She saw something she shouldn’t have...

Now they want her dead.

Ever since she left the foreign embassy where she was working, translator Emily Chastain has been targeted by someone who wants to silence her permanently. Fearing for her life, Emily contacts Declan’s Defenders and is placed under former marine Mustang Ford’s protection. If only she could figure out why someone is trying to kill her—and how to contain her unlikely attraction to Mustang...

ELLE JAMES, a New York Times bestselling author, started writing when her sister challenged her to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas). Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! Elle loves to hear from fans at ellejames@earthlink.net or ellejames.com

Also by Elle James

Marine Force Recon

Show of Force

One Intrepid SEAL

Two Dauntless Hearts

Three Courageous Words

Four Relentless Days

Five Ways to Surrender

Six Minutes to Midnight

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Full Force

Elle James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09428-3

FULL FORCE

© 2019 Mary Jernigan

Published in Great Britain 2019

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.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Thank you to my wonderful family, who understand

when I’m on deadline and allow me the time

during holidays to write.

Thank you to my mother and father, who taught

me the value of hard work and perseverance,

without which I would never have finished one

book, much less one hundred and fifty!

Thank you to my sister, who helps me with

brainstorming when I’m fresh out of ideas.

Thank you to my editors, who keep me

in commas, and commas in the right places!

And thank you to our men and women in

uniform who protect our country and allow

us the freedom to follow our dreams.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

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

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The Russian ambassador, Nikolai Kozlov, stormed out of the room, his face a mottled red, his black eyes blazing.

Perched on the edge of her seat, Emily Chastain looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and glanced across the conference table at Viktor Sokolov, the Russian ambassador’s executive assistant. She reminded herself that she’d only been the interpreter. The ambassador wasn’t mad at her but at the information she’d translated.

Jay Phillips, the private investigator, shoved his notes into a folder and started to slip them into the briefcase he’d carried into the conference room at the Russian embassy.

Sokolov held up his hand. “Nyet,” he said in a commanding voice. In Russian he continued. “You will leave your papers and data with me.”

Emily translated. “He wants you to leave the documents.”

Phillips shrugged and laid the folder on the table. “The papers aren’t going to change anything. I signed a nondisclosure, and it pays for me to keep what I know to myself. I don’t share the information I compile with anyone other than my client. Otherwise, I would have no business.”

Emily gave Sokolov a shorter version of what Phillips had said.

Nevertheless the assistant’s heavy black brows veed over his nose and he gathered the stack of papers and photographs into a pile in front of him.

Phillips closed his briefcase and pushed to his feet. “Now that the meeting is over, I have an appointment across town in less than an hour.”

“If you no longer require my services, I should be going, too,” Emily said in Russian.

Sokolov’s intense stare turned on Emily. “You will keep the information you have translated private?”

Emily nodded. “I am very discreet. And I signed a nondisclosure agreement when I took this assignment. If we are done here,” she said, “I need to use the ladies’ room and then I need to leave before the traffic gets too hard to make it back to my apartment before rush-hour traffic gets bad.” She spoke the words in Russian. She started to pick up the notebook in front of her.

A hand came down on the notebook and the ambassador’s assistant said, “The notes stay.” He, too, spoke in Russian. The hard look on his face brooked no argument.

Phillips stiffened, his eyes widened, but he didn’t move from his position by the table.

Her heart beating fast, Emily secured her purse strap on her shoulder and stood. Still shaking from the force of anger the ambassador had displayed, Emily’s knees wobbled as she was escorted to the door, alone, without the investigator.

The Russian ambassador had stormed out of the room yelling so loud and fast, Emily couldn’t keep up with his Russian. In his wake, the remaining occupants of the small conference room had sat in stunned silence for moments afterward.

Emily couldn’t shake a bad feeling about this particular translation gig. The urge to exit the Russian embassy overwhelmed her. As she crossed the threshold of the room she made a quick glance over her shoulder at the investigator. He attempted to leave but the guard behind him pressed a hand to his shoulder and forced him to sit. The American investigator shot a worried glance at Emily. Again, in Russian, she said, “Perhaps Mr. Phillips would like to share a cab with me?”

The guard behind the investigator shook his head. “Nyet.”

Phillips looked at her again and nodded, as if to say she should go while she could. When she didn’t move forward, her hovering guard gave her a slight shove that sent her into the hallway. There wasn’t much else she could do for the investigator but hope and pray that nobody stood in his way of leaving the embassy.

The guard gripped her elbow and escorted her down the hall. If she hadn’t dug her heels into the tile when she passed the restroom he would have marched her all the way to the exit.

Emily pulled free of the hand holding her arm and ducked into the bathroom. For a moment she thought the guard would follow her. When he didn’t, she breathed a sigh as the door closed behind her.

What she had translated that day left her shaken.

The investigator had been hired to follow the ambassador’s daughter and to find out where she had been going in Washington, DC. Apparently she’d had a number of unescorted clandestine assignations with a young man her father considered dangerous to his position as the Russian ambassador to the US. The investigator had stopped short of naming names but the look he’d exchanged with the ambassador had been clear. The ambassador knew who she was seeing.

The anger Emily had heard in the ambassador’s voice led her to believe that he was livid enough to kill the young man and possibly even his daughter, Sachi.

Emily hadn’t been altogether sure that she would make it out of the embassy alive. Though she’d never felt threatened before when she’d come to do translations within the Russian embassy, the anger in the ambassador’s demeanor left her feeling anything but comfortable.

She quickly splashed water on her face and dried it with a paper towel. Then she straightened her shoulders and pushed through the door to exit the bathroom. As she emerged into the hallway a man wearing a press badge was being escorted into the embassy by two guards, each gripping one of the journalist’s arms.

Emily was certain she’d seen the young man before but she couldn’t quite place him at the moment.

The guard who had led her from the conference room grabbed her elbow and jerked her toward the exit. Emily was in just as much of a hurry to get out of the embassy as the guard was to get her out. She no longer felt safe.

As she worked her way to the door, a sense of urgency filled her. She had to get out of the building as quickly as possible. At the exit, she was stopped by another guard. The two burly men spoke in Russian, their speech so quick she only caught half of it. It appeared the guard at the door was reluctant to let her leave, whereas the other guard wanted her out as soon as possible. Finally her guard escort got her through the door and gave her a little push toward the gate leading off the embassy compound.

Hugging her purse against her body, and pulling her jacket tightly around her, Emily hurried for the gate. Again, she was stopped and questioned as to why she was at the embassy. She told them she had been there to translate. The guard at the gate waved her through and she was free.

Emily didn’t look back. Instead she kept going, walking faster and faster until she was almost running down the street. She didn’t stop running until she was several blocks from the embassy. Her heart beating fast, her breathing coming in ragged gasps, she finally stopped long enough to remember where she had parked her car. She had to backtrack to the lot where she had paid to park earlier that day.

As she crossed the street, a vehicle raced toward her without slowing. She quickened her pace but realized she wasn’t going to make it across in time. The vehicle barreled forward, increasing speed rather than slowing, as if the driver didn’t see her or had made her his target.

Emily dove for the sidewalk and rolled to the side. The vehicle rushing at her bumped up on the curb and nearly ran over her. If she hadn’t rolled once more, it would have crushed her. The driver didn’t stop to check that she was all right, but sped on, leaving her to pick herself up and dust the dirt off of her clothes.

A man reached down and gripped her elbow. “Are you all right?”

Emily nodded, her heart still pounding so hard she thought it might leap out of her chest. “I’m okay.” She tried to get a look at the license plate to report the reckless driver, but the car didn’t have a plate on the rear bumper.

Turning to the stranger, she said, “Thank you,” and gave him a weak smile. Moving past him, Emily glanced down at the damage done to her trouser leg, which now sported a dirt stain and a tear, wondering what her knee looked like beneath it. It stung and hurt when she flexed it. She couldn’t take care of it until she got home. After another glance around, she continued toward the car park. With nothing but a description of a dark sedan having nearly run her over, she gave up hope of turning in the man behind the wheel for reckless driving. Instead she slipped into her car, paid the parking lot attendant and drove out of downtown DC, putting distance between her and the Russian embassy.

Out of the downtown traffic, Emily drove onto a six-lane highway, crowded with people hurrying to get somewhere. A white van behind her sped up, swerved around her to the left and slammed into the side of her vehicle.

Emily held on to the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, struggling to keep from hitting the vehicle on her right. The driver on the other side of her honked as she crossed into his lane. Ahead of her, the van dodged in and out of traffic, leaving Emily behind before she could get a look at his license plate.

She slowed, unable to pull to the side of the road. The car behind her honked, the vehicles on either side boxing her in, keeping her moving steadily forward. She had no choice but to continue toward home. Shaken and paranoid, Emily held on tightly to the steering wheel, bracing for the next potential hit-and-run driver. What was wrong with people? Why were the drivers all bent on trying to run her over? After her encounter at the Russian embassy, she could swear they were deliberately attacking her. Or was she imagining it? Traffic was scary enough without aggressive people expressing their road rage with a three-thousand-pound deadly weapon.

By the time she drove into her neighborhood, Emily was tired, stressed and ready to kick her feet up and drink a glass of wine to calm her nerves.

The traffic light ahead turned green as she approached. She pressed the accelerator and entered the intersection.

A dark blue sedan shot out of the side road, completely ignoring the red light.

If Emily hadn’t been ultra-aware of her environment, she wouldn’t have reacted as quickly as she did. She slammed her foot on the gas pedal, pulling ahead just enough to avoid being T-boned by the other car. It missed hitting her rear bumper by a hair.

“What the heck?” Emily cried. She didn’t slow, pushing past the speed limit to the next street. A glance in her rearview mirror showed the vehicle that had almost plowed into her was turning in the middle of the intersection, aiming toward her.

After this third vehicular incident, Emily got a clue. Instead of driving straight to her apartment she drove past her complex, watching closely in her rearview mirror as the dark sedan followed.

She turned at the next corner and the trailing car continued on straight. She breathed a sigh of relief and headed toward her apartment, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. From all she could tell, no one was following her. She made a circuitous trip around the block before she pulled into the parking lot of her building.

Her heart still pounding, Emily slowed her vehicle and started to turn into her usual parking space.

Although it was still a part of a normal workday, there were several cars in the lot, most of which were empty. When she spotted the dark blue sedan, Emily’s heart did a flip-flop.

The windows were too darkly tinted to see inside.

A tightening in the pit of Emily’s stomach made her pause before parking. Her heart sped up as she lifted her foot off of the brake and applied it to the accelerator. Instead of turning into her parking space, she whipped through the lot and out the other end of the apartment complex.

As she turned back out onto the road, she glanced into her rearview mirror and saw again the dark sedan pulling out of the parking lot, following her. She raced to the next street and turned.

The blue sedan stayed right on her tail.

Not knowing what to do, she chose a busy thoroughfare and rushed out into the open, hoping and praying the traffic would help put some distance between her and the sedan. Whipping in and out of traffic and dodging vehicles, Emily did manage to put distance between her and her tail. When she thought she’d lost him, she called her friend Grace, using her car’s Bluetooth setup.

Grace answered on the first ring. “Hi, Emily, how’s it going?”

“I think I’m in trouble,” she said, her voice wobbling.

“What kind of trouble?” Grace’s voice was sharp, filled with concern.

“I’m not sure,” Emily said. “I think I’m being followed, and drivers have tried to run me off the road a couple of times in the past hour. I—I can’t go home.”

“Try to stay calm. You know you called the right person,” Grace said. “Charlie’s guys will help. Where are you now?”

Emily glanced around, for the first time aware that she hadn’t headed anywhere in particular, just away from trouble. “I’m on 395. I don’t know where,” she said. “Wait, there’s an exit sign.” She gave Grace her location and then glanced in her mirror once more. “Crap! There he is again,” she said.

“I’m going to text you a map coordinate,” Grace said. “It’s the address of my new employer. Go straight there, I’ll have somebody meet you at the gate.”

A beep sounded on her cell phone. Emily took her eyes off the road long enough to select the coordinates for her map on her phone to follow. She’d slowed just enough that the dark sedan behind her was quickly catching up. While her map application calculated the directions, she again weaved in and out of traffic, trying to lose her tail.

“Stay on the phone with me, Emily,” Grace said. “I have a team of people here at Charlie’s place. They can help you. You just have to get here.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” Emily promised.

She thought she’d been doing well and had lost her tail when she’d finally pulled off the main parkway onto a smaller road. But as soon as the traffic thinned, she looked behind her.

The dark-tinted vehicle was there and speeding up, closing in on her. The road she traveled now was lined with gated driveways. Besides the gates and the driveways, there was nothing else around. No cars. No people. Just her and the sedan that was quickly catching up.

“Are you still with me, Emily?” Grace asked.

“I’m here,” she said. This time when she glanced in her rearview mirror the vehicle behind her was racing toward her back bumper. Emily pressed her foot to the accelerator, shooting her little car forward. Her speed increased from fifty to sixty to seventy miles per hour. A caution sign on the side of the road indicated an upcoming curve, with a recommended speed of twenty-five miles per hour.

Afraid the vehicle behind her would rear-end her and send her flying off the road, Emily didn’t dare slow down. She gripped the steering wheel and raced into the curve at breakneck speed. As she navigated the radius, the rear end of her vehicle fishtailed and swung around. She almost went into a 360-degree spin, was able to correct her direction, but not soon enough to avoid the vehicle following her.

The car behind her slammed into her left rear fender, sending her back into the spin.

Out of her control, her car slid toward the edge of the road.

Emily squealed and held tight to the steering wheel as her vehicle bumped onto the shoulder, down into a ditch and up an embankment, slamming into a fence post. Upon impact, the airbags deployed, forcing her back against her seat, stunning her for a few precious seconds. Emily rubbed the dust out of her eyes and looked around. The fine powder of the airbag coated her skin and clothes and the dash of the vehicle.

In her rearview mirror, she could see the road behind her and the dark sedan parked at the edge. A man dressed in black, with a black ski mask pulled over his head, got out of the driver’s side and stood on the shoulder, staring down at her vehicle.

Emily didn’t move, praying her attacker would think she was unconscious and leave.

When he moved toward her, she couldn’t sit still, she had to get away.

Emily shifted her vehicle into Reverse and hit the accelerator. The rear tires spun, gaining no traction. She couldn’t go forward because of the fence post. She tried turning the steering wheel sharply to the left and hit the accelerator again. The back tire spun, shooting mud up behind her, but the vehicle didn’t budge.

“What’s happening, Emily?” Grace’s voice said over the phone. “What was that noise? Are you okay?”

“No, no, I’m not. I’ve crashed,” Emily managed to croak out as she struggled with what to do. “I have to... I’m getting out...” She couldn’t waste time talking. Escape was her only option.

The man on the side of the road scrambled down into the ditch, moving purposefully toward her. Emily tried to open her door to get out, but the door was jammed. She fumbled with the catch on her seat belt and finally got it loose.

Her pulse pounding loudly against her eardrums, Emily crawled across the console to the other side of the vehicle and pulled the door handle. When the door swung open, she fell out onto the ground, rolled onto her side, bunched her feet and knees up beneath her and rose.

When she raised her head above the car, she could see the man in black standing there, his hand rising, a gun held in his grip.

Emily’s heart leaped to her throat. She ducked back down behind the car as a shot rang out. Glass shattered, raining down from the window above her as Emily lay flat against the earth. The scent of gasoline, tire rubber and the mud beneath her nose filled her senses. But she couldn’t lie there for long. If her pursuer came any closer, he could easily pick her off with his handgun.

Unwilling to die that day, Emily rose onto her hands and knees. Keeping low to the ground, she crawled for the fence, slipped beneath the bottom rail and continued on toward the trees, praying she could find a place to hide until the crazy man following her gave up and went away. Or until Grace’s friends arrived to rescue her.

Chapter Two

Frank “Mustang” Ford’s cell phone rang through to the Bluetooth in his truck. Declan O’Neill’s name appeared on the dash screen.

Mustang thumbed the button on his steering wheel to answer. “What’s up, Declan?”

“Are you on your way to the Halverson Estate?”

“Roger,” he confirmed. “Five miles away. Why? Need me to stop and pick up some milk or bread?” He chuckled.

“No. I have a mission for you.”

“Really?” Mustang sat straighter. “Must be a short deadline if you can’t wait until I get to Charlie’s place.”

“It is,” Declan said, his tone clipped. “Be on the lookout for a red Toyota Camry. Grace’s friend is en route to Charlie’s and has a tail following her. She reported three vehicular attacks since leaving the DC area. She might be in trouble.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her. The road out this way appears pretty deserted.”

“Then it shouldn’t be hard to find her. Let us know when you catch up to her.”

“Roger.” As he increased his speed, Mustang gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

A mile or more later a yellow caution sign indicated a sharp curve ahead. Mustang applied his brakes, his gaze scanning the sides of the road and the ditches. If someone was trying to harm Grace’s friend, running her off the road in the middle of a curve was the perfect place to do it. Dusk was settling in, causing shadows to merge, making it more difficult for Mustang to distinguish between shadows and objects on the sides of the road.

As soon as he entered the sweeping curve, he spied a dark vehicle parked barely off the shoulder. The driver’s-side door hung open and, as far as Mustang could tell, no one was inside or around the vehicle. He slowed, pulled over to the side of the road and off onto the shoulder, giving the vehicle in front of him plenty of space. He shifted into Park, grabbed his flashlight from the center console and pulled his handgun from the shoulder holster beneath his jacket.

Mustang slipped down out of his truck and closed the door quietly. As he rounded the hood and edged toward the dark sedan he spied another vehicle on the other side of the ditch crashed against a fence pole. It, too, seemed abandoned and, from what he could tell, it was red. The front bumper was smashed into the fence post and the driver’s-side window was shattered with what looked like a bullet hole at the exact position that would have hit the driver, had the driver been sitting in the seat.

Adrenaline shot through Mustang’s veins. Crouching low, he eased toward the abandoned vehicles, dropped down into the ditch and climbed up the embankment to the disabled vehicle where he discovered the passenger door was open. He prayed that whoever had been in the car had escaped. All he could assume at the moment was that whoever had arrived in the dark sedan had been the one to run the other vehicle off the road and to fire the shot that had put the hole in the driver’s-side window. That led Mustang to believe the driver of the disabled vehicle was on the run, being chased now by whoever had attacked her.

With his gun held at the ready, he pointed his flashlight with his other hand into the front seat of the disabled vehicle. He was glad to discover there was no blood on the seats or the dash. The airbags had deployed and the vehicle was empty, meaning the driver had escaped. But how long would she last on the run from somebody trying to kill her with a gun? She could be injured. The question was, what direction had she gone in?

He tried to think like a person running from somebody determined to kill her. She would have made for the safety and concealment of the tree line. That meant that she would have slipped beneath the fence into the forest. She might only have seconds before her pursuer caught up to her.

Mustang ran the rest of the way up the embankment, braced his hand on a fence rail and vaulted over the metal railing. As his feet hit the ground, a shot rang out. He raced in the direction he thought the sound had come from, determined to reach the woman before her attacker finished her off. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

Mustang raced as fast as he could, leaping over branches, pushing past bushes and trees. His muscles strained and his lungs burned, and still he didn’t see anyone ahead of him.

It had been dusk when he’d pulled to the side of the road. Within the canopy of the trees, darkness had descended. He couldn’t see every little branch and tripped over one. He got up and kept moving, arriving finally at the edge of a glen where a little bit of dusk light illuminated a dark figure standing over a lump on the ground. From the man’s silhouette, Mustang could tell he was pointing a gun at the figure on the ground. Mustang raised his weapon and fired. The dark figure ducked. When he straightened, he pulled the person up from the ground and held her in front of him.

“Come another step closer and I will shoot her,” a voice said in a thick Russian accent.

Mustang took cover behind a tree. “You shoot her and I’ll hunt you down and kill you. I will show you no mercy.”

Though he spoke with force, Mustang could not help the shaky feeling he felt inside. What he witnessed before him was so similar to the last operation he and his team had conducted in Afghanistan. In that scenario, their bogey had used the bride in a wedding couple as the shield to get him out of a village. That Taliban leader’s ploy and Mustang’s team decision to spare the bride had cost them all their careers in the marines. And, as had been the case then, he couldn’t take the shot now. If he attempted to kill the bad guy, he’d have to go through the body of an innocent victim.

“Okay. I won’t shoot,” Mustang shouted. “But I reiterate, if you kill the woman, I will kill you. And I will make certain that you suffer in the process of dying.”

The man holding the hostage inched backward, dragging the woman with him. He made a wide circle, heading back in the direction of the road and the vehicles abandoned there.

Mustang had no recourse but to wait for the man to pass him and continue on his path to the road. At one point Mustang thought he heard the woman sob and, possibly, a softly spoken plea. Help me. His heart contracted, squeezing tightly in his chest. He vowed to himself that he’d get her out of her attacker’s grasp.

Mustang followed, keeping a safe distance but close enough that he could see what was going on in the shadowy darkness of late dusk. At one point he got too near.

“Do not come closer,” the attacker said. He fired a shot.

Mustang ducked low and behind a tree.

Thankfully the woman remained on her feet, still dragged alongside her kidnapper. They closed the distance between them and the vehicles on the side of the road.

Mustang knew he had to stop the kidnapper before he got the woman into the car. If he had been bent on running her off the road and shooting at her inside her vehicle, he would kill her as soon as he got her away. Mustang couldn’t let that happen. He had to stop the kidnapper.

Mustang eased through the woods, moving shadow to shadow, inching closer as quietly as he could. When the other two reached the fence, Mustang knew he had to make his move. The kidnapper shoved the woman to the ground and said something to her in Russian. She rolled beneath the fence.

“My finger is on the trigger,” the Russian called out. “If you shoot me. I shoot the woman. I might die, but the woman will die, as well.”

With the man in his sights, Mustang hesitated.

The woman, who had managed to get beneath the fence, kicked out a foot, catching her kidnapper in the shin with a hard smack.

Mustang took his chance and pulled the trigger at the same time the Russian yelled and bent over.

The woman on the ground rolled and kept rolling past the fence and down the embankment, out of sight of Mustang. Her attacker climbed over the top of the fence and dropped down on the other side.

Mustang left the concealment of the tree and raced for the fence, vaulting over and landing on the other side. He immediately dropped to his belly on the ground.

A shot rang out.

The woman had managed to roll to the bottom of the ditch, get up and start running from the Russian.

Her attacker rose and pointed his weapon at her.

Mustang aimed and fired, hitting the man’s hand, knocking the gun from his grip.

Clutching his injured hand to his chest, the Russian ran for the dark sedan on the roadside.

Mustang glanced from the assailant to the woman. He wanted to stop the Russian from making another attempt on the woman’s life. But first he needed to ascertain what injuries the woman might have sustained. Headlights shone in the curve on the road above as the dark sedan sped away with the Russian inside. Meanwhile the woman hadn’t stopped. She kept running, tripping over bushes and bramble in the ditch. If she didn’t stop soon she’d injure herself even more.

“Mustang,” a man shouted. “You out there?”

Mustang breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Declan’s voice.

“Do you need help?” Declan called out.

“Call 9-1-1, get an ambulance out here.” Mustang didn’t wait for Declan’s response. He raced after the woman scrabbling through the ditch. Because of the recent rain the ditch contained pools of standing water and mushy soil.

The woman stumbled and fell into the mud.

Mustang splashed through the water. “Hey!”

His shout seemed to galvanize her and she pushed to her feet and resumed running. Her breathing coming in ragged gasps and sobs.

Mustang increased his speed.

Apparently the woman didn’t realize that he was one of the good guys. She had to be so frightened that she was beyond reason. She struggled up the incline toward the road. If Mustang didn’t catch up to her soon, she could be hit by an oncoming vehicle as soon as she emerged from the ditch.

The headlights shining on the road above made Mustang kick up his pace and he charged after the woman. Just before she reached the road, he caught her with a flying tackle, sending her sprawling onto the gravel. He pulled her beneath him and rolled her to the side, away from the oncoming car. After the vehicle had passed, he pushed up on his arms and stared down into the shadowy face of the woman. Her features were blurred in the looming darkness, but he could tell she had a scrape on her chin and her eyes were wide and frightened.

She fought, kicking and screaming something in Russian.

Mustang used the weight of his body to hold her against the ground.

When he didn’t shift off her, she switched to English. “Let go of me.”

Mustang pinned her wrists to the ground to keep her from scratching his eyes out. “Hey, lady. I’m just here to help you.”

Her struggle slowed and finally came to a halt. She stared up at him. “If you’re here to help me, let me go,” she said.

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’ll let you go when I’m sure you’re not gonna run out into the traffic.”

She dragged in a long, shaky breath and let it out. “I promise, I won’t run out into the traffic. And I’m not your sweetheart.”

For a long moment Mustang stared down into her face, wishing he could see the color of her eyes in the darkness. Finally he sighed and rolled over, releasing her wrists. “Okay. But I’ll tackle you again if you try to get out onto the highway.”

She sat up, rubbing her wrists where he’d held them so tightly.

“Grace sent us,” Mustang said.

The woman’s head jerked up and she stared into his eyes. “Are you some of Charlie’s men?”

“If you mean do I work for Charlie Halverson, then yes.” Mustang pushed to his feet and extended his hand.

She hesitated a moment before placing her hand in his and letting him pull her to her feet.

“Are you okay?” His gaze raked her body from head to toe, his eyes straining in the darkness. He’d lost the flashlight in his chase to catch her.

She nodded. “I think so. A little banged up and bruised from the car wreck and from being tackled.”

“Sorry about that,” Mustang said.

A smile quirked at the corners of her lips. “I guess I should thank you for keeping me safe from running out into the middle of the road.”

Footsteps sounded on the pavement behind the woman. Declan raced toward them. “Mustang? Emily?” He ground to a halt and shook his head. “An ambulance is on the way. And I called the sheriff’s department and the police department and have them looking out for a dark sedan with no license plate.”

Mustang shook his head. “The dude will be long gone before anybody gets out here.”

Declan stepped up to Emily and held out his hand. “Grace sent us. You must be Emily.”

The woman took his hand and nodded. “I’m Emily,” she said softly. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

Declan chuckled and tipped his head at Mustang. “You’ll have to thank Mustang. He’s the one who came to your rescue.”

She raised her eyebrows and shot a glance toward Mustang. “Mustang? Is that your real name or is that a call sign?”

“Call sign,” Mustang answered. “Frank Ford.” He held out his hand and she took it, giving it a firm shake before releasing it and rubbing her hand on the side of her leg.

The wailing of a siren brought all three heads up at once. Lights blinked around the corner and an ambulance came to a stop beside Mustang’s truck. The EMT crew leaped out of their rig and converged on Emily.

She held up her hands and backed away. “I’m okay,” she insisted.

Mustang touched her shoulder. “Let them look you over. Even if it doesn’t make you feel better, it will make me feel better,” he said and stepped back to let the EMT crew get to Emily.

Declan fell in beside Mustang. “Did you get a look at the guy who attacked her?”

Mustang shook his head. “No, it was dark, and the guy wore a ski mask.” He stared in the direction the dark sedan had gone. “However, the man had a Russian accent.”

Declan’s brows rose. “Russian, aye.”

Mustang shrugged. “Not that I speak Russian. But it sounded like it to me, and Emily apparently can speak Russian because she said something in Russian when I tackled her.”

Declan chuckled. “You tackled her?”

With a frown, Mustang nodded. “I had to, to stop her from running out in the road.”

Declan shook his head. “That’s no way to make a new friend.”

Mustang snorted. “I wasn’t trying to make a friend. I was trying to save her from getting run over.”

Declan clapped a hand to Mustang’s shoulder. “Well, that will make Grace happy. She was worried about Emily.”

When the EMTs brought out a stretcher, they were stopped by an emphatic, No!

Emily shrugged out of the hands of one of the technicians. “I’m okay, I’m telling you.”

“Ma’am, being in a car wreck, and having the airbags deploy, can cause concussion. We’d feel better if you came to the hospital and had one of the doctors look you over.”

Emily shook her head. “At no time was I unconscious.”

“You don’t have to be unconscious to have suffered a concussion.” The EMT gripped her arm. “Please, ma’am, let us take care of you.”

She shook off his hand and backed away. “I’m okay and I can take care of myself.” She looked around, her gaze catching Mustang’s. “If I’ve suffered any injuries, my friends will make sure that I get to a hospital on time. Won’t you?” She directed her challenge at Declan.

Declan chuckled. “We’ll get her to the nearest hospital if she starts showing any signs of deteriorating health.”

The technician shrugged. “Have it your way.” He closed his kit and loaded it into the emergency vehicle. The two other technicians who’d gotten the stretcher out put it into the back of the ambulance and eventually the three of them drove away.

Emily turned and stared at the wreckage of her car. “I don’t suppose I’m going to get that out of the ditch anytime soon,” she said.

Again Declan chuckled. “No. The only thing that’s going to get that vehicle out of the ditch is a tow truck.”

Emily sighed and turned to Declan and Mustang. “I take it you’re my ride.”

Declan nodded. “However, you do have a choice between riding with me—” he tipped his head toward Mustang “—or with Mustang.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed as she stared from Mustang to Declan and back.

Mustang found himself holding his breath. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t know the woman, but he wanted her to choose him.

Though she was soaked with the equivalent of swamp water, he had come this far to save her. He didn’t want to let it end there.

For several seconds Emily chewed on her bottom lip. Then she drew in a breath, let it go on a sigh and nodded at Mustang. “I’ll ride with Mustang,” she said softly.

“Well then, let’s get you to Charlie’s place. It’s not too far down the road. That way you can get out of those cold, wet clothes. It’s starting to get chilly outside,” Declan said.

Emily nodded, a shiver shaking her frame.

Declan grinned. “I’ll see you there.” He spun on his heels and hurried toward his truck.

When Mustang tried to steer her toward his truck, Emily dug her heels into the pavement. “I can’t leave my purse and keys in the car.” She started toward the wrecked vehicle.

“I’ll get them,” Mustang insisted. “Stay here.”

He dropped down into the ditch and found his way into the damaged vehicle. After pulling the keys from the ignition, he took longer than he wanted to find the purse. Finally, he had what he needed and returned to Emily’s side.

Mustang handed her the purse and keys, gripped her elbow and led her to the passenger side of his pickup. He opened the door to assist her into the seat.

She put her foot on the running board and it slipped, causing her to fall back into Mustang’s arms.

He held her until she had her feet firmly on the ground again. “You all right?”

She nodded. Color rose up her neck and into her cheeks. She reached this time for the handle inside the cab of the truck and helped pull herself up into the passenger seat.

Once Emily was settled, Mustang reached around her and clicked the shoulder strap of the seat belt across her lap. As he retracted his elbow, it brushed gently across her breast and he quickly mumbled an apology. A blast of electricity shot through him.

Emily’s breath hitched, as if she’d had a similar experience.

Mustang jerked his arm back and stepped away from the side of the truck, slamming the door firmly. He rounded the front of the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat. Without another word, he started the engine and pulled out onto the road. The shock he’d felt had to have been static electricity. There could be no other explanation. There was no way he’d felt a connection with the cold, wet woman who’d showed a remarkable amount of spirit and courage in her escape from her captor. Mustang barely knew the woman.

Chapter Three

They’d gone maybe a little more than a mile when Mustang pulled off at a large, impressive stone wall and wrought-iron gate. Declan’s truck had just pulled through onto the estate and he waved his hand out the window for them to follow.

Mustang drove through and the gate closed slowly behind them.

Emily had heard Grace talk about her new employer, Charlie, or Charlotte Halverson, the widow of a wealthy philanthropist. Grace had gone on and on about the beautiful estate and how kind and caring her employer was to her collection of employees.

Having been the most recent recipient of Charlie’s kindness, Emily was anxious to meet the woman. If Charlie had not sent Mustang out to help, Emily was absolutely certain she would not be alive to appreciate the beauty of Charlie’s estate at that moment.

She glanced toward the man beside her, studying him in the light from the dash.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and a ruggedly handsome face. Something about his stoic countenance tugged deeply at Emily’s insides. Or perhaps she was just grateful he’d arrived when he had and saved her from being shot. Either way, she felt closer to this man than any other stranger she had ever met.

Chills rippled through Emily. She fought to keep her teeth from chattering. Her clothes were damp, and she smelled like swamp water, but she couldn’t help that.

“S-s-so you work for Charlie?” she asked.

Mustang gave a curt nod. “Yeah.”

“W-w-what do you do for her?” Emily wrapped her hands around her arms and shivered in her seat.

He adjusted the thermostat on the dash to make it blow blessedly warm air. “She hired Declan and then he brought the rest of our team on board. I guess you could say we are kind of a security agency.”

“Does the agency have a name?” Emily asked.

Mustang smiled. “Declan’s Defenders.”

“So, Declan is your leader?” Emily asked.

Mustang nodded. “He was our team lead before. It just seemed natural for him to be lead of Declan’s Defenders.”

“Before?” Emily stared across the console at the man driving.

Mustang’s jaw tightened. “We were in the marines together.”

Emily nodded silently. She should have recognized his military bearing. The man didn’t have an ounce of flab or fat on him. And when he stood, he held himself straight, shoulders back and head held high, the countenance and bearing of someone who had been in the military, living under strict rules and guidelines.

Mustang shot a glance her way. “So what did you do to piss someone off enough that they want to kill you?”

Emily shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said.

“I seriously doubt it was a case of road rage,” Mustang noted.

Emily snorted. “Well, if it was road rage, he did a good job of it. He ran me off the road.”

“And chased you down with a gun.” Mustang’s brows dipped. “If I’m not mistaken, that man spoke Russian. And when I tackled you, you spoke in Russian, as well. What’s up with that?”

Emily ran a hand through her hair and stared out the window beside her. “I’m a Russian interpreter. No, I’m not Russian, I’m American, but I studied Russian in high school and college. I also studied abroad in Moscow for a semester. Now I teach Russian at Georgetown and I translate for people who speak Russian.”

“Was the guy who tried to kill you one of the clients you translated for?”

Emily pressed her lips together. “You know as much as I do. The man wore a ski mask. I couldn’t tell you if he was one of my clients.” A shiver shook Emily so hard her teeth rattled.

Mustang glanced at her again. “You’re cold.”

She nodded.

“Sorry, I should have given you this earlier.” He reached over the back of the seat, grabbed a blanket and threw it across her lap. “Wrap yourself in that. You need to warm up.”

Emily picked at the blanket. “I hate to get it all wet and smelly.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll wash.”

Mustang followed Declan’s taillights as they twisted and turned on the tree-lined road leading to Charlotte Halverson’s massive mansion.

Emily wrapped the blanket around her lap, thankful for the warmth. She would be sure to wash and return it when she got back to her apartment. Then she’d begin the hassle of getting her car repaired or replaced. In the meantime she was dependent on Charlotte Halverson and Declan’s Defenders to get her around. And she was thankful they’d come through for her when she’d needed them.

As they pulled up in front of the three-story mansion with its many gables and arches, several men descended the marble staircase from the front door. Three women followed, one of whom Emily recognized as Grace. And the other, her friend Riley. The front porch lights shone down on the third woman’s gray hair. That had to be Charlotte Halverson. Emily had seen pictures of her in the news and in the papers.

Mustang pulled to a stop and shifted into Park. Before he could get out and around to the other side of the truck, the door opened and Declan held out his hand for her.

Emily pushed the blanket off her lap and accepted the assistance to get down from the truck.

Grace, the first woman to reach her, wrapped her in her arms. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

“I’m okay. Mustang got there in time.” Emily briefly hugged her back and then pulled away. “Sorry. I’m soaked and I’m sure I smell.”

Grace’s brow furrowed as she held Emily at arm’s length and raked her gaze over her from head to toe. “What happened?”

“We’ll fill you all in when Emily’s had a chance to get out of those damp clothes,” Mustang said.

“Right.” Grace hooked Emily’s arm. “We’ll find you something to wear. I have enough clothes here, I might as well move in permanently.”

The gray-haired woman stepped forward. “I’ve left an open invitation for you and Declan to take the west wing.”

Grace smiled at her employer. “Charlie, this is my friend, Emily. Emily, meet Charlotte Halverson, my new boss.”

Emily held out her hand. “Nice to m-meet y-you,” she said, her teeth rattling. “And th-thank y-you.”

“Oh, pish.” Charlie took Emily’s hand and frowned. “Your hands are like ice. Inside. Now.” She grabbed Emily’s other elbow and marched her up the steps. The door opened as if automatically.

Once inside, Emily saw a man dressed in a suit, holding the door handle, standing at attention.

“That’s Arnold, my butler,” Charlie said. “Don’t let him intimidate you. I can’t get him to wear anything but a suit.” She winked at Arnold as she passed him. “But I can’t live without him, so he gets his way more often than not. Isn’t that right, Arnold?”

“Yes, Mrs. Halverson.” Arnold gave her a slight bow.

“Charlie. I’ve told you to call me Charlie.”

Without changing his expression the butler nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Charlie shook her head and gave a wry grin to Emily. “Please, call me Charlie. Mrs. Halverson was my husband’s mother.”

Emily forced a smile past her chattering teeth. “Charlie,” she repeated softly.

“Mrs. Halverson, would you like me to escort your guest to a bedroom?” Albert asked in his flat, expressionless tone.

Charlie waved a hand. “No need. Grace and I will take her.” She charged across a smooth white-marble foyer and started up the stairs.

Feeling like she was being dragged along by a freight train, Emily looked back over her shoulder, her gaze searching for and finding Mustang’s.

“I’ll be here when you get cleaned up,” he said.

She gave him a quick smile and followed Charlie up the stairs, Grace bringing up the rear. Why she should be relieved Mustang was staying, she didn’t know. Surrounded by Grace and Charlie, Emily should feel reassured. However she’d never had a man point a gun at her, much less discharge it in an attempt to kill her.

Mustang had been the one to save her. She felt confident that if her attacker tried again to kill her, Mustang would keep him from succeeding. Knowing he was sticking around made her feel much better.

Although Emily had been in a number of posh hotels and opulent embassies, she’d never been inside a multimillionaire’s mansion. Everywhere she looked, what appeared to be priceless objects were perched on tables, in alcoves and hung on the walls. She imagined she could pay her rent for a year with even one of the vases or paintings.

Charlie turned right at the top of the staircase. “You can stay in the Banyan Room while you’re here.”

“Thank you. But as soon as I can, I’d like to return to my apartment.”

Grace grabbed Emily’s arm. “Sweetie, you can’t go back to your apartment as long as that maniac is still out there.”

Charlie nodded. “Agreed. And I have plenty of empty rooms. You’ll stay here.” Her tone didn’t allow for argument.

But Emily couldn’t put her life on hold. “I have a job. I work at the university. I have students to teach.”

Charlie shook her head. “Honey, you can’t teach if you’re dead.”

A lead weight settled at the pit of Emily’s belly.

“And if you show up at the university, who’s to say your attacker won’t show up, as well?” Grace added. “You would be putting your students at risk of being caught in the crossfire.”

The lead weight twisted in Emily’s gut. They were right. “But I can’t hide here forever. I have bills to pay.”

“Then we’ll have to figure out who attacked you.”

“You can’t do it on your own. I’m the only one who knows my life. I won’t stand by and let others put themselves at risk for me.”

“Then I’ll assign one of Declan’s Defenders to protect you and help you figure out who has it in for you.” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “In the meantime, you need a safe place to sleep. Your apartment isn’t that place. I have enough security wired into this estate, you won’t have to worry about anyone getting in.”

Emily smiled and hugged Charlie. “Thank you. If you hadn’t sent Mustang to help me, I wouldn’t even be here to have this conversation.”

“Any one of Declan’s Defenders would have done the same. But since Mustang saved your life, he now has a vested interest in keeping you alive.” Charlie waved toward the room. “While you get cleaned up, I’ll have a word with Declan about assigning Mustang to protect you.”

Warmth spread through Emily’s body, loosening the knot in her stomach. Despite her desire to get back to work, she didn’t want to put herself or her students in danger.

Charlie left Emily and Grace and headed for the staircase.

Grace chuckled. “Charlie is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Yes, she is,” Emily agreed.

“But she has a heart of gold and would do anything for you.” Grace touched Emily’s shoulder, guiding her to the other side of the bedroom where a door led to an attached bathroom. “While you get a shower, I’ll gather some of my clothes.”

Tears filled Emily’s eyes. “Thank you, Grace. You saved my life.”

Grace laughed. “I didn’t save your life. Mustang did.”

“Because you had him sent to me.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid in my life.”

“Honey, I know what you mean,” Grace said, her voice tight, her lips pressing together briefly. “I’ve been there.”

Emily nodded. “Yes, you were. Back when Riley went missing.”

“Declan was there when I needed him. He and his men went to bat for me, and for Riley when things got sticky for her, too. They’ll help you. And Mustang’s a good man. He’ll take care of you.”

“I want to say I don’t need anyone to take care of me but...” A shiver shook her wet frame. “Apparently I do. I’ve never had a man shoot at me or hold a gun to my head.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Grace pulled Emily’s bedraggled form into her arms. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Hopefully the team can help figure out who did this to you and why.” She turned Emily and gave her a gentle shove in the direction of the bathroom. “For now, get cleaned up and warm. Everything will look better once you are.”

“Thank you, Grace.” Emily entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her, leaning against it to keep from falling. Another shiver shook her, and another, until her entire body quaked with the tremors. She knew it was shock setting in. If she didn’t get into a warm shower soon, she didn’t know what would happen. She could pass out or die from hypothermia. After Mustang went to the effort of saving her, that would be a crappy way to repay him.

She pushed away from the door and took stock of the beautiful bathroom. Six of her apartment bathrooms could fit in the space. White quartz counters and sinks shone, sparkling clean. A large bathtub invited the guest to fill it full of warm water, bath salts and oils. Bypassing the tub, Emily walked to the shower, turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm.

Her hands shook as she stripped out of her wet clothing and dropped the garments to the smooth, tiled floor.

When the water was warmer than her skin, she stepped beneath it and let it run over her head, shoulders and the length of her body. As the heat chased away the chills, she squirted a liberal amount of shampoo into her palm and smoothed it over her hair, digging her fingers in, determined to wash away the smell of stagnant water.

Emily leaned her head back, closed her eyes and let the water sluice over her. As the soap bubbles slid down over her breasts, a sudden image intruded on her thoughts. An erotic scene, completely at odds with the suspenseful one she’d just lived through. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, but she couldn’t get the thought out of her head. One of Mustang rubbing his hands together to create lather and smoothing them all over her body.

Shocked by her own imagination, Emily opened her eyes and took in a deep, steadying breath. She had to be having some kind of post-traumatic lust for the man who’d saved her. She didn’t know Mustang from Adam. He could be married, for all she knew. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She could be having lustful thoughts over a married man.

Grabbing the bottle of body wash, she completed her shower in record time, scrubbing every inch of her skin to remove traces of mud and ditch water.

When she emerged from the shower, she found a neat stack of clothing on the counter and a fluffy white towel.

She smiled at Grace’s thoughtfulness.

Her lips turned down as she dressed. How could she face Mustang when she’d just been thinking about him naked?

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