1
Wandering around a cheesy, tourist-ridden airshow in the Midwestern United States wasn’t exactly Kevin “Loki” Low’s idea of a good time. Not that he didn’t enjoy huge plastic cups filled with too-sweet lemonade and absurdly awful fanny packs cinched tightly around too-plump waists as much as the next person. Honestly, he deserved a medal for the things he did to keep his company, Norse Security, afloat.
Too bad he didn’t have a little vodka to spice up his lemonade. Then again, the type of guy who hung out at airshows like this probably didn’t know vodka from moonshine, so he supposed it was all part of his cover. And cover was his specialty. Any time, any place, any persona—he could do them all. Blending was his talent. In fact, it was how he’d gotten his nickname—after the Norse god of trickery and deception. No one was better at that than him.
Still, he wished one day he’d get to pretend to be a rich dude instead of a redneck.
With a sigh, he peered around the end of the food truck he was standing behind, the smell of deep fried meat and popped corn tickling his nose, and stared across the busy walkway at the woman he’d come here to track. Known only as M, her real name was so far under wraps even Loki with all his resources hadn’t been able to discover it. He had, however, been able to locate several pictures of her on the Internet, always with the same short pixie haircut—though the color changed often—and always with those same killer curves. Today, she was wearing a bright pink tank top to match her hair and a pair of denim shorts that should have been illegal in all fifty states.
He shook off his inappropriate thoughts about what he’d like to do if he ever got her out of said shorts and instead concentrated on his mission. Loki was here because his company had been hired by a private contractor client with a major weapons deal about to go down in the United States. This client suspected a mole within their ranks, a spy who could ruin everything if the culprit wasn’t rooted out and taken down. If successful, the commission on this job could single-handedly fill the dwindling coffers of Norse Security and put them back on solid financial ground. Their last couple of ops had gone less than stellar—Cam and his bungled car and tech retrieval mission and, most recently, Hunter and his run-in with a sex trafficking ring in L.A. Although both guys had ultimately completed the jobs assigned to them, and found the loves of their lives along the way, none of it had been cheap. Loki, being the boss of it all, was left with a mess to clean up, money-wise. So wrapping up this job cleanly, smoothly, and quickly was of the upmost importance. And after weeks of painstaking research and monitoring, Loki believed that said mole was standing right across the walkway from him now.
Loki’s fingers twitched at his side as he considered just pulling his gun right now and marching over to the booth where M appeared to be admiring a pair of rhinestone-encrusted sneakers, and taking her into custody. Then she turned and looked straight at him, her gaze cool and calculating as she lifted the hem of her tank top to reveal a gun of her own.
Well, fuck.
So much for this mission being over without a snag.
There were too many people around for him to risk a firefight here. There’d be way too much collateral damage. Instead, he tossed his Big Gulp in the nearest trash can before making a beeline toward her across the walkway. Surprisingly, she didn’t bolt as he’d expected.
Instead, M grabbed his hand and pulled the shocked Loki away, rushing through the crowds toward the less packed parking area. Once they were clear of onlookers, M stopped and turned to face him, her hand still poised over the butt of her pistol, just in case.
“Why the hell are you following me?” she asked, her gaze narrowed.
Loki’s mind immediately went on high alert. She’d asked him why he was following her, not who he was. Which meant she already knew. Apparently, she’d been studying him too, same as he’d done her. Two could play that game, so he shrugged. “Why are you following me?”
Something whistled past his ear. At first, Loki thought it was just another bee or insect, but then he felt warmth trickle down his neck. He reached up and his fingers came away coated in warm sticky blood. Shit. He barely had enough time to take hold of M’s wrist and tug her down to the ground beside him before another bullet shattered the window of the minivan they were crouched next to.
“Someone’s shooting at us,” he whispered.
“No shit?” M already had h
er weapon pulled and was sidling toward the back of the van.
Cursing under his breath, Loki ditched the bulky fanny pack still strapped around his waist, pulling out the extra magazine of ammo and burner phone he’d stashed in there, before sneaking after her with his own weapon raised. “Do you know who it is?” he asked, his voice low.
“Not definitively,” M said, whipping back around to face him as another volley of bullets pinged off the cars around them. “But I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Great. Mind sha—” He’d been about to say “sharing”, but was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. It had to be Cam. The agency’s resident tech guru was the only person with Loki’s number today. He hit the answer button at the same time M answered her own phone, then glared at her while he talked. “What is it?”
“Got another data leak, boss,” Cam said as the sound of him typing on his keyboard clacked through the phone line. “Looks like this one’s coming from the support tech company we hired, not the mole you were investigating. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Dammit. Thanks.” Loki ended the call then stared at M, his irritation growing. “I thought you were my mole.”
“Yeah?” She snorted, shoving her own burner phone into the back pocket of those impossibly tiny shorts. “That’s funny. Cause I thought you were my mole.”
“Your mole?” Loki scowled, ducking once more as more ammo rained down on them. The near-silent bullets were starting to draw attention at last, people running and screaming, and sirens now wailed as law enforcement neared the parking area where they were hiding. “I’m not a mole.”
“Neither am I.” She smiled. “We need to get out of here before the cops find us.”
A small muscle ticked near Loki’s tense jaw. His gut told him to get back to the agency, to work with Cam to find out who the hell was responsible for that second leak and who the hell had tipped off the shooter that he’d be at the airshow today. His mind, however, insisted he stick with his mysterious M here and figure out why exactly she continued to show up at all the same places where he expected his mole to be when she clearly was not the mole.
Exiting through this parking lot clearly was not an option though. She was right, dammit. They need to get out of there before the cops arrived, and before their sniper turned them both into Swiss cheese. He took her hand and pulled her back toward the crowded walkway. A friend of his from the Navy, guy named Marcus Allen, was here today showing off a fancy private jet he was piloting for some rich businessmen in New York. If they could make it to the jet, they might have a shot of getting away clean. He’d marked that escape route as a last-ditch resort, since Loki’s research had revealed some unexpected connections between M and Marcus, but if there was ever a time for last-ditch it was now.
“Where the fuck are we going?”
“To catch a plane.”
M struggled to remove his grip on her, but Loki was too strong. He kept a hold of her as they skirted through the people, dodging old folks and toddlers in strollers. Thankfully, there were enough obstacles between them and the snipers that they couldn’t get a clean shot. Finally, they reached the chain link fencing lining the taxiways and he did a final check over his shoulder to make sure they hadn’t been followed before stowing his gun in the back waistband of his jeans.
“What now?” M asked, clearly annoyed.
“Now we climb.” It was Loki’s turn to grin as he started scaling the ten-foot-high fencing. “Better hurry. From up here I can see the police are headed this way. If you can climb in those things, that is.”
He eyed her Daisy Dukes and did his best not to imagine those sleek, tanned thighs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into her hard and long. Jesus. He’d been too long without a woman. That had to be it. He never lost concentration like this on a mission.
She glared up at him for a moment then proceeded to shimmy up the fence beside him, sneering as she went. “This is horseshit. They told me this job should be a piece of cake.”
Loki raised a brow at her words. Who were “they”? The people she was working for? And what job exactly was she working on?
At the top of the fence he threw his leg over and hopped down to the ground then held his arms up to catch her when she jumped. She was about a foot shorter than his own six-four, and all lush curves and lean muscle. He might have enjoyed the feel of her body sliding down the front of him a tad more than he should have.
“Jesus.” She rolled her eyes at him when he didn’t let her go right away and stepped out of his arms. “C’mon, lover boy. Let’s get to that plane of yours before they kill us.”
With that, she pulled Loki across the tarmac toward Marcus’s plane.
As he raced along behind her, Loki couldn’t help wondering when the fuck his normally ordered, perfectly planned mission had gone so horribly off track.
2
“Hey, bro,” M said as they raced past the guy standing near the bottom of the gangway stairs leading up to the jet’s doorway. “Cover for us, eh?”
Without waiting for his answer, she tugged the man who’d messed with her careful laid plans up the stairs and inside the fancy aircraft. The plane’s engine quietly hummed beneath them as they stood staring at each other across the leather and wood paneling trimmed cabin. Neither of them were even breathing hard after their escape from the firing squad and jog across the taxiway, a testament to their physical conditioning.
Of course, M—or Mirabelle as her birth certificate read—had noticed his fine-ass physique right away. She had a thing for cut guys with chiseled jaws and chests. What could she say? Every gal had her weaknesses. She crossed her arms and jutted out a hip, aware that he still seemed hypnotized by the sight of her legs in these skimpy shorts. Fine. She could use that distraction to her advantage.