by Lucy Farago
The agents of the renowned Investigative Collection Unit have to be the biggest, baddest, and brightest to take on missions no one else would dare. It doesn’t hurt that they’re also the sexiest. But in a shadowy world where reality means living on the razor’s edge of deception, few survive with their hearts intact . . .
ICU intel expert Monty Buchannan’s idea of fun is creating software—not roughing it in a cabin off the grid in Alaska. But his team forced him to unplug when his intense need to be in control put a mission at risk. Being alone isn’t a problem; most people make him uncomfortable. But there’s something about the woman he finds floundering in a frozen stream that warms his ice-cold heart . . .
Taylor Moore was once a spoiled socialite famous for her tabloid-worthy exploits, until she broke out from under her wealthy father’s thumb. Now she’s the self-made CEO of an online matchmaking service—and on the run from Russian mobsters who’ve hijacked her website. But when she’s suddenly plucked from a river by a half-naked mountain man, trust will become a matter of survival. And desire just might break down the defenses that have kept them both playing it far too safe for far too long . . .
Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com
Books by Lucy Farago
A Necessary Lie
Sins that Haunt
Sin on the Run
Sin on the Strip
Novellas
Sin and the Millionaire
A Necessary Deception
Lucy Farago
LYRICAL PRESS
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Copyright © 2018 by Lucy Farago
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First Electronic Edition: May 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0293-8
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0293-2
First Print Edition: May 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0296-9
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0296-7
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter 1
His ax came down hard, splintering the wood dead center. The crack echoed into the mountain valley, as if mocking his dire predicament. Using his boot, Monty kicked the two separate chunks off the stump and grabbed another log. He hadn’t signed up for this survival bullshit, and when he made it out of here, someone would pay. And they’d pay dearly.
Something nudged his foot. A log. He picked up the chopped wood and tossed it back onto the pile, now a good four feet tall. Had he been out here that long? Considering the sun was now low in the sky, he was drenched in sweat, and his right arm hummed, he guessed so. And whoever said physical exercise relieved stress was a moron. He was no less angry than when he’d started. In fact, probably more so, as his boss’s head had been his inspiration for working through the stack of wood.
“Vacation my ass. If I need time off…” He swung the ax. “I’ll take time off.” The log shattered as the blade embedded itself into the chopping block.
Loading up his arms with the firewood, he made his way back. He’d been to Alaska a few of times but never stayed at this cabin, one of the many safe houses. The assholes had made the generators inoperable, but at least the well was clean, and he didn’t have to boil water. How was roughing it a vacation? He tossed his load on the front porch and discarded his wet T-shirt into the basket of laundry he’d have to drag to the icy creek to wash—by hand. For that alone, he’d make his boss beg on his hands and knees for the passcode to his server. He’d bog it down with so much crap that Mr. Ryan Sheppard would regret this supposed favor everyone was doing Monty. “Assholes.”
The scream hit his eardrums before his hand reached the doorknob. “What the hell?”
It came from his right. He dodged into the woods, tree branches nicking his bare torso as he ran. He was miles from anywhere. That had been the reason Ryan had dumped him here. Without a plane, there’d be no returning to civilization. So who else was here? And why had she screamed? He slowed but saw no one, only heard the trickle of the creek that ran behind the cabin. What if she was now unconscious?
This wasn’t his expertise. His specialty was computers, not damsels in distress. At least he could triage and perform first aid. He once considered going into medicine—then he’d realized it involved far too much human interaction. But first he had to find her. The mountains reverberated the tiniest of sounds up here. Could he have gone in the wrong direction? He stopped. Listened…and heard splashing. He reached the top of the steep embankment overlooking the creek…and found her.
A woman struggled to get up and out of the water. He’d learned the hard way that the rocks were slimy, and so had she as she fell, landing on her butt, waist deep in babbling brook. Wasn’t Mother Nature grand? No one was around to be help, so he assumed she was alone. Odd. Besides a small scrape on her temple, she didn’t look hurt…or happy. On the shore, he spotted one of those purses that doubled as a knapsack and guessed from her disheveled appearance she’d lost her footing and rolled down the hill. Given it had snowed last night, an experienced hiker would know the decline was slippery. He made his way down. As she continued her efforts, he kept quiet, not wanting to catch her off guard and cause her to slip again. It didn’t matter. Down she went. He checked his watch. The sun would disappear soon and the temperature would drop.
“I know it’s cold, but why don’t you just stay there and wait for me?” he said, far more exasperated than necessary. She was already wet.
The button on the sleeve of her oversize jacket caught in the long blond hair she’d been attempting to brush off her face. With a painful grimace, she yanked and freed it, along with several strands of hair. “Who are you?” she demanded, holding up a hand to fend him off.
Why did people do that? Reflex, he guessed. Because if somebody wanted to harm you, one little hand wouldn’t stop them. “I won’t hurt you. I’m staying at the cabin just over this ridge. You’re kind of a long way from civilization.” How the hell had she gotten here? If she had a way off this mountain, he’d convince her to give him a ride out of this nature-infested vacation Ryan had forced on him.
He stepped into the water and traversed the rocks without so much as a falter. He’d grown up around wilderness like this, and he and the goddess of everything outside had developed a pact. She didn’t fuck with him, he didn’t screw with her. Plus, thanks to ICU, the treads on his boots were state of the art and had more traction than
anything she might be wearing. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he bent down. “Are you hurt? I heard you scream.” He extended his arm.
“No.” Warily she gave him her hand. “Just a little bruised…and cold.”
He drew her up and grabbed her other arm to steady her. The tennis shoes she wore would only cause her to fall again. “Look, no offense, but those shoes aren’t made for this terrain.” Or climate. Neither was her jacket. For starters, it didn’t fit, and if it snowed, the black fleece lining of her field coat would do little to keep her warm.
“Neither is being half-naked.”
He looked down at himself. “I was chopping wood. And now I’m getting cold. So how about you let me carry you to the embankment? I promise to set you down safely on the other side,” he added, in case she was thinking he’d carry her off and kill her. She was a woman alone in the woods and the world was full of creeps…and worse.
She tested a sneaker over one of the rocks, and when her foot slipped, she nodded. “Thanks. I’m not sure my butt can take anymore.”
He hooked his arm under her knees and picked her up. This close, she appeared younger than he’d thought, somewhere in her early twenties. And, however she’d cut her head, it hadn’t been from the fall because the blood had dried. Dirt smudged the freckles across one very cute nose. Small and button, it fit perfectly between the coolest set of gray eyes he’d ever seen, eyes that, if he didn’t stop staring at them, would land them both in the creek. Once across, he did as promised and backed off. If she suspected he found her attractive, she might not give him that ride.
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” She couldn’t have weighed more than a little over a hundred pounds. “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing here?” And, more importantly, how she’d gotten here.
“Hiking.”
From the state of her clothing, she wasn’t doing it very well. Grass stains on her knees said she’d fallen. That, or she’d decided walking was overrated. And hiking alone wasn’t smart, more so on a mountain. Unless she had a satellite phone, cell service was nonexistent here.
She flexed her fingers repeatedly. Either the cold water had numbed them or she’d banged up her hands. More importantly though, those jeans had to come off.
“I see. Are you aware this is private property?” Ryan’s father owned the two hundred acres surrounding the cabin, the creek included.
“I didn’t know I was trespassing. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” She picked up her knapsack/purse and started up the embankment, her crappy—nonhiking—shoes slipping on the steep incline.
“Why don’t we go this way?” He pointed downstream. “It flattens farther up and we can cut around this hill.” If he didn’t want to scare her, he should probably introduce himself. “I’m Monty, by the way.”
“Taylor. And thanks again.”
“You’re soaking wet. I hope transportation isn’t far?” And had enough room for him. Maybe she had an ATV.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.
So, no ride. Interesting. “The temperature drops pretty quickly at night.” His nipples were turning to stone, but she’d freeze if she didn’t change clothes.
“It’s not any better during the day,” she muttered.
“You’re welcome to dry your clothes in the cabin. I have a fire going.” November was a cold month. “I can wait outside, if it makes you more comfortable.”
“What if I steal something?” she said, not bothering to turn around.
Well, at least she was starting to relax enough to make a joke. “I’ll take my chances.” And Ryan owned everything inside.
The man had houses all over the world. If something went missing, he could afford it. Plus, the cabin had been stripped down to its bare essentials, just so they could torture him—their hacker extraordinaire. He wasn’t bragging, simply stating the truth. He was the best at what he did, so why they’d chosen to shove this stupid vacation down his throat was inexplicable. While Carrie wasn’t incompetent, his assistant had a lot to learn. It would serve them right if she fucked up. Then again, hadn’t he?
Taylor, if that was her real name, tried to squeeze water out of her jeans as she walked, but even though they were loose-fitting, her skin wasn’t going to like wearing them for much longer. Nothing said chafed like wet Levi’s. A northern blast of wind came off the mountain and she shivered. Shirtless, he knew the feeling.
“As long as you don’t mind,” she said, “I’ll take you up on your offer.” She paused. “My ride is farther down the mountain.”
“How far?”
“Far enough.”
He didn’t need to see her face or a lie detector to know she was lying again. So how did she get up here? Just his luck the only other person in God’s country didn’t have transportation. Maybe he was wrong, and he could explain how his shithead of a boss had him hog-tied, blindfolded, and dragged from his computer monitors, and he needed a ride to extract his revenge. Monitors, he might add, that had on more than one occasion saved everyone’s sorry ass. Unappreciated, that’s all he could say. And fresh air was overrated.
She followed him to the cabin but stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. He understood her hesitation. He wasn’t much of a people person either; plus, he was a total stranger. “Look, I can tell you a thousand times I’m not going to hurt you, but if you don’t believe me, you can try to make it off the mountain in those wet clothes.” He pointed toward the sky and the setting sun. “At night.”
“If you’re trying to reassure me…”
“Sugarcoating it won’t keep you warm.” He didn’t believe in beating around the bush. Facts were facts. “If it makes you feel better, I can build a campfire out here for you. It might soak up some of the water.” Although it wouldn’t be the most effective.
“You’d do that?”
“If you want me to. You need to get dry.”
With a tentative, and very pretty, smile, she came up the steps. “The cabin will be fine, thanks.”
Once inside he headed for the bedroom and rifled through the duffel bags his so-called friends had packed. His physique was more soccer player than football, but she was petite, no more than five feet. He grabbed the smallest shirt he owned and took one for himself. He found her, still wearing that ridiculous jacket, standing by the fire, warming her hands, looking a little frailer than when he’d left her.
He dragged a wooden chair from the small kitchen table and set it in front of the fireplace. “You can hang your pants on that to dry. I’ll get you a blanket.”
She glanced down at the shirt he’d handed to her. “This is very nice of you.”
“Practical. Your clothes have to come off for this to work.” His forte might not be the damsel thing, but it would be nightfall soon. Unless she had a shotgun he didn’t know about, she’d make perfect dinner for any one of the animals making the mountain their home. “I’m going to bring up more wood before it gets dark. Without a moon, it’s hard to see.” He didn’t want to spook her by coming right out and saying it, but trekking down the mountain with no apparent transportation—in the dark—wasn’t smart. It was better she spend the night. Not that he was happy about it, but he couldn’t very well throw her out. “There are hooks by the door. You can hang your coat there.” He turned to leave.
“Monty? Can I ask why you’re here? I mean,” she said, looking around the sparse living area, “this is…cozy, but it doesn’t look lived in.”
Cozy? The cabin was functional, its purpose having nothing to do with weekend retreats. Even before the guys had taken all the fun stuff, it lacked any homey touches a woman might appreciate, so he could see her point. Although, for some inane reason, TNT seemed to enjoy coming up here. As the team’s explosives expert, could be he simply liked the quiet. “The cabin belongs to my boss. I’m…taking time off to sort through some stuff.” Forced was more
like it. His team’s decision to unplug him wasn’t only about his needing to get away from work. He’d fucked up. He never fucked up.
“Bad breakup?” she asked, sounding sympathetic.
Sure, why not? “Something like that. I’ll give you some privacy. I’d put your shoes by the fire too. Maybe remove the insoles, if you can.”
“Thanks. I didn’t think of that.” She smiled, a little less nervous than when he’d fished her out of the creek. “And Monty…I appreciate you helping me.”
It was nice to be appreciated without all the bullshit comments that followed, but she seemed like one of those how-does-it-make-you-feel kind of people. If she was a shrink, he might very well toss her out on her ass. He didn’t want or need someone messing around inside his head. He knew what made him tick. “My pleasure.”
Outside, he went straight to the woodpile and began to fill his arms as he wondered what the hell her story was. Could be he’d worked for ICU too long. They’d been involved in everything from unsanctioned government covert operations to search and rescues of people being used for nefarious agendas. He’d seen a lot of shit. So maybe he was being overly suspicious and she was just an inexperienced hiker. And maybe he was a closet outdoorsman.
Once he figured she’d had enough time to snoop around before settling down in front of the fire, he finished piling the wood onto the porch and knocked.
He heard a “Come in” and opened the door. Taylor sat beside the chair she’d slung her wet clothes over, her bare toes peeking out from beneath the blanket and curled over the stone hearth.
“Sorry. I borrowed another chair. And this,” she said, indicating the plaid throw she’d taken off the sofa, now wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind?”
“Are you cold?” Without waiting for her reply, he threw another log into the flames, sending hot embers up the chimney.
“Just tired, I think. Some people yawn; I get cold.”
Earlier, he’d been too busy admiring her nose to notice the soft bruising under those wicked eyes. Come to think of it, she looked a little pale. “Are you hungry?” The cupboards and fridge had been fully stocked. “How about some soup to warm you up?”