“Here. Yeah, man. Here.”
“Wind from three o’clock. Dropped to five mph. Hold. Target blocked.” The woman draped over the man. This was a nightmare—his nightmare—blasting from the past and slapping him clear off of his prone position and onto his stupefied ass. The spotter spoke again. “Clear. Dial wind right, two mils. Send it… now.”
Heartbeat. Breath. Heartbeat.
Fire.
And breathe.
Now, they had to move. Fast. He knew the spotter team should be slipping through the thick Maine forest. Cash paused and glanced longer than he needed to confirm the kill. Tuxedoed man on the ground. Kill shot. Dead. Panic attacked the room. People ran, most likely screaming. Security scrambled. Dogs loosed. Barks growing closer. But the woman. The golden silk-draped woman stood still, staring at the busted windowpane in the French doors. No expression. No emotion. Not a drop of anything.
Cash shook his head, clearing the ghost of her image, and focused on his job. One shot, one kill. Just the way he liked it. He cleared the shell and casing from his bolt-action rifle, policed his brass, and snapped to a crouch, erasing any evidence that he had spent hours in the spot. A half second later, he beat feet, sliding down the side of the wooded hill, leaving no trail.
His spotter buzzed in his ear, confirming their meet-up point. “Rendezvous at location A, twenty-two ten.” He could do it. He should do it. He powered down a hill, sliding as dirt gave under his feet. Brush slapped him in the face. Vicious barking closed in. The main house illuminated day-glow bright.
Man, he was going to hear about it for this one. He told his spotter, “Location C, twenty-three hundred hours.”
“Cash—”
It took a lot for Roman to break protocol and use his name over the radio frequency, but Cash knew his spotter, his closest friend, was pissed. And an upset Roman was as much fun to deal with as the dogs Cash was about to run back toward.
Not much to do except kill an hour. Cash pulled his earpiece out as Roman cursed again. Nothing good would come at the end of that sentence. Cash laughed. Radio silence wasn’t the best road to take, but it was better than coughing up an explanation of the impossible.
***
Nicola glided around Antilla Smooth. His lifeless face stared at the ceiling, and his perfect hair hid the sniper round’s entry wound. Given the crimson puddle painting the white carpet round the backside of his brain, the bullet was a through and through, and her night was ruined. Her operation ruined, completely FUBAR.
Chaos filled the room, and she was the calm eye of the storm. Everyone and everything swirled around her. Loud noises. Screaming people. Security moved fast, but what was the point? They’d failed.
She hadn’t failed, but the last few months were now crap, and it was time to call the powers that be. They’d be interested in this turn of events. Nicola put down her champagne flute and pulled out her cell. She walked away, feeling her smooth silk gown train trailing behind her.
The phone rang once, and a surprised voice answered. “It’s a little early for our chat.”
“We should get together for ice cream.” Nicola gave the phrase that told Beth, her handler, that this mission was dunzo.
Beth didn’t miss a beat. “I have to run errands first. I’ll meet you after you head to the dry cleaners.”
Dry cleaners. Yup, time to turn into a shadow and slink away. It was the right move, pulling her home. Too bad she had nothing to show for the months spent playing to the dead megalomaniac’s ego. She’d been so close, only one or two days away from locking down the international players in Antilla’s arms network.
“You’ve got it. I’ll be in and out first thing in the morning.” She walked down the hallway, and a guard looked. Apparently, her saunter was too calm, given the way other women shrieked their horror. “Ciao,” she said goodbye, keeping up her Italian persona and putting a hand against her throat.
She looked at her designer gown. No blood. At least there was an upside to this evening’s party. That and she wouldn’t have to feign interest in Antilla, the sick prick, then backpedal when he wanted to take her to bed.
Personal preference. Some ladies in the Agency did what they had to do without a second thought. She’d had second thoughts. And thirds and fourths. She’d wanted to screw Antilla Smooth like she wanted a root canal done by Kermit the freakin’ Frog: choppy marionette hands flopping up and down.
“Gabriella?” Someone used her alias. “Gabriella, are you okay?”
Nicola saw a butler who had been friendly to her since they’d arrived at Antilla’s Maine estate. Her name poured off his lips, imitating the Italian flare she used when introducing herself.
“Yes, fine. Bene, grazie.” He looked unassuming. Who knew why the man worked for Smooth Enterprises, but looks were deceiving. Trust no one. “I need to step outside. Fresh air.”
Really, she needed to get out of Maine, but why elaborate? She slipped outside. The night was daybreak bright with the estate’s security system fully engaged. Her hand caught her eye. The fluorescents made her olive skin look green, not complementing the dress she’d fallen in love with. Nicola weighed her lack of options, knowing she’d need transportation and, for the moment, not knowing how she’d secure it.
A chill spiked over her skin as a gust blew through the forest. Someone was still out there. The same someone who took out her mark.
Pop. Flash. Pop. The exterior lights died, and she was left to her thoughts in the moonless night. Another chill rolled over her shoulders. No wind this time. She pivoted, reluctantly ready and willing to ruin her dress and take it out of the ass of whoever was to blame. Her muscles tensed. Her eyes adjusted in a flash. A man. Large. Broad. Armed. Twenty feet away at the side of the patio.
He spoke, the baritone timbre coating her in a hurt she’d hidden years ago. “Nicola.”
She didn’t need to see his face. His voice shattered any semblance of strength she’d mustered. Nicola braced one leg back, prepared to attack. Ready to defend herself. But who was she kidding? If he laid one finger on her, it might be her undoing. All her suffering, pointless.
“Nicola,” he said again. Still as firm, but this time knowing. “What the fuck?”
This was bad news of the worst variety. She pivoted back toward the doors, ready to go back inside and hash out an emergency extraction strategy with Beth. No time to wait for tomorrow’s withdrawal plan.
Reaching for the doorknob, she willed herself not to run.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said.
Sweet Lord, why was Cash here? Why was the one memory she could never forget standing in the middle of her job? And why was he talking to her, armed and looking far more dangerous than the last time she saw him?
“Stop your sweet ass one second, and turn around, Nicola.”
She spun on her stiletto heel, knowing she’d never be able to get to the subcompact gun tucked on the inside of her thigh. Even if she could, she’d never hurt Cash.
“No, sir. You’re mistaken.” She put on her best Italian accent, knowing it wouldn’t fix this problem.
“Bull—”
The butler opened the door. “Gabriella, please come in. Everyone’s gathering in the main hall. It’s dangerous to be out here.”
Cash stood in the shadows. She knew the butler couldn’t see him. Yet, her pulse stuttered, and her throat tightened. She wanted to protect one man from the other. Nicola looked over her shoulder, and Cash was gone.
GARRISON’S CREED IS AVAILABLE ON AMAZON HERE.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cristin Harber is a USA Today Best-Selling romance author. She writes sexy, steamy romantic suspense and military romance. Fans voted her onto Amazon's Top Picks for Debut Romance Authors in 2013, and her debut Titan series was #1 romantic suspense, #1 military romance, and a USA Today Top 100 bestseller.
She lives outside Washington, DC with her family and English Bulldog.
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The Titan Series:
Book 1: Winters Heat (Colby Winters)
Book 1.5: Sweet Girl (Prequel to Garrison's Creed)
Book 2: Garrison's Creed (Cash Garrison)
Book 3: Westin's Chase (Jared Westin)
Book 4: Gambled (Brock Gamble)
Book 5: Chased (Asher McIntyre)
Book 6: Savage Secrets (Rocco Savage)
Book 7: Hart Attack (Roman Hart)- coming Fall 2014
Book 8: TBD (Parker's story)- coming late 2014
The Delta Series:
Book 1: Delta Retribution- coming 2014
COPYRIGHT
Copyright 2014 Cristin Harber
All rights reserved. This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author and publisher except for the use of brief quotations used in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.
ISBN-10: 0991647432
ISBN-13: 978-0-9916474-3-9
www.CristinHarber.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my beautiful, supportive family. I have nothing without your love.
A huge thanks to all the Titan readers who first fell in love with Cash and Nicola in Garrison’s Creed. I fell right along with you, and when the idea of this story first came into play, I could not wait to get started. I wouldn’t be able to do what I love without the Titan readers, especially those who hang out on the Team Titan page. Every day I smile and laugh (and drool) because of you.
I have tons of hugs and thanks for my critique partners. Every time I have an idea, you push me.
Rox: Thank you for your speed and commitment. I value all your suggestions and love to pump up the emotion just to see if you’ll give me a thumbs up.
Shex: Every devil horn chapter, I push myself knowing you will have your critter way with me. I appreciate all of the insight and suggestions.
Dia: You make me smile and laugh when I’m ready to choke on a deadline. I’m lucky to have your candid advice and expert story telling skills. Love ya.
Sparks: WWMBD. You inspire and push me to be better. You’re my friend, my cohort, and the recipient of my AAPs. I’m lucky to have you. Thank you for everything.
Karen Allen at Red Adept, thank you for the wonderful guidance and consistent help. I love your eagle eyes and virtual red pen.
Cover designer extraordinaire Kim Killion of Hot Damn Designs, thank you and your team for what your do best: gorgeous covers that make thumbnails jump off the screen!
Sweet Girl (Titan) Page 17