Shadow Soldier

Not like other people. He no longer had a Social Security number, no service record, no contacts beyond his immediate supervisor and occasional teammates. He didn't even have a pair of damn dog tags. Nothing that could identify him.

Alex was part of a shadow created by the U.S. government to deal with problems that could not be handled in open daylight. And when the shadow fell on the people who created those problems, they disappeared.

That was what he was trained for, what he was good at. Not trying to act normal, playing house with a senator's daughter. All he had to do was keep Nicola Barrington from getting too far under his skin in the next couple of days. Shouldn't take more than that for the rest of his team to pick up the shooter. Damn. He wasn't used to playing bodyguard. He was more of a seek-and-destroy man.

But guard her he would—at
any
cost.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

To mark a month of fall festivals, screeching goblins and hot apple cider, Harlequin Intrigue has a provocative October lineup guaranteed to spice things up!

Debra Webb launches her brand-new spin-off series, COLBY AGENCY: INTERNAL AFFAIRS, with
Situation: Out of Control.
This first installment sets the stage for the most crucial mission of all…smoking out a mole in their midst. The adrenaline keeps flowing in
Rules of Engagement
by acclaimed author Gayle Wilson, who continues her PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD series with a gripping murder mystery that hurls an unlikely couple into a vortex of danger.

Also this month, a strictly business arrangement turns into a lethal attraction, in
Cowboy Accomplice
by B.J. Daniels—book #2 in her Western series, M
C
CALLS' MONTANA. And just in time for Halloween, October's haunting ECLIPSE selection,
The Legacy of Croft Castle
by Jean Barrett, promises to put you in that spooky frame of mind.

There are more thrills to come when Kara Lennox unveils the next story in her CODE OF THE COBRA series, with
Bounty Hunter Redemption,
which pits an alpha male lawman against a sexy parole officer when mayhem strikes. And, finally this month, watch for the action-packed political thriller
Shadow Soldier
by talented newcomer Dana Marton. This debut book spotlights an antiterrorist operative who embarks on a high-stakes mission to dismantle a diabolical ticking time bomb.

Enjoy!

Denise O'Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Nicola Barrington
—For years, Nicola has managed to stay out of the limelight that surrounded her high-profile father. But when terrorists attempt to kill her, she's pulled back into the world of political intrigue by the only man who can save her.

Alejandro (Alex) Jesús Rodriguez
—Member of a top secret military group (Special Designation Defense Unit) established to fight terrorism. He does whatever it takes to protect his country, even breaking the rules when he has to. Except one—he never gets personally involved.

Senator Edward Barrington
—Nicola's father, ex-U.S. Ambassador to China. He has many enemies, political and personal, and more than his fair share of secrets to hide.

General Meng
—Once a top military man, he disappeared from a Chinese prison five years ago. Has he been killed, or is he hunting those he thinks betrayed him?

Du Shaozu
—Nicola's latest client makes it clear he's interested in more than Nicola's consulting skills, but is romance what he really wants?

Spike
—Alex's teammate. He came to the SDDU from the FBI's language program. One of the few men whom Alex trusts without reservation.

Colonel Wilson
—Alex's boss. He's the leader of the SDDU, reporting straight to the Homeland Security Secretary.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

She moved like a symphony.

Her arms extended with elbows slightly bent and palms facing forward, she began by working each major muscle group, then guided her body through her regular poses, ending with her face upturned toward the rising sun.

Watching her practice Tai Chi every dawn turned bearable the job that made Alejandro Jesús Rodriguez want to jump out of his slowly recovering skin at least a dozen times a day. He focused on the balcony, on her upthrust breasts, as she glided into her next routine.

Unfortunately, as much as her curves eased his irritation at the assignment, they also brought their own set of frustrations. After two months of covert surveillance, every tantalizing detail of Nicola Barrington's body was etched into his mind to torment him whether or not he was looking. Her standard
summer wear around the house—tank tops and ungodly short shorts—didn't help.

Alex swallowed as Nicola bent until her fingertips swept the floor, her mass of dark curls falling around her face, her incredible behind thrust toward the sky. He'd been put on around-the-clock duty a few hours after he'd gotten off the plane from Yemen. Having to watch Miss Barrington's mouthwatering figure 24/7 made his eyes pop several times a day—his eyes and a certain other body part.

He forced his gaze from the second-story balcony that extended from her bedroom and scanned the rest of the quarter-acre property along with as much of the street as he could see from his vantage point. No suspicious activity.

He had always hated this part of the job—the waiting. Eight weeks of sedate domestic duty was enough to drive him stir crazy even if it was supposed to be good for his recovery. He wanted action. Not that he wished any harm to the woman. He just wished the bad guys would make their move, already, so he could do his job. Or better yet, he wished Colonel Wilson would give the word that the transfer he had requested a few days ago had been approved, pull him off this detail and let him go back into the fray.

Of course, the Colonel might have invented the whole assignment to keep him out of trouble for a while. Alex wouldn't put it past the man. He wiped
the sweat from his forehead. If he ever found out that was the case, he would strangle the overprotective SOB and consider it well worth the court-martial.

He rolled his neck to loosen the stiffening muscles and felt sweat run down his back as he sat on the floor cross-legged and watched. Nicola closed her eyes and pursed her generous lips as if she were humming to herself. Her movements flowed like an intricate dance.
Caliente abrasador.
Scorching hot. Both the weather and the woman. If he had to watch her much longer he might evaporate.

She took showers without pulling the shades.

Alex closed his eyes and swallowed a groan. She probably didn't know anyone could see in her second-story bathroom window. She had no idea an SDDU soldier had made her neighbor's kid's treehouse his nighttime surveillance headquarters. Neither did her neighbors. Aside from a select few, nobody in the world knew the SDDU existed. The Special Designation Defense Unit was America's latest secret weapon in the fight against terrorism.

He wanted to be in the fight, not in a damn treehouse in a suburb of Philadelphia.

Carefully manicured gardens, mature shade trees and well-kept houses with swimming pools were the features of Devon, a town on the fashionable Main Line. He had seen places like this on TV as a kid—never figured he would see one up close. He
wouldn't have believed anyone back then who'd told him it would be under these circumstances.

His gaze followed Nicola as she finished her Tai Chi and moved inside her two-story Federal-style home to start the business part of her day. She spent most of her time either working on her computer or meeting clients, growing her consulting company, Barrington International Trade Services, Ltd. The most action he'd seen in the past two months had been following Nicola from office to office as she conducted her appointments. She wasn't going anywhere today, though, nothing but phone calls on her schedule. He made sure to check her calendar every night when he sneaked in to secure the premises.

The house needed all the help he could give it. He liked the quaint brick exterior, but not the quaint security. Lack of security was more like it—one could hardly count the single dead bolt on the front door. The sliding glass doors to the small flagstone patio were as good as an invitation, same as the internal door connecting the garage with the laundry room, armed with only a twist knob. The windows were even more hopeless, originals from about fifty years ago when he estimated the house must have been built.

Alex wiped his forehead again as a brown van drove by for the second time. Not from the neighborhood. He knew every car within a three-block ra
dius and to what driveway it belonged. Even with his binoculars, he could only make out shapes through the tinted windows—two people, a driver and a passenger.

Probably nothing to worry about. Could be house hunters, checking out the property for sale at the end of the street. He pulled out his cell phone, punched in the license plate number and saved it. When he reported in at noon, he would ask the Colonel to have his secretary run it. Just in case.

The garage door opened. Nicola. Alex watched as she backed out of the driveway, then he swung out of the tree and made a dash for his SUV parked one street down. He settled into a comfortable two-car distance behind her by the time she reached Route 30, the local thoroughfare. The woman drove like a ninety-year-old. I Brake for Finches proclaimed the bumper sticker on her late model Bonneville and that about summed it up.

He turned on the air conditioner full blast. Eastern Pennsylvania in July was murder. A hundred degrees at least today and no breeze in that treehouse. Not that he wasn't used to heat, he'd spent more than enough time in the desert, but the humidity got to him. If the air became any thicker he could give up breathing and start to chew and swallow.

She turned left into the first shopping plaza, crowded with designer-dressed yuppies stopping off
for their caffe lattes on their way to work. He backed into the far corner of the parking lot for a clear view of both the cars and the building and left the motor running. He didn't have to follow her, knew exactly where she'd be going—to the Devon Farmers' Market. Hell, he could probably predict with ninety-nine percent accuracy what she'd be buying. All of it organic.

It wasn't right—watching a woman grocery shop.

One of the most highly skilled soldiers in the country, and this was what they used him for. His jaw clenched from frustration. Already anticipating the excuses, he unclipped his cell phone from his belt to check on the transfer. He couldn't imagine anything happening on this assignment. Ever. Nicola Barrington didn't live that kind of a life. He wanted off the job.

He caught sight of the brown van from the corner of his eye as he punched the last number. Nicola was almost at the market door. He slammed his foot on the gas. The van's window rolled down in slow motion. The glint of metal caught his eyes.
Madre de Dios,
they were going to mow her down where she stood.

Two things flashed through his mind simultaneously: she was going to die, and it was his fault. He should have seen them coming from a mile away. Would have, if he hadn't gotten so damn complacent,
having a pity party in the car instead of paying attention. What the hell was wrong with him? Tires squealing, he pulled to a stop between her and the first spray of bullets, and threw open the passenger-side door.

She crouched on the pavement, her head pulled down, her arms protecting her face—probably in too much shock to do anything else. Did she even notice him?

“Get in!” he yelled as the store windows exploded behind her.

 

P
ROPELLED BY ADRENALINE
and a healthy survival instinct, Nicola leaped forward in the gunshot-peppered air and dove into the waiting SUV. The driver reached over and slammed the door shut behind her as the car surged ahead. Head down in the plane-crash-emergency position, she didn't look up until they were out of the parking lot, racing down the back streets.

“Thank you,” she said finally when she found her voice and could stop shaking enough to sit up and look at the driver. The familiar face eased her panic somewhat. She'd seen him at the gym. For the past two months, they'd been on the same workout schedule. She wondered if he'd even noticed her. She'd noticed him of course. Every woman in the place had. Even the grandmothers.

“You have to turn right at the next light for the police station.” She was far from calm, but functioning.

He ignored her and drove straight through the intersection. Probably couldn't slow down in time to make the turn.

“That's fine. Just take the next right and we can loop back.”

He turned left. On red.

Unease pooled on the bottom of her stomach. A flock of confused thoughts circled in her head, too fast for her to grab and articulate any. “Who are you?”

“Put on your seat belt. Did you get a chance to look at them?”

“Not really.” She'd been thinking about her grocery list when she'd heard the first bullets and got down. She hadn't had time to look around. The only things she could remember were the silhouettes in the van's window. “I think they wore masks.”

“Keep your head down.” His deep voice was hard, his face tight with concentration, as in a fluid motion he reached over her with his well-muscled arm and pulled a gun from the glove compartment into his lap.

She congratulated herself for not peeing her pants on the spot, then ducked as she'd been told and peeked around from her awkward position. The car
was suspiciously free of holes. Bulletproof? She'd been in enough of them, during another life as the sheltered daughter of a U.S. ambassador, but why did the guy from the gym have a bulletproof car? And who was shooting at him?

Who was shooting at
her?
He had only darted into the picture to supposedly save her—or was he doing something far more sinister? Her father was a senator now. She considered for a moment whether the man's appearance out of nowhere had been a coincidence or part of a well-orchestrated plot.

“Am I being kidnapped?” She straightened again, determined not to follow any more of his instructions until she assured herself they were for her benefit.

He glanced at her, surprise flashing across his hard-set face, and swore. “No. Damn it, Nicola, keep your head down.”

He knew her name.

She swallowed and sat on her shaking hands. No need to let him see how scared she was. He'd probably been stalking her at the gym. God, how stupid could she be? She had liked him, had even entertained some thoughts of walking up to him someday and maybe getting to know him better.

She glanced at the gun. Sinister-looking firearms had definitely not been part of her plan.

As a kid, during her father's ambassadorship in China, they'd lived under constant guard, and she
had often daydreamed about what she would do if something like this happened. She had imagined rebels breaking through the embassy gates. Since she was the smallest person in the compound, only she could escape, crawling through vent holes to the roof. She would go for help and save the hostages inside. Then her father would have come to her in tears of happiness and gratitude to tell her how proud she made him.

So much for the childish fantasy. Her limbs numb with fear, it took all her willpower not to whimper.

The car swerved, and she hung on for dear life. She was only twenty-five. Too young to die.
Then do something about it,
her mother's voice said in her head. Her mother had been the strong one in the family. Strong enough even to stand up to her father. But she hadn't inherited much of her mother's character. Maybe if they had spent more time together, some of it would have rubbed off. But there hadn't been time. Breast cancer had ripped her mother out of her young life with ruthless efficiency.

What would her mother say if she could see her now?
Don't let him intimidate you,
the little voice spoke again, and it certainly sounded like her mother. Nobody had intimidated Lillian Barrington. Nicola looked at her kidnapper. “Who are you?”

“I'm here to protect you.”

“Right. What's your name?”

“Alex,” he said it in a way that discouraged further inquiry.

She took in his wide shoulders and well-built body, the scars on the back of his hand, the gun. “Where are we going?” she pushed.

He grabbed his cell phone, flipped it open and dialed. “We had an incident at the Devon Farmers' Market. Shooting. She's fine. Brown van, 1990 Ford Econoliner. New York plates.” He glanced at his phone and punched a button then read off a plate number from the screen.

When did he have the time to get that?

“Still in pursuit, going north on Route 202. Got anything open?” He paused. “Will do.”

“Who was that?” she asked as he hung up the phone.

“My boss.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a safe house, once we lose the tail.” He swerved to the left.

It sounded utterly ridiculous. He looked the opposite of safe. She considered opening the door and hurling herself onto the pavement.

The passenger side mirror blew out, and she slid further down in the seat.

“The main body is bulletproof but the rest isn't.” He swerved again. “I'm going to have to pick up
some speed to get rid of them. Don't want to give them a chance to shoot out the tires.”

He took a sharp turn and she slammed against the door, the seat belt cutting into her stomach.

He barely spared her a glance. “Nothing to worry about. I work for the United States government. I'm here to ensure your safety.”

For a second, confusion so overwhelmed her she couldn't process his words. Then in an awful moment of comprehension it all began to make sense. She would have preferred a kidnapper. “Does my father know about this?”