Midnight Games: A Killer Instincts Novel

Midnight Alias

“Balances the gritty side of humanity with sizzling passion.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“[Kennedy] shows a real flair for penning thrillers that are passionate, gritty, and extremely suspenseful.”

—
Romantic Times
(top pick)

Midnight Rescue

“If you’re looking for a chilling, hard-core romantic suspense loaded with sensuality, military camaraderie, and dry humor, why not arrange for a
Midnight Rescue
?”

—
USA Today

“Romantic suspense just gained a major new player!”

—
Romantic Times
(4½ stars)

“Romantic suspense fans will want to get ahold of this book! . . . Elle Kennedy, please write faster!”

—The Book Pushers

“With its dark, edgy tone, passionate love story, and deadly protagonists,
Midnight Rescue
is a surefire win for fans of romantic suspense.”

—Romance Junkies

“This was a very good romantic suspense. It had all the right elements that I look for in a book like this. The hot alpha men. The strong women they pair up with.”

—Fiction Vixen Book Reviews

“Anybody looking for action, intensity, and passion will love this novel.”

The Book Whisperer

“This is a fast-paced, action-filled, oh-my-God-what’s-going-to-happen-next ride and I never wanted to get off.”

—Love to Read for Fun

“
Midnight Rescue
has daringly bold characters, precarious situations, and fervent sensuality.”

—Single Titles

“Action, suspense, adventure, and romance are intertwined superbly to create a wonderful plot. . . . This was an amazing book with a great heroine.”

—The Romance Studio

Midnight Rescue

Midnight Alias

A KILLER INSTINCTS NOVEL

E
LLE
K
ENNEDY

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

New York, New York 10014, USA

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For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com.

First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Copyright © Leeanne Kenedy, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

ISBN 978-1-101-61520-1

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

I could not have written this book without the help and support of several people.

My research assistant, Amanda, for making every location, gadget, and backstory come alive. Early readers Travis, Heather, and Mandi for their feedback and suggestions. My family and friends for keeping me sane during this process. And of course, my amazing editor and the staff at New American Library for believing in this series and letting me write it!

“He called again last night.”

Isabel Roma froze. Only for a split second, but a second was all it took to tip off her boss, whose smirk widened. Crap. Noelle was a predator—show her any sign of weakness and the queen of assassins would eat you alive.

“What’d you tell him?” Isabel asked carefully.

“Same thing I’ve been telling him for the past five months. You’re deep cover and can’t be reached.” Noelle paused, an honest-to-God grin gracing her bloodred lips.

Considering that the woman only smiled right before she killed you, Isabel grew a tad worried. Gulping, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Spit it out, Noelle.”

“He wanted me to pass along a message.” That shit-eating grin got bigger. “He said he never took you for a coward.”

A
coward
? The insult prickled her skin, even though she knew the accusation had been Trevor Callaghan’s way of provoking a reaction from her. He of all people knew that she was the furthest thing from a coward.

Bristling, she drifted toward the wet bar on the other side of the lavish living room. She was staying at Noelle’s Paris penthouse until she found a place of her own, but although she was technically homeless, she had zero complaints about her current digs. The gorgeous two-story apartment was located on the Right Bank, an area known for its spacious avenues, ornate nineteenth-century buildings, and wealthy foreign residents. The enormous floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the breathtaking cityscape, even more beautiful at night with all the lights twinkling like diamonds. Outside, the silver frost clinging to the streetlamps and the layer of white covering the sidewalks created a magical ambience that Isabel would’ve taken more time to admire if she hadn’t been so rattled at the moment.

With a sigh, she poured herself a glass of Maker’s Mark and took a long swig. The alcohol scorched a path down her throat but did nothing to quell the uneasiness that had been rippling in her stomach ever since she’d landed at the private airstrip this morning, where Noelle had been waiting in a silver Mercedes. In that nonchalant, I-don’t-particularly-give-a-fuck tone, Noelle had revealed that Trevor Callaghan had been hounding her for information ever since he and Isabel had said good-bye in New York.

Said good-bye?
echoed the mocking voice in her head.

Fine. So maybe they hadn’t exchanged any good-byes. Maybe she’d just left.

Left?

Gritting her teeth, Isabel tried to silence the exasperating voice by taking another gulp of whiskey, but it didn’t work. Guilt continued to trickle into her, along with a pang of shame that made her chest hurt.

Damn it. Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe she
was
a coward. How else could you explain why she’d abandoned him like that?

Five months ago, she’d done some undercover work for mercenary extraordinaire Jim Morgan, which had yet again paired her with Trevor. The first time she’d worked with the former Special Forces soldier, he’d been a ravaged, grieving mess—a man with a death wish, a man she shouldn’t have been attracted to but was. The second time around, that attraction had intensified, and Trevor had been a changed man. A healed man.

They’d connected during that second job, really connected. They’d
kissed
, for Pete’s sake. And what had she done? She’d deserted him. Left him waiting at her SoHo apartment, hopped a plane, and fled the country.

How long had he waited?

Another rush of guilt flooded her belly as the question she’d been wondering these past five months floated into her head. A part of her hoped that Trevor had figured out the score after an hour or two, but deep down she knew he wouldn’t have given up so fast. He would’ve waited for hours, days even, and when she still didn’t return . . . that’s when the worry would have set in. The anger. The bitterness.

But again, she knew Trevor—no matter how angry he was, he would need to make sure she was all right, which meant moving heaven and earth to track her down.

According to Noelle, he’d been doing just that.

“Ditching Callaghan like that was a coldhearted move, honey,” the blond assassin said with a chuckle. “Giving men the slip is more my style than yours.”

Coldhearted. Was that what she was? No. No, she couldn’t be. The way she’d ended things with Trevor had been callous, but she’d been motivated by the need for self-preservation, not cruelty. He’d gotten too close. Made her believe that happiness could play a role in her future, that she could actually be a normal woman who had normal relationships and a normal life. But she knew better.

She wasn’t destined for normalcy. The most she could ask for was professional fulfillment, and her undercover work provided that. She was good at pretending to be other people. Maybe it wasn’t the most honorable profession out there, but she excelled at it. And Trevor, with his perceptive brown eyes and understated charm, with that quiet strength he exuded and his rare but gorgeous smiles . . . he was too big of a distraction. Each time she was around him, she lost her head and dropped her guard—and for a woman who’d spent her entire life perfecting a composed, easygoing front, neither of those responses was welcome.

“You never told me why you bailed on him,” Noelle prompted.

Isabel shrugged and took another sip of whiskey.

“It’s all right. I already know the answer.”

Although the entire exchange was making her uncomfortable as hell, she couldn’t fight a spark of wary curiosity. “Oh, do you?”

Lithe as a cat, Noelle slid off the arm of the recliner she’d been perched on and strode across the white Berber carpet. Her tight black leggings and even tighter black tank top contrasted with the all-white color scheme of the penthouse. Isabel wondered if Noelle’s interior designer had been making some sort of ironic statement. White leather couch, white armchairs, white carpeting, white walls. The place was very . . . sterile. Cold. Unwelcoming.

The penthouse suited Noelle to a T.

“You left because that man scares you shitless.”

Noelle’s assessment made her frown. “Trevor doesn’t scare me.”

Liar
.

“Liar.” Noelle reached for an empty glass and poured a healthy amount of bourbon into it. She curled her fingers around the tumbler, red fingernails tapping on the glass. “Callaghan was starting to get to know the real Isabel, but we couldn’t have that, could we, honey? Because the real Isabel is so very damaged, isn’t she?”

Her shoulders stiffened.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,
so
offended and incensed. I’m not saying anything you haven’t thought a million times before.” The amber liquid in Noelle’s glass swished as she headed back to the sofa. With the grace of a ballerina, the blonde sank into the cushions and demurely crossed her legs, balancing the tumbler on one delicate knee.

Isabel couldn’t control the rush of indignation that coursed through her. Noelle was a bitch on a good day, but it was rare for one of her “chameleons” to be on the receiving end of that sharp, antagonistic tongue. Isabel had been working for the woman for seven years now, and this was the first time the deadly blonde had unleashed a personal attack on her.

Damaged? Christ, the woman ought to take a good long look in the mirror. Noelle was the freaking definition of the word.

“You think if he sees the real you, he’ll realize how flawed you are and run in the opposite direction.”

She resisted the urge to slap that amused look right off Noelle’s gorgeous face.

“I left because I’m not looking for a relationship,” Isabel said stiffly. “That’s what he wanted from me, and I couldn’t give it to him.”

“Mmm-hmmm. What’s the next bullshit excuse?”

Her jaw tensed. “These aren’t excuses. It’s the truth. Look, he clouds my judgment, okay?” Even she could hear the defensive note in her voice. “Back in Manhattan, I was supposed to help one of the girls I met when I was undercover at the strip club. I was taking her to a rehab facility, but I was late because of Trevor. I was late, and that poor girl killed herself.”

Noelle offered a long, throaty laugh. “That junkie would’ve killed herself regardless. You think even if you had managed to get her to rehab, the program would have stuck? How naive are you, Isabel?”

Rather than answer, she raised her glass and downed the rest of her whiskey. This time, the burning sensation only made her feel nauseous. This entire conversation was beginning to piss her off.

“Enough,” she snapped. “We’re done talking about this.”

“Meow.”

“I’m serious, Noelle.” Isabel took a calming breath, tried to control her rising anger. “Tell me about the fallout from the Ekala job.”

Noelle sipped her bourbon. “It’s playing out exactly the way we wanted it to. The media is reporting that one of Ekala’s lieutenants orchestrated a coup. You did good.”

She arched a brow, both surprised and insulted by the praise. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

“I worried. You excel at short-term gigs. Deep cover was always more suited to Bailey or Abby.”

“Well, I managed just fine.”

“That you did. You rid the world of another sadistic fucker. Give yourself a pat on the back.”

Sometimes it was incredibly hard to decipher whether Noelle was being sarcastic or not. Isabel decided to treat that last remark as sincere.

Truth was, she was damn proud of herself for the way she’d handled the Nigeria job. Her boss was right—Isabel’s strength was the in-and-out gig. Transform herself into whoever she needed to be, go undercover and get the information she was asked to procure, then disappear without a trace.

These last five months, however, she’d been deeply rooted in the mission. Posing as an American journalist, she’d infiltrated Tengo Ekala’s camp and cozied up to the man who’d been terrorizing the country ever since he’d come into power. She’d even succeeded in gaining the Nigerian warlord’s respect and admiration, under the guise that she wanted to tell the world about his cause.

And when the time had come to put a bullet in the bastard’s head, she hadn’t stepped aside to let one of the other women take over.

For the first time in her career, Isabel had been the one to pull the trigger.

“Am I officially part of the club now?” she asked drily. “Is there a special assassin membership card I get to keep in my wallet?”

“Sorry, honey. I’m pulling you out.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Noelle set her glass down and got to her feet. “I indulged you with the Ekala job, but you’re done now. You’re a master of disguise, and that’s the only service I require from you. You won’t be assigned any more contracts.”

The cool declaration brought a spark of anger and a pang of relief. Rather than dwell on the latter, she focused on the former. “I just eliminated one of the world’s nastiest warlords without causing so much as a ripple of tension in the international political pool, and you think I’m only suitable for undercover work?”

“You’re not a killer, Isabel. Never have been, never will be.” Noelle headed for the arched doorway across the room. “Leave the killing to those of us who enjoy it.”

She couldn’t control her surprise. “You’re saying you actually
enjoy
taking a life?”

“When it’s the life of a sick fuck who deserves it? Yes.” The boss’s voice was oddly gentle. “You’re not like me, Isabel. We’ve both suffered. We both came from shitty backgrounds, but see, your crap gave you a bleeding heart. You want to
help
people. My crap crushed my conscience, plain and simple.”

This was the most candid Noelle had ever been with her, and Isabel found herself speechless as she stared at the other woman. At five-two, with her long golden hair, ethereal features, and pale blue eyes, Noelle looked like a damn Disney princess, and yet she was the coldest, most lethal person Isabel had ever met. She’d always wondered how Noelle had gotten to be this way and now she finally had an inkling.

Christ.

“So we can waste some more time and keep arguing about this,” Noelle said flippantly, “or you can just accept that I’m right. You’re not a killer. Ergo, you’re not taking on any more contracts. Now, when can I expect you back?”

Isabel blinked. “What?”

“From Jim Morgan’s compound. I already alerted my pilot that you’ll be using the jet tonight—he’s waiting for your call. So when do you think you’ll be done there? I need you on recon for Bailey in Istanbul, so don’t take too long.”

“I’m not—”

“Going to see Callaghan?” Noelle finished. Those blue eyes gleamed. “Bullshit. That’s exactly what you’re going to do, and you want to know why? Because not only are you not a killer, you’re also not a coldhearted bitch. That’s my job, remember?”

With that, the blonde sauntered out of the living room, leaving Isabel alone with her thoughts.

Yet again, Noelle was right. The second Isabel had stepped off the plane this morning, her first instinct had been to pick up the phone and apologize to Trevor for the way she’d left things. The way she’d left
him
.

But he deserved more than a half-assed phone call. He deserved a real apology, and no matter how badly she wanted to put distance between them, she wasn’t the kind of woman who cowered in the face of conflict. She’d always intended to see him again. To explain why they couldn’t be together. Running away from him in Manhattan had really just been about giving herself some time to regroup before they had that inevitable conversation.

You think if he sees the real you, he’ll realize how flawed you are and run in the opposite direction.

Was she actually that transparent, or was Noelle too freaking insightful for her own good?

Swallowing her mounting apprehension, Isabel set her glass on the table, dug her cell phone out of her purse, and called Noelle’s pilot.

•   •   •

“Holy shit, Holden’s wife is
hot
.” Ethan Hayes spoke in a low murmur, his hazel eyes glimmering with appreciation.

Trevor Callaghan shifted his attention from the pool table to the raven-haired woman taking up residence on the other side of the game room. This was the first time any of the team had met Holden McCall’s wife, and Trevor had no idea why Holden had hid the woman from them for so long. With her wavy black hair and dark eyes, Beth McCall was drop-dead gorgeous. She was also shy, soft-spoken, and completely oblivious to the sex appeal radiating from her tall, curvaceous frame.