Mission: Impassioned Find the traitor … lose your heart
Mission: Marriage
Three exciting, dangerous and passionate novels
from Karen Whiddon, Lyn Stone and
Kathleen Creighton
Mission: Marriage
Bulletproof Marriage
Karen Whiddon
Kiss or Kill
Lyn Stone
Lazlo’s Last Stand
Kathleen Creighton
MILLS & BOON
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Bulletproof Marriage
Karen Whiddon
Dear Reader,
After writing The Princess’s Secret Scandal for the CAPTURING THE CROWN series, I knew there were stories yet untold. Most of the other authors felt the same way, so we got together and proposed another series, MISSION: IMPASSIONED.
Bulletproof Marriage is my contribution. Marriage is complicated and wonderful, dangerous and safe, passionate and serene. Because my own marriage is so awesome, I know that love truly can carry on despite bad times and troubles. When Sean McGregor told me his story and how much he loved his wife, I knew I’d found my story. I sympathised with both Sean and Natalie, and longed to help them find each other again.
I hope you enjoy sharing danger and love with these two superspies! I sure did.
Sincerely,
Karen Whiddon
About the Author
KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amid the Catskill Mountains of New York, then the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, she fuelled her imagination with the natural beauty of the rugged peaks and spun stories of love that captivated her family’s attention.
Karen now lives in north Texas, where she shares her life with her very own hero of a husband and three doting dogs. Also an entrepreneur, she divides her time between the business she started and writing the contemporary romantic suspense and paranormal romances that readers enjoy. You can e-mail Karen at [email protected] or write to her at PO Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX 76182. Fans of her writing can also check out her website at www.KarenWhiddon.com.
For Daisy, Mitchell and Mac, my four-legged
writing companions and fur-faced children.
Chapter 1
If reinforcements didn’t show up soon, Natalie Major thought grimly, she might as well paint a target on her chest and leap into the open. The unknown assassin—or assassins—were that close. The decaying concrete warehouse she’d holed up in only had two ways out—and one of them had been blown to rubble.
She needed help. Corbett Lazlo, her father’s oldest friend and owner of one of the top private investigative agencies in the world, had promised to send someone. She’d asked for the best.
Now she wished she’d asked for the most prompt.
Gallows humor. She’d never been particularly good at it before, though she’d grown more proficient.
Her husband wouldn’t even recognize her now if he were still alive. Once, he’d been Lazlo’s top agent. She’d married a Lazlo Group spook, just like her own father had been. Retired now, and in a wheelchair, her father lived in relative seclusion. Her beloved husband, Sean, hadn’t been so lucky. He’d been killed two years ago this week. Lazlo’s group seemed to be the ruin of everyone she loved, so in honor of her dead husband and disabled father, and in defiance of the Lazlo legacy she could easily have embraced, she’d worked her way to the top of SIS, the British Secret Intelligence Service. There was no job too difficult, no task too dangerous for Sean McGregor’s widow.
Until now.
She scouted the area. Trapped inside the abandoned warehouse, she was fast running out of options. The concrete walls made a good shield against bullets, but she needed to see her enemies. Right now, she could only hear them. And it was hard to fight when you had no idea who the enemy might be. Or where they were hiding.
Plus, cement was cold and hard and reminded her too damn much of a tomb.
The shooters fired off another round of shots. AK-47s. Random bullets ricocheted crazily and dangerously off the cement walls and floors. She couldn’t even dodge them, having no idea where they’d go.
She’d found the abandoned warehouse two days ago. A concrete bunker in a run-down area of Glasgow had seemed relatively safe. Not wanting to endanger others by staying at a B and B or hotel, she’d used the concrete warehouse as her base, returning to sleep and regroup while attempting to gather information on whoever had sold out her team. Since Millaflora—a low-down, no-good mole operating as a double agent inside the SIS—had already been caught, she had no idea who she was looking for.
Officially, she was on administrative leave, supposedly holed up, incognito in an unknown luxury hotel on the French Riviera. No one in her office knew she’d come to Glasgow, not even her supervisor.
And though she’d tried to take extraordinary precautions similar to those she used when deep undercover, her enemy had found her.
Whoever “they” were.
She supposed the whys and the hows didn’t matter. Not now. All that mattered was that if help didn’t arrive soon, she was dead.
Her ammo nearly gone, no backup, and no alternative plan—pretty shoddy situation for an undercover agent who’d recently been promoted to team leader.
