by Elle James
She saw something she shouldn’t have...
Now they want her dead.
Ever since she left the foreign embassy where she was working, translator Emily Chastain has been targeted by someone who wants to silence her permanently. Fearing for her life, Emily contacts Declan’s Defenders and is placed under former marine Mustang Ford’s protection. If only she could figure out why someone is trying to kill her—and how to contain her unlikely attraction to Mustang...
ELLE JAMES, a New York Times bestselling author, started writing when her sister challenged her to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas). Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! Elle loves to hear from fans at [email protected] or ellejames.com
Also by Elle James
Marine Force Recon
Show of Force
One Intrepid SEAL
Two Dauntless Hearts
Three Courageous Words
Four Relentless Days
Five Ways to Surrender
Six Minutes to Midnight
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
Full Force
Elle James
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-09428-3
FULL FORCE
© 2019 Mary Jernigan
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Text to speech
Thank you to my wonderful family, who understand
when I’m on deadline and allow me the time
during holidays to write.
Thank you to my mother and father, who taught
me the value of hard work and perseverance,
without which I would never have finished one
book, much less one hundred and fifty!
Thank you to my sister, who helps me with
brainstorming when I’m fresh out of ideas.
Thank you to my editors, who keep me
in commas, and commas in the right places!
And thank you to our men and women in
uniform who protect our country and allow
us the freedom to follow our dreams.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
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
Epilogue
About the Publisher
Chapter One
The Russian ambassador, Nikolai Kozlov, stormed out of the room, his face a mottled red, his black eyes blazing.
Perched on the edge of her seat, Emily Chastain looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and glanced across the conference table at Viktor Sokolov, the Russian ambassador’s executive assistant. She reminded herself that she’d only been the interpreter. The ambassador wasn’t mad at her but at the information she’d translated.
Jay Phillips, the private investigator, shoved his notes into a folder and started to slip them into the briefcase he’d carried into the conference room at the Russian embassy.
Sokolov held up his hand. “Nyet,” he said in a commanding voice. In Russian he continued. “You will leave your papers and data with me.”
Emily translated. “He wants you to leave the documents.”
Phillips shrugged and laid the folder on the table. “The papers aren’t going to change anything. I signed a nondisclosure, and it pays for me to keep what I know to myself. I don’t share the information I compile with anyone other than my client. Otherwise, I would have no business.”
Emily gave Sokolov a shorter version of what Phillips had said.
Nevertheless the assistant’s heavy black brows veed over his nose and he gathered the stack of papers and photographs into a pile in front of him.
Phillips closed his briefcase and pushed to his feet. “Now that the meeting is over, I have an appointment across town in less than an hour.”
“If you no longer require my services, I should be going, too,” Emily said in Russian.
Sokolov’s intense stare turned on Emily. “You will keep the information you have translated private?”
Emily nodded. “I am very discreet. And I signed a nondisclosure agreement when I took this assignment. If we are done here,” she said, “I need to use the ladies’ room and then I need to leave before the traffic gets too hard to make it back to my apartment before rush-hour traffic gets bad.” She spoke the words in Russian. She started to pick up the notebook in front of her.
A hand came down on the notebook and the ambassador’s assistant said, “The notes stay.” He, too, spoke in Russian. The hard look on his face brooked no argument.
Phillips stiffened, his eyes widened, but he didn’t move from his position by the table.
&
nbsp; Her heart beating fast, Emily secured her purse strap on her shoulder and stood. Still shaking from the force of anger the ambassador had displayed, Emily’s knees wobbled as she was escorted to the door, alone, without the investigator.
The Russian ambassador had stormed out of the room yelling so loud and fast, Emily couldn’t keep up with his Russian. In his wake, the remaining occupants of the small conference room had sat in stunned silence for moments afterward.
Emily couldn’t shake a bad feeling about this particular translation gig. The urge to exit the Russian embassy overwhelmed her. As she crossed the threshold of the room she made a quick glance over her shoulder at the investigator. He attempted to leave but the guard behind him pressed a hand to his shoulder and forced him to sit. The American investigator shot a worried glance at Emily. Again, in Russian, she said, “Perhaps Mr. Phillips would like to share a cab with me?”
The guard behind the investigator shook his head. “Nyet.”
Phillips looked at her again and nodded, as if to say she should go while she could. When she didn’t move forward, her hovering guard gave her a slight shove that sent her into the hallway. There wasn’t much else she could do for the investigator but hope and pray that nobody stood in his way of leaving the embassy.
The guard gripped her elbow and escorted her down the hall. If she hadn’t dug her heels into the tile when she passed the restroom he would have marched her all the way to the exit.
Emily pulled free of the hand holding her arm and ducked into the bathroom. For a moment she thought the guard would follow her. When he didn’t, she breathed a sigh as the door closed behind her.
What she had translated that day left her shaken.
The investigator had been hired to follow the ambassador’s daughter and to find out where she had been going in Washington, DC. Apparently she’d had a number of unescorted clandestine assignations with a young man her father considered dangerous to his position as the Russian ambassador to the US. The investigator had stopped short of naming names but the look he’d exchanged with the ambassador had been clear. The ambassador knew who she was seeing.
The anger Emily had heard in the ambassador’s voice led her to believe that he was livid enough to kill the young man and possibly even his daughter, Sachi.
Emily hadn’t been altogether sure that she would make it out of the embassy alive. Though she’d never felt threatened before when she’d come to do translations within the Russian embassy, the anger in the ambassador’s demeanor left her feeling anything but comfortable.
She quickly splashed water on her face and dried it with a paper towel. Then she straightened her shoulders and pushed through the door to exit the bathroom. As she emerged into the hallway a man wearing a press badge was being escorted into the embassy by two guards, each gripping one of the journalist’s arms.
Emily was certain she’d seen the young man before but she couldn’t quite place him at the moment.
The guard who had led her from the conference room grabbed her elbow and jerked her toward the exit. Emily was in just as much of a hurry to get out of the embassy as the guard was to get her out. She no longer felt safe.
As she worked her way to the door, a sense of urgency filled her. She had to get out of the building as quickly as possible. At the exit, she was stopped by another guard. The two burly men spoke in Russian, their speech so quick she only caught half of it. It appeared the guard at the door was reluctant to let her leave, whereas the other guard wanted her out as soon as possible. Finally her guard escort got her through the door and gave her a little push toward the gate leading off the embassy compound.
Hugging her purse against her body, and pulling her jacket tightly around her, Emily hurried for the gate. Again, she was stopped and questioned as to why she was at the embassy. She told them she had been there to translate. The guard at the gate waved her through and she was free.
Emily didn’t look back. Instead she kept going, walking faster and faster until she was almost running down the street. She didn’t stop running until she was several blocks from the embassy. Her heart beating fast, her breathing coming in ragged gasps, she finally stopped long enough to remember where she had parked her car. She had to backtrack to the lot where she had paid to park earlier that day.
As she crossed the street, a vehicle raced toward her without slowing. She quickened her pace but realized she wasn’t going to make it across in time. The vehicle barreled forward, increasing speed rather than slowing, as if the driver didn’t see her or had made her his target.
Emily dove for the sidewalk and rolled to the side. The vehicle rushing at her bumped up on the curb and nearly ran over her. If she hadn’t rolled once more, it would have crushed her. The driver didn’t stop to check that she was all right, but sped on, leaving her to pick herself up and dust the dirt off of her clothes.
A man reached down and gripped her elbow. “Are you all right?”
Emily nodded, her heart still pounding so hard she thought it might leap out of her chest. “I’m okay.” She tried to get a look at the license plate to report the reckless driver, but the car didn’t have a plate on the rear bumper.
Turning to the stranger, she said, “Thank you,” and gave him a weak smile. Moving past him, Emily glanced down at the damage done to her trouser leg, which now sported a dirt stain and a tear, wondering what her knee looked like beneath it. It stung and hurt when she flexed it. She couldn’t take care of it until she got home. After another glance around, she continued toward the car park. With nothing but a description of a dark sedan having nearly run her over, she gave up hope of turning in the man behind the wheel for reckless driving. Instead she slipped into her car, paid the parking lot attendant and drove out of downtown DC, putting distance between her and the Russian embassy.
Out of the downtown traffic, Emily drove onto a six-lane highway, crowded with people hurrying to get somewhere. A white van behind her sped up, swerved around her to the left and slammed into the side of her vehicle.
Emily held on to the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, struggling to keep from hitting the vehicle on her right. The driver on the other side of her honked as she crossed into his lane. Ahead of her, the van dodged in and out of traffic, leaving Emily behind before she could get a look at his license plate.
She slowed, unable to pull to the side of the road. The car behind her honked, the vehicles on either side boxing her in, keeping her moving steadily forward. She had no choice but to continue toward home. Shaken and paranoid, Emily held on tightly to the steering wheel, bracing for the next potential hit-and-run driver. What was wrong with people? Why were the drivers all bent on trying to run her over? After her encounter at the Russian embassy, she could swear they were deliberately attacking her. Or was she imagining it? Traffic was scary enough without aggressive people expressing their road rage with a three-thousand-pound deadly weapon.
By the time she drove into her neighborhood, Emily was tired, stressed and ready to kick her feet up and drink a glass of wine to calm her nerves.
The traffic light ahead turned green as she approached. She pressed the accelerator and entered the intersection.
A dark blue sedan shot out of the side road, completely ignoring the red light.
If Emily hadn’t been ultra-aware of her environment, she wouldn’t have reacted as quickly as she did. She slammed her foot on the gas pedal, pulling ahead just enough to avoid being T-boned by the other car. It missed hitting her rear bumper by a hair.
“What the heck?” Emily cried. She didn’t slow, pushing past the speed limit to the next street. A glance in her rearview mirror showed the vehicle that had almost plowed into her was turning in the middle of the intersection, aiming toward her.
After this third vehicular incident, Emily got a clue. Instead of driving straight to her apartment she drove past her complex, watching closely in her rearview mir
ror as the dark sedan followed.
She turned at the next corner and the trailing car continued on straight. She breathed a sigh of relief and headed toward her apartment, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. From all she could tell, no one was following her. She made a circuitous trip around the block before she pulled into the parking lot of her building.
Her heart still pounding, Emily slowed her vehicle and started to turn into her usual parking space.
Although it was still a part of a normal workday, there were several cars in the lot, most of which were empty. When she spotted the dark blue sedan, Emily’s heart did a flip-flop.
The windows were too darkly tinted to see inside.
A tightening in the pit of Emily’s stomach made her pause before parking. Her heart sped up as she lifted her foot off of the brake and applied it to the accelerator. Instead of turning into her parking space, she whipped through the lot and out the other end of the apartment complex.
As she turned back out onto the road, she glanced into her rearview mirror and saw again the dark sedan pulling out of the parking lot, following her. She raced to the next street and turned.
The blue sedan stayed right on her tail.
Not knowing what to do, she chose a busy thoroughfare and rushed out into the open, hoping and praying the traffic would help put some distance between her and the sedan. Whipping in and out of traffic and dodging vehicles, Emily did manage to put distance between her and her tail. When she thought she’d lost him, she called her friend Grace, using her car’s Bluetooth setup.
Grace answered on the first ring. “Hi, Emily, how’s it going?”
“I think I’m in trouble,” she said, her voice wobbling.
“What kind of trouble?” Grace’s voice was sharp, filled with concern.
“I’m not sure,” Emily said. “I think I’m being followed, and drivers have tried to run me off the road a couple of times in the past hour. I—I can’t go home.”
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