Irresistible Deceptions

  He’ll either be her salvation or her ruin…

  After five years on the run, Nicky Guimond Everson’s location is exposed, and she’s forced to come out of hiding to keep her son safe. Wary and suspicious, she’ll have to trust a stranger if she is to bring her illegal-arms-dealing ex-husband to justice once and for all. But resisting the arrogant but sexy security specialist isn’t as easy as she first thought.

  For Rhy McLean, the mission comes first. The job is his only love, but as he works with Nicky to catch his brother’s killer, her strength and loyalty melt the ice encasing his heart. She’s not at all the woman he expected her to be. But Rhy has a dark secret he’s been keeping from her and everything is at risk if she finds out.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more mystery and suspense titles from Entangled Ignite… Never Surrender

  Her Special Forces

  Stop in the Name of Love

  Make Me Up

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

  Copyright © 2015 by Mackenzie Crowne. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Ignite is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Laura Stone

  Cover design by LJ Anderson

  Cover art from iStock

  ISBN 978-1-63375-468-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition November 2015

  To Crowne’s Crew, my fabulous street team, whose members support and encourage and put up with my lack of organization with winks and smiles.

  Chapter One

  Being anywhere in the vicinity of her father’s funeral was risky, yet here she stood.

  Nicky dragged her gaze from the packed service at the bottom of the rise to stare down at the simple white headstone at her feet. The inscription read, A. Gunther, Beloved Son. A rolling shudder chased a wave of empathy for the brokenhearted parents who had stood in this spot and grieved for their child.

  She lifted her head, shifting her gaze back to the large crowd huddled beneath umbrellas one hundred yards away. The sheer number of mourners gave credence to the fact that General Thomas Guimond had been respected and admired by those who knew of him and loved by those who called him friend.

  She recognized a number of the dignitaries present. Some, like the President and First Lady, because of their prominent positions in the political arena. Others, like her father’s longtime friends Senator Paul Hawley and his wife, Joyce, because Nicky had known them personally—back when her life had still been her own.

  News of her father’s murder blurred the lines between her old life and new. Only five years of intense concentration toward self-preservation had kept her from flinging aside caution and rushing back to Washington in her grief. Ultimately, she hadn’t been able to stay away.

  She’d taken precautions, of course, forgoing Washington’s airports to fly into Norfolk, and would leave the same way. Hopefully anyone watching the area airports wouldn’t bother to include one as far away as Norfolk, Virginia. If they did, those searching would be on the lookout for a young woman of mixed Asian heritage, not a matronly grandmother.

  So far, Nicky’s disguise had held. The mousy, gray wig covered her distinctive black hair, and the thick layers of clothing beneath her long coat gave the impression of a much heavier woman. Still, being noticed in a busy airport wasn’t her main concern. If Jonathan or his goons were using the opportunity of her father’s funeral to catch her, they’d no doubt be searching amongst the mourners at his graveside. It was what she’d do. For that reason, she didn’t dare venture closer than this distant slope, despite an almost overwhelming need to descend the sleet-covered lawn and rest a hand upon the flag-draped casket.

  One more comfort denied, thanks to her ex-husband’s craven obsession with revenge. Tears stung, and her nose and the back of her throat burned. She curled the fingers of both hands into tight fists of frustrated rage. No time for useless regrets or grief.

  Hanging around until the service ended wouldn’t do. The ferocious weather would discourage all but the most robust of mourners. Her presence as an elderly woman visiting the grave of a long-departed loved one wouldn’t stand up for long under close scrutiny.

  Time to go.

  Washington’s elite disappeared behind the rise as Nicky hurried to the rental car parked at the bottom of the hill. With the President in attendance, her presence had been duly noted and considered. Secret Service agents were visible at intervals throughout the area, but thankfully, no one approached her.

  Slipping behind the steering wheel, she locked the door and released a ragged breath. Suppressed tears closed her throat as effectively as strangling fingers. She moaned against the pain, a pain intensified by the memory of five years of necessary separation from the father she loved.

  As she had so many times, she cursed the day she’d met Jonathan Everson, but bemoaning the fates that brought her ex-husband into her life wouldn’t change the past and certainly wouldn’t bring back her father. Besides, the woman who met and married Jonathan Everson was long gone.

  Dead. Like her childhood dreams. Like her father.

  Nicky had a new life now. Though not one she would’ve chosen, she’d managed to find at least a level of contentment in her exile. Her father’s death severed the last connection to the woman she’d been. If nothing else, she was now free to move on without constantly looking over her shoulder at what she’d left behind.

  Ice pellets pinged off the windshield. She twisted the key in the ignition and bit at her lower lip. Would her flight be delayed or, God forbid, canceled? She shrugged philosophically. She’d cross that bridge if and when she came to it. After one last study of the vehicles filling the parking lot, she put the car in gear. As she headed south on I-95, she kept a wary eye on the rearview mirror.

  Six car lengths back, a light-colored minivan kept pace with the dark sedan carrying the woman from Arlington National.

  “Adam Gunther, killed in action two months after landing in Nam,” the voice said over the speakerphone mounted on the front console. “Buried at Arlington National on two August nineteen seventy. Birth date, sixteen June nineteen fifty-two. No obvious anniversaries. Nothing to bring someone out for a visit on a day like today. You’re right. It’s got to be her.”

  “It’s her.” Rhy McLean flipped on the right blinker and maneuvered the vehicle into the slow lane, allowing the woman to pull far enough
ahead to drop him from her immediate sight but not her from his. “Just in case, keep Simpson and Hatchet at Arlington until I call in again.”

  “Roger that.” The phone clicked and beeped as the call disconnected.

  Simpson and Hatchet would have a long, cold wait. He’d bet his right nut the old lady zipping down the icy highway was none other than the General’s daughter. Raised in the privileged world of Washington’s top brass, Nicole Guimond Everson had firsthand knowledge of security protocols. She’d know Adam Gunther’s grave was just far enough away from the proceedings that the Secret Service would keep a watchful eye without approaching. She was also sharp enough to come up with a disguise designed to fool trained eyes, unless those eyes were looking for her specifically.

  Unfortunately, she’d made the mistake of moving too fluidly for a woman of such size and advanced age. Her biggest mistake was showing up in the first place.

  Nicky hurried from the rental car office as the shuttle was about to pull from the curb. The driver triggered the door open and shifted in his seat as if preparing to rise. She waved him off, hefting her duffel bag to climb on board, and hesitated in the aisle. Uneasiness pressed down on her shoulders like a sinister yoke as she cataloged individual passengers, searching for potential threats.

  Her gaze passed over an elderly couple, several families, and a young mother with a toddler. She dismissed the guy with slicked-back hair and sharply angled face. Combined with the black leather blazer and wing tip shoes, he resembled someone out of central casting. Too obvious. Jonathan would never tip her off by sending out someone who could headline in a mobster flick.

  The bald businessman in the dark overcoat was more Jonathan’s style. Was the bulge beneath the man’s lapel a weapon, or was she just freaking paranoid?

  Breathe!

  If Mr. Bulge was one of Jonathan’s goons, he wouldn’t have boarded a shuttle preparing to leave until Nicky had boarded as well, and even if he was here for her, would he dare grab her with so many witnesses? She didn’t think so. The same went for the rest of the passengers. She was safe. For now.

  The tingling at the back of her neck, however, insisted she was being pursued. She ducked her head and bypassed the only open seat near the front of the shuttle to grab an overhead passenger security handle at the back. The strap of her duffel slipped, and she shrugged her shoulder to adjust the weight.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Echoes of the South sounded in her ear. Nicky pivoted her head then jumped back when her nose nearly collided with a solid chest. A large hand grasped her elbow, steadying her.

  “Whoa there. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just going to offer my seat.”

  Her gaze climbed from the tips of glossy dress shoes, up over the standard uniform of businessmen everywhere. Navy slacks covered long legs and trim hips. His unbuttoned trench coat revealed a matching suit coat and a conservative shirt and tie. A solid chest flowed into a broad set of shoulders. Sliding over a neck thick with muscles, her study came to rest on a face that on another man would’ve been merely attractive but, combined with the rest of him, was startling.

  Nicky would bet money on his having spent time not only in the military but in a position of command. The precise bearing. The confident tone of voice. Growing up a military brat, one learned to recognize the signs.

  Oh, yeah. The guy was your classic Colonel Cutie.

  Black hair, cut short, capped a wide forehead. Sharp cheekbones angled to a square chin complete with the hint of a cleft, and his eyes, a deep, denim blue, gleamed at her with an intensity that flustered her so badly, she dipped her head to hide the blush heating her cheeks. She stepped back, and he dropped his hand from her arm.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine standing.”

  His low chuckle made Nicky peek up through her lashes. Wry humor twisted his lips and softened his cut-granite features. Laughter sparkled in his eyes. “My mother would tan my hide if she learned I’d left a lady standing while I sat.”

  She fought back a doubtful smirk. Considering his brawny hide was over six feet tall, she highly doubted he’d let anyone get away with tanning it. Even his mother. Come to think of it, imagining Colonel Cutie with a mother was next to impossible. Men like him were birthed in boot camp.

  He lifted a questioning brow, and she flicked a glance toward the front of the shuttle. Mr. Bulge met her gaze as though sensing her attention. Clenching her muscles against an involuntary shiver, Nicky hoped she only imagined the menace in his dark-eyed stare. Her gaze skittered back to Colonel Cutie. The seat behind him was empty. She offered a strained smile of thanks and slipped past him to sit. Her sigh of relief escaped when he reached up to grab the overhead strap she’d held, and the bulk of his big body formed a human wall to block her from the bald man’s view.

  “Coming or going?”

  She slid her gaze up his tall form to meet his smiling, blue eyes. “Pardon?”

  “Are you heading out of town or going home?”

  The question was innocent enough, one probably asked thousands of times each day between travelers, but conversing with a stranger was a behavior so far out of her recent experience, she wasn’t sure how to respond. His courtesy in offering his seat notwithstanding, habit left her wary. “Neither.” Nicky turned to stare out the window at the passing scenery. Let him think her a rude, old biddy. She had more important things to worry about than handsome strangers with denim-blue eyes. Like evading Jonathan’s goon, if indeed Mr. Bulge was acting on her ex-husband’s orders.

  The ride to the terminal stretched on forever. Beneath her heavy disguise, nervous sweat pooled between her breasts. When the shuttle finally arrived at her stop, she bolted from her seat, elbowed her way by Colonel Cutie, and didn’t care if the action contradicted her elderly appearance. With a little luck, she could disappear into the mass of travelers inside the terminal before anyone could follow.

  Exiting through the rear door, Nicky cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, relieved Mr. Bulge was delayed in his exit by the young mother and her bulky stroller. Inside the terminal doors, she followed the signs to baggage claim, rushing down the escalator to the lower level. The noise of several hundred new arrivals competed with the hum and clank of a half-dozen busy baggage carousels. Businessmen and young adults spoke into cell phones while excited children chattered at proud grandparents who gushed over how big they’d gotten.

  She entered the melee and maneuvered her way through the crowd of impatient passengers jockeying for the best position from which to collect their belongings. A quick glance at the monitors high on the wall confirmed she had thirty minutes to get through security before her flight boarded. Relieved, she ducked into the ladies’ room.

  She closed and locked the stall door behind her and sagged against the cool metal.

  Calm down, Nicky. Mr. Bulge was just a businessman—with a really thick wallet.

  Three deep breaths helped calm her racing heart. She straightened. A metal shelf dropped down to hold her black duffel. She yanked open the zipper. A second bag lay on top of her meager belongings. She hung the small red bag on the hook attached to the door and pulled off the wig before peeling out of her disguise.

  Five minutes later, she exited the stall to study her altered appearance in the mirror above the sinks. There were no flaws with the bright and vibrant young woman staring back at her. No resemblance to the frumpy but otherwise inconspicuous elderly woman remained. The complete contrast in her camouflage should throw off any pursuers.

  If there were any. The tingling at the back of Nicky’s neck was gone, but she no longer trusted her instinctive warning system. Her inner voice had been on the fritz since she received the news of her father’s death, a situation she hoped corrected itself soon.

  In the meantime, the new disguise was good. Her own father wouldn’t recognize her. With fingers clenched around the strap of the red bag, she frowned at the starkness reflected in her eyes. The redhead in the black baseball cap and jeans
was young and carefree. Grim wouldn’t do.

  She sucked in a deep, calming breath and curled her lips into a smile. The result resembled a grimace to her critical eye, but she couldn’t manage more. A stall door opened behind her and nudged her attention back to the task at hand: getting through airport security and onto her plane.

  She slipped her ticket and wallet, with the proper fake identification, into the pocket of the bag and hefted it over one shoulder. Leaving the ladies’ room, she studied the crush of travelers. No sign of Mr. Bulge proved her earlier paranoia just that.

  With contrived jauntiness, Nicky crossed to the escalators. Her steps faltered briefly when her scanning gaze collided with familiar blue eyes. Several yards away, Colonel Cutie dipped his chin in silent greeting. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Cell phone pressed to his ear, he turned his back and relief washed through her, followed by a hot rush of adrenaline.

  Coincidence. Creepy coincidence, but nothing more.

  He was a good-looking guy. Of course he’d notice the women around him, but nothing in his face or demeanor said he’d associated her with the old lady he’d offered his seat. Just in case, she quickened her steps. In a few hours she’d be home, hopefully without anyone connecting the redhead in casual clothes to the man whose burial had been witnessed by so many dignitaries earlier this morning in the nation’s capital.

  Chapter Two

  The tires of a large, black SUV crunched on the snow-covered shoulder of a lonely mountain road. Headlights long since extinguished, the vehicle rolled to a stop. Rhy killed the engine as he followed the glow of taillights one hundred yards ahead.

  After jerking him around for more than ten hours with her convoluted detours, Nicole Guimond Everson guided her old pickup truck into the driveway of a small cabin on the outskirts of Flagstaff, Arizona. Through the night-vision goggles pressed to his eyes, the green glow of infrared illumination gave the winter landscape an alien appearance. He followed her movements as she and the boy she’d collected from an apartment downtown crossed the frozen ground to the cabin. Rhy frowned at the twenty-pound mutt following at their heels.