by Cindy Gerard
A deadly mission.
A thirst for revenge.
One headstrong alpha hero and one daring woman will settle the score.
LAST MAN STANDING
Special operative Joe Green has gone vigilante. His mission: avenge his Black Ops, Inc. brother’s death during a bloody ambush years ago in Sierra Leone. He refuses to drag the BOI team or his lover, Stephanie Tompkins, into the hunt for the man responsible, so when he finds himself beaten, starving, and alone after being falsely imprisoned for the murder of a Freetown priest, he knows he’s as good as dead.
Joe meant to protect Stephanie when he walked out on their relationship, but he can’t stop her now from executing his escape. Breaking him out of prison is the easy part. After Joe’s explosive theory pans out and his cunning enemy emerges as the front runner for a high-level presidential appointment, he and Stephanie must race to derail the traitor’s conspiracy if they are to save their loved ones, the nation, and each other.
“Romantic suspense at its best!”
—Kay Hooper, New York Times bestselling author
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New York Times and USA Today
bestselling author
CINDY GERARD
and the scorching hunks of BLACK OPS, INC.
are on fire!
“I’m hooked on Gerard’s tough-talkin’, straight-shootin’ characters. Her story is exciting, taut, sexy, and just plain fun to read.”
—New York Times bestseller Sandra Brown on Dying to Score
“Gerard’s deadly series kicks romantic adventure into high gear.”
—Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author
“A great writer . . . head and shoulders above most.”
—Robert Browne, author of The Paradise Prophecy
“Gerard artfully reveals the secret previously known only to wives, girlfriends, and lovers of our military special-operations warriors: these men are as wildly passionate and loving as they are watchful and stealthy. Her stories are richly colored and textured, drawing you in from page one, and not simply behind the scenes of warrior life, but into its very heart and soul.”
—William Dean A. Garner, former U.S. Army Airborne Ranger and Corporate Mercenary and New York Times bestselling ghostwriter and editor
With each new book in the series
“Gerard just keeps getting better and better”
—Romance Junkies
WITH NO REMORSE
“An edgy, sexy thrill ride you won’t want to miss.”
—Christine Feehan, #1 New York Times bestselling author
RISK NO SECRETS
“Gerard dishes thrills, heartbreak, and sizzling love scenes in rapid-fire succession. . . . Brace [yourself] for a hot, winding ride and a glorious ending.”
—Winter Haven News Chief (FL)
“Swift-moving, sizzling, romantic suspense [that] will steal your breath away.”
—SingleTitles
“An explosive, sexy, wonderful read from beginning to end!”
—Kwips and Kritiques
“Keeps you on the edge of your seat . . . one of the best in the business.”
—A Romance Review
FEEL THE HEAT
“Edge-of-your-seat perfection!”
—RT Book Reviews, Top Pick!
“A tightly knit plot, heart-stopping action scenes, and smoldering hot chemistry . . . Fans of romantic suspense can’t go wrong when they pick up a book by Cindy Gerard.”
—Romance Junkies
“Exciting, pulse-pounding adventure . . . another extraordinary book in her addicting Black Ops, Inc. series. This story is sizzling hot so handle with care!”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
WHISPER NO LIES
“An incredible love story . . . hot, sexy, tender, it will steal your breath.”
—Her Voice Magazine (Winter Haven, FL)
“Excellent stuff!”
— RT Book Reviews
“Heart-stopping, electrifying.”
—Fresh Fiction
TAKE NO PRISONERS
“A fast-paced tale of romance amid flying bullets.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Keeps the danger quotient high and the revenge motivations boiling . . . This author has truly found her niche!”
—RT Book Reviews
“A spicy, stirring romance . . . I found myself racing through the pages, nearly as captivated by the action-packed story as I was by the sizzling romance.”
—Library Journal
SHOW NO MERCY
“Clever. . . . Action-packed from beginning to end!”
—RT Book Reviews
“Fast-paced, dangerous, and sexy.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Cindy Gerard’s roller-coaster ride of action and passion grabs you from page one.”
—Karen Rose, New York Times bestselling author
These titles are available as eBooks
Also by Cindy Gerard
Show No Mercy
Take No Prisoners
Whisper No Lies
Feel the Heat
Risk No Secrets
With No Remorse
Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Cindy Gerard
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
First Pocket Star Books paperback edition February 2012
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ISBN 978-1-4516-0682-9 (print)
ISBN 978-1-4516-0686-7 (eBook)
The characters in my novels are fictitious; however, each and every one has been inspired by my admiration, pride, and gratitude for the men and women who serve in the United States military. This book, in particular, is dedicated to the fallen and those left behind.
“Life is eternal, and love is immortal,
and death is only a horizon;
and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.”
—Rossiter Worthington Raymond
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Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Ch
apter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Excerpts from Previous Titles
Show No Mercy
Take No Prisoners
Whisper No Lies
Feel the Heat
Risk No Secrets
With No Remorse
Teaser
Acknowledgments
I have so many people to thank at Pocket Books for supporting and publishing this series so enthusiastically. My brilliant publisher, Louise Burke; my insightful editor, Micki Nuding; the amazing publicity department headed by Jean Ann Rose and assisted by Ayelet Gruenspecht; and the creative genius of the art department, specifically Lisa Litwack. Thank you and everyone else behind-the-scenes for working so hard on my behalf.
If a man does his best, what else is there?
—George S. Patton
Prologue
Freetown, Sierra Leone
Joe Green was as good as dead. He’d known it the moment he’d started digging for answers to questions no one wanted asked.
What he hadn’t known was the havoc his hunt would create.
What he hadn’t wanted was for the priest to die.
“No, man. Oh no, man. You—”
“Quiet,” Joe snapped when Suah’s whisper echoed through the cavernous nave of the Sacred Heart Cathedral.
The teenage boy at his side was frozen in shock. On the cold stone floor blood pooled beneath the holy man’s head, crept around the base of the chancel rail, then spilled down the step to the altar.
Joe dropped to a knee and pressed his fingers to the cleric’s neck. No pulse. And no life in the eyes that stared blankly at the stained glass windows.
He swallowed heavily.
“Is he—?”
“Yeah. He’s dead.”
Regret, self-disgust, and defeat pounded through his veins, a reminder that what he had started would come to no good end.
No good end? Jesus. The priest was dead. Ends didn’t come much worse than this.
He glanced up, beyond gold candlesticks on the high altar, above yards of maroon velvet cascading from an alcove that hosted a life-size statue of a benevolent Christ. Pale candlelight flickered eerily through the church, casting his and Suah’s shadows in tall, wavy relief along the far wall, like ghosts already here to claim the priest’s soul.
He lowered his head into his hand. God help him . . . what had he done?
The thick wooden doors at the front of the cathedral swung open with a heavy, echoing thud. Joe whipped his head around to see several police officers storm into the nave; Freetown’s bastion of corrupt law enforcement had arrived in force. No hope of a quick search of the cleric’s body now.
“Hide before they spot you,” he whispered urgently to Suah, who stood, petrified in shock. “Hurry! Duck under the high altar.”
He shot to his feet and gave the boy a shove as the gunmen raced down the center aisle between the worn wooden pews. Satisfied that the kid was well hidden beneath the draping cloth, he made sure the men got a glimpse of him, then sprinted for the sacristy, leading them away from Suah.
He got as far as the epistle door and swung it open. The rattle of rifles being shouldered and the snick-click of a dozen safeties switching to off position greeted him. The beams of as many flashlights blinded him.
He was surrounded.
“Hands in the air,” a voice shouted from behind him.
Slowly, he did as he was told. Slower still, he turned around and stared into the dark, angry faces of the men who had passed the priest’s body to get to him.
Without warning, the butt end of an assault rifle swung around hard and slammed into his temple.
He fell to all fours, fighting the screaming pain and the hard pull of unconsciousness. Yeah, he thought again, just before darkness sucked him under, he was as good as dead.
1
One week earlier
Fort Meade, Maryland
The last thing Stephanie Tompkins needed was for him to show up again. Joe knew that. Yet here he was, drawn like a storm-battered ship to the welcoming waters of a calm home port.
Jesus, it was so not fair to her. But he didn’t have it in him to leave without seeing her one last time. Possibly the very last time, if this solo mission ended the way he suspected it would.
He walked slowly along the dimly lit hallway, then stopped in front of her apartment door. All of his life, he’d stood for right. Stood against wrong. Yet the choice he’d made to see this thing through blurred the lines so badly, it was hard to say where one ended and the other began.
For the first time in his life, he was scared. Not of the fight; he was scared that Stephanie was right. That he was losing himself in his need to settle a score. And he was scared spitless of losing her.
Lot of losing going on, he thought grimly. No matter how he sliced it.
It wasn’t like he had any real options.
Swallowing the rock of guilt lodged in his throat, he stared down at his boots, trying to screw up some courage. The melting snow that clung to his soles had left slushy tracks on the tiled third-floor hallway. Like he was going to leave tracks all over her heart.
He checked his watch, stalling. It was going on midnight. She’d be asleep. And he was going to wake her up to tell her something that was going to kill her. Hell, just thinking about it was killing him. But he couldn’t check out on her without saying good-bye. And lie through his teeth while he did it.
His hand was cold when he finally lifted it and, after a heart-thumping hesitation, gave the door a soft rap. Maybe she wasn’t home. Maybe she’d gone to her parents’ in Virginia for the weekend, and would escape dealing with the shitstorm he was about to dump on her. Maybe he should turn the hell around and be gone.
Too late. He heard the soft whisper of footsteps inside the apartment, then the tentative turn of the doorknob before she slowly opened up as far as the safety chain allowed, and peered into the hall.
“Hi,” he said with a clipped nod when he met the surprise in her soft brown eyes.
Everything about Steph was soft. Her lush, curvy body. Her generous smile. Her gentle nature that made a hard man like him want to play white knight and save her from the dragons that could hurt her.
But tonight he was going to be the dragon. A fire-breathing, breath-stealing, soul-defeating dragon. And he was going to hurt her bad.
If Bryan was alive, he’d damn sure kick Joe’s sorry ass from here to the next zip code. Her brother wouldn’t let him within shouting distance of his kid sister.
But Bry wasn’t here. A lump welled up in his throat. Even fifteen years later, Bry’s death was the reason Joe didn’t sleep most nights. It was also the reason he had to let Stephanie go.
“Joe.” Equal measures of relief, happiness, and concern colored her tone. “Hold on.”
She shut the door, unhooked the chain, then swung it open again.
Her long sable hair was bed-mussed and tumbling around her shoulders. She’d hastily wrapped up in a short robe. Folds of the pale blue silk gaped open, exposing warm, sleep-flushed skin and the generous curve of a breast. She was gorgeous, sexy, spell-binding. Yet as beautiful as she was, it was her eyes that always got to him. Those soulful, deep brown eyes were like windows to her heart.
So many emotions. So little guile. And no defense at all against the onslaught of pain he was about to level.
“Come in.” She stood back, opening the door wider so he could step inside. “It’s freezing out there.”
Another woman would have laid into him. Another woman would have slapped him hard, demanded to know where the hell he’d been for the past four weeks, then ca
lled him every name in the book before slamming the door in his face.
But she wasn’t another woman. She was Steph. Giving. Forgiving. Vulnerable.
“You’ve got to be freezing.” She turned on bare feet and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee.”
“Don’t,” he said with a stiffness in his voice that stopped her cold.
She didn’t turn around. He knew that despite the brave front she was putting up, she was suddenly on the verge of losing it.
Why not? A man who loved a woman didn’t treat her the way he’d treated Steph the past month—he didn’t clam up, didn’t not call, didn’t refuse to explain himself. And he didn’t show up unannounced in the middle of the fucking night and expect coffee before he sliced open a vein.
She just stood there, her silence and the rigid set of her shoulders giving away how uncertain she was, and he almost lost it himself.
“You don’t have to make coffee for me,” he said inanely.
Her shoulders sagged; her chin dropped to her chest.
Aw, hell.
In two steps, he came up behind her and pulled her back against him, wrapped one arm around her waist and another around her chest. With his forearm sandwiched between her breasts, he caressed her throat and tipped her head back beneath his jaw.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, lowering his lips to her hair. “Steph . . . I’m . . .” Hell.
She turned, lifted her arms around his neck, and with a desperation as sharp as the hurt in her eyes, drew his head down to hers.