Kiss or Kill. Lyn Stone

feel his quickening pulse. Her own body had hummed.

      Renee shook her head. The vision firmly engraved on her mind might have been buried, but hadn’t lost its clarity.

      Renee straightened and pushed off the wall, taking a seat on one of the overturned boxes that served as extra chairs. “Where are the others?” she asked, ignoring Alexander as best she could.

      “Checking the perimeter. Sonny and Beguin will be up in a few moments. Tonight’s the night we get down to business,” Deborah announced.

      Finally. Renee kept her expression bland. She knew the job, in general anyway, and hoped to find out where the strike would occur so she could get people in place to prevent it. This was yet another planning session. Deborah seemed to get off on having rendezvous in secret locations, the seedier the better.

      Sonny’s last job had been an attempt to abduct a

      U.S. senator’s son. It had been foiled by the Secret Service and Renee’s team, COMPASS, one of the civilian special ops teams formed under Homeland Security. The giant, more commonly known as Sonnegut, had escaped capture and fled here to France, doing a bang-up job of covering his tracks. But Renee had located him.

      Her stated mission was to identify Sonnegut’s affiliation, find out who was behind the kidnapping attempt and determine what they had been after. Indications were that the motive had been political. So far, she had tailed him until she could befriend one of his cohorts and work her way into this little gang.

      It was a start. Deborah Martine was Sonnegut’s lover. Renee had begun to suspect she might also be the person in charge. The question was whether or not she reported to someone else, higher up. Unfortunately Renee thought she might have to abandon her primary mission in order to throw a monkey wrench into the strike the cell was planning. But first she needed to discover how the group was financed, and, most important, the target and timing of their strike.

      Renee had struck up an association with Martine, gaining her trust in the guise of a French-Canadian expatriate whose father owned a demolitions business based in Calgary and who had taught his only child everything he knew about explosives, hoping she would carry on.

      Her cover contained a great deal of truth, but there were no records available to prove or disprove it. She had told Deborah at the outset that her father had disowned her and she had intentionally “erased” herself. Martine had professed to admire her precautions and apparently accepted her story.

      Demolition was a handy skill in the underworld, much in demand. Credentials weren’t required. The proof was in the execution, so to speak.

      Renee glanced again at Mark and saw that he was assessing her, no doubt wondering if she had switched loyalties. Neither of them had any option but to play this out, at least until they could talk in private. And even then, would either dare admit why they were really here? As far as he knew, she could be exactly what she appeared to be. And so could he.

      Every tenet of her training demanded that she erase any threat to her mission. So would his. They had trained together in the life-or-death black ops field, after all.

      Two years ago, the FBI had hosted an international working seminar on nontraditional methods of dealing with terrorists. Fifty elite agents from as many organizations had attended. No operative had been identified other than by name, no countries or organizations revealed.

      At the time, Renee had figured Mark represented the U.K. because of his accent and surname. And that polite reserve of his had seemed distinctly British to her. Maybe her assumption had been wrong. Ordinarily she knew better than to assume anything, but it hadn’t really mattered back then.

      Even at first glance, just as it did now, her heart had raced with both fear and fascination. Aside from the wide shoulders set on a body that wouldn’t quit and a face that boasted intriguing features, her attraction to him surpassed the physical. There was something dark about Alexander that went deeper than the fathomless eyes that seemed to peer right into the very soul of her. He made her feel exposed…vulnerable…hot. What’s more, he made her like it. Dangerous, indeed.

      When she’d known him then, just as now, she had needed her entire focus to remain on the job. Renee had staunchly kept her distance. But she’d sensed a definite reciprocal interest, proved beyond doubt when he had impulsively acted on it. And kissed her. Afterward, they had avoided each other and only spoken in passing when paired off in a shooting match.

      Even so, she’d hardly been able to concentrate whenever he was in the vicinity. And the vision of him naked that she hadn’t consciously sought, yet couldn’t seem to dismiss hadn’t helped. Renee had vowed early on that until her career was well established and she had proved her worth, a personal life would be out of the question. Apparently Mark’s goal hadn’t been any different.

      Avoidance had become a game until their schooling was over and they parted company with merely a couple of satisfied nods, wordlessly acknowledging their shared battle and mutual success.

      In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have been so hell-bent to deny any interaction. At least then she might be able to guess something about his mindset now.

      Sonnegut slammed into the room, his great height and boisterous energy almost comical considering the secretive nature of the meeting. He was a good-looking fellow of German extraction, cocky as hell, larger than life, auburn-haired, blue-eyed, built like a monster truck. There was simply too much of him to be believed.

      Beguin followed him, a pale shadow in Sonnegut’s wake. Thin, dirty blond hair hung like fringe over his craggy features. Darting close-set eyes peered from behind the sparse strands. He moved like a wraith and always gave Renee the creeps. She prided herself on her uncanny recognition of accents, but she hadn’t figured yet where Beguin had hatched. He never had a word to say.

      Deborah Martine’s eyes lit up and a smile curved her generous lips whenever Sonnegut appeared. “Everything as it should be, Sonny?” she asked, her voice rife with authority. Her attitude had become increasingly bossy lately, Renee had noticed.

      The big man nodded and shot her a merry grin. “I had to get rid of a vagrant. He was getting too curious.”

      Martine’s smile slipped at that. She probably worried about the eventual discovery of an errant body mucking up this new meeting place, but she said nothing more about it. “I meant the phone calls you were to make regarding Alexander. Results?”

      Sonnegut brushed his hands together and nodded vigorously. “He’s solid. Brugel said he does good work, so did Hamish. Best they know of for providing surreptitious entry. Both vouched.”

      Martine reached inside her pocket and retrieved a cell phone that must have been set on vibrate. She clicked it on, listened, nodded and answered briefly and affirmatively in Italian. It was the third language Renee had heard her speak fluently.

      They all conversed in French, of course, except when Martine encouraged her to use English. That was Martine’s native tongue, though she was as proficient in French as anyone born to it. Apparently she was pretty good in Italian as well. She was speaking with the man called Brugel, whom Sonnegut had just mentioned.

      After she put the phone away, Martine promptly handed over a nine-millimeter pistol to Mark. “Here’s your toy back, darling. You’re hired. Same rate as Brugel gave you, agreed?”

      He nodded, pulled a wry face as if disappointed that he wasn’t offered more and stuck the weapon beneath his black leather jacket. His intense gaze captured Renee’s again. His dark eyes told her nothing regarding his true affiliation. But they did reveal his continued interest in her as a woman. Not helpful at all.

      Then Deborah turned to Renee. “Tonight we firm up some of the details. Also, if you have any doubt about your ability to do what we need done, you must tell me now. Failure is not an option.”

      Renee shrugged one shoulder and tried to look nonchalant. “I can handle anything but boredom,” she declared lazily, leaning backward as Mark pulled a lighter from his pocket and offered to light the cigarette she held.

      She