Slye Team 3 Book Box SetSlye Team Black Ops Romantic Action Adventure

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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.

Service staff in crisp black tuxedos moved through the elegant party carrying silver platters. One of the staff paused next to Josh. “Would you care for something, sir?”

Yeah. I’d kill for a cellular signal for about ten seconds. Just long enough to check his phone for text messages.

“No, thanks.” Without a magic wand, even the best staff couldn’t make that happen.

He strolled past floral decorations a foot taller than he was. At six feet, two inches, Josh could see over most of the crowd. He visually swept the partygoers peppered around the enormous ballroom, looking for Chelsea and Mendelson, the German guy Josh was here to meet.

Still no vivacious beauty with a head of black hair and eyes green as spring leaves.

Ninety-nine seconds.

Frustration burrowed into the center of his skull. He hated stuffy parties, but Mendelson had dictated the location and arranged for the gilded invitation. If Josh closed his eyes, he could be back in the states at the charity ball his adoptive parents hosted for five hundred guests every spring. Same mind-numbing conversations. Same put-me-in-a-catatonic-state Baroque music played by a string ensemble like the ones his mother hired.

Mom claimed the peaceful music kept people calm.

Not doing a damn thing for him right now. His heart hammered like Charlie Watts cutting loose on a drum solo at a Rolling Stones concert.

Come on, Chelsea.

She’d never missed a meeting. She was always on time, even for the occasional casual rendezvous with Josh to scratch an itch.

Hell, there’d never been anything casual about the hot sex they shared. They’d burn hard and fast, like a flash fire. Then go their separate ways afterward. No drama.

The perfect arrangement to keep loneliness at bay.

Not a relationship. At least not in the true sense of the word, but he did care for her. Needed to know she was safe.

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