Nowhere Safe Read online

  Praise for

  Last Chance To Run

  "LAST CHANCE TO RUN cleverly builds suspense until the nerve-racking conclusion...Satisfaction is guaranteed when Dianna Love writes a story."

  ~~Amelia Richard, SingleTitles.com

  "LAST CHANCE TO RUN…reminded me of Cinderella. Well, if Cinderella was on the run from a maniac killer and Prince Charming wielded a gun and flew a plane. Great read. Check it out!"

  ~~Bryonna Nobles, The Paperback Cafe

  "...Love can do what few writers can--give that HEA with the heart-twisting love story, interwoven with the big backbone of a thriller. Last Chance To Run is all of that. This is a fantastic, satisfying, fast-paced read."

  ~~ Katy A, Amazon

  "Brilliant!! Now THIS BOOK is what i LOVE about Romantic Suspense; a gritty suspenseful story AND enough steam to make me squirm (in a GOOD way :) )."

  ~~ Sheryl, Goodreads

  "Dianna never disappoints! … would have give it a 10 if they would let!!! Very enjoyable read, can't wait for the next one :-)."

  ~~ Amy, Goodreads

  Also from Dianna Love

  Romantic adventure:

  Last Chance To Run (prequel novel to Slye Temp)

  Nowhere Safe (Slye Temp – Book One)

  Thriller:

  Justifiable (Riley Walker – Book One)

  Young Adult sci-fi/fantasy written as Micah Caida

  Time Trap (Red Moon series – Book One)

  Copyright © 2013 by Dianna Love Snell

  KINDLE EDITION

  All Rights Reserved.

  Publisher is Silver Hawk Press, LLC

  No part of this work may be reproduced in any fashion without the express, written consent of the copyright holder.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictitious and are not based on any real persons living or dead.

  Dedication

  For Cassondra Murray who is with me every step of the way

  Acknowledgements

  An author creates a story, but I have a wonderful team to thank for making sure this is the best it can be before these words reach a reader. First is Karl, my husband and hero, who is keeps everything running around me so that I can write and is always supportive no matter how many hours I’m tucked away in my writing cave. Without him, there would be no books. Next is Cassondra Murray who reads from first draft to the final read each time, but she’s also my assistant who handles a load of communication and quite often travels with me. The team expands from there to Steve Doyle who is generous with expert advice on weapons and Special Force operations, plus he reads every story and shares detailed. Thanks also to Judy Carney for being the first copy edit read who brings enthusiasm and efficiency to everything she does. As an early reader, Joyce Ann McLaughlin’s feedback is invaluable for pointing out those areas that might otherwise be missed due to being too familiar with the words. Thanks to Kim Killion for beautiful cover I love and to Jennifer Jakes formatting the pages in spite of gremlins. And just so you know, the Gail Jensen mentioned in this story is a real live fused-glass artist (amazing one) you can find out more on at www.StudioGG.com

  From Dianna

  I love to hear from readers at [email protected], on FACEBOOK at Dianna Love Fan Page or by mail at Dianna Love, 1029 N. Peachtree Pkwy, Suite 335, Peachtree City, GA 30269.

  If you’d like a FREE glossy cover card of Nowhere Safe, signed by me, please stop by www.KeeperKase.com where you’ll find more free cards.

  Chapter 1

  Two Years Ago – near Framlingham, England

  Chelsea was late.

  Twelve seconds late.

  The kind of late that could cost a life.

  Josh Robertson forced his grip to relax before he crushed the crystal glass of thirty-year-old scotch. It wasn’t as though she’d hit traffic making the fifteen-kilometer drive from Framlingham. Maybe dodge a sheep or two in the road, just part of the country ambience this far north of London.

  He expected Chelsea to strut across the polished oak floor of this eighteenth century mansion any minute, chin cocked up as if she owned the place. She could do it, too. Pull off pretending she was one step from British royalty and not a bastard child who made her living as a liaison for touchy deals between dangerous people.

  A bastard just like him. One of those little things they’d had in common from day one. Another was an obsessive penchant for being on time.

  Always. And she demanded it as a nonnegotiable term for her liaison services.

  The second hand on his watch marched on with no regard for his sanity. Something had gone wrong.

  Service staff in crisp black tuxedos moved through the elegant party carrying silver platters. One of the staff paused next to Josh. “Would you care for something, sir?”

  Yeah. I’d kill for a cellular signal for about ten seconds. Just long enough to check his phone for text messages.

  “No, thanks.” Without a magic wand, even the best staff couldn’t make that happen.

  He strolled past floral decorations a foot taller than he was. At six feet, two inches, Josh could see over most of the crowd. He visually swept the partygoers peppered around the enormous ballroom, looking for Chelsea and Mendelson, the German guy Josh was here to meet.

  Still no vivacious beauty with a head of black hair and eyes green as spring leaves.

  Ninety-nine seconds.

  Frustration burrowed into the center of his skull. He hated stuffy parties, but Mendelson had dictated the location and arranged for the gilded invitation. If Josh closed his eyes, he could be back in the states at the charity ball his adoptive parents hosted for five hundred guests every spring. Same mind-numbing conversations. Same put-me-in-a-catatonic-state Baroque music played by a string ensemble like the ones his mother hired.

  Mom claimed the peaceful music kept people calm.

  Not doing a damn thing for him right now. His heart hammered like Charlie Watts cutting loose on a drum solo at a Rolling Stones concert.

  Come on, Chelsea.

  She’d never missed a meeting. She was always on time, even for the occasional casual rendezvous with Josh to scratch an itch.

  Hell, there’d never been anything casual about the hot sex they shared. They’d burn hard and fast, like a flash fire. Then go their separate ways afterward. No drama.

  The perfect arrangement to keep loneliness at bay.

  Not a relationship. At least not in the true sense of the word, but he did care for her. Needed to know she was safe. He’d never had a more dependable informant or go-between. So where was she?

  Had Mendelson changed the plans?

  Had Chelsea backed out?

  No. Not with a man’s life on the line.

  She had just as much investment in extracting a captured CIA agent tonight as Josh did. The CIA asset had information on a terrorist cell planning to detonate bombs in Los Angeles and Dublin.

  In two days.

  Chelsea’s grandmother lived in Dublin in a nursing home, too ill to be moved without paramedics and a cardiac support ambulance.

  Josh’s gut snarled at him to get out of this place, disappear before he ended up in the same fix as Chelsea, who might be imprisoned with the CIA agent right now.

  Good advice.

  That he couldn’t follow. His gut didn’t get a say this time.

  Josh lifted his drink slowly, his eyes trained on the second hand of his watch.

  She’d blister his ears for staying. He’d let her if she’d just walk through those beveled glass doors at the entrance.

  If the muscles across his shoulders got any tighter he’d split the seams on this tux the next time he stretched. Relax a little. Think. She could handle herself just as proficiently with a weapon—or in
hand-to-hand combat—as he could.

  Another commonality between them. She wasn’t trained as an operative, but she’d gained survival skills on the streets in Liverpool, where failure meant a short life.

  His hard-times training had been back in New York as a street rat, but it was nothing like the professional training he’d received.

  He and Chelsea had one major difference.

  His team of hired mercs was loyal to the US.

  Chelsea pledged her allegiance to the almighty dollar and the highest offer. Strictly business with her.

  Or it had been until this op, when she discovered her grandmother was at risk. Her grandmother’s nursing home was near the Dublin airport, high on the list of terrorist targets.

  Had cool-as-ice Chelsea allowed emotions to rule her actions this once and made a mistake?

  If she had and couldn’t contact him, there was no way for him to know what kind of trouble she was in, or for him to help her. He should follow SOP at this point and disappear.

  Especially after the cryptic warning in her last text. She’d typed that damned XOXO at the end.

  When they’d first slept together, she’d told him two things to never forget. She didn’t do late, so if she ever failed to show on time, he should not wait for her. And if she sent XOXO in a message it meant she might have to vanish.

  Might.

  A word that would haunt him forever if he left now.

  The sound of a familiar footstep tapping across wood floors reached his ears. He honed in on it, listening as he turned to scan the crowd. There it was, moving toward him. A confident click, click, click that lifted just above polite conversation.

  Black hair flashed into view. Halle-damn-lujah. Chelsea headed toward him with her signature smooth gait on a pair of five-inch black heels.

  He caught himself before his face revealed the punch of relief slamming his solar plexus. Showtime. He shoved cold disregard into his eyes.

  What had been the delay?

  Shiny hair fell past her shoulders, a long strand dipping to touch the enticing hint of breasts he’d spent hours appreciating on their stolen encounters. She’d showcased them nicely tonight, in a strapless, black sequined dress that sparkled under the crystal chandeliers. Sexy-as-hell body, but that hadn’t been what he’d noticed about her when they’d first met. It was the note of Irish in her husky voice that had turned his head.

  She wasn’t the love of his life.

  He couldn’t have one.

  Neither could she, with their career choices. But even though they sometimes went months without a word from each other, he’d realized tonight that she’d carved a spot in his world he didn’t want vacated.

  She played her role, too, chilly expression in eyes he’d seen laughing only a day ago. She ignored the admiring gazes snapping in her direction as she moved toward him.

  Ludwig Mendelson followed a half step behind Chelsea, shoulders back, body square and thick like a wrestler’s. His hair was short and too silver for a man only in his forties. Pale skin stretched across a pudgy face punctuated by two unforgiving, ice-chip blue eyes. An inch or so shy of six feet tall, he strode as if the world should drop at his feet and pay homage.

  If that were true he wouldn’t need the two bodyguards following close behind, both stuffed into tuxedos tailored for the Hulk.

  Mendelson had a reputation for being unpredictable. He’d chosen this party, but could’ve just as easily demanded a meeting at a location that required mountain climbing gear. Josh had the German’s file memorized and had come to England prepared to do pretty much anything required to finalize this exchange on Mendelson’s terms.

  He knew more than he wanted to know about a man with a preference for over-the-top, perverted styles of interrogation.

  Just seeing Mendelson walk so close to Chelsea twisted a fist inside Josh’s gut, but she’d built one hell of a reputation in the international crime community for arranging meetings like this one, and for swift retaliation against anyone who tried to harm her.

  Still, something was amiss or she’d have been on time.

  When she reached Josh, she waited until Mendelson stepped up next to her before speaking first to Josh. “Mr. Taylor, meet my associate, Herr Mendelson.”

  Offering neither his hand nor any verbal acknowledgment, Josh announced, “You’re late.”

  Mendelson moved his chunky shoulders in a slight shrug then glanced over at Chelsea who didn’t bat an eyelash. His German accent matched his blunt face. “Beauty is not a rushed process. Men have always waited on women.”

  Had she really been the reason for the delay?

  If so, had she done it as some kind of signal to Josh?

  Cognizant of Mendelson’s close scrutiny, Josh swirled his scotch and took a sip. He tinged his words with just enough irritation to hide the concern that brewed in his gut over Chelsea. “I came here to retrieve my client’s asset and deliver your payment.” He targeted Chelsea with his next verbal shot. “You were chosen as liaison because of your reliability and your reputation for being punctual.” Tell me what’s going on. Any sign.

  “You could ha’ been on your way if waitin’ was a burden,” Chelsea warned with just enough venom in her Irish lilt to sell the deadly glint in her eyes.

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  Had she wanted him to leave?

  She pressed on. “We’ve all an investment in tonight’s meetin’. The sooner we stop natterin’ on, the sooner we’ll each be enjoyin’ the spoils.”

  Josh leveled Mendelson with a let’s-get-to-the-bottom-line look. “Satisfied that I’m here alone?”

  “If I were not, you would no longer be standing here.”

  Meaning Josh would be dead already. Mendelson believed Josh had a transport of weapons waiting nearby to exchange for the CIA agent, so he pointed out, “I can’t keep someone mobile in this area for long without drawing attention.”

  Mendelson smiled, his eyes eager. “Then I suggest we proceed with haste and complete our transaction.”

  “Lead on.” Josh lifted his glass in a subtle gesture that said get on with it, you’re wasting my time. He knew the exchange wouldn’t go down here.

  Mendelson didn’t disappoint. “My car is waiting.”

  Sucked to be right sometimes.

  Following the Mendelson entourage, Josh held his blank mask in place, but unease clawed at the back of his neck. In spite of the XOXO message, Chelsea hadn’t vanished, but neither could they discuss anything now that the game was on.

  He was just glad to know she’d be close enough for him to snatch along with the CIA captive tonight, because he wasn’t leaving this country without both of them.

  If she needed to disappear, he could make that happen and keep her safe at the same time. His body might take a beating if she didn’t see it his way, but he didn’t think she’d purposely kill him.

  He’d heal and she’d be alive.

  All other details could be worked out after that.

  Outside the lavish home, attendants rushed through the crisp fall air, opening car doors for late arrivals and retrieving vehicles for early departures. Josh had driven here in a rented Mercedes, but Chelsea wouldn’t be riding with him. That meant no chance to talk before they reached the location where Mendelson held the CIA agent, Len Rikker.

  It had taken five days of intense negotiations to convince Mendelson that Josh represented black market weapons dealer Puno de Hierro, known as Iron Fist, who operated out of Nicaragua.

  And that Len Rikker was no international spook but one of Puno de Hierro’s assets.

  Among Mendelson’s multi-faceted enterprises, he brokered resources for terrorist operations. Josh’s team had tracked the German for twelve days and finally gotten a break when the weapons shipment Mendelson needed as currency for another deal had gone missing.

  Thanks to Josh’s team who’d stolen it.

  That team now waited to move in.

  No government would admit t
o employing mercenary soldiers like his team, but most countries tapped similar off-the-record elite operatives for missions that couldn’t be run through the usual channels, or couldn’t be acknowledged under any circumstances. The CIA would normally turn to one of its own elite military units to extract a captured agent, but they wanted this sterile.

  A hands-off operation with none of their assets involved.

  Sabrina Slye, who headed up Josh’s team, had questioned the “why” behind the agency’s decision to send in her people, but the powers-that-be weren’t in the habit of answering to anyone.

  Much less a merc. She’d turned down the mission until someone way up the CIA food chain had asked her personally to bring home their agent.

  And to do it soon, before Mendelson disappeared again.

  The German often moved his high-value assets daily.

  Sabrina had freedom to execute her operations with full autonomy since her people were considered expendable resources that no government agency would admit hiring and sure as hell wouldn’t lift a finger to save.

  A young man rushed up to Josh and pointed as a Mercedes rental rolled up to the curb. “Your car, sir.”

  Right behind Mendelson’s sleek black limousine.

  Josh continued toward the end of the walkway lit by landscape beacons. The bodyguards took position on each side of the limo’s open passenger door where Chelsea paused.

  Mendelson’s lips tilted with amusement. A pit viper’s smile. “I have arranged a driver for you.”

  A driver who matched Mendelson’s bodyguards in size—and grim expression—sat behind the wheel of Josh’s Mercedes.

  As expected.

  If he refused the driver, the deal would fall apart. Everyone involved knew that. But this was all about power plays so Josh spun the tables with one of his own. He made a show of looking at his watch. “Your window of time to complete our meeting is running out.”