Viper's Kiss
Viper’s Kiss
By Shannon Curtis
Librarian Maggie Kincaid yearns for excitement—but being accused of espionage is not what she had in mind. Wanted by the police, the FBI and the criminal element, Maggie goes on the run—and runs straight into sexy Luke Fletcher. Unfortunately, when Luke pulls out the handcuffs, it’s not because he has something kinky in mind…
Security expert Luke is intent on seeing the murderous spy known only as Viper brought to justice. The un-spy-like behavior of his fugitive makes him suspect he’s apprehended the wrong woman. Just as they give in to lust, new evidence convinces Luke that Maggie’s not as innocent as she claims to be.
Devastated by Luke’s inability to trust her, Maggie runs again. She’s determined to clear her name, and if that means tracking down a notorious spy even Interpol can’t seem to locate, then that’s exactly what she’ll do…
53,000 words
Dear Reader,
I feel as though it was just last week I was attending 2010 conferences and telling authors and readers who were wondering what was next for Carina Press, “we’ve only been publishing books for four months, give us time” and now, here it is, a year later. Carina Press has been bringing you quality romance, mystery, science fiction, fantasy and more for over twelve months. This just boggles my mind.
But though we’re celebrating our one-year anniversary (with champagne and chocolate, of course) we’re not slowing down. Every week brings something new for us, and we continue to look for ways to grow, expand and improve. This summer, we’ll continue to bring you new genres, new authors and new niches—and we plan to publish the unexpected for years to come.
So whether you’re reading this in the middle of a summer heat wave, looking to escape from the hot summer nights and sultry afternoons, or whether you’re reading this in the dead of winter, searching for a respite from the cold, months after I’ve written it, you can be assured that our promise to take you on new adventures, bring you great stories and discover new talent remains the same.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected] You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
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In Memoriam—Robin Joy Curtis.
Mum, you always had faith.
They say it takes a village to raise a child, and that’s certainly the case with this baby. I would like to thank Sergeant Sean Whitcomb, of Seattle Police Department, for his advice and information on all things policing in Seattle, Bob Mayer, for his generous information about the awe-inspiring Special Forces, Jessica Anderson—author extraodinaire—for her time, mentorship and patience, and for not thinking I’m a stalker. To The Coven (a.k.a. Inner Western Sydney Writers Group) for the critiques, cackles, coffee and Tim Tams—thank you. To the Romance Writers of Australia, for their networking, education and support—thank you. To Eugenia and Deborah, for the brainstorming (and the idea I just had to go with, in the end!)—thank you. To Margaret and Elizabeth, my heroines, for their help with everything related to the medical and librarian fields—thank you. To my editor, Denise—thanks for making it so much better!
Mostly, to my family: my patient, supportive husband, and my beautiful children, thank you for giving Mummy the time to type at the computer, and for believing that she
could
do it.
“Maggie? What the hell are you wearing?”
“It’s my disguise,” Maggie Kincaid answered, stuffing the rolled-up knitting she carried into her laptop bag and placing it on her desk. She was working on a scarf to match the knitted cap she had on. She removed her tattered gloves, along with the cap and the curly gray wig she wore beneath it, and patted the honey-blond hair she’d pulled back into a tight bun. Tossing the aviator sunglasses on the desk, she reached into her shirt pocket for her customary red-rimmed spectacles.
Oh, thank God
. Now she could see much better.
Susan Delaney laughed as Maggie doffed a garish overcoat to reveal the white shirt and tie and pleated, gray, no-nonsense skirt underneath. “That coat is hideous. Why are you wearing that get-up?”
Maggie turned her head and nodded to the crowd of male students clustered outside the front doors of the University of Washington’s undergraduate library. “I had to get past the fans. I borrowed from the costume department over at the School of Performing Arts.” She kept her voice low. “I didn’t want them to notice me coming in.”
Susan handed her a steaming mug of coffee. “Clever.”
“Thanks.” She wrapped her hands around the mug. The weather outside was brisk, the walk from her apartment long, and she relished the opportunity to return circulation to her near frozen fingers.
Susan leaned a hip against Maggie’s desk. “So, what did your mother say about Miss April Hotrod?”
Maggie rolled her eyes as she set up her laptop. “It took me nearly two hours to convince her it wasn’t me in the picture.” She opened the top desk drawer and pulled out the calendar she’d tossed there. The nude woman in the picture, sprawled suggestively over the hood of a car stared up at her. Maggie still wasn’t used to that almost familiar face gazing back at her with lowered eyelids and a seductive pout.
She tossed the calendar into the trashcan underneath her desk. “She’s everywhere, damn it.”
“Um, have you seen the website yet? With our resident librarian centerfold?”
“There’s a website?” The words came out as a whisper and Maggie closed her eyes to try to stop the heat that flooded her cheeks. She’d aced her exams and had attended the University of Washington on a full scholarship. She’d taken pride in her academic achievements. Over the years she’d built a good, solid reputation at the university. Now she was popular for the size of her boobs and a likeness to a nude centerfold. It was frustrating. And possibly career-ending.
“It’s amazing how much the woman looks like you.”
Maggie turned her laptop on. “Ms. Kandy Karamel is making my life hell.” She swiveled in her chair and reached for her mug while she waited for her laptop to boot up. “I’ve got to wear disguises to avoid oversexed students wanting autographs at the front door. The Library Director talks to my chest, and my mother nearly had a heart attack when the delivery boy asked if I was home to sign his calendar.” She looked down at the trash can on the floor next to her desk. “Did you ever have that nightmare where you turned up to work naked? Well, welcome to my life.”
“Hey, look at the bright side. Think of all the dates you could score. Miss April could be your claim to fame.”
“But I don’t want to claim her fame,” protested Maggie. “Besides, how many men wanting to date Miss April would accept the ninety day rule?”
Susan shook her head. “I can’t believe you use that probation thing for dating.”
“Hey, when I started working here, I had a six-month probation period. I’m letting them off easy. Besides, if I’m looking for a partner, shouldn’t I make sure he’s the right man for the job? Before, you know…” Maggie’s hand fluttered as her voice trailed off.
“Sex, Maggie. It’s called sex.”
Maggie grimaced. “I think I’d need an instruction manual.”
Susan’s lips twitched. “You’re the librarian. You know where to find it.” She flicked her blond hair over her shoulder. “I’d love to be mistaken for a nude model.”
“Speaking of mistaken identities, did you know that seventy-five percent of all DNA exonerations are due to mistaken eyewitness identification?” Maggie murmured absently as she opened a web browser on her laptop.
Susan stared at her for a minute. “You seriously need to get out more, Mags.”
Maggie ducked her head. “I will,” she said softly.
One day
.
Susan sobered. “Hey, I’m sorry, Mags—”
Maggie held up a hand. “Don’t worry, Susan. I’m fine. Really.” Sure, she was fine. She enjoyed her work as the Information Services Librarian. She researched the latest reference tools and technology and investigated whether there was a use for them at the university’s libraries. It was a job she could do from home, as well as at her desk at the library, which was important. So what if her social life had gone the way of the dodo. And so what if sometimes her work seemed a tad monotonous. She thought of the graphic novel hidden under her pillow on her fold-out sofa bed at home and sighed. Even Wonder Woman’s alter ego, Diana Prince, led a semi-exciting life. Right now, Maggie had more important things to worry about than getting a second date.
“Margaret Kincaid?”
Maggie looked up. Only her mother called her Margaret, and only when she was in trouble.
Like yesterday, when she saw that picture
.
Two men stood on the other side of the reference desk.
Students don’t wear suits.
She cocked an eyebrow. The suits were cheap, but they were still suits.
One of them approached the desk flap and raised it. Maggie frowned. Only staff were allowed past the desk. She rose at his approach. Brown hair, brown suit, brown tie. Tall, slim and inconspicuous. The man in the blue suit was a little more remarkable, with dark hair, brown eyes and features that looked as though they were mashed into place by a preschooler playing with molding clay. These guys were older than students, but she’d already had a number of indecent proposals from every possible demographic.
If they want an autograph from Miss April Hotrod, they can go kiss an exhaust pipe.
Her lips tightened.
“Are you Margaret Kincaid?”
She nodded. “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone polite.
He flashed his badge at her, as did his partner. “I’m Detective Bane, and this is Detective Mallory. We have a warrant for your arrest.” He grasped her elbow.
Maggie gasped. “What? Why? I don’t under—ow!”
Detective Bane twisted her arms behind her back. “Margaret Elizabeth Kincaid, we’re arresting you for economic espionage and murder.”
“Espionage? Murder?” She inhaled sharply as she felt the cold kiss of handcuffs against her wrists. Detective Mallory packed up her laptop and hoisted her bag over his shoulder.
“Wait, please, what’s going on?”
Oh, God. Mom. She’ll keel over in a faint when she hears about this
.
He read Maggie her rights, and she twisted around to look over her shoulder at the man arresting her. “Please, tell me, what is going on?”
The detective met her gaze, his expression bored. “Someone broke into Tek-Intel,” he informed her. “A guard was killed.”
Maggie’s mouth dropped open. “What? No—I didn’t do it!” What was happening? She hadn’t killed anyone. Tek-Intel? Her brain stuttered. She was adding two and two, and getting marshmallow. She only dealt with Tek-Intel through an online system now. She hadn’t been there since the university had set up the research program with them.
Detective Bane marched her past the desk and across the floor of the library. Students and staff stopped to watch in surprise. Maggie’s gaze dropped to the dark tiles. Hot humiliation swamped her, and she couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of their stares. If only she could disappear.
Oh, God. This isn’t happening
. First the calendar, now an arrest.
Mom
. She whipped her head around and met Susan’s confused stare.
“Mom! She’s expecting me—” she called out.
Susan nodded, an understanding look replacing her surprised expression. “Don’t worry, Maggie. I’ll look after her.”
Maggie winced, the cuffs cutting into her wrists as her escort tugged her forward. The police detectives pushed open the front doors and shouldered their way through the crowd. She forced back tears. Everyone could see her, see her handcuffs. She hadn’t done anything wrong, she reminded herself. So why did she feel like she had? Her stomach muscles clenched as bile rose in her throat.
What the hell is happening?
“Maggie Kincaid?” A deep baritone broke through her tumultuous thoughts. She looked up, stumbling, to see a tall, handsome blond man. He touched her elbow, supporting her as she regained her footing. His cobalt blue eyes fixed on her, laser-like, as though burning away her protective layers, yet his touch was stabilizing, comforting.
“Who—” she began, before she was pushed forward by Detective Mallory to again fall in behind Detective Bane. They halted her at a sedan parked at the curb, and bundled her into the backseat, securing her seatbelt. Maggie stared through the back window.
The tall man who had stopped her fall took a few steps toward the curb, watching closely as the car drove away.
Maggie shivered as she twisted back in her seat to face the front. She was in handcuffs, in a cop car.
How can I fix this?
Luke Fletcher watched the unmarked police car drive away. So the notorious Viper had been arrested. His mission was simple. Capture Margaret Kincaid and recover the missing prototype.
Well, the cops had taken care of the first half of his assignment. He still needed to retrieve the stolen research, though. His brow wrinkled. He’d read the file. Viper had the reputation for being an efficient spy and ruthless killer. He was surprised to see her apprehended so easily.
Luke pulled out his cell phone and dialed his boss.
Reese McCormack, the head of McCormack Security Agency, answered on the first ring. “Fletch. Any news?”
“The police just arrested Margaret Kincaid.”
“What about the research? The prototype?”
“I don’t think so. They had a laptop bag, but that was it. Any further news on what the prototype actually is?”
“Tek-Intel finally gave us some information. It’s some sort of suit.”
“A suit? No, there was nothing like that with them.” Luke frowned. A murdered security guard and the mobilization of local law enforcement, as well as the FBI and Homeland Security, suggested this wasn’t your average suit that he was looking for.
Reese sighed roughly. “Damn. It could still be out there. From what our client tells me, this suit has the potential to start World War III. We’ve got to get it before somebody else does.” He paused. “Okay, if Kincaid has been contained, let’s track down the stolen prototype.”
“Will do.” Luke disconnected the call, staring at his cell phone. Tek-Intel had hired McCormack Security Agency to recover the prototype and capture the spy who had stolen it. MSA always got the job done. They didn’t advertise. They didn’t need to. They had a stellar reputation for private, corporate and government security. All of the operatives were ex-Special Forces. They conducted the investigations and handed over all arrests and subsequent publicity to the local law enforcement.
He typed a code into the keypad, and a satellite map appeared on the screen. A pulsing red dot moved down Montlake Boulevard, and his lips tightened with determination. The tracking device he’d managed to plant on Margaret Kincaid’s sleeve was active.
She may have been arrested, but while the research she’d stolen was still unaccounted for, the risk she posed was far from neutralized. This woman put her own greed above the lives of every American citizen. The missing research posed a threat to everyone.
Unless he stopped her—and he would.
Maggie’s hands clenched behind her as she watched the passing scenery. She’d had a chance to calm herself. Why did they think she’d stolen from Tek-Intel? And what was stolen? If the charge was espionage, it sounded like the research partnership program with Tek-Intel, the Department of Defense and the University of Washington was compromised.
Did this have something to do with the break in at her hotel room in Dublin last month? Only her passport had been stolen, and she’d checked her computer at the time to verify it was still secure and that nothing had been downloaded. She sighed. She was confident she could convince the police of the mistake they were making once she had a chance to talk to them. She blinked.
Me. Super villain. We’ll all laugh about this over coffee
.
The car pulled up at a set of lights and she glanced at the surrounding Seattle traffic. It was close to ten o’clock in the morning and people were going about their normal business. Only she appeared to have stepped into her own little twilight zone. Squealing tires interrupted her reverie, and she glanced past the detectives in the front seat. A white van hit their car with a deafening crunch of metal. The white explosion of deploying airbags obscured her view as her body catapulted forward. Her head hit the back of the seat in front of her just as her seatbelt jerked her back. She cried out in pain. Her vision splintered as she peered through broken spectacles. Her chest burned, and a booming ache exploded in her forehead.
Another hit, the car lurched sideways, and she was thrown along the backseat before the seatbelt dug into her collarbone. Her temple smacked against the side window. The frames of her glasses broke and fell into her lap. White specks danced across her eyes, and she blinked furiously as they dulled into an encroaching black cloud. She breathed deeply to prevent being sucked into unconsciousness. The detectives yelled, then she felt the car jolt as engines revved and smoke billowed. The smell of burning tires assaulted her.
Oh, my God! What’s happening?
The car backed up and Maggie planted her feet against the front passenger seat in an effort to brace herself. With her wrists cuffed behind her, it was difficult. The car jumped the curb, and the clasp of her seatbelt gave way. Terror coursed through her as she stared through the now-shattered windshield at the van’s masked driver.