From their top-secret headquarters... Three women with brains, brawn, beauty—and guns—are ready for anything...but love.

Three new, connected stories by authors Doranna Durgin, Virginia Kantra and Meredith Fletcher

Framed for murder and running from the CIA, sniper Bethany Riggs could trust no one, not even dashing British spy Jason Chandler. A born charmer, and disturbingly sexy, Jason might be the one man ...

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Femme Fatale

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From their top-secret headquarters... Three women with brains, brawn, beauty—and guns—are ready for anything...but love.

Three new, connected stories by authors Doranna Durgin, Virginia Kantra and Meredith Fletcher

Framed for murder and running from the CIA, sniper Bethany Riggs could trust no one, not even dashing British spy Jason Chandler. A born charmer, and disturbingly sexy, Jason might be the one man who can help her...or will he break her heart?

Undercover stuntwoman Kylee Swain could handle action—and more than the Hollywood kind. Until she hit a snag: Australian mercenary Mick Stone. Now she's got to survive the explosive heat of gunfire...and passion.

Beneath Victoria Grayson's pretty smile lay steely determination—and the ability to hack any computer in the world. She will take down the enemy—even if that means stepping on the boot-clad toes of DEA agent Bishop Tyler...and making him love it.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781426884245
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 12/1/2010
  • Sold by: HARLEQUIN
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: Original
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 860,505
  • File size: 743 KB

Meet the Author

Doranna Durgin spent her childhood filling notebooks first with stories and art, then with novels. After obtaining a degree in wildlife illustration and environmental education, she spent a number of years deep in the Appalachian Mountains. When she emerged, it was as a writer who found herself irrevocably tied to the natural world and its creatures--and with a new touchstone to the rugged spirit that helped settle the area, which she instills in her characters.

Dun Lady's Jess, Doranna's first published fantasy novel, received the 1995 Compton Crook/Stephen Tall award for the best first book in the fantasy, science fiction and horror genres; she now has fifteen novels of eclectic genres on the shelves and more on the way. Most recently, she's leaped gleefully into the world of action-romance. When she's not writing, Doranna builds author web sites, wanders around outside with a camera and works with horses and dogs--currently, she's teaching agility classes. There's a Lipizzan in her backyard, a mountain looming outside her office window, a pack of agility dogs romping in the house and a laptop sitting on her desk--and that's just the way she likes it. You can find a complete list of books at www.doranna.net along with scoops about new projects, lots of silly photos and a link to her SFF Net newsgroup. And for kicks, Connery Beagle has a LiveJournal (journal name: connerybeagle) presenting his unique view of life in the high desert--drop by and say hello!
USA TODAY bestselling author Virginia Kantra credits her enthusiasm for strong heroes and courageous heroines to a childhood spent devouring fairy tales. A five-time Romance Writers of America RITA Award finalist, she has won numerous writing awards, including the Golden Heart, Maggie Award, Holt Medallion, and two National Readers' Choice Awards.

She has sold over a dozen books to Silhouette, including her popular Trouble in Eden series for the Silhouette Intimate Moments line.

Virginia is married to her college sweetheart, a musician disguised as the owner of a coffeehouse. They make their home in North Carolina with three teenagers, two cats, a dog and various blue-tailed lizards that live under the siding of their home. Her favorite thing to make for dinner? Reservations.

She loves to hear from readers. You can email her at virginiakantra@aol.com

Born in southern Oklahoma, Meredith Fletcher comes by her restless nature honestly. Her father was a Navy man and often moved the family. She attended a succession of schools and learned to love books. (They were the only things she knew that could be folded up and taken with her at a moment's notice!)

After finishing college, she maintained an interest in history, military, and good books, all of which led her to one day believe she could write her own stories. After being invited by Leslie Wainger to write for Femme Fatale, an anthology focusing on three covert spies for the United States government, Meredith went on to write books for the Bombshell line, including Double-Cross and Look-Alike. She also contributed a story to the anthology, Smokescreen.

Her latest book is Storm Front (December 2006).

Meredith likes to spend time with her friends, either at baseball games, shopping, perusing old bookstores (with a preference for ones with wooden floors) or seeing the sights. Even though she's settled down (somewhat), she prefers new experiences and new hobbies, and will often drop everything to go see/hear/do something she's never done before. She loves motorcycles (fast), boats (fast), and has a man in her life (not so fast!). Naturally, her daredevil nature lends itself to exciting tales of romance. Check out her blog at www.bombshellromance.blogspot.com.
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Read an Excerpt

Femme Fatale

By Doranna Durgin

Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.

Copyright © 2003 Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0373218508

Chapter One

Shaken and Stirred by Doranna Durgin

Somehow it's always a warehouse. Bethany Riggs ran through the mental checklist of the weapons at her disposal, checked again that her Sig-Sauer P226 was an easy reach in the square cargo pocket of her deceptively casual squall parka, and eased out into the predawn gloom surrounding the entire dock area. Not always a warehouse in Cape Town, South Africa ... but a warehouse nonetheless.

Tonight ... she'd bring a spy in from the cold.

Making a mild face at the drama of the thought, Beth hunched her shoulders into her mediumweight parka, chilled by hours of lurking in the fifty-degree night. She'd arrived early to scope out the site after Lyeta Denisov made contact late the evening before, leaving Beth no opportunity to examine the southern arm of the Table Bay docks in the daylight. A long jetty filled with warehouses, cargo docks and the mixed atmosphere of diesel fuel and sea foam, it was the perfect location for a late-night meet.

If only she'd had the chance to vet it more thoroughly.

Then again, neither had anyone else, which was no doubt Lyeta's intent. There were plenty of people who wanted Lyeta Denisov ... wanted her back, wanted her stopped ... wanted her dead.

But Beth was the one who would get her - albeit on Lyeta's terms. The Russian woman, betrayed by her lover and hunting both safety and revenge, offered information on the man's internationally notorious, terrorist-friendly spy organization in return for protection. Beth's handler from Stony Man Farm was only too glad to give it to her. Stony Man, MI6, the CIA ... they all wanted spymaster Kapoch Egorov. But after a botched rendezvous with the CIA, Lyeta had turned to Stony Man. As black as black ops got.

Yeah, I'd be careful, too. Beth crouched briefly at the end of the long series of warehouses and cargo cranes, comfortable in the black leg warmers she'd pulled up over low-riding jeans. Her flexible high-top dance sneaks weren't the warmest footwear, but left her confident she could move exactly when and how she wanted. Soon enough Lyeta Denisov would arrive, just before the docks began the slow warm-up steps that led to the daily rhythms of activity. For now, only one ship floated beside the long, straight dock; the cargo containers were neatly stacked inside the warehouses, leaving the dock itself empty and desolate. The heavy scent of the nighttime sea lay over the area, and the constant rhythm of the waves lapped against Beth's ears.

One might even call it peaceful.

Beth didn't. The underlying tension of the night kept her alert and ultra-aware of the open nature of this area, and of its vulnerability. Too many exit scenarios called for diving into the cold, cold water of Table Bay; too many possibilities led to entrapment at the end of the jetty.

The looming skeletons of the stationary cargo cranes offered so much visual clutter in their foreshortened lineup that she found it nearly impossible to decipher the structure of one from another. Still, she pulled a Phantom night vision scope from one of the parka's roomy pockets, sweeping its monocular view across the docks, across the ship deck, up and down the line of cranes. The man she'd previously spotted on the ship hadn't moved. He remained slumped over the far rail, the thick glowing dot of his cigar marking his position. There was no one else in evidence.

Which didn't mean they weren't here. Lurking, as she was. Hidden.

She glanced down at her sturdy field watch. Not much longer. Then she'd have to come out from hiding and so would Lyeta Denisov. They'd meet, assess each other ... and then Lyeta would come with Beth.

Or she wouldn't.

Well, she wouldn't actually have a choice, not once things progressed that far. Barbara Price of Stony Man Farm had made it quite clear that Stony Man wanted this woman. Wanted. And without a safe haven, Lyeta Denisov's days were numbered.

Beth swept the area again, glanced at her watch, and tucked the Phantom scope away. She stood, shook out her legs, and bounced up and down in place a few times. No dancer went out onto the stage without warming up, and this performance would be pure improv. Maybe a casual stroll, maybe some nice modern aerobic work ...

She started off with the casual stroll, breaking cover from the warehouse to walk the long dock without apparent concern. Her hands, tucked into her pockets for warmth, curled around the Sig's custom Nill-Grips on her left and a collapsible baton on her right.

Since 1652 this port had earned its nickname for the warm welcome and supplies it offered weary travelers. Tavern of the Seas. Time to see just how warm a welcome Lyeta Denisov would receive.

Or if she'd show up at all.

Beth walked the length of the dock, hesitated at the far end to check the area with her nightscope - cigar man had finished his smoke and gone below, but she saw evidence of no one else. Except ... except there was a rounded shadow by the warehouse, and it caught Beth's eye. Closer examination revealed nothing specific, but she'd learned long ago to heed her eye. The skin up the back of her legs tightened, all the way up the back of her thighs and higher.

Here we go.

She walked back out on the dock, dawdling conveniently near the shadow she'd seen.

The shadow did not disappoint her. Hard soles scuffed the pavement, just enough of a clue so Beth whirled to face the shadow spot, abandoning subtleties.

"Not a good place for a walk," said the man who emerged from those shadows, a burly fellow with all the bulky muscle of a dock laborer readily evident under his thin jacket. He spoke with the thickest of South African accents, words clipped and difficult - although Beth had no difficulty following his meaning, no difficulty at all.

"I was getting cold, till I saw you."

"Go away," she said shortly. "I'm busy."

"American," he said, not sounding surprised so much as pleased. "I've never had an American."

"Yeah, yeah." She made a shooing motion. "Busy, I said. Go away."

"Americans are nice," he said, moving closer. He had a billed cap pulled down over lank hair, enough stubble to count up a week or so, and the definite odor of old beer. "But so ignorant of other places, other cultures. They make stupid mistakes all the time."

Annoyed, Beth said, "Possibly I'm stupid, but I'm not nice." A glance at her watch inspired an inward curse at the oaf's timing. She walked away, brisker now, wanting to put distance between them before things escalated into an exchange that might distract her.

He made no attempt at stealth; two long strides and he was upon her, his hand - the one she'd been waiting for - landing heavily on her shoulder and clenching the fabric of her parka. He spun her back around, but the anticipation on his face turned to surprise as she offered no resistance, moving easily under his hand - adding her own spin to his pull so she came around quicker than he'd ever considered. She saw that, too, on his face - just before she gave the baton an expert flick to extend it, whipping it across the big muscle of his thigh.


Excerpted from Femme Fatale by Doranna Durgin Copyright © 2003 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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