Snowbound With The Secret Agent

Keeping an innocent witness close...too close

Silver Valley P.D.’s most dangerous case yet

When Portia DiNapoli accidentally witnesses a deadly crime, she becomes the Russian mob’s most wanted. But she’s not running anywhere—she’s teaming up with undercover agent Kyle King to protect the small town she loves. But what blooms between them is an instant, lethal attraction that could be the love of a lifetime. Or one they won’t survive...

Former naval intelligence officer and US Naval Academy graduate GERI KROTOW draws inspiration from the global situations she’s experienced. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog, gerikrotow.com.

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Snowbound with the Secret Agent

Geri Krotow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09354-5

SNOWBOUND WITH THE SECRET AGENT

© 2018 Geri Krotow

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 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.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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To Michelle Mioff-Haring.

Thank you for your friendship and

your tireless support of Silver Valley.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Something was wrong in Silver Valley, Pennsylvania, but Portia DiNapoli couldn’t put her finger on it. It wasn’t the weather, which had been hellacious since Christmas. She couldn’t remember such a cold, snowy winter since her childhood. And it wasn’t the stress of putting together the town’s largest charity event, the gala to raise funds for the library she ran and the homeless shelter where she volunteered many hours. If she thought about it deeply enough, the sense of doom had more to do with the story she’d read in the Harrisburg newspaper that proclaimed the area was under siege from Russian Organized Crime. Silver Valley had been named as the center of ROC’s efforts to move everything from illicit drugs to weapons. It struck at her heart, because Silver Valley was where she’d lived her entire life.

Although right now, having to dress in several layers to go anywhere in town, it was hard to believe even ROC could run criminal operations from here. Silver Valley had turned into a frozen tundra from the relentless winter.

She’d arrived three hours before opening to work at the Silver Valley Library. She needed the time to work on the gala, which was now less than a month away. And she loved the quiet of the historical building, the way it always felt like a warm hug, even in the January predawn hours. Pennsylvania remained gripped by the tenacious hand of a polar vortex; arctic air had mercilessly swept the state and frozen everything in its wake. More surface area of the Susquehanna River was frozen than ever previously recorded.

It took her a full two minutes to unwrap from her layers of winter protection. She’d opted to walk the few blocks from her small apartment, even in the cold. Portia loved the four seasons and especially winter, but even she was relieved to be inside the warm building and not on the icy streets.

As she settled into her spot behind the main circulation desk, she tried to let the library’s familiarity soothe her, but to no avail. What was different this Monday morning from all the others she’d spent in the facility? Her week had started out great with her usual walk to work, she’d had a great cup of coffee at the local shop in the building next to her apartment and there weren’t any pesky emails from the central library staff demanding her attention. But she couldn’t shake the sense of danger, the feeling that made her skin crawl and her stomach churn.

This had to stop.

Besides reading about ROC, she’d spent too much time learning about the fight Pennsylvania was waging against the heroin epidemic, finding out that Silver Valley had more than its share of opioid ODs and near-ODs. Since one of her closest friends from high school had become a victim of a lethal dose of heroin laced with fentanyl right before Christmas, Portia had questioned everything about her life and the community she held dear.

She resolved to get lost in the more positive aspects of her job and clicked open the gala files. Reviewing the guest list to date led to perusing the silent auction items, which always buoyed her spirits. The generosity of the average Silver Valley citizen touched her pragmatic heart.

“Portia.”

Portia jumped in her seat, startled by the sudden appearance of Brindle, her assistant.

Brindle had joined the staff while still pursuing her undergraduate degree at Penn State, Harrisburg and now was on to postgraduate work.

“What are you doing here so early? And, ah, good morning.”

Brindle’s mouth twisted into an apologetic grimace. “It’s not that early.”

Portia looked at the clock. She’d been here for two hours already?

“Sorry to startle you, but I had to get out of my sister’s house. Her baby was up all night, and I have two exams this week. I’ve been at the diner since four, and I was hoping you were in early today. I left my car in their lot and walked over.” Brindle knew that Portia came in early many days, especially in January, during the weeks before the gala.

“No problem. As you can see, I came in for the quiet, too.” Brindle was taking night and weekend classes to achieve a master’s degree in library science, and she also knew from firsthand experience how stressful working full-time and pursuing a degree was.

“I’ll use one of the study rooms if you prefer.” Brindle seemed truly sorry to intrude upon Portia’s space.

“No, that’s not necessary. I just boiled water for tea, or rather, I did when I came in. It’s in the insulated pitcher. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

They settled into their respective workspaces and Portia’s mind wandered yet again. She’d been doing a lot of this lately. Drifting when she should be getting something done, like finalizing the list of items to be auctioned off for the gala. Instead she’d scared herself half to death.

Robert hadn’t helped. She’d dated the local politician, helped him organize the personal details of his campaign. She was vehemently opposed to most of his platform, so no way would she help him with the actual campaign events. If she dug deep enough, she had to admit that she’d hoped to change him. Make him at least see her point of view on many issues. But it had never happened. When had trying to change someone else ever worked for her? A snort escaped her and she tried to cover it by sipping her tea. Brindle looked up at her and offered a smile.

“Sorry. Thinking out loud.” She raised the ceramic mug as if she hadn’t spent another sleepless night tossing and turning, wondering where ROC’s next victim would show up.

Robert hadn’t supported anything that helped drug addicts, including the fund-raiser she’d done for Silver Valley’s homeless shelter, where she volunteered at least one evening or day per week. She was glad she’d dumped his sorry butt. Unfortunately she’d also found out he’d been messing around with one of his supporters, a local lawyer. Her logical side demanded that his cheating ways would make the breakup that much easier, but it hadn’t. She’d talked it out with her best friend, Annie, and decided to take a break from men for the time being.

Shoving thoughts of her cheating ex aside, Portia skimmed the morning emails, all the while regularly checking the one monitor dedicated to library security. There were five security cameras in the building, one on each floor and one at each entrance. The back entrance was employees-only and in fact only used as an emergency exit. The screen was divided into quadrants and she’d so far been able to help a senior who’d fallen in the back corner of the cookbook section, break up several different teenaged couples who were clearly aroused by the smell of paper and last fall she’d ushered out a raccoon who’d smelled the tray of cider donuts intended for the toddler Halloween story time.

But she’d never seen a person completely dressed in dark clothing from head to toe, fully hooded, trying to pry open the back door of the building with some kind of instrument. In broad daylight. Well, if not complete daylight, dawn, as the sun was climbing over the Appalachian Mountains.

Portia shot out of her chair and made for the back. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on the back exit’s security screen, Brindle. If it looks like anything serious, call 9-1-1 for me.”

Brindle’s eyes widened and she got up from the worktable and walked over to the monitor. “Will do.” Portia would have laughed at her obvious trepidation but she had to get to the back door and tell the person to knock it off. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to chase interlopers away from the back door. It was an easy place for teens to hang out, next to the 24/7 diner and two buildings down from the pharmacy.

Even so, she couldn’t remember ever having to stop someone from trying to pry the door open before. The images of the headlines about ROC flashed through her mind and she forced herself to take a deep breath. Yes, Silver Valley was under fire from an established crime ring, but what were the odds that ROC had any interest in the town library?

Ludmila Markova couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, but it was nothing she wasn’t used to. Whether the police or FBI or one of her superiors, someone was always keeping tabs on her.

So be it. Right now she had to make sure she delivered the goods to the library so that the other worker would know where to find their delivery.

She’d gained many points with Ivanov, ROC’s local leader, when she’d come up with the communications plan. Because their cellular phone calls were always in threat of being monitored, and the same with email or SMS, they’d needed a way to pass information back and forth. The transportation manifests were complicated, especially the ones involving shipping heroin. Exact instructions were needed for each delivery; each pickup and every gram of product had to be accounted for.

Let the American law enforcement groups search her group’s technological devices. They’d never find what they were looking for. She was the best, trained by the Federal Security Service, or FSB, in Russia. It had earned her a visa to the US under an assumed identity.

She hoisted her backpack up higher, walking quickly to the library’s back entrance. At this hour, with the building still closed for another twenty minutes, she’d get in and out with no fanfare. The only problem was the security camera, which she couldn’t risk disabling because she wasn’t certain if it was tied to the local police or not.

No matter, this was why she wore a ski mask. The camera would never capture her face, not with enough detail for identification. Someone would have to be in her personal space to see her eyes and her mouth, and even that wasn’t always enough. Besides, if anyone got that close, she’d eliminate them. She never left a witness alive. It could spell too much trouble down the road.

She had to keep this job with Ivanov, her current boss. For just one more operation. Anything was better than going back to Russia and having to be at her government’s bidding again. A one-nighter with an oligarch led to the slick deal that got her here.

She planned to keep herself out of Russia for the rest of her days. Whether she found a quiet life under an assumed identity in the US or Canada didn’t matter to her. She wanted freedom from the constant killing, always having to take orders from above without question. Whether she’d be able to give up the life that she was the best at in the world was a valid question she needed to address, but not now. For now, she had to remain the trained assassin that she was, the best that ROC could ever hope to have on its side.

Only one more mission and she’d disappear, go somewhere where no one would find her. Start the free life she’d always dreamed of. Before her own government had killed her family.

The lock on the door would be an easy pick, but she preferred the much quicker muscle method. She pulled a long knife from her backpack and wedged the thin end into the line that separated the steel door from its frame. Using her body weight as leverage, she began to break into the Silver Valley Public Library. In three more minutes, she’d deposit the laptop where the next operative would find it, where she’d told them to look. It would take them all of thirty seconds to download the information onto a USB stick. If library personnel caught them, they could play dumb and claim they’d forgotten to sign the computer out at the front desk.

Her plan was foolproof, as was everything she did. Two more shoves and the door would open. She was three minutes from completing this part of her mission.

Portia’s breathing ramped up as she passed row upon row of books, DVDs and then periodicals, making her way to the stairs, where she sped down to the children’s level. The exit door was at the base of the stairs and the stairwell reverberated with the sound of metal on metal. The unknown person was still at it, working on the door.

What the hell?

Portia pushed the long bar handle in, shoved the door open and squinted against the bright motion detector light. The sun had begun its rise behind the building, as well; it was a sharp contrast to the stairwell’s dim interior.

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

The person straightened, and the first thing Portia noticed was the cold emotion in the glacial blue eyes under the winter facemask. The second thing was that the person—a woman, judging from the figure under her jacket, the makeup on her eyes and lipstick on her very red mouth—was holding one of the library’s dozen laptops. Portia knew it was a Silver Valley Library computer from the identification stickers on its cover.

“Hey, our laptops are for in-house use only. Why are you—”

Before she finished, the woman shoved Portia in the chest, knocking her backward. The assaulter whirled around and ran toward the railroad tracks that divided the library property from the rest of downtown Silver Valley.

Portia scrambled to her feet, and against the voice in her brain that screamed for her to wait for the police, she took off after the laptop thief. Silver Valley Library had mysteriously lost ten laptops in the past six months. It ended with her, today. Now. Without hesitating, she took off after the assailant. She hadn’t lettered in track and field at Silver Valley High for nothing.

Kyle King swore under his breath, the interior of the beat-up truck he was hunkered down in filling with the crystallized vapor. He couldn’t run the engine and heater while he was trying to blend in. He had to make it look like the truck was empty, parked behind the Silver Valley Diner. Right next to the town library, where he’d patiently waited for ROC’s thug to show up. He hoped to figure out how the hell they were passing information on illegal drug shipments.

As an undercover agent for the Trail Hikers, a secret government shadow agency, second to none and headquartered in Silver Valley, he knew how critical it was to stop ROC’s trafficking of illegal cargo, especially heroin and other drugs, into Pennsylvania. Silver Valley was a short fifteen-minute drive from the state capitol, Harrisburg, and the epicenter of transportation logistics for the entire US Eastern Seaboard.

Typical of ROC’s blatant disregard for law enforcement, they’d set up their distribution headquarters in the shadow of a nondescript, medium-sized, everyday American town. Of course ROC had no clue about Trail Hikers, but it was public knowledge that Silver Valley and the surrounding county had succeeded in defeating the most heinous criminals over the last few years. Including an ROC human trafficking ring. Which made the fact that ROC still wanted to stake a claim here stick more deeply in his craw. The latest intel from Trail Hikers and FBI indicated that the criminals were somehow using the local library as a way to pass critical information about their local ops.

Kyle had operated on countless global missions for Trail Hikers over the last several years, after a short stint in the Marine Corps. After two tours to Afghanistan, he knew he wanted to continue serving, but in a different capacity. The offer to become a Trail Hiker agent had been too good to pass up.

That was seven years ago. The ROC op had brought him to Silver Valley three months ago to provide much needed support. He’d welcomed the switch and enjoyed being in an American town for longer than the usual few days his other ops had given him.

Fact was, Kyle was tired of the global travel and wanted to find a place to call home in between Trail Hiker ops. He didn’t think it would be Silver Valley, though, as he was born and bred in California and missed the West Coast. He’d purchased land in California while he was still a Marine, needing to know he had someplace to go if he ended up out of the Corps and without a job. But anyplace in the United States was a good place after the rough places he’d been. If he hadn’t been so tied up in this op against ROC, he might have enjoyed Silver Valley a bit more.

Kyle wanted to be the agent to smash apart Ivanov’s reign of terror so badly that he could taste it. The current gang ROC had sent to Silver Valley was responsible for dozens of heroin ODs in this part of the state, and upwards of thousands nationally. After he solved this case, Kyle was due for time off, a full month. He planned to use it to go back west, see if the property he’d been paying taxes on could become home. The director of Trail Hikers wanted him out there for a bit to set up a West Coast office for the agency, so it all dovetailed neatly. Kyle liked things neat.

It’d be sweet if he could crack open this case sooner than later. Pennsylvania winters were colder than he’d imagined. The last weeks since the polar vortex had dipped down had proved brutal. He’d broken down and bought himself foot and hand warmers for the long hours outside, staking out the library, where he’d confirmed the information drop point was. In classic ROC fashion, they used something that seemed so obvious. Most criminal organizations held meetings or passed information in more clandestine spots, places that were difficult to figure out. Not ROC. By somehow passing information in the library, they’d hidden their methods in plain sight. He just hadn’t figured out exactly how yet. The computers were the most likely tools but the Trail Hikers systems forensics expert hadn’t found anything unusual on the desktops. Kyle had done a lot of his own recon inside the library, too, hoping to determine a pattern of behavior or repeat patrons who might be up to no good. He’d used different disguises to avoid any kind of recognition. Not just from Markova or her worker bees, but from the library staff.

The librarian in particular. A woman he’d found himself fascinated with. Portia DiNapoli.

But the librarian he’d also happened to monitor the last several weeks wasn’t going to make his goal of catching Markova in the act possible. Not today, anyway. As an undercover TH agent, he had to avoid any contact with civilians as much as possible while trailing a target. And Markova was a big one. As he watched, he saw that the librarian was engaging Markova. Portia DiNapoli didn’t know Markova was an ROC operative, though.

“Damn it, Portia DiNapoli. Why are you so good at your job?” And why was the town librarian so damn hot? More importantly, why was his dick paying attention at all when he was supposed to be tracking the movements of potential ROC thugs in the library, not Portia’s attractiveness?

You’re lonely.

Damn it, he wasn’t lonely. Okay, he’d appreciate the loving of a good woman right about now, but he was too entrenched in his work to add another concern to it.