Special Assignment. Ann Peterson Voss

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      Suddenly she was hyperaware of how alone they were. Just the two of them. With nothing but the night around them.

      “Whoever is trying to kill you won’t know you’re no longer working for PPS. And they might not care even if they do.”

      “What are you saying? That I should run off to L.A., where I’ll be safe?” Cassie hadn’t realized it, but she’d been counting on Mike to back her up, to agree that staying and working with the team was the best course.

      “No. It might be selfishness on my part, but I want you to stay.”

      Cassie let out the breath she’d been holding. Mike wanting her in Colorado, especially for selfish reasons, meant more than she could say. Since that morning when she’d lost her hearing, she’d dreamed of finding a man who would treat her as a partner. A man who believed she was his equal. “I guess I need to figure out where I’m going to stay.”

      “I have an idea. And since my original assignment with PPS is over, I might be in the market for something new.”

      “Or something old, like protecting me?”

      “I have the feeling protecting you will never get old.”

      Special Assignment

      Ann Voss Peterson

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To Denise Zaza and Allison Lyons. Thanks for inviting me to contribute to this fun series!

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Ever since she was a little girl making her own books out of construction paper, Ann Voss Peterson wanted to write. So when it came time to choose a major at the University of Wisconsin, creative writing was her only choice. Of course, writing wasn’t a practical choice—one needs to earn a living. So Ann found various jobs, including proofreading legal transcripts, working with quarter horses and washing windows. But no matter how she earned her paycheck, she continued to write the type of stories that captured her heart and imagination—romantic suspense. Ann lives near Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband, her two young sons, her border collie and her quarter horse mare. Ann loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected] or visit her Web site at www.annvosspeterson.com.

      CAST OF CHARACTERS

      Detective Mike Lawson—Mike bleeds blue. A cop from a long line of cops, confronted with widespread corruption tainting his beloved Denver PD. Choosing personal ethics over loyalty, now he has to pay….

      Cassie Allen—An overachiever all her life, Cassie was a computer whiz and an accomplished classical pianist before she graduated from high school. But after losing her hearing, Cassie set out to prove she is just like anyone else.

      Evangeline Prescott—Evangeline likes to give Prescott Personal Security employees the opportunity to prove themselves. But when Cassie’s life is threatened, Evangeline pulls out the stops to make sure she’s safe.

      The Dirty Three—Trio of Denver PD officers arrested for stealing from drug dealers. Now they want revenge.

      Deputy Chief Wade Lawson—Mike’s father can’t forgive his son.

      Detective Tim Grady—Mike’s partner is the only cop he can trust.

      Milo Kardascian—The CEO has an old grudge against Mike.

      James Durgin—Is the millionaire afraid for his life or playing tricks?

      Contents

      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

      Chapter One

      No amount of booze could wipe a conscience clean. Not that Mike Lawson hadn’t given it one hell of a shot tonight.

      He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, stumbling in the direction of the fleabag motel next door to the Beer-ly Alive Tavern. Gravel crunched and scuffed under his boots, the sound brittle as breaking glass in the cool April night. Not that he could feel the temperature. His nose and lips were numb as a plastic mask.

      He groped in his pocket and pulled out a room key on one of those old-fashioned plastic paddles. No key cards at this place. At least he had brains enough to check into a room before bellying up to attempt to suck the worm out of a bottle of mescal. He sure as hell didn’t need to risk driving back to the ranch. As a cop, Mike had seen what happened when booze and cars mixed. He didn’t need to add vehicular manslaughter to his list of sins. That list was long enough already.

      “God, I was hoping you’d climb behind the wheel, Lawson.” A voice ground out from the shadows. The light from a nearby post gleamed off a shaved scalp. “I’d love to watch the boys slap the cuffs on you and jam an intoximeter tube down your throat.”

      Even in his inebriated state, Mike recognized the voice. His ears started to pound. “Aren’t you in prison yet, Fisher?” He tried to hold his head steady and squinted into the shadows.

      Three men stood next to his pickup truck. Fisher, Stevens and Rodriguez. The Curly, Larry and Moe of the Denver PD. If Mike had been sober, he’d have noticed them the moment he stepped into the parking lot.

      “You think you’re such a goddamn hero, don’t you?” Stevens swaggered forward. He balled his hands into fists. The tendons in his wiry arms stood out with iron-pumping definition. “You didn’t even wait for us to go to trial before trying to sell your rat-bastard lies to Mr. Movie Star.”

      The pounding in Mike’s ears grew louder, making his molars ache.

      “Mr. Dead Movie Star,” added the Moe of the group, Rodriguez. “Too bad for you.”

      Mike inhaled cool, dry air. He hadn’t approached Nick Warner. It had been Warner who’d come up with the idea of putting Mike’s story on the silver screen. Mike had told Warner’s people to forget it every single one of the half-dozen times they’d called. Unfortunately, Hollywood megastars weren’t used to hearing the word no. And when the film festival rolled around, Warner had shown up in Denver, as if challenging Mike to say no to that famous face in person.

      Nick Warner had been shot to death before Mike had gotten the chance.

      Mike turned away from the cops the Denver Post had dubbed “the Dirty Three” and kept his feet moving toward his motel room. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Hollywood and the Post might think he was a hero for cleaning up corruption in the Denver PD, but he sure as hell didn’t. He was more inclined to agree with his old man’s assessment.

      Traitor.

      Not that he’d had much of a choice. Not if he wanted to uphold the law. Not if he wanted to do the right thing.

      Either way, he had spent the night striving to forget everything that had happened in the past few months…hell, everything that had happened in the past twenty years. And the last thing he wanted was to ruin a good drunk by strolling down memory lane with