Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Outside, the wind was whipping through the mountains. Tim and the team were roughly ten thousand feet below. He’d been forced to climb the damn mountain to get to the facility. He’d started in the dark, taken hours of moving quietly and steadily so they didn’t see him coming. Though they were no longer worried about being seen, Ben didn’t see his skinny-ass tech hauling butt up the mountain any time soon.
He stared at the door that separated him from the prize. From what he’d learned about the facility, this door led to the promised land—to the laboratory and the private office and residence of the man who had started this all. Dr. Huisman was in there somewhere, working on his plans.
The Chinese had gotten a foothold in North America, and Europe was rattling sabers. The world was changing rapidly, and it was a renaissance time for the spy. Ever since the Mexican revolution had sent the entire continent into chaos, Ben had known he would wind up here. Maybe not this particular location, but in times when the whole world was on the brink, there was always some asshole willing to push them all over.
The world was a powder keg, and if this new threat got in the wrong hands, Ben was worried it would blow sky-high.
And now he was literally one door away from reaching the prize, and the Americans hadn’t come through with the code. They’d had one job. One.
He heard a slight squeak coming from the hallway to his left. He brought up his gun, ready to take out whoever came down that hall. Had he missed someone? Had their intelligence been off?
One breath in and he was focused.
And then he wasn’t. A glimpse of pink hair made him stop. He lowered the gun because shooting this particular player wasn’t what he wanted to do.
Nope. He sometimes wanted to throttle her, but mostly his intentions were far more sexual.
The woman he knew as Ms. Magenta stood at the end of the hall, dressed all in white for a change. She had on a huge white parka, but he knew what it hid—curves and hips and breasts he couldn’t get out of his head.
The Magenta name was her play on her agency’s time-honored tradition of calling its operatives Mr. Black or Mr. Green, or some other color that was meant to protect the operative’s true identity. The woman in front of him was roughly five foot eight in flats, and when she wore heels like she had on the mission in Macau, she could look him straight in the eyes.
Let other men covet petite, delicate females. He wanted this one. She was the alpha female, cool and competent and often at odds with him. Maggie. Since he didn’t know her real name, he called her Maggie.
He stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out which Maggie he was dealing with. Sometimes she showed up and he could feel how dangerous she was, how reckless and ruthless. Other times she nearly melted in his arms, coming so close to kissing him that he’d ached with the loss.
“Ben, I’m sorry I’m late.” She strode up to him, pulling back the hood of her parka and setting free all that pink hair that was sort of her signature. He’d seen her with almost every color of the rainbow, including her natural reddish blonde. There was something about the softness of her face that made him relax. She wasn’t here to fight. “We had trouble with the helo, but it looks like you handled everything with your usual aplomb. That was a lot of bodies out there, buddy.”
He loved that slight Texas twang that came out when she wasn’t thinking too hard. He loved that it came out more and more when they were alone. But he frowned because they weren’t supposed to be alone today. The US was still friendly with Canada, but the last thing he wanted was Maggie walking out of here with the prize.
The prize, in this case, was something he firmly intended to destroy.
“I didn’t realize you were late because you’re not supposed to be here at all,” he returned.
She stopped a few feet away from him, her blue eyes narrowing. Ah, there was the dangerous girl. “You know we were responsible for getting the code. How did you think I would get it to you?”
“Text works.” If she was here, she had a mission and it was likely to get that formula for the Agency.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a card. “You need this along with the code. I took it off one of Huisman’s men last night at a bar. He’s still sleeping it off, so I doubt he’ll miss it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll open that door and we can be home in time for dinner.”