Crossfire. Jenna Mills

tion>

      

      Awareness hit immediately, stronger than before.

      Behind her, the doors slid closed. Swallowing hard, Elizabeth reached a gloved hand into her pocketbook. The corridor stretched long and deserted, vacant save for the abandoned room-service cart outside a nearby door. There were no footsteps. No movements. No shadows.

      Just the preternatural knowledge that she wasn’t alone.

      Because of the scent. Wildly masculine, alarmingly strong. It washed through her like a drug, jump-starting something deep inside. Her heart kicked. Hard. She swung around, fully expecting to see him standing there, all tall and hard, eyes hot and burning, mouth curved into that unmistakably carnal smile….

      Dear Reader,

      Once again, we invite you to experience the romantic excitement that is the hallmark of Silhouette Intimate Moments. And what better way to begin than with Downright Dangerous, the newest of THE PROTECTORS, the must-read miniseries by Beverly Barton? Bad-boy-turned-bodyguard Rafe Devlin is a hero guaranteed to win heroine Elsa Leone’s heart—and yours.

      We have more miniseries excitement for you with Marie Ferrarella’s newest CAVANAUGH JUSTICE title, Dangerous Games, about a detective heroine joining forces with the hero to prove his younger brother’s innocence, and The Cradle Will Fall, Maggie Price’s newest LINE OF DUTY title, featuring ex-lovers brought back together to find a missing child. And that’s not all, of course. Reader favorite Jenna Mills returns with Crossfire, about a case of personal protection that’s very personal indeed. Nina Bruhns is back with a taste of Sweet Suspicion. This FBI agent hero doesn’t want to fall for the one witness who can make or break his case, but his heart just isn’t listening to his head. Finally, meet the Undercover Virgin who’s the heroine of Becky Barker’s newest novel. When a mission goes wrong and she’s on the run with the hero, she may stay under cover, but as for the rest…!

      Enjoy them all, and be sure to come back next month for six more of the best and most exciting romance novels around, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

      Yours,

      Leslie J. Wainger

       Executive Editor

      Crossfire

      Jenna Mills

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      JENNA MILLS

      grew up in south Louisiana, amidst romantic plantation ruins, haunting swamps and timeless legends. It’s not surprising, then, that she wrote her first romance at the ripe old age of six! Three years later, this librarian’s daughter turned to romantic suspense with Jacquie and the Swamp, a harrowing tale of a young woman on the run in the swamp and the dashing hero who helps her find her way home. Since then her stories have grown in complexity, but her affinity for adventurous women and dangerous men has remained constant. She loves writing about strong characters torn between duty and desire, conscious choice and destiny.

      When not writing award-winning stories brimming with deep emotion, steamy passion and page-turning suspense, Jenna spends her time with her husband, two cats, two dogs and a menagerie of plants in their Dallas, Texas, home. Jenna loves to hear from her readers. She can be reached via e-mail at [email protected], or via snail mail at P.O. Box 768, Coppell, Texas 75019.

      A heartfelt thanks to my fellow IM authors and the fabulous readers of the Intimate Moments Authors BBS, for all your love and support when I needed you most. You know who you are.

       I only hope you know how special you are.

      A special thanks to Linda, Cathy, Vickie and Roberta.

       I’ll walk through the fire with you anytime.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      “One can never consent to creep when one feels an impulse to soar.” —Helen Keller

      Lightning didn’t strike twice.

      Wesley “Hawk” Monroe knew that, had learned the hard way, lived by the credo. He was a man who dealt in cold, hard reality. Fate and luck had no place in his world. He’d learned to fight, to survive, in some of the worst hellholes imaginable. But all those defenses betrayed him now, let the danger seep closer.

      Because of her.

      Through the darkness he could sense her, feel her, moving among the shadows, just out of reach. Always, always just out of reach. The moonless night muted vision, but he didn’t need sight to see her tall, willowy form moving toward him with a grace that could only be called predatory.

      The warning sounded next, loud, persistent, droning like a warped record. She didn’t belong here. She had no place on the fringes of his world, no business being close enough to touch and feel. To remind.

      He’d worked too hard to dull edges that once had cut to the bone.

      Oblivion had come easier then, with thousands of miles and an entire ocean between them. He’d trained himself not to think of her. Not to remember. Not to want. But here among the shaded streets of Richmond, memories shimmied everywhere he turned. Even here. In his own little house south of town. His own bed.

      A whisper of movement then, closer. And the scent, soft, subtle, vanilla and something exotic, something that lingered like poison on his sheets. And leather.

      Ah, God, the leather…

      On a violent rush of adrenaline, he brought himself awake. Twisting against the sheets tangled around his body, he clicked on a bedside lamp and squinted at the glaring intrusion of light.

      The digital clock read 5:43.

      Swearing softly, he grabbed the relentlessly ringing phone. “This better be good—”

      “Wesley.”

      The deep booming voice hit like a bucket of ice water. He pushed upright, ridiculously reminded of what it was like to be a hormone-crazed teenage boy interrupted by his girlfriend’s father at the worst possible moment. “Ambassador Carrington.”

      “Jorak Zhukov has escaped,” his employer informed him. The overseas telephone connection brought a slight delay to his explanation. “He’s been missing almost two hours.”

      And that was all it took. Those last hazy fragments of the dream shattered, leaving only the harsh light of reality.

      Heart hammering, Hawk disentangled himself from the covers and stood. He didn’t need to be told the danger Zhukov presented to the family Hawk was paid to protect. The criminal who’d sworn vengeance on the Carringtons killed with the casual disregard most men channel surfed.

      “How in God’s name does a prisoner escape from a federal detention center?”

      “Good question,” Carrington bit out. “My family is not safe with that animal