LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2018 by Desiree Holt

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: August 2018

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0369-0

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0369-6

      First Print Edition: August 2018

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0372-0

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0372-6

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      I have a lot of people to thank for the creation of this story. First and foremost for the real Justin and Marissa, for letting me borrow their names. And to Justin himself for all the help with Marissa’s CIA assignment and personality. To those who requested anonymity but were incredibly helpful: my doctor who answered my questions about Justin’s wound and his hospitalization; the customs officer who was so helpful with information about declarations in Nassau and on the way to private islands; to my always dependable police officer, Joseph Patrick Trainor, who was a great resource about anything to do with the police. And last, but far from least, my incredible editor, Paige Christian, who is sharp, savvy, so good at her job and pushed me hard to get the desired results. Without you, Paige, this story would not sing. Thank you, everyone, for helping me bring this story to life.

      Author Foreward

      Writing a book is a solitary experience but it never comes to the bookshelves, virtual or other, alone. For me it starts with my treasured friend and beta reader extraordinaire, Margie Hager, who has the best eagle eye in the world. Thank you, Margie for your friendship and for all the hours you put in to help me bring my stories to life. Thanks to Joseph P. Trainor for letting me pester him with a million questions and for keeping me honest and providing me with invaluable information on all things law enforcement and military elite. To my family, who believed in me from the beginning and are my biggest promoters: my daughter Amy and Suzanne, my son Steven and my granddaughter Kayla. And of course, to you, my readers, without whom none of this would be possible.

      Desiree Holt

      Chapter 1

      London

      “Thank you for dining with me, Miss Masters. It is always such a great pleasure.”

      Valentin Desmet, the man who carried the trash for London billionaire Stefan Maes—her target—stepped out of the limousine and straightened the jacket of his suit. He smiled and gave a slight bow before holding out his hand to her. Others might consider him a sophisticated continental gentleman, but his elegant suit, his linen shirt, and silk tie couldn’t hide, to her, the slimy weasel he was.

      Lauren Masters gritted her teeth as she put her hand in his, allowing him to help her from the vehicle, doing her best not to show her distaste.

      God. She couldn’t wait to get away from him.

      The streetlamp cast its light on his longish, slicked-back, dark brown hair and his tall, slender body. If vampires were real, she would have said he belonged to a family of them. Spending time with him creeped her out, a feeling that had stayed with her from the moment of that first accidental meeting.

      The most distasteful part of her job had been establishing the relationship with Desmet. Polished and urbane on the surface, he had a cruelty in his eyes that nothing could hide. Pulling out all the stops before he’d finally referred her to Maes had often turned her stomach. But an assignment was an assignment, and she’d known when she accepted it the kind of people she’d be dealing with. So, she had dazzled him with her knowledge of the financial markets and how to squeeze every extra nickel out of investments, selling him on why he should recommend her to his boss.

      Dining with him once a week had become silently mandatory since she’d snagged Maes’s account. She had told the CIA that yes, she’d do whatever was needed to bring down the man who funded terrorists and fomented revolutions in Third World countries. She just hadn’t expected it to include weekly dinners with a man who made her want to take a bath every time she left him.

      Sometimes she wondered how she’d managed to do this for three years—playing a part, cozying up to Desmet, but in a very professional way. Dealing with Maes, who was evil personified. But now, at last, it was all paying off.

      She gave Desmet her best fake smile. “The pleasure was mine, Mr. Desmet.”

      She hoped she didn’t choke on her words. She should get an award for acting.

      He continued to hold her hand even after