"The books in this series just get better and better.”
Dive into the Slye Temp romantic thriller series with Nowhere Safe to enjoy a fast-paced adventure sizzling with romance and unexpected twists.
Josh Carrington can't forget the woman who paid the ultimate price during a mission. He vows he'll never get involved with a woman during a mission again.
A blown CIA operation in the UK destroyed an elite mercenary black ops unit two years ago. Surviving members disappeared to heal their wounds, and have now resurfaced as part of Slye Temp, an agency contracting security work with corporate America.
At least, that’s what goes on above ground...
Slye Temp agent Josh Carrington should have died during the blown UK mission, but he didn’t. Scars fade and nightmares can be managed, but tthe image of the UK female operative bleeding out in his arms sears his mind when he closes his eyes. Now he sticks to Personal Rule Number One: Never mix business with pleasure.
Slye Temp sends Josh to uncover a leak in a DEA task force...a mole in league with the traitor who betrayed the UK team. A deadly shipment is bound for the US and nothing will stop Josh from taking down this mole, blocking the shipment, and nabbing the traitor. Not even Trish Jackson, hardheaded sister of his #1 DEA suspect.
A faceless stalker has turned Trish’s life into a living nightmare and threatens to kill anyone who helps her, including Josh, the new man on her brother’s task force who has planted both unwelcome feet in the middle of her world and refuses to leave. The closer Josh gets to the twisted truth, the more he struggles to keep Trish out of harm’s way--and his bed--but the sultry firecracker gets under his skin like no other woman, forcing him to question everything, starting with Rule Number One.
"Blending taut pacing with sizzling tension, a little bit of James Bond with an engaging personal drama, this is a story for suspense fans and romance readers alike." ~~The Romance Reviews
Two Years Ago – near Framlingham, England
Chelsea was late.
Twelve seconds late.
The kind of late that could cost a life.
Josh Robertson forced his grip to relax before he crushed the crystal glass of thirty-year-old scotch. It wasn’t as though she’d hit traffic making the fifteen-kilometer drive from Framlingham. Maybe dodge a sheep or two in the road, just part of the country ambience this far north of London.
He expected Chelsea to strut across the polished oak floor of this eighteenth century mansion any minute, chin cocked up as if she owned the place. She could do it, too. Pull off pretending she was one step from British royalty and not a bastard child who made her living as a liaison for touchy deals between dangerous people.
A bastard just like him. One of those little things they’d had in common from day one. Another was an obsessive penchant for being on time.
Always. And she demanded it as a nonnegotiable term for her liaison services.
The second hand on his watch marched on with no regard for his sanity. Something had gone wrong.
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