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The Fugitive's Secret Child
Geri Krotow
The secret agent is back from the dead!Presumed a casualty of war, ex-SEAL turned undercover operative Rob Bristol is on the hunt for a ruthless Russian mafia leader.But when beautiful U.S. Marshal Trina Lopez captures him, he discovers there’s more at stake than their passionate past: They share a son! And to defeat a killer desperate to silence their family, Rob must risk it all
This secret agent is back from the dead
A Silver Valley P.D. romance
Presumed a casualty of war, former navy SEAL turned undercover operative Rob Bristol is on the hunt for a ruthless Russian mafia leader. But when beautiful US marshal Trina Lopez captures him, he discovers there’s more at stake than their passionate past: they share a son! And to defeat a killer desperate to silence their family, Rob must risk it all.
Former naval intelligence officer and US Naval Academy graduate GERI KROTOW draws inspiration from the global situations she’s experienced. Geri loves to hear from her readers. You can email her via her website and blog, gerikrotow.com (http://www.gerikrotow.com).
Also By Geri Krotow (#u6df928f6-548b-5976-bb22-c0addcbd5a75)
Silver Valley P.D.
Her Christmas Protector
Wedding Takedown
Her Secret Christmas Agent
Secret Agent Under Fire
The Fugitive’s Secret Child
What Family Means
Sasha’s Dad
Whidbey Island
Navy Rules
Navy Orders
Navy Rescue
Navy Christmas
Navy Justice
Coming Home for Christmas
“Navy Joy”
A Rendezvous to Remember
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Fugitive’s Secret Child
Geri Krotow
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07892-4
THE FUGITIVE’S SECRET CHILD
© 2018 Geri Krotow
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“Not happening.” Even through her chattering teeth, the tone of her statement was sharper than she’d meant. “I mean, something between us. After the kiss. The kisses. I don’t want to lead you on.”
“Trust me, that’s the last thing I’d ever expect from you. The leading me on part. As for kissing you, hell, Trina, it’s been five years. We had amazing chemistry when we were together, and that’s not gone away.”
“We had more than chemistry.” She wasn’t letting him off so easily. “If it was only a physical attraction, you going off the radar by allowing Justin to officially die wouldn’t be such a big deal.”
“I thought you were married, Trina.” His quiet words weighed heavy with what sounded an awful lot like pain. Regret.
“Not good enough, Rob. Even if I’d remarried, was still married, whatever. What we shared deserved more than you walking away when you saw me again.” She fought to keep her words aboveboard, fair. Her heart screamed at her conscience, telling her that if she were really fair she’d tell him about their son, how she’d really felt about Rob.
* * *
We hope you enjoy the Silver Valley P.D. miniseries.
Dear Reader (#u6df928f6-548b-5976-bb22-c0addcbd5a75),
Welcome back to Silver Valley! The Fugitive’s Secret Child was a natural fit for the SVPD series as we’re beginning a miniseries within the series. This time, instead of a crazy, lethal cult that plagued the town and our heroes and heroines in books one to four, the Silver Valley police are facing the effects of Russian organized crime as it stretches its tentacles into the otherwise picturesque, serene town.
Trina is happy as a US marshal and the mother of five-year-old Justin, but her heart has never healed from losing the love of her life during wartime. She’d been a navy pilot and he was the navy SEAL she’d fallen in love with while supporting his missions into enemy territory. The darkest day of her life was when she was told that her future husband was KIA. But he left her with one gift—their son.
Rob was in fact not killed but taken into enemy captivity, which he survived, and then went on to fight as an undercover operative. This lends well to his current job as a Trail Hiker agent. When he and Trina meet again, it’s surreal and yet the most right thing that’s happened to either of them since they were torn apart.
There is so much happening in Silver Valley and it’s covered in detail on my website. Please visit gerikrotow.com/contact (http://www.gerikrotow.com/contact) to sign up for my newsletter so that you don’t miss any exciting news. Also connect with me on Facebook—I’d love to see you there: Facebook.com/gerikrotow (https://www.facebook.com/gerikrotow).
Peace,
Geri
To Alex—you inspire me every day.
Contents
Cover (#u0cf02a87-8ef1-50d0-8847-fc2e7d2da361)
Back Cover Text (#ud0df9992-8825-5d68-a7e6-b7b64b2ee06c)
About the Author (#ufb0d6b63-0ad2-5af8-a3fa-46405d365da3)
Booklist (#ub844037b-9658-5d8f-9787-85c0e8cdf318)
Title Page (#u02a167ca-ebb0-5e9e-9c7c-b4c70789d0c6)
Copyright (#u194f1c54-3370-5e89-8d9b-c4e3896e2068)
Introduction (#ucdfcdcf4-e774-51e3-932b-81db2277c225)
Dear Reader (#u88950988-5b1e-5871-b992-03d3123f8ca1)
Dedication (#u18675e46-ff4d-5d5b-9fa9-5cc10424f252)
Prologue (#ucd506a21-e01b-5742-bd37-5d67fad0cdeb)
Chapter 1 (#ud12d76c9-da35-5635-8575-0055499f28eb)
Chapter 2 (#u440ccfda-22bf-5779-a961-d5e5c1280185)
Chapter 3 (#ub672f166-4664-5893-936d-ba89bdec2bc2)
Chapter 4 (#u2588ac51-f98d-5965-8170-72a2d8facfca)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u6df928f6-548b-5976-bb22-c0addcbd5a75)
Winter wind blew off the Atlantic as he got out of his car across from the Norfolk, Virginia, address with the speed and agility of an eighty-year-old. At twenty-five, it sucked to be so fragile. He leaned against a wide oak tree and checked out the town house she’d purchased last year—he’d found that out on the internet.
Two years was a long time to wait. Justin Berger wouldn’t blame her if she hadn’t. A five-month affair in the desert during wartime didn’t qualify as lifetime vows. Even if memories of their time together had gotten him through a year as a POW, several near-death experiences and torture by the enemy, and led to his eventual escape and rescue. It’d be different for her; she thought he was dead.
He’d spent the last five months recovering in the best rehabilitation center on the planet, Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in the greater Washington, DC, area. Before that he’d been in Landstuhl, Germany, where they’d saved his life. The pain had been worth it. Torture with a purpose.
He still needed the cane, and the doctors were certain his femurs and pelvis would never be completely pain-free when he walked. But he was young enough to bounce back and he had the ability to return to his life. A lot of his SEAL teammates didn’t. There was no person on earth he wanted to celebrate his survival with other than her.
Finding her had been easy. He’d asked his higher-ups where she was stationed. Because of the top secret mission, an operation that had officially never existed, his assumed death and actual time as a POW were classified, too. He could have told his parents if he’d had any. A product of the foster system, he didn’t. He only had his brother, who he’d gained permission to inform he was still alive. He could tell her, too, and start life over as a civilian. If she still wanted him. His other option was to work for the CIA under a new name. It would make it nearly impossible for any future targets to research him and find out his full capabilities.
Before he walked across the street, an SUV pulled into her driveway. His gut tightened; his throat closed against the immediate lump at the sight of Trina getting out of her car, her hair pinned up as part of her Navy uniform. Her face, the long, lean lines of her feminine body, was more beautiful than he remembered. If he thought his voice could reach her, he’d call to her, give a slight wave. Anything to connect.
She opened the rear driver’s-side door and leaned in, probably for her laptop or groceries. Another car eased next to hers in the two-car driveway. A man emerged from behind the wheel. Tall, broad-shouldered, in a business suit and topcoat. Dread combined with months of fearing this exact scenario. It poured through his veins, temporarily paralyzing him on the spot. They wouldn’t notice him as the street was wide, with several cars parked along both curbs. The tree provided him excellent cover. Protection he hadn’t expected to need.
He watched as the man walked over to Trina, who waited for him with a large bundle in her arms. A child, a toddler, dressed as a boy. In a bright green parka, with a cartoon hero ski cap, the little tyke clutched a construction truck in his mittened hand. The man took the boy into his arms and laughed, holding him overhead for a quick moment before hugging him to his massive chest and leaning down to kiss Trina on the cheek.
She hadn’t waited. She’d found another and had a child. Trina had her own family now. He’d known it was possible, probable, but still, he’d have bet against it. Hoped she’d mourned for him, needed him. He was caught between the tragedy of his own sorrow and disappointment, and the darkly sick humor of having to struggle to stand upright, quietly, under the large oak tree. If she looked over she wouldn’t recognize his shattered silhouette; she’d only see what looked like an older man with a cane. But he didn’t want to take any chances that she’d see him. If she got the quickest glance at his eyes, she’d see without a shred of doubt that he was a man with an irreparably broken heart.
As soon as they disappeared into the townhome, he arthritically folded himself back into his vehicle and drove away, refusing to look back.
So it was to be the CIA job. Justin Berger had been dead to her, to the world, for two and a half years. Now it’d be forever.
Chapter 1 (#u6df928f6-548b-5976-bb22-c0addcbd5a75)
Three and a half years later
Rob Bristol was pissed off, tired, hot and horny. Not all in that order, but close enough for government work. He shot back the rest of his electrolyte-enhanced water, keeping his gulps silent. As he stretched his neck with a couple of creaky turns of his head he remained vigilant, doing a 360-degree scan of his perimeter. Once settled back on his stomach, he wrapped his arms around his precision sniper rifle and adjusted the sight. His shoulders ached, as did much of his skeleton. Another reminder that his days as a top-secret operative were nearing their end, twenty years earlier than for most.
“Gosh-damned boonies.” The Trail Hikers had once again sent him out to the most dangerous, remote operation the government shadow agency was involved with. In the continental US, anyhow. He couldn’t complain about his employer, though. Rural northern Pennsylvania was still better than Kandahar or the depths of a jungle on the worst day. It was his home country and he had quick access to anything he needed, from weaponry to foodstuffs. He enjoyed life as a civilian secret agent almost as much as he’d loved being a Navy SEAL or CIA agent. He dug the added benefit of being able to choose his missions these days. For the most part. He’d wanted to participate in another especially tricky op that involved travel to Ukraine and Russia. Claudia Michele, his boss and Trail Hikers director, had nixed it. She didn’t care that he’d already completed several successful missions against Russian organized crime in Eastern Europe and New York City. Said his talents were better spent in the former honeymoon capital of Pennsylvania, where a ROC crime boss was reportedly holed up. A mobster who’d eluded the FBI and all other law enforcement agencies.
The irony of this mission, so very unromantic in what was considered a romantic area, wasn’t lost on him. Anger fueled his motivation to take down his target, the man who’d helped ROC bring the ugliness of high-stakes crime to this beautiful area. Rob’s weapon’s sight was trained on the one building on the planet that the world’s most sought-after crime bosses were operating from. He’d followed the dirtbag for the last six weeks. Dima Ivanov was the head of a major Russian organized crime group on the East Coast. Yuri Vasin was number two, Ivanov’s right hand. Ivanov led up to two thousand criminals and a plethora of illegal enterprises. The most recent was human trafficking, and that’s what had pushed the FBI to ask for Trail Hikers’ help. Several dozen underage girls had been smuggled into the US via the Canadian border in Maine and trucked down to the Poconos. From here they were about to be dispersed to the winds of the ROC sex trade.
Time was of the essence.
Ivanov was an old badger, but he wasn’t stupid. In his most recent photos he’d looked older, less energetic than the younger ROC member he’d been. Back when Rob had been with the CIA he’d trailed Ivanov to Russia, Ukraine and back without ever being detected by one single ROC member or any government officials. Rob had helped bring down an entire branch of the East Coast crime ring over a three-day period in the hot hell of New York City and Trenton, New Jersey, last year. It was during a summer heat wave that included power outages and heat-induced rage. He’d come face-to-face with Ivanov. Close enough that the criminal spat in his face as the FBI cuffed him and carted him off. Ivanov had gotten off on a technicality, thanks to the best attorneys money could buy. That was a year and multiple lifetimes ago, as far as Rob was concerned. He’d participated in countless missions since then.
But this was his favorite. He’d majored in Russian in college and knew Russian history inside and out.
