Her Hidden Truth (Specialists Series) [NOOK Book]

Overview

The mission was always top priority for a Specialist--except this assignment was personal for agent Vince Ferrelli. Though anyone would be hard-pressed to find a tougher operative, Vince had one vulnerability...Katrina Moore.

"Kat" had been fitted with a new memory implant to protect her identity while undercover. But the device had malfunctioned and put her in serious jeopardy. Only Vince could extract her from the demented organization...if ...

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Her Hidden Truth (Specialists Series)

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Overview

The mission was always top priority for a Specialist--except this assignment was personal for agent Vince Ferrelli. Though anyone would be hard-pressed to find a tougher operative, Vince had one vulnerability...Katrina Moore.

"Kat" had been fitted with a new memory implant to protect her identity while undercover. But the device had malfunctioned and put her in serious jeopardy. Only Vince could extract her from the demented organization...if she remembered the love she'd shared with Vince--and not the truth.

But pretending that they were a passionate couple would be torture for Vince. Because he still loved Kat. And he sure hoped she wouldn't kill him when this case was closed!

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781426871702
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 7/26/2010
  • Series: Specialists Series , #697
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 256
  • Sales rank: 228,089
  • File size: 518 KB

Read an Excerpt

Her Hidden Truth


By Debra Webb

Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.

Copyright © 2003 Debra Webb
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0373226977


Chapter One

Vincent Ferrelli rarely went looking for trouble, but somehow it always found him. Maybe it was the Harley he rode or maybe it was just the handsome face God had blessed or, depending upon the way one looked at it, cursed him with. Whatever the case, Vince never backed down from a challenge, personal or professional.

Never.

Those damned flyboys from Langley Air Force Base didn't know who they were messing with. Not one of the three - or all three together, for that matter - stood a chance in hell against an Italian boy born and street schooled in Trenton, New Jersey.

Oh, well, Vince mused, it was their funeral.

"Maybe you'd like to step outside and put your money where your mouth is," the tallest of the three, and the one who appeared to be the leader, suggested.

There was no way to know the guy's rank since he was dressed in civvies. But judging by his age, twenty-two or twenty-three, and the "wings" he'd boasted about, a first lieutenant maybe. Had probably just gotten those wings and thought he could rule the world. The other two were most likely from the same class. Fresh out of fighter-pilot training and ready to play the Air Force version of Top Gun.

But not tonight.

"It'd be my pleasure," Vince said, barely restraining a grin as adrenaline raced through his veins. This would be a piece of cake. Casey would have his ass come morning, but tonight Vince was going to show these guys that you didn't need wings or a buzz cut to be bad.

On more than one occasion Vince had been told that he was bad ... bad to the bone. And why not? He'd earned it. A former U.S. Navy SEAL and now a Specialist in the most highly covert government agency.

Hell, yeah, he was bad.

And in the mood to blow off a little steam.

Vince followed the three outside the Lady Liberty Lounge. A blast of rock music tagged along but was quickly muffled by the door closing behind them. The still, sticky air hung in the July night like a shimmering ghost.

There were two things a guy could count on after dark during a D.C. summer, thickening humidity and restlessness. This part of the city literally vibrated at night - came to life in a way that was both alluring and dangerous. His own boredom had drawn Vince out to this sleazebag joint tonight. The need to do anything but watch another episode of some sitcom. The primal urge to discover the secrets the night held.

He should have stayed home.

If he had stayed home he wouldn't be about to trade punches with these lightweights. There was nothing Vince hated more than waiting for his next mission. This time was going to prove no exception. And this time the trouble he usually attempted to avoid had found him.

The dim streetlights barely cut through the darkness, lending just enough illumination to get a readout on the facial expressions and body language of his opponents. The parking lot was jam-packed with the cars of patrons, but completely empty of people. They were all inside, gyrating to classic rock music, staking claims and pumping up the sexual tension. There would be no one to witness the lesson he was about to teach these still-wet-behind-the-ears gentlemen.

That was probably a good thing.

The biggest and beefiest of the three stepped forward. The way his nose crooked to the left, it was pretty clear that he was no stranger to barroom brawls.

"I tell you what, old man," he said smugly, "just to even up the odds, why don't you and I go one-on-one and the winner can take it from there."

Okay, so he'd seen thirty his last birthday. That didn't make him old by any stretch of the imagination. Vince shrugged in response, not even bothering to justify the ridiculous comment. Instead he took a moment to survey the spiffy, well-polished group. He'd bet a big, sweet slice of his mom's cherry pie that every part of their wardrobe, down to the skivvies, sported designer labels purchased straight from the Post Exchange. These guys were green in every sense of the word.

When Vince had looked his fill, he said, "Makes no difference to me, boys."

Fury claimed the beefy guy's expression. "I'm gonna enjoy wiping that grin off your face," he threatened.

"Take your best shot," Vince offered as he motioned with both hands for the guy to come and get him. Might as well get this over with so he could get back to the beer he'd left at the bar, along with the sexy blonde who'd deserted these flyboys in favor of Vince, which was the whole reason this little war had started. Just another reason Vince should have stayed home tonight. He'd been dwelling on the past again ... a sure sign he wasn't thinking straight.

Before the muscled gorilla could make his first move a car skidded to a stop right behind Vince. Careful to keep most of his attention on the threesome ready to take off his head, Vince glanced over his shoulder. The sight of a long, black limousine confused him at first, then a window powered down.

His boss. Director Thomas Casey.

Great. Just great.

"Get in the car," Casey ordered. He did not look happy.

"We have unfinished business with him," the beefy guy bellowed, impatient, belligerent. "He's not going no place until we're through."

The three started to close in on Vince. He was just about to tell Casey he'd only be a minute when the sound of Lucas Camp's voice stopped him.

"Back off," Lucas commanded. "I'd hate to have to use this."

Fully expecting to find Lucas wielding a weapon, Vince looked across the top of the automobile at his direct supervisor, the Deputy Director of Mission Recovery. To his surprise Lucas held a mere cellular phone in his right hand.

"I'm sure General Fielding would be less than pleased to be awakened at this time of night for such a petty nuisance. And since he's a personal friend of mine, I'm even more certain he'd be happy to see that you gentlemen were immediately transferred to Minot."

Silence ruled the night for about five seconds.

"We're all through here, sir," the tallest man said quickly, obviously not willing to risk being shipped to the middle of nowhere in North Dakota. He pushed in front of his brawny friend and shook his head at the guy. "We have an early call to formation in the morning."

Vince blew out an exasperated breath as the three men headed back into the bar without so much as a fleeting glance in his direction. "Two minutes tops," he griped to Lucas. "That's all I needed. You couldn't wait two minutes."

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Her Hidden Truth by Debra Webb Copyright © 2003 by Debra Webb
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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