” he said with sudden intuition. It was the only thing that made sense and brought every piece of the puzzle together.

  “I’m saying nothing.” Dmitri turned away from him. “But…” He hesitated. “If that were true, the GRU won’t let Axelle Dehn live. They won’t risk that I told her the name of their most beloved spy.”

  Cold flooded Dempsey. He grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed. “Are you telling me Axelle’s grandfather is a Russian spy?”

  Dmitri was turning blue beneath his hands. The car had stopped. Someone was hauling him out and trying to force him to release the bastard, but he wouldn’t let go. “Tell me why she’s in danger.”

  “Yes! Yes. He’s a spy. Jonathon Boyle is the man who shot Sebastian Allworth in the back and who ruined my life.” Tears filled the man’s eyes as Dempsey finally let himself be pried loose. “They won’t let her live. It’s too late.” The Russian lay there on the asphalt gasping for breath.

  The British PM stood right beside him. His hands shook as if he wanted to finish the job Dempsey had started.

  “That can’t be true.” Allworth’s eyes bounced off all the people standing there. “He’s lying, I’ve known Jonathon Boyle all my life. I just put him on a committee monitoring weapons development for British Forces.” There was a sudden air-sucking silence. He pulled out his phone, no doubt calling the Firm and the Met. Damage control.

  Dempsey rolled his eyes. He almost felt sorry for the guy—except the idiot might have helped compromise British Forces for generations to come, which meant men and women like him might die. The old boy network should have been abolished years ago.

  Dempsey pulled out his cell. “Cullen, get Signals to put a trace on Axelle Dehn’s cell phone and do it now. I need to know exactly where she is so we can get her into some sort of protective custody.”

  Dmitri Volkov lay there with his face buried in his hands. A broken old man who’d caused more death and destruction than the entire regiment. Dempsey looked up as a Jeep full of soldiers in American BDUs screamed toward them.

  Two tall men in a dark suits emerged from the mass of camo and heavy weapons. One had CIA written all over him, the other bore a remarkable resemblance
to a woman he’d fallen in love with. Dempsey took a step forward, only to realize he was nothing to this guy. Nobody. Not his daughter’s lover. Not his future son-in-law.

  He intercepted the ambassador while the spook went over to Dmitri.

  “Do you know where your daughter is, Ambassador?”

  “You are?” Eyes like winter questioned him.

  Dempsey didn’t blink. “A friend.” More than a friend. “I met her in Afghanistan a few days ago.” A lifetime ago.

  “She’s in Afghanistan?”

  “You didn’t even know that?”

  “Last time I spoke to her she wasn’t due to go back until summer.” The man shook his head, pressed his lips together, tense. “She’s all right?”

  Dempsey watched him carefully. He wanted to know if this man would sacrifice his own daughter for some unknown political agenda. “Has no one informed you of her kidnapping, sir?”

  “Kidnapping?” The ambassador stared at Dempsey as though he were seeing him for the first time. His voice sounded strained. “Volkov kidnapped her?”

  “Yes, but she was unharmed when we left the Wakhan.”

  The ambassador seemed to physically collect himself as he looked at the Russian lying on the tarmac. “I expected one of the most notorious men on the planet to look a little more threatening and a little less pathetic.”

  The guy wasn’t listening to him and pathetic wasn’t how Dempsey would have described the person he’d chased through the Hindu Kush.

  “I told her it wasn’t safe, but she never listens to me.” The American’s expression hardened.

  Dempsey braced his feet even though he could see some of the Yanks wanting to physically sweep him out of the way. They could damn well try. “With all due respect, this isn’t about you, sir. It’s about her, living the life she was meant to live. She’s got more brains and balls than any person on this base, but I think she might still be in danger, sir.”

  The ambassador went to push past him, so he got in the guy’s face. “I’m talking about your daughter, sir, you own flesh and blood. She could be in extreme danger. Dmitri Volkov named Jonathon Boyle as a Russian spy.”

  “You can’t be serious.” The American soldiers stepped forward but Dehn waved them away. Anger narrowed his dark gaze and tightened the set of his jaw. He seemed to realize Dempsey was deadly serious and something enigmatic moved through his eyes. “I see, but I doubt Axelle is in any real danger if she’s still in Afghanistan. I saw Jonathon in London a couple of days ago. The man is too”—his lips twisted with distaste—“prissy to get his hands dirty, and he dotes on Axelle. However, I’ll make sure she gets a security detail assigned ASAP.” The ambassador nodded thoughtfully as if filtering information, then stared after the British PM, who ignored him as he climbed back into his limo to make more phone calls.

  The CIA spook motioned two American soldiers over and they hauled Dmitri to his feet.

  The Russian refused to meet Dempsey’s gaze as he was marched away.

  “I never did like Iris’s father.” The ambassador nodded again to Dempsey, and turned to leave.

  That’s it? Christ, he hated politicians. “Ambassador Dehn,” Dempsey snapped. The man whirled back toward him, obviously unused to being yelled at. “You are going to save the man’s grandchild, aren’t you?”

  Dmitri raised his head and shot him a startled look.

  It took a moment but the ambassador jerked his head in a firm nod. “We’ll get him a new liver, but I can’t promise how long he’ll survive. I’m not a doctor. I’m certainly not God.”

  “Thank you.” Dmitri Volkov spoke over the heads of his guards, a broken, hunched figure.

  Dempsey didn’t know if he was talking to him or the diplomat but he held the man’s gaze as he was bundled away.

  There but for the grace of God…

  Dempsey blew out a massive breath as the PM’s security detail and US ambassador’s mini-army headed in opposite directions, leaving him and his mates sitting on the tarmac like a bunch of delinquents. They looked at one another uncertainly.

  The phone rang. It was Cullen. “Got a trace, Irish, but you’re not gonna like it. Brace yourself.” The uneasy turmoil in his stomach intensified. “She’s not in the Wakhan or the States. Her phone is headed south on the M20 in Kent.”

  What the…?

  Dempsey got back in the car. “Taz, put your foot down. Baxter, get on the blower to the CO and tell him what’s going on. But I’m not here.” He took off his watch which contained his GPS transmitter and left it on the seat. “You can’t contact me, right?” They nodded.

  If this went pear-shaped, Dempsey didn’t want others taking the fall for what he might have to do, because, suddenly, keeping Axelle safe and sound trumped his career and his loyalty to the crown. He would not follow orders if it meant putting her life on the line. Not this time. The thought alone was cause for being RTU’d and a dishonorable discharge.

  * * *

  “We’re nearly there,” Jonathon said as he noticed his granddaughter open her eyes and look at the pink-tinged sky. Fate was a remarkable thing. He’d thought he was going to have to sacrifice this beautiful, brilliant young woman and never see her again. Providence was rewarding him and he’d decided to take Axelle with him.

  Why should they both be alone?

  She was adroit with languages. It wouldn’t take her long to find a job over there, and they’d be good company for one another. She’d never got on with her father anyway, and had been unhappy since she’d lost that young man she’d married.

  This was perfect. He grinned at her.

  “While you were asleep I got a call from the marina where I berth my yacht. They need me to sail it to another spot down the coast because they’re dredging the harbor today.” He checked his watch. “We can do that before I need to meet the builders at ten.

  “Okay.” She yawned and stretched. ‘Oh, excuse me, I’m exhausted.”

  “You’ve been through a lot. You need proper sleep.”

  He had all the information about the new defense systems in his head. He was looking forward to his return home and a hero’s welcome to a country he hadn’t lived in since his early teens. A country he’d missed. His heart tapped lightly against his ribs and he touched his chest. Instinct told him it was time to run, and instinct had been keeping him safe for years.

  Another fifteen minutes, and they parked in the secure marina and headed toward his twenty-seven-foot yacht, Iris. Named after his daughter, Axelle’s mother.

  Her lips spread into a wide smile as she admired the sleek craft. “I’d forgotten how beautiful she is.”

  Jonathon felt a thrill of pride. The boat was his one true indulgence. “All aboard.” He swept his hand in a gentlemanly gesture and Axelle hopped across the gangplank. Iris was always ready go. He paid a man to run maintenance every day just in case.

  Just in case had turned into just as well.

  “Go put the kettle on, we’ll have a cuppa as we motor around the bay.”

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks, Gramps. This is exactly what I needed.” She headed down the stairs as he primed and started the engines.

  He cast off. He almost waved goodbye to the familiar coastline where he’d spent enough years for it to feel like home, but he didn’t. He hadn’t survived this long by taking chances.

  * * *

  Axelle found the teakettle and a big unopened bottle of water. Carefully she filled the kettle and put it on the stove. It was cool near the sea and she rubbed the sudden rush of goose bumps that spread over her flesh. The engine rumbled to life and she felt the boat start moving through the water at a steady chug. She hadn’t been sailing in years. Maybe she needed a break, although she’d better get her ass back to MSU before the end of the month to teach the rest of the semester’s course else she was in danger of losing that job too. She also needed to sort out Josef’s Ph.D., her own future research program, and see if there was any way of continuing her work w
ith the snow leopards with other funding. But she needed this downtime after her ordeal and still needed to talk to her father.

  The kettle boiled and she poured the water into a teapot complete with two requisite Tetley teabags.

  She glanced around the comfy cabin. It wasn’t particularly fancy but it was fastidiously clean and tidy. There were a bunch of photographs tacked to one wall in the galley. She leaned closer, pulling off a photograph of her mother as a teenager and inadvertently knocking another couple loose. She dropped to her hands and knees to gather the pictures and hesitated. There was an old photograph, overexposed and faded, but it looked remarkably like the landscape she’d just left behind. Her grandfather as a young man stood beside a camel. Another much taller man stood on the other side, grinning at the camera. He looked vaguely familiar.

  Footsteps sounded on the steps just as Dmitri’s words echoed in her ears. Your blood owes me.

  “Where was this photograph taken, Gramps?”

  Her grandfather frowned at her. “Morocco or Yemen maybe? I don’t remember.”

  “It looks like the Wakhan Corridor.” She picked up all the photos and rearranged them on the board. “Who’s that you’re with?”

  Her grandfather shrugged and a sense of unease roused inside her. “I don’t remember. Some tourist.”

  Her grandfather had a photographic memory for names and faces. In fact, she didn’t think he’d ever forgotten a damn thing. Why was he lying? Or was he simply getting absentminded with age?

  She poured the tea and took two mugs up on deck. Passed him one as he steered and she sat on the bench beside him.

  The salt-laden breeze grazed her cheeks and her loose hair whipped around her face, blinding her. The enormous cross-channel ferries were coming in and out of port not far away. The white cliffs of Dover gleamed a toothy grin in the background. The sky was pale blue, the sea dark and brooding. She shivered and zipped her windbreaker.

  “Do you fancy going on a little jaunt before we head back?” There was an excited light in his eyes. She nodded and he unfurled the sails, the boat surging forward as they caught the breeze. She wasn’t big on sailing, but this was his thing and chances were she wouldn’t see him again for another couple of years. It wouldn’t hurt to spend an extra hour at sea.