Family Secrets: Books 5-8

by Virginia Kantra

  Family Secrets: 5-8 Bundle

  Virginia Kantra

  Jenna Mills

  Beverly Bird

  Linda Winstead Jones

  Table of Contents

  Her Beautiful Assassin

  By Virginia Kantra

  A Verdict of Love

  By Jenna Mills

  The Billionaire Drifter

  By Beverly Bird

  Fever

  By Linda Winstead Jones

  About the Authors

  Her Beautiful Assassin

  By Virginia Kantra

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Prologue

  H e was a big, badass Navy SEAL in command of a squad of warriors, and he didnt know what to do.

  Lieutenant Marcus Evans hated that.

  He wasnt too crazy about the fact that at any moment the ship they were on could smack into a mine and blow up, either.

  Of course, it wasnt his ship; the frigate was on its way to a routine refueling in the Persian Gulf when it had picked up his team after a successful recon mission. But these were his men.

  Marcus made eye contact with each of them, trying to be as honest and reassuring as he could.

  The captains lowered the APUs. The auxiliary propulsion units. Chances are we can tiptoe out of the minefield along our own wake.

  Backward. That was Garcia, the weapons specialist, dark and skeptical.

  Yeah.

  In the dark.

  Theyve focused all floodlights on the starboard bridge onto the surface.

  Its not the surface mines Im worried about, said Buzz, the squads explosives expert. Its those suckers under the water. We kiss one of those, theyll see the fireworks all the way to Baghdad.

  Maybe Clark here could go up there and offer them his X-ray vision, Petty Officer First Class James Robinson said.

  He meant Marcus. Aka Clark aka Clark Kent aka Superman.

  James Robinson was one of the few men entitled to use the nickname to Marcuss face. But then, theyd pulled each other through BUD/S training. Clark and Jimmy. They could have been paired together as Ren and Stimpy or Tom and Jerry or even Dr. Evil and Mini Me.

  Although unlike Dr. Evil and his sidekick, they looked nothing alike. Robinson was a brilliant, wiry, black enlisted man, and Marcus was none of those things.

  Marcs smiled wryly. I think if I get in their way right now, theyll just toss me overboard.

  Might as well, muttered Garcia. We couldnt be any more out of our depth.

  Marcus sympathized with his mens frustration. Hell, he shared it. But he said, Thats the way its got to be. This SEAL team is not assigned to this ship. We have no specific duties during a damage control evolution.

  Slick went to sick bay, Buzz said.

  Slicks a medic, Marcus said unarguably. He went where he could do some good. Again, he met each mans eyes. When general quarters sounded, all hands without assignments reported to the mess desk in the relative safety of the center of the ship. Marcus and his men sat at a table apart. Jimmy and Garcia, Jacobs and Buzzthey were all watching him, prepared to live or die or even sit one out on his orders. But once we boarded this frigate, the rest of us are strictly along for the ride.

  Some ride. Because at that moment the deck bucked up and the bottom fell out of the world.

  The force of the blast slammed Marcus off his feet and hurtled him through the air.

  Just like Superman, he thought in the instant before he came down hard. He twisted to take the impact on his shoulder, which might have worked if the ship wasnt still pitching under him.

  His head thumped onto the metal deck. Flares went off inside his skull. His blood roared. His vision grayed.

  But he was obviously alive and more or less whole. He spread his palms on the gritty deck and levered himself up to see how bad it was.

  It was bad.

  An officers job was to think big picture, but it was difficult to see past the bodies and debris, difficult to think through the groans. If the mess deck was hit this bad, then the frigate had to be taking on water below. Which meantBlood ran into Marcuss eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, but the air was thick with dust. Or smoke. He staggered to his feet on the pitching deck, looking for the rest of his team.

  There. His chest squeezed. Lying there, under the twisted piece of steel that used to be the chow line. Wasnt that

  The lights below decks flickered and died. The square yellow battle lanterns mounted on the walls snapped to life.

  Lieutenant? Clark? The voice came from around his feet.

  Here, Jimmy. He dropped to his knees. He had always had excellent night vision. But even without it, there was enough spill from the battle lanterns to see that Robinson wouldnt make it out on his own. How are you doing?

  Cant move my legs. Think I broke my back? he inquired, like he was asking whether Marcus thought it would rain tonight or something.

  Marcus drew a deep breath mistake and glanced again at the improbable angles of his best friends body. No. I think you broke both legs when you came down on the chow line. Let me get you looked at. He raised his voice. Garcia!

  Here, Lieutenant.

  Behind you, sir.

  Garcia and Buzz materialized from the dark.

  Wheres Jacobs? Marcus asked.

  Jacobs busted his arm. Maybe some ribs. We took him to sick bay.

  Marcus nodded. We need a corpsman here. And a stretcher.

  Hoo yah, Lieutenant. Garcia melted away.

  It took five minutes for the hospital corpsman, nicknamed Docthey were always nicknamed Docto make his evaluation and get permission to move Robi
nson to the weather deck.

  He got off the phone with the locker officer and handed Marcus a piece of paper with a string of scribbled numbers. Theres your route out of the fire. Can you read it?

  Marcus glanced at the tack numbers, each one denoting a different passageway, hatch or door. He smiled in reassurance. Good to go.

  The young mans face relaxed. He was probably relieved he didnt have to explain coordinates to a dipshit officer. Yes, sir. And, uh, DC central could use four bodies on fire seven.

  We can give you three. Buzz.

  His explosives man rose and went to find the damage control officer.

  Garcia and I will report as soon as we get Robinson to the weather deck, Marcus said.

  Robinson was already cocooned in the flexible canvas stretcher designed to maneuver through the hatches.

  Marcus wrapped the lead rope around his arm. Time to roll, Jimmy.

  Im gonna hate this, arent I? Robinson asked.

  Beats drowning, Marcus said lightly, and lifted him.

  Their route was planned to keep them out of the fires way. But the metal passageways echoed with the groans of stricken sailors and tortured steel, the rush of the fire mains, the roar of fire, the shouts and rapped commands of men and women fighting for their ship. For their lives.

  The emergency diesel engine shuddered and clanked as Marcus and Garcia navigated up a ladder and through the watertight doors, trying to keep the stretcher clear of the sides. They had to step over hoses snaked through the passageways. In every section, pumps with tubes and switches sucked water from the bowels of the ship and forced it up and over the side. Each small connection shot a spray of oil and water onto the decks, making their footing treacherous.

  Marcus pulled the stretcher after him up a ladder and onto the flight deck. Bits of fiery debris rained down from the superstructure. For a second, he stood transfixed, pierced by a vision of burning and black water and the memory of someonea little girl, her face white between streaks of black hairdepending on him.

  Which was crap.

  He didnt know any little girls.

  His sister Honey was a blonde.

  And the only people depending on him were his men and the sailors trapped below.

  Garcia moved toward the hatch. Shaking the ghosts from his head, Marcus lowered Jimmy gently to the slanting deck. His former swim buddy had passed out sometime during the awkward passage. But now he groaned and grabbed Marcuss wrist.

  You goingback?

  I have to, Marcus said simply.

  Robinson nodded, accepting that. But as Marcus began his descent into the fiery, steaming guts of the ship, his buddy called softly, Watch out for kryptonite.

  One

  W ork was a good drug. It revived her better than NoDoz, muffled her moods more effectively than Prozac. There were no negative interactions; it never made her sleepy or jittery.

  And it didnt wear off in twelve hours, either.

  The Honorable Samantha Barnes, acting U.S. ambassador to the Republic of Delmonico, pulled another stack of reports toward her across the cherry wood desk. The one thing work couldnt do was guarantee her a good nights sleep, but everything came with a price. As long as her staff didnt have to pay for her sleepless nights, Samantha was satisfied with her bargain.

  So she made a point of smiling at the maid who came in to clear her breakfast tray. She thanked her secretary, Philip Scott, when he set her Washington schedule and the daily news summary on top of her briefing from the deputy chief of mission.

  Idly, she glanced at the excerpted headlines: President Seeks to Soothe Investors Fears in Aftermath of World Bank Heist. Mideast Negotiations Stalled. Designer Babies Products of Government Project?

  The last one made her raise her eyebrows. Are we taking our news from the tabloids these days, Philip?

  Thats from the Post, he protested. He studied her face. Have you been working all night?

  Almost. There was so much to do. So much to catch up on.

  Samantha summoned another smile. Hardly. I got up a little early, thats all. Hotel or not, I cant work in bed all morning like What was the name of that playwright, the one whod served as Eisenhowers ambassador to Italy? Clare Boothe Luce, she finished triumphantly.

  Philip was not impressed by her feat of memory. He frowned after the departing breakfast tray. You didnt eat.

  Samantha didnt taste food anymore even when she tried it. Not since StanShe cut the thought off and made another note in the margin of her schedule.

  I had coffee.

  You drink too much coffee.

  Philip. She kept her tone mild. Philip, brown haired, slim and organized, was as conscientious and inoffensive as the Latin Club president he must have been in high school. Dont fuss.

  He picked up the stack of letters shed prepared to go out. Its not fussing to suggest that you eat occasionally.

  Im having lunch at one-thirty with Senators she consulted the list again Dobson and Twitchell, and a dinner party at the Ivesons tonight. I promise I wont starve.

  Youll spend all your time explaining European economic integration and expounding on investment opportunities in Delmonico, and youll forget to eat.

  Samantha smiled ruefully. This had to be the first time in her life anyone was concerned about her losing weight. I can afford to forget a few calories. I cant afford to waste an opportunity. Its bad enough that Im a recess appointment. I dont want to give anyone any more reason to criticize the presidents choice.

  Philip frowned. Its not as if theres a question of the Senate approving your appointment as ambassador.

  There are always questions in politics, Philip. And while Im deeply honored by the presidents confidence, I must accept that naming an inexperienced woman to a sensitive diplomatic post makes certain members of the Foreign Relations Committee decidedly nervous.

  What about Madeleine Albright? What about Condoleezza Rice? A Republican appointee, I might add.

  Both full professors, both older than me and both better qualified.

  Excuse me, maam, but concluding negotiations for the Delmonico Accord certainly makes you qualified.

  She shook her head. The key word there is concluded. There are many people who would argue that I simply furthered the work begun by my late husband.

  And theyd be right, she added to herself.

  Wealthy industrialist Stanley J. Barnes had been the presidents original appointee to Delmonico. Stans death in a car accident a year ago had devastated Samantha. It had also derailed the effort by the United States to separate the coastal country of Delmonico from its hostile neighbor, Rebelia, and bring it one step closer to the European Union and NATO.

  So while Washington sought an appropriate replacement for the late ambassador, Samantha had buried her grief in her husbands cause. With beauty pageant idealism and uncompromising courtesydished up with personal attention over lavish dinnersshed brought the negotiators to the table and kept them there.

  A triumph, trumpeted the newspapers.

  A fluke, sniffed her detractors.

&n
bsp; A miracle, Samantha thought. But it was her responsibility now to nurse the fragile accord to maturity.

  It was her inheritance from Stan. And since the two of them had never been able to have any children, it was likely to be their only legacy.

  Maam? Philip was watching her, his shrewd gray eyes concerned. Oh, God, had he asked her something?

  Sorry. I was

  Sad, she thought.

  thinking, she said.

  I said, Matt Tynans office called to remind you of the dinner at the White House on Friday.

  Wonderful. Thank you. The prospect of seeing her old friend again actually brought her a moments pleasure. But she didnt linger on it. She had work to do. Sliding the schedule to one side, she picked up the briefing again. But Philip still waited, his face and shoulders stiff. Was there anything else?

  A small security matter. Nothing to bother you about.

  If you didnt want to bother me, you wouldnt be standing here. What is it?

  DS is concerned that you may be the target of Rebelian operatives during your visit to the United States.

  The State Departments Bureau of Diplomatic Security was responsible for implementing security at U.S. diplomatic missions around the world. They provided intelligence information and protection at the embassy in Delmonico. And, in the person of Security Agent Thomas T. Walker, they were keeping Samantha safe in Washington, as well.

  This isnt news, Philip. Security Agent Walker has already made it very clear that I must cooperate with his bureaus security measures.