Page 3 of Killer Secrets (Tempting SEALs 5)

One

Six months later

Palm Beach, Aruba

HE WAS ROGUE.

Could there be any other explanation for the dark, avenging force that swept through the night?

The Chameleon scrambled through the warehouse, ducking behind crates and using the heavy support posts of the building to deflect the bullets raining around her.

The small team of highly trained Fuentes soldiers tore into the warehouse where the small cell of terrorists were waiting for the go-ahead that Ian was arriving for a scheduled weapons buy. They were there to kill him. But it was Ian who was killing instead.

She hadn't managed to learn how they had received that information, or from where the leak had originated. Her work within the cell had gleaned her nothing but a certainty that the determination to assassinate Ian Fuentes was escalating.

The assassins had been on the island less than twenty-four hours. The final two had arrived just hours before with the details of the strike they were to make against the heir to the Fuentes cartel.

None of them had known for certain that they were striking against Ian until some hours before. Even the Chameleon hadn't been certain of the plan until the French assasins in charge had arrived, their eyes cold, hard, and outlined the operation.

They had no sooner given the final order than death had swept through the night.

She flinched as a bullet tore across the beam several inches above her crouched form. Ducking and rolling, her weapon ready, she pushed herself deeper into the shadows as she lifted her weapon and aimed at one of the few remaining lights shining overhead.

The bulb shattered, sparks raining down on the assembled crates and packages prepared for shipping the next day.

She moved, sprinting from her hiding place, as bullets tore into the crates around her. Her gaze swept around the room and she grimaced as she saw the black-clad Fuentes soldiers moving through the shadows with stealthy certainty.

They were trained, disciplined. These weren't the drug soldiers they had been when Ian Fuentes first arrived a year ago. This was a highly trained, effective fighting force. A team of dark, dangerous, SEAL-trained weapons.

Damn. The director of the Department of Homeland Security was going to have a cow when she sent in the report on this one. The rumors that Ian was taking out drug and terrorist forces alike hadn't been substantiated. Everyone who could talk somehow ended up dead.

She was going to have to make certain she didn't end up as dead as the rest of them.

Dammit, she had worked hard to get herself into position within the small terrorist cell working out of Aruba. A year of busting her ass and eating dirt with worms to get in place here, and now the team the terrorists had put together was just dead.

Moving quickly, quietly, she skirted the edges of the crudely built warehouse, working her way to the far wall where the loose boards there would allow her an easy exit. She didn't dare attempt to use the door.

"Not so fast."

The Chameleon froze as the barrel of the weapon was laid, almost casually, at the back of her neck.

She knew that voice. She knew the feel of that heated body behind her own.

She held her hands out carefully, allowing the Glock to fall from her gloved fingers to the dusty floor as she restrained the impulse to release the lever holding the knife beneath the sleeve of her light jacket.

Her backup was at her ankle; but it was dark, he might not see it.

Before she could do anything she was jerked upright and slammed into the wall hard enough to knock her teeth together. If she hadn't been anticipating it.

Eyes narrowed, her arms kept carefully at her sides, her head jerked up as powerful fingers locked around her throat and held her in place.

Icy brandy-colored eyes locked on hers in surprise.

He hadn't known she was here.

The Chameleon smiled and, while surprise held him immobile, she moved.

Her leg kicked up, almost slamming into his balls but barely glancing them instead. He went back, his fingers slackening on her throat as she tore out of his grip.

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