INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1)

by Gennita Low

  It wasn’t that he disliked his O.C. Harden had been nothing but fair to him, but the man had a black hole where his personality should be. In the hallways, Steve heard them whisper his nickname, Hard-On, and the reference wasn’t meant to be complimentary.

  “Where are the others?” Steve asked as he walked over to the desk where his O.C. sat. As usual he sensed disapproval from the man, even though nothing in his face betrayed it.

  “I sent them home. They’re on call in case your target does something between now and tomorrow.”

  “My target?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

  “You’ve made it personal. Once you let your emotions get involved, you crossed the line.” Harden looked back at him steadily, challenging him to deny the accusation.

  Steve kept his gaze level. “I haven’t done anything to suggest that I can’t handle this.”

  It was Harden’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “No?” He leaned forward and clicked a button on a console. “What about that?”

  One of the many screens showing the few rooms at Marlena’s apartment flickered, catching Steve’s attention. The couple on the bed. The necklace. The intimacy of shared laughter. There were no sounds, since the mikes had been destroyed, but the evidence was damning. Steve didn’t move or say a word, letting the tape run its course.

  “She got you, man. How are you going to catch her if you’re doing your thinking with your gonads?” Harden asked, his voice laced with acid sarcasm.

  Now wasn’t the time to think of Marlena’s betrayal, Steve told himself. He turned to face his chief. “I know what I’m doing,” he said levelly. “She’s just trying to cast confusion among her enemies. She knows you’re watching her.”

  “Of course she knows. She placed that eye there herself.” Harden smacked his hand on the desk in disgust, showing his anger for the first time since Steve walked in. “She’s telling her watchers—me, specifically—that she’s got you, that we can’t fully trust you anymore.”

  “Sir,” Steve reverted back to formality. There was no way to defend himself by being familiar. “Marlena Maxwell wants you to think a certain way. She’s good at this; I know, I’ve been around the woman long enough to experience her manipulative ways. That”—he pointed to the screen—“was meant to create problems for me. We just have to figure out why she did it.”

  Of course Steve knew the reason, but he wasn’t going to admit it. It had to do with a bet they had made that day. It was just Marlena’s way of showing whose ass was being had. Another time he might even have found what she did amusing, but not tonight. He was too frustrated. And she’d so cleverly backed him into a corner with his own men. How could he tell them he knew her so well, that he understood her message here, without them turning suspicious? His own O.C. was skeptical of his motives, for God’s sake.

  “You think I don’t know what she’s up to?” Harden asked in disgust. He leaned back and sank deeply into his chair, his eyes flint-hard as he looked at Steve. “I’ve been in this kind of stuff a lot longer than you. You’re used to playing Superman, McMillan. Don your gear and go out and fight the bad evil dudes. Well, that kind of mentality isn’t suited for TIARA. We use intel to fight the enemy, not firepower.”

  Steve didn’t think it appropriate to point out that Superman always won. He might not have the kind of cloak-and-dagger training that Harden had, but he was a SEAL, and he held his team’s record in the BUD/S infamous O course, an obstacle course created not just to test mental toughness and confidence, but to teach the trainees there was always a better way.

  “Each enemy needs a different approach,” he said. “I just think there are more things happening here than a quick assassination. Marlena is—”

  “Playing hide-and-seek,” Harden cut in. “She hides and you seek, except that we don’t know what she’s hiding, and she’s picking things for you to find. That’s pretty obvious. What isn’t obvious to you is you’re falling for her. What isn’t obvious is every time she manipulates you, over here, on this end, it adds another nail into your coffin. I’m not the only one assessing these videos, and believe me, I’m only voicing the conclusions of those who are going to see this. One wrong misstep and it’s free fall, McMillan.”

  “The order was to get close to the target,” Steve reminded. He no longer cared if he was stepping out of formal protocol. “I’ve been doing that.”

  “And your emotions weren’t involved in your decision-making process?”

  Steve straightened. There was more here than his being accused of impropriety, whatever the hell that meant. On some other level, Harden was being personal here, but Steve couldn’t figure out why.

  “Of course emotions are involved,” he answered, frowning slightly. “Every decision always has an underlying emotion. The point is not to let it affect one’s better judgment. That is, sir, how I approach my job.

  Steve caught the glint of something in the eyes of the man across the desk from him. Something else going on here. His instinct kept repeating the warning.

  It was impossible to crack a tough nut like Harden. Steve had tried to be friendly, aloof, distant, formal, conversational, every way he could think of, to connect with his operations chief. He wanted to get along well with the man because he was the main focus in any sensitive operation. In his special operations group, every commander in charge of each team took time to make sure that everyone was on the same page. TIARA Task Force Two’s operations chief gave orders without instructions and expected them done his way. For Steve, that meant hit and miss. Obviously he’d missed by a mile in this assignment.

  Steve decided to feel around for the missing instructions. “So what do you want me to do, sir? Just let it go and let you have a shot with her?”

  “It would be easier to take her in and grill her.”

  “Like I said before, suppose she says nothing?”

  “Suppose we make her? There are ways.”

  Steve carefully studied Harden. Ruthlessness was part of the job, but for him there had to be a very good reason for it. One just didn’t randomly hurt a civilian without proof of intent. This wasn’t jungle warfare, after all. Plus the thought of Marlena in a cell...He quelled the thought immediately. Don’t even go there.

  He shook his head. “From those threatening calls, someone else thinks she has something valuable. I think she’s here for this something, and keeping her locked up could end up with us never knowing what it is. And let’s say even if she did tell what it is, how are we going to get it without her? It’s important enough that someone else is going after her for it.”

  Not the most brilliant argument, but that was the best he could come up with at the moment. He really, really wanted to go back to Marlena’s apartment and...and...what? He had no idea.

  “Relax, McMillan,” Harden interrupted his reverie, a corner of his mouth lifting wryly. “It’s out of my hands right now. Your report from this morning obviously pushed some right buttons for you because I’ve got orders to nail Miss Maxwell this time. Seems that no one had ever had concrete evidence of her crimes, not enough to stick to that leather outfit she loves so much, anyway. She’s all yours for now. Who knows? If you actually get her what’s due to the likes of her, that would be a serious notch in your belt, Superman. That is, if you get her, of course, before she gets you.” He jerked his chin toward the screen. “So far, she’s winning.”

  Steve knew he couldn’t say a thing to defend Marlena. She already had him twisted up enough to even consider making such a stupid move to his own team, no less. If he even voiced some sort of defense, she would get her wish—his whole team would never fully trust him. He just had to work his way out of this emotional web she’d weaved around him on his own. Pronto.

  “As long as we watch her every move, sir, we’ll find out what we’re after.”

  Harden nodded. “Tell me what happened today. Then you can go home and get some beauty sleep. Seems like your Miss M. likes her men pretty. We’ll keep watch while you play.”

>   Steve ignored the insult. He was used to being tested. Besides, he heard the underlying warning. He would be watched as well.

  Chapter Four

  Wow, if he looked like that when he was pissed off, Marlena couldn’t wait till she really pushed him over the edge. This Stash had a brooding look that spelled dangerous with a capital D. He looked as if he’d been up most of the night—his hair was wind-tossed and he hadn’t shaved. He must have thrown on his oldest things—a dirty old sweatshirt and jeans so faded there were white creases in the most interesting places.

  Marlena had never had a wild animal waiting on her doorstep before. She took in his appearance silently, from the top of his messy hair down, down those long Levi’s—pausing a moment there—to the scuffed-up shoes. There was a backpack by his feet.

  She returned her gaze to his. “Bad night?” she asked lightly, holding the door ajar.

  “What makes you think so?” he retorted, picking up the backpack and coming in.

  Steve waited till they walked past the surveillance device he knew she’d left out in the hallway (she was a sensible assassin, if there were such a thing), until they were in the living room. Without another word, he pulled her around by the elbow and pushed her against the wall.

  Maybe if he kissed her in anger, he would get rid of the constant craving to taste her. Maybe if he was a little rough this time, he would get under her skin and she would push back. Show him that hidden side of her that would repulse him. Then maybe he could get past the idea of actually liking her.

  Instead of fighting him, her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled herself up, twining her legs around his waist. Then she opened her mouth invitingly. That maddened him even more. He grabbed her hands and held them prisoner against the wall, grinding his hips against hers as he savaged her mouth. Why did she have to smell so damn good? He tried to ignore its seductive grip, concentrating on conquering the woman instead. He would conquer this strange weakness in himself.

  She shouldn’t be responding to him. She wasn’t a submissive woman. Why wasn’t she fighting him, damn her? He pushed her hands high up above her head and locked one hand around both wrists, then he roughly pushed up her blouse and cupped her breast. He muttered a curse against her lips. Why the hell didn’t she have a bra on?

  And suddenly her scent, her compliant mouth, the taste of her, the yielding softness of her breast engulfed his senses, and with a groan he settled more comfortably between her open legs. She gave a throaty response of her own when he gently played with her nipple, arching up against him. He wanted more. He wanted a response from every part of her.

  In the back of her mind, somewhere back where she stored caution and sanity, Marlena reminded herself that she could break out of his grip. The problem was, she didn’t want to. He was pissed off as hell, and it excited her. He tasted male and menacing, his lips were hard and punishing. His morning stubble scraped her cheeks, as he silently and insistently took his fill of her. His hold was anything but tender, yet she found herself responding to him, giving in to his demands. It was exhilarating to have this man focused entirely on her—his attention, all his emotions, all thought was zeroed in on her.

  This just couldn’t be. She never ever let a man take over, not in this kind of situation. But here she was, hands locked above her head, at her most vulnerable. She would not be dominated like this—should not—and the thought of stopping surfaced for a moment before he slipped his hand inside her blouse and touched her breasts. A moan escaped from deep inside her. The feel of his fingers brushing her nipple gently was a direct contrast to his conquering mouth. She felt weak, breathless. She forgot about stopping him. There was only his scent and the taste of him as his kiss become less urgent, but not less commanding. And always, always, that soft caress of his fingers on her sensitive skin. Back and forth, his thumb rolled and teased. That by-now-familiar tension in her stomach coiled tighter, her lust for his touch a damp throbbing between her legs.

  Steve tried to hang on to his disappearing anger. He didn’t want it gone. It was the only excuse he had to kiss her, to want her. He felt a certain charge of power when he was angry, as if he could handle this woman without letting his emotions get involved. To his surprise, instead of fighting him like the control freak she was, the damn woman was giving in to him. That not only dampened the edge of his temper, but now the thought of her weak and yielding only increased his desire. Damn, damn, damn.

  He broke off the kiss, fighting himself more than her. Her soft moan of protest didn’t help, either, and he sucked in his breath when the strong legs around his waist pulled him even harder against her lower body. She opened her eyes and they were so blue they looked violet. Her expression was so shatteringly open, he forgot to discharge the air in his lungs. Not the usual amused mockery. None of the confident and knowing gaze. Instead she had that startled, vulnerable look in her eyes again. And a hunger in them that caught him by surprise. Beneath his hand, her heart beat as rapidly as his. She blinked. The look disappeared.

  Marlena licked her swollen lips slowly, willing that thundering sound in her head to slow down. The heat of his lower body burned through her cotton shorts. She had to say something—anything—to establish control again.

  “Are you hungry again?” she asked, trying to clear the huskiness from her voice. She jerked her imprisoned hands a little, testing his strength. His hold remained viselike. Yet she didn’t feel at all threatened.

  His midnight eyes glittered back with suppressed emotion. There was still anger, but also something more. “I’m very hungry.”

  His growl shook Marlena’s very being. He aroused something primitive in her that made her breathless and eager, like a young schoolgirl. She shouldn’t like how he affected her.

  “Leftover muffins? Stale pancakes?” She had to cool the situation down right now.

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s not going to satisfy my hunger. I’m looking for something tastier. Something different.” To demonstrate the direction of his thoughts, he bent his head and scraped his teeth along her jaw, adding, in between nibbles, “Something delicious.”

  The shaking inside her had become tremors. She didn’t like it. No, she wasn’t liking this one bit. She opened her mouth, intending a smart, distracting observation. “Oh...” was all she managed when teeth sank into her pulse point.

  “Not so in charge now, are you, Miss Maxwell?” he mocked, his breath hot against her skin as he continued nibbling.

  That was it. No man was allowed to think he had the upper hand where she was concerned. She moaned and went limp, allowing her weight to pull her down. Her legs slid down the sides of his body and she rubbed herself sensuously against the front of his jeans. Pleasure exploded in her loins and she used it ruthlessly to further her end, as she pretended to try to hoist herself back, and seemingly unable to muster the strength, she kept shimmying up and down where groin met groin.

  Steve couldn’t see a thing as all his senses rushed eagerly to converge in one happy place. Oh man. His eyes literally crossed when Marlena slid in a particular way as she tried to regain her balance. He slid his hand from under her blouse and took a step back so he could fit it under her butt to hoist her back up.

  Steve learned a new maxim that day. Never allow Marlena Maxwell a few inches of freedom. The moment his hand came in contact with her nice, firm behind, she slammed backward—hard—trapping his hand against the wall, and at the same time lifted her knees to her chest. She kicked out and he chose to let her hands go, rather than risk an injury where her feet were too close for comfort. Her pointy little toes certainly weren’t sliding up and down as she had been doing moments before.

  She dropped down on her feet, and one hand shot out to grasp his neck. Steve turned his head slightly and pinched her bottom at the same time. Hard.

  “Ow!” She was so startled by the unconventional fighting tactic she stopped going on the attack. He almost laughed at the reproach in her blue eyes. In fact he did when she complain
ed, in the mildest of voices, “You don’t play nice.”

  The laughter did it. His temper evaporated. And what was left behind—Steve didn’t even know whether he could deal with. He still liked her, damn it.

  He especially liked the way she looked now. Her hair had these cute little waves sticking out in different directions. Her lips were rosy and swollen from his kiss. Even now, desire still glowed from those eyes. She had the look of a female about to be claimed. And he had put it there, he noted, with male satisfaction.

  He rubbed her sore tush. “After what you did to me last night, I don’t feel nice.” He was used to talking on several levels with this woman by now. Two could play at these kissing games. He was referring to the incident on her bed as well as her betrayal, getting him in trouble on purpose. Undoubtedly she, queen of innuendo, knew that, too.

  Marlena leaned back against the wall. Its coolness helped to disperse some of the sexual heat emanating from this man. He had surprised her once again. She had expected anger, had anticipated some sort of retaliation, but certainly not in this fashion.

  Dangerous. That was the description she’d come up with at the door. Very dangerous. She frowned when he gave her a crooked, taut smile, as if he’d discovered something she didn’t want him to know. He deliberately crowded her, placing two hands on each side of her head, leaning so close she wanted to rub her face into his chest and enjoy that very male scent of heated desire. Instead she looked up.

  “Nothing to say?” he taunted softly. “Aren’t you going to teach me obedience?”

  “You realize I’m definitely going to lodge a complaint to your handler,” she said.

  “I don’t let anyone handle me.” Then he added sardonically, “Except you, of course.”

  Ah, back to familiar territory. She did so enjoy fencing verbally with him. “Stash,” she drawled, lifting her chin in challenge. “I must have missed the part of the label on you that said, ‘Handle with care.’ I do hate high-maintenance things that need extra attention.”