Page 1 of Act of Passion

Chapter One

Egypt, Five Years Ago…

Malik Nasser stoodin the center of a giant warehouse that he and his teammates had taken control of nearly an hour back. The lighting was low, the number of rats in the facility was high, and the smell of urine was present, as if the bad guys who owned it really wanted to commit to the evil villain aspect of it all. To top it all off, the warehouse lacked anything beyond large cooling fans, which were currently off, so it was a lot like standing in an oven. He was hotter than hell, tired of the smell, and annoyed with the entire mission thusfar.

It didn’t help that he’d foolishly agreed to undergo voluntary testing at PSI (Paranormal Security and Intelligence) headquarters Division B back in the States before he’d deployed. The test was simple: try out a new drug that was supposed to help supernaturals with control issues better manage their condition. It was given to a set number with control issues and an equal number without. Since Malik never before had issues with his lion side, he figured it was a no-brainer to possibly help others whosuffered.

The suppression drugs would be in his system another month or so and then he could report the effects and feel as if he’d done his part to helpout.

But something feltoff.

The warehouse belonged to an arms dealer who was rumored to be in possession of new weapons that could cause serious damage to supernaturals. The paranormal underground had been abuzz about it all for some time, and PSI had been chasing down leads for months. Somehow, the bad guys always managed to be at least two stepsahead.

Likenow.

Crates full of weapons were packed into the warehouse. Huge, floor-to-ceiling metal shelving units filled one end, each stuffed full of crates, while the other end of the warehouse looked more like a hangar, with vehicles and freestanding crates. While everything housed in the warehouse could be deadly in the wrong hands and needed to be removed from the streets, there was nothing specific to supernaturals that had beendiscovered.

From all the information they’d gotten before the mission, there should have been a buttload of supernatural-threateningweapons.

So far, none had beenuncovered.

They’d also encountered little in the way of security at the facility, which was extremely odd considering the number of weapons they’d found. All of which would fetch a pretty penny on the black market. It was rare that a big player in the arms game left a cache of weapons this large to be guarded by a small number of relatively inexperiencedmen.

Captain Garth Ingersson (head of Team Eight) came around the corner with his teammate Rurik Romanov. Garth, a six-and-half-foot-tall shifter male who hailed from the Viking Age of Scandinavia, was armed to the teeth. It looked as if the man had acquired additional guns and explosives since their arrival. Knowing the Viking as well as he did, Malik assumed Garth had probably lifted whatever he wanted from the reserve of weapons upstairs. The longer they stayed in the warehouse, the more likely Garth was to start loading their vehicles with whatever he could fit to take it home withhim.

The man loved guns and weapons of any kind. He’d once spent the greater part of a day showing Malik his sword collection that dated back centuries. There was a high likelihood that the Viking liked weapons more thanpeople.

Malik seriously worried about the man’s state of mentalhealth.

Garth was lethal unto himself. The weapons added another layer to it all. He motioned to the upper level that he and his teammate had just finished going through. “Nothing up there that should raise an eyebrow for us. Just your average, everyday asshole arms dealerbullshit.”

It didn’t matter that Garth had lived in the United States for centuries; he still had a Scandinavian accent that only increased when he was worked up or angered. Often, Malik found he couldn’t understand the man. Garth’s twin brother, Grid, had been far worse. It would have taken less time to learn the man’s native language than to try to understand his English. Malik hadn’t seen Grid since the brothers had a falling-out over a centuryago.

Malik nodded to Garth’s new toys. “But cool enough to keep afew.”

“Hell yes,” said Garth proudly, his grin saying he knew something everyone else didn’t. “One doesn’t walk away from neat toys. Find anything downhere?”

Malik glanced around. “Nothing above the norm. This whole thing smells fishy tome.”

“Smells like dead rats and piss to me,” said Rurik, his Russian accent thick. He moved closer toGarth.

The pair began double-checking the open crates as if Malik and the other members of Team Five were incapable of telling the difference between a normal weapon and one made to harm a supernatural in a bigway.

Garth pulled out an AK-47. “Oh, look. Favored by black marketseverywhere.”

Rurik scowled. “Do not make fun of it. It is a work of art that my country is proud of. And what I prefer to take on most missions. Reliable. Trustworthy. All youneed.”

“If he breaks out in song in honor of Mikhail Kalashnikov I’m going to think he’s as nutty as you are,” said Malik toGarth.

“Mikhail Kalashnikov was ahead of his time,” supplied Rurik, standing tall as he stroked an AK-47 lovingly. “The AKM, the AK-74.” A dreamy look came overhim.

Malik snorted. “You need us to turn around a moment to give you some alone time withthat?”

Garth moved to another crate and pulled out an MTAR. As he withdrew the 9mm suppressor made for it, he looked to Malik. “So many weapons, but so fewguards.”

“Agree,” added Malik, surveying the endless rows ofcrates

“Trap?” askedGarth.

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