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The Perfect Target
Jenna Mills
All Miranda Carrington wanted was to be free from her legendary family's legacy of wealth and power. But even in a little seaside village in Portugal, she could not escape the danger that shadowed her….Only the sudden, stunning appearance of a dark, mysterious stranger had saved her from the ruthless terrorists stalking her. But was Allessandro Vellenti really the devoted guardian he claimed, or part of the deadly conspiracy swirling around her?She knew she shouldn't trust him–with her life or with her heart. And yet, as she fled with him, she ached to give herself, body and soul, to this man who could be her killer….
Miranda’s mouth went dry when she saw Allessandro standing in the shadows.
He was wearing nothing but a pair of well-worn camouflage pants and a white undershirt that emphasized the darkness of his tan, the strength of his chest. In his hand he held his semiautomatic, as if it were as an impenetrable shield between him and the world. In his eyes glittered a harshness she didn’t understand, a look that was equal parts pain and pleasure.
Dangerous, she thought. Not just because he held a gun in one hand and her life in the other, but because his brutal exterior couldn’t hide the glimmer of compassion deep inside him.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just watched her, the light from across the street slashing in, momentarily rescuing him from the shadows, then returning him to darkness.
Something deep inside her started to tremble. Dangerous…
Dear Reader,
“In like a lion, out like a lamb.” That’s what they say about March, right? Well, there are no meek and mild lambs among this month’s Intimate Moments heroines, that’s for sure! In Saving Dr. Ryan, Karen Templeton begins a new miniseries, THE MEN OF MAYES COUNTY, while telling the story of a roadside delivery—yes, the baby kind—that leads to an improbable romance. Maddie Kincaid starts out looking like the one who needs saving, but it’s really Dr. Ryan Logan who’s in need of rescue.
We continue our trio of FAMILY SECRETS prequels with The Phoenix Encounter by Linda Castillo. Follow the secret-agent hero deep under cover—and watch as he rediscovers a love he’d thought was dead. But where do they go from there? Nina Bruhns tells a story of repentance, forgiveness and passion in Sins of the Father, while Eileen Wilks offers up tangled family ties and a seemingly insoluble dilemma in Midnight Choices. For Wendy Rosnau’s heroine, there’s only One Way Out as she chooses between being her lover’s mistress—or his wife. Finally, Jenna Mills’ heroine becomes The Perfect Target. She meets the seemingly perfect man, then has to decide whether he represents safety—or danger.
The excitement never flags—and there will be more next month, too. So don’t miss a single Silhouette Intimate Moments title, because this is the line where you’ll find the best and most exciting romance reading around.
Enjoy!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
The Perfect Target
Jenna Mills
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JENNA MILLS
grew up in south Louisiana, amid romantic plantation ruins, haunting swamps and timeless legends. It’s not surprising, then, that she wrote her first romance at the ripe old age of six! Three years later, this librarian’s daughter turned to romantic suspense with Jacquie and the Swamp, a harrowing tale of a young woman on the run in the swamp and the dashing hero who helps her find her way home. Since then her stories have grown in complexity, but her affinity for adventurous women and dangerous men has remained constant. She loves writing about strong characters torn between duty and desire, conscious choice and destiny.
When not writing award-winning stories brimming with deep emotion, steamy passion and page-turning suspense, Jenna spends her time with her husband, two cats, two dogs and a menagerie of plants in their Dallas, Texas, home. Jenna loves to hear from her readers. She can be reached via e-mail at writejennamills@aol.com, or via snail mail at P.O. Box 768, Coppell, Texas 75019.
For my terrific editor, Stephanie Maurer…
this one is all yours!
Thanks for the inspiration and collaboration.
I’ll always remember our thunderstorm in New Orleans.
Thanks also to Patrick and the rest of the SPSS gang,
for helping make this book possible.
And always, my husband, Chuck.
You are my light. I love you
more than words can express.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Prologue
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference.
—Robert Frost
“Turn on your TV.”
Alessandro Vellenti squinted through the darkness of his Lisbon hotel room. He’d seen closets bigger, closets dedicated solely to shoes and handbags. But the small room had a shower, and that’s all he’d really wanted.
Well, maybe not all he wanted, but all he could have.
Night had fallen while he’d stood under the spray of a lukewarm shower, trying to ignore the metallic smell of the water. Now, flashing lights from the discotheque across the street cut through the threadbare curtains like something straight out of a macabre horror flick.
“My TV?” He positioned the mobile phone against his shoulder and fumbled for the bedside lamp. Anticipation increased his heart rate. Javier was hardly a television kind of guy. Sandro doubted his partner wanted him to see the newest reality show to disgrace the airwaves. “What’s going on?”
“Something big. What took you so long to answer the phone? I’m not finally interrupting something, am I?”
Sandro ignored the jab and wrapped a threadbare towel around his hips. Rivulets of water clung to his chest and slid down his legs, but he didn’t finish drying. There was no need. The room reeked of stale cigarettes and harsh antiseptic, but the temperature was only slightly cool. Sandro had certainly endured colder. And hotter.
He preferred the hot. “I’m not a kiss-and-tell kind of guy,” he muttered, looking for the remote. “What’s going on?”
“Jorak Zhukov was arrested crossing into the United States from Canada. The ambassador to Ravakia is giving an interview right now.”
Finally, the urgency in Javier’s voice made sense. Implications and questions immediately surfaced, raised more questions. “Was he by himself?”
“Apparently.”
Sandro went down on one knee, locating the remote under the narrow bed, adjacent to a skimpy black bra and slinky white scarf. He didn’t even want to think about how the erotic garments had found their way under the bed. Doing so would be too depressing. Instead, he aimed the ancient control at the pathetic excuse for a television across the room.
Nothing happened. “Has he been charged with anything?”
“Just traveling on a falsified visa. So far. But I can’t imagine the United States letting him slip through their fingers, not after what happened to those agents.”
Sandro hit the power button again, still with no luck. Banging the useless instrument against the nightstand, he recalled the countless reports he’d reviewed about Jorak Zhukov and his father Viktor, the overthrown leader of the Eastern European country Ravakia. The two were wanted in connection with the deaths of eight undercover operatives. Word on the street had it something even bigger was going down.
It was Sandro and Javier’s mission to find out what.
“What of Viktor?” Anticipation whirred deep inside Sandro. Nailing the notorious father-son duo would save countless lives. “Any indication they were traveling together?”
“The State Department doesn’t think so.”
Sandro gave up on the remote, took the room in three long strides, and jabbed the on button. A bright light yawned across the screen, but no picture and only the sound of static.
“They think Viktor’s holed up somewhere in Europe,” Javier added.
Maybe. Probably. When the U.S. got determined about finding something, safe hiding places became scarce. “Do they know where?”
“If they do, they’re not saying.”
A distorted picture finally formed. Sandro flipped through channels on the old black-and-white until he found the familiar CNN logo. The picture remained fuzzy, however, the sound garbled.
“The State Department’s heightened the travel warning for American citizens and interests,” Javi added. “With Jorak in custody, Viktor will be desperate. They fear retaliation.”
Sandro slammed his palm against the side of the television, still no sound. Against a backdrop of a proud American flag, Ambassador Peter Carrington grew more animated by the second. Defiance glowed in his eyes, hardened the lines of his patrician face. His hands moved as he talked, slicing through the air like a chop to the neck of an invisible opponent.
“What’s he saying? I can’t get any volume.”
“The usual. The United States is not in the business of negotiating with criminals on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list.”
Sandro stepped back from the television, suddenly cold. “Zhukov will take that as a direct challenge.”
A hard noise broke from Javi’s throat. “I don’t understand people like Carrington, so snug in his ivory tower that he doesn’t realize he’s not insulated from the real world.”
“He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth,” Sandro pointed out. The highly revered, much loved Carrington family skirted as close to royalty as America got. “He’s never had his world blow up around him.”
“That’s about to change,” Javi warned as the interview ended. A shadowy image of General Viktor Zhukov replaced that of the newly appointed ambassador to Ravakia. “Viktor’s already on the move, knows he needs leverage.”
Leverage. The word snaked through Sandro like rancid meat. “You mean a hostage.”
“Viktor made contact about thirty minutes ago,” Javi said, his voice practically drowned out by a siren somewhere in the city. “He’s already got a plan. And a target.”
The news didn’t surprise Sandro. “Who?”
“Miranda Carrington.”
The name did. An image immediately formed, of leagues of chestnut hair and exotic green eyes. “The ambassador’s daughter?”
“A child for a child,” Javi muttered cryptically. “Word on the street is she’s in Europe indulging some gypsy fantasy. She was last seen in Seville.”
Only a few hours’ drive from Lisbon.
“Cristo.” Sandro knew little of the ambassador’s youngest child, other than that in her late twenties, she seemed the exact opposite of her perfect, politically correct older sister and brother, Elizabeth and Ethan, dubbed the E-twins by the press. Not that Miranda wasn’t perfect in her own right…
She sure as hell could kiss, he thought, then wished he hadn’t. Vividly, he recalled a tabloid photo of a bikini-clad Miranda wrapped around some Ivy League frat boy, mouths locked in a pose more suited to the cover of an X-rated video.
Sandro sucked in a sharp breath and shoved wet hair back from his face. His body groaned in frustration.
Don’t go there, he warned himself. Don’t even think about there. Especially not with a woman targeted to become a pawn in a high-stakes international game. Especially not while he stood wet and naked in a hotel room that reeked of sex by the hour. He couldn’t afford to be distracted any more than he could afford the nasty kink in months of grueling undercover work. His mission was clear: gain the general’s trust, learn his secrets, then bring him down.
“It gets worse,” his partner added, seemingly reading his mind, as always. “That’s why I’m calling.”
Sandro braced himself. “Lay it on me.”
“The general wants you to get her for him, amigo. Said if you can deliver the girl, he’ll know where your loyalties lie.”
Sandro went very still. A test. The irony of it burned clear down to his bones. If he failed the test, he failed his country.
But if he succeeded…
Reeling, Sandro dragged the phone back to the narrow cot and slipped his hand under the pillow, where his 9mm awaited, silencer intact. “Tell him I’m onboard.”
He’d always excelled at tests, wouldn’t fail now. Training and loyalty left him no choice. He had to find her. Find the ambassador’s daughter. Find her fast, find her first.
