Page 1 of Toxic Vengeance

Prologue

Eden finished writing the note on the hotel stationery, then hesitated, her gaze straying across the room to the king-size bed. The man in it was sprawled on his stomach in the rumpled bedding, his dark head turned toward her, his expression peaceful in sleep.

The room service cart from last night sat against the wall near him, filled with their empty plates and glasses from the late dinner they’d shared. As her eyes caught on the tumbler that had held his scotch on the rocks, she pushed aside the unwelcome stab of guilt. This wasn’t the first time she’d snuck out on a man in the middle of the night.

But itwasthe first time ever that she didn’t want to go.

She should be halfway to Amsterdam by now. She should just get up and walk out the door without making this any harder. But she couldn’t.

Needing to touch him one last time, instead she crossed to the bed and sat on the edge of it near his hip, unworried about waking him. The dosage she’d given him would keep him under for the next hour at least. Then he’d wake alone and wonder what the hell had happened to her.

Until he saw the note.

At least she wouldn’t be here to see his reaction. Imagining it was hard enough.

Shoving down the emotions welling up inside her, she reached out to brush a lock of dark hair away from his forehead. The deeply buried part of her that she’d been trained to ignore wished he would open those storm-gray eyes and give her that sleepy smile she loved.

From out of nowhere a bolt of pain tore through her chest, taking her off guard and stealing her breath. Blinking against the unfamiliar sting of tears, she snatched her hand back.

Just get it over with. You know you have to.

Pushing to her feet, she expelled a shaky breath. This whole affair had been a mistake. She should never have let things go this far, or for this long. But she’d always done what she was ordered to. What she’d been trained to do, even if she hadn’t liked it. Just this once, she’d wanted something for herself. Something no one could take away from her.

Steeling herself, she bent to kiss his bristly cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, then straightened and set the note on the table beside the flower arrangement she’d made. A pink camellia floating in a glass, surrounded by a ring of dead leaves. He wouldn’t understand the symbolism of it. That was okay. It was enough that she did.

Guilt pricked her with sharp needles as she headed for the door, but she kept walking. This was the only way. She wasn’t free to do what she wanted. Wasn’t free to offer her heart to anyone, and if she’d stayed with him any longer, she was afraid she might have been tempted to do just that.

At the door she made the mistake of pausing. Losing the battle with herself, she looked back at him one last time.

He was safe here, but everything about this still felt wrong. The lying. Drugging him. Sneaking out on him. She wanted to stay, no matter how dangerous it was for both of them. Wanted to slide back under the covers beside him, wake him up with soft kisses and caresses to lose herself in the magic they had together.

It wasn’t real. He doesn’t even know who or what you are.

Abruptly she turned away, her right hand automatically going to the grip of her pistol hidden in her waistband as she hit a mental switch and forced herself back into operator mode. She’d been lucky to have this stolen time with him. Now she had to put it all behind her and face the hard, dangerous reality waiting outside this door.

The hurt would fade in time eventually, she told herself as she strode down the hall.

It had to.

Chapter One

Nine months later

Sevastopol, Crimea

Serving platter in hand, Eden paused by the kitchen doorway to survey the elegant dining room beyond the threshold. The place was unbelievable.

Over the course of her career she’d conducted all kinds of missions in various places, but none of them as over-the-top as this. It was ostentatious. The cutlery was gold plated, and the enormous crystal chandeliers hanging over the thirty-foot-long mahogany table each cost as much as a high-end luxury sports car.

At the middle of the table, a peacock preening in the midst of the dinner guests, sat the man she was here for.

Target acquired.

Notorious Turkish arms dealer Serkan Terzi. He was the guest of honor tonight, wined and dined in the utmost luxury by a Russian admirer he sometimes did business with. Mostly he dealt in weapons and drugs, but sometimes people—vulnerable women and girls.

She had crossed paths with him before, when he’d been on the perimeter of her radar during previous ops. Through her handler, the U.S. government had sent Eden to eliminate various targets, men who posed a risk to national security. But never Terzi himself.

Since he bought U.S. weapons and materiel, and the government wanted the business bad enough to overlook him, he’d been left alone. Even though he sold those same weapons to criminal groups and terrorist organizations in Syria because it fed his bank account, posing a direct risk to American interests and personnel there. Because money meant everything to those in power.

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