Wild Card (Elite Ops) Read online

  PRAISE FOR BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  LORA LEIGH AND

  KILLER SECRETS

  “Two different forms of obsession drive the protagonists in Leigh’s smoldering-hot new espionage tale. Scarred by events from their childhoods, the hero and heroine are driven by revenge and their incredible passion for each other. This chapter of Leigh’s SEAL saga reverberates with deadly danger.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Killer Secrets is an exciting, well-written story that captures all the complicated feelings between a man and woman who have made maintaining self-control a life mission. There are several super-hot scenes strategically placed among the climactic final chapters including passion, more passion, understanding, loyalty, and the culmination of a dangerous mission. It’s hot stuff.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  HIDDEN AGENDAS

  “Treachery and intrigue combine with blistering-hot sensuality in this chapter of Leigh’s SEAL saga. The title of this book is particularly apt, since many of the characters are not what they seem, and betrayal can have deadly consequences. Leigh’s books can scorch the ink off the page.”

  —Romantic Times

  “An evocative and captivating read.”

  —Romance Junkies

  DANGEROUS GAMES

  “A marvelous novel of suspense and raw passion.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Lora Leigh ignites the fire . . . with steamy heat added to a story that makes you cheer and even tear up.”

  —Fallen Angel Reviews

  “Leigh writes . . . tempting, enchanting romance[s] that readers are certain to devour.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES

  BY LORA LEIGH

  Killer Secrets

  Hidden Agendas

  Dangerous Games

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for your personal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in any way. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright Notice

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue I

  Prologue II

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  WILD CARD

  Copyright © 2008 by Lora Leigh.

  Cover photograph © Shirley Green

  All rights reserved.

  For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  ISBN: 0-312-94579-5

  EAN: 978-0-312-94579-4

  Printed in the United States of America

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / September 2008

  St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  eISBN 9781429960335

  I once knew a girl who claimed to be Irish. Whether the story she told me of Wild Irish Eyes is true or not (she wouldn’t admit either way ), it still in part inspired the idea for this book.

  So thanks to her and other Internet friends. Stories told, hours of laughter, What Ifs, and precious memories. The world is open to us now, as are stories true or imagined, and laughter with those across the seas, across the nation, or across the street is but a click away.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to Natalie, Jennifer, Melissa, Kelli—the best sis a writer could have—Roni, Janine and Annmarie, Chris and Jess. For the hours of reading, your comments, and your suggestions. I couldn’t do it without you.

  And special thanks to my editor Monique. Who doesn’t mind to snap the whip, or listen to the ideas.

  And to my family. Who put up with me when I’m on tight deadlines. My husband Tony who makes certain I eat, my son Bret who makes my coffee, and my daughter Holly who listens to me gripe when I get behind.

  I couldn’t do it without you.

  PROLOGUE I

  Nathan sat beside his grandfather, Rory Malone, on the crude front porch of the shack he lived in. Nathan was only ten, but he knew exactly why Grandpop didn’t live with him and his parents. Because Nathan’s father, Grant, was ashamed of him.

  “He’s too fucking Irish,” Grant would rage for hours after visiting with his father. “He uses that brogue like it’s something to be proud of.”

  And God forbid that Nathan should let a hint of that brogue free, though he practiced it as often as he could away from his father.

  Nathan’s father didn’t like being Irish. He didn’t like people knowing he was Irish. If he could ship Grandpop off somewhere, then Nathan sometimes thought that his father would do it. But Grant Malone couldn’t make Rory Malone do anything. The old man was as wise as the mountains and the cliffs around them, and just as stubborn.

  “Nathan, my boy, look at that sunset.” Rory pointed out the majestic colors that washed over the mountains. “Almost as pretty as Ireland, she is. Almost.” And Nathan heard a whisper of homesickness in his grandpop’s voice.

  “Why don’t you go back?” Nathan asked. “Dad says you have enough money to live anywhere.”

  He looked at his grandfather’s weathered face. The bright blue eyes, just like Nathan’s, brighter than Nathan’s father’s and without the hints of green his father’s had.

  Grandpop smiled. A strange, sad little smile.

  “Because my Erin is here.” He pointed to the small graveyard.

  There, Nathan’s grandma, Erin Malone, was buried. On one side of her were buried the two sons they lost in Vietnam, his uncles, Riordan and Rory Jr., and the daughter that had died of a fever, Nathan’s aunt Edan.

  “Grandma wouldn’t want you to leave?” Nathan frowned. His grandma was dead, what would she care?

  “Oh, now my Erin, she’d smile down on me no matter where I walked.” Grandpop smiled that little smile again. “But I’d be separated from her, and I’d feel that separation in my soul, you see?”

  Nathan shook his head.

  Grandpop sighed. “You have the Irish eyes, boy. One of these days, you’ll see from eyes, not your own, feel with a heart outside your chest. Wild Irish eyes, Nathan. When you love, love well and love true, and take care
, lad, because those Irish eyes are windows into not just your own soul, but the soul of the one you love.” Grandpop looked out at his Erin’s grave. “And when you lose that heart, you can’t leave the places where your memories are the best. And if I left her, I’d not be buried beside her.”

  Grandpop stared back at him then, and Nathan felt his chest grow tight at the thought of ever burying his grandpop in the hard, bleak soil.

  “Wild Irish eyes,” his grandpop murmured then. “My father gave me the same warning I give you now, boy. Don’t lose the one you love. You lose a part of your soul when you do. The legacy of those eyes will ensure it.”

  Nathan frowned. That didn’t make much sense, but maybe he’d ask his uncle Jordan about it later. Uncle Jordan still remembered his mother. He had been five when she died, just before Nathan’s birth. But Uncle Jordan was in Houston right now on summer break with Nathan’s older uncle Doran and his family.

  “So my eyes are bad?” Nathan finally asked.

  “Not bad.” His grandpop sighed. “Not bad at all, boy. You’ll see one of these days. One of these days, you’ll see. Wild Irish eyes see what they shouldn’t see, but even more.” His grandfather stared down at him sadly. “The one who holds your soul, who holds your heart.” He thumped Nathan’s chest. “They see through you as well.”

  “Dad doesn’t have Irish eyes then?” Grant’s eyes had flecks of green. He always frowned. He always growled.

  Worry flickered over Grandpop’s face. “Your dad is a good man.” He repeated what he always said.

  “Is he, Grandpop?” Nathan thought about the baby sleeping in the house. The tiny baby that Grandpop said was his brother. The baby Grant Malone denied. “Little Rory should have a dad too.”

  Grandpop touched his head gently and said softly, “Nothing is as we think, boy. There are always layers, and layers, shades of gray and shades of black or white. You gotta find why, not see what.”

  “Because he doesn’t love us,” Nathan whispered, accepting it as only a child can.

  And Grandpop shook his head. “Layers, son. Remember that. There’s always what you don’t know and what you don’t see. And love doesn’t always do what we think it should. Just remember that, and you’ll do fine.”

  And he grew. He looked for layers, he looked for shades of gray. Nathan Malone matured, became a SEAL, and the layers drifted from his mind. But they were there. Always shifting, always moving. Until the day he saw hell. And from the ashes of hell, he learned there were layers he never knew existed.

  PROLOGUE II

  Sixteen years later

  Nathan Malone sat at his desk in the office of the garage/service center he owned and watched the young woman talking to one of his mechanics.

  She didn’t look happy. She looked frustrated. Sun-streaked blond hair fell to her shoulders, a beautiful swath of waves that glistened in the sunlight. Nicely rounded, not too slender. She had a butt to die for beneath the black skirt she was wearing, and breasts that rose temptingly beneath a maroon blouse.

  Slender heels completed the outfit. He wondered if those were hose or stockings she was wearing. She looked like a stocking woman.

  Finally, she threw her hands up, looked around, and her gaze caught his. Her nostrils flared in determination and she moved quickly past the protesting mechanic to the door of his office.

  He watched as the most amazing vision stalked across the floor and planted her hands on his desk, glaring at him.

  “Look, all I need is a wrench,” she said forcefully. “Just loan me one. Sell me one. I don’t care. But if I have to go much farther in my car, I’m going to find myself hitchhiking. Do I look like I want to be hitchhiking today?” She spread her arms out from her body as she straightened, her pretty gray eyes cloudy, distressed, her pink lips tight as the mechanic moved in behind her.

  “No, ma’am, you don’t.” Nathan shook his head, his gaze moving over her appreciatively before he looked around her at the mechanic. “Is there a reason why we’re not looking at her car?” he asked the other man.

  Sammy’s eyes narrowed. “Garage bays are full, boss, I told her that.”

  “A wrench,” she ground out between her teeth. “Just loan me the blasted wrench.”

  She was frustrated. Perspiration clung to her forehead, glistened at her cheeks. Then her expression smoothed with obvious control.

  “Look, really.” Her voice softened and he was enchanted. Right there, to the sound of a sweet Southern belle, Nathan Malone lost his heart. “I really just need a little bit of help here. I swear. My job interview isn’t going to wait for me. I promise, I won’t take long.”

  She smiled, and he felt his world tilt on its axis. A sweet curve of her lips, a hint of nervousness, frustration, and worry lingered in the soft curve. But she smiled at him. Hell, he felt like a teenager again.

  He moved around the desk and held out his hand to the door. “Show me the car. We’ll get you back on the road.”

  “Boss, we’re packed,” Sammy protested.

  Nathan ignored him as the young woman turned and preceded him to the door. He was watching her ass as she walked and it was the damnedest view. His hands itched to touch her. Itched to cup those curves and feel them flex beneath his hands.

  “I’m Sabella.” She flashed him a smile over her shoulder. “I really appreciate this.”

  That Georgia accent was going to make him come in his jeans. No way was he going to hold it back if she kept talking to him.

  This one was his.

  “It’s going to cost you,” he drawled as he popped open the hood to her little sporty sedan.

  “It always does.” She sighed. “How much do you think?”

  She looked worried. She was definitely a woman with a goal and intent on getting there. Pretty polished nails, just enough makeup to highlight her features, and pretty soft lips.

  “Dinner.” He grinned back at her, catching the surprise in her eyes.

  “Dinner?” Wariness filled her voice.

  “Just dinner,” he promised. For now. “Tonight.”

  She stared back at him for long seconds, those gray eyes seeming to sink inside him, to search, to warm places inside him he didn’t know existed. Let alone knew they were cold.

  Finally, her lips tipped into a charming, flirtatious grin.

  “The bad boy of Alpine is asking me out to dinner?” she said mischievously. “I believe I just might swoon.”

  “That’s not me. That’s Sammy.” He pointed to the mechanic. “I’m just a poor mechanic and Navy SEAL.” The girls loved SEALs. Anything to impress her.

  “Nathan Malone, the SEAL with the wild blue eyes and the heartbreaking grin,” she stated. “I know who you are.”

  “But I don’t know who you are,” he stated somberly. “I’d love to find out.”

  That look again. Intense, probing. “Dinner,” she finally agreed softly. “I’ll meet you.”

  Whatever he could get. “Piedmont’s.” He named the most expensive restaurant in town, which wasn’t saying much. “Seven.”

  “Seven it is. But I’ll never make it if you don’t fix my car.”

  Sabella kept a knowing smile to herself. She had a feeling if she just told him what was wrong with it, he’d never believe her anyway. She let him piddle around, find the loose hose, and tighten it. There, just like she said, all she needed was a wrench. Her daddy had taught her how to work on her own car a long time ago. Unfortunately, her own wrench was missing.

  So she let him fix it. She played helpless. Because she liked the way he looked at her, the way his wild blue eyes darkened just a bit, seemed more neon in his tanned face.

  “Seven,” he reminded her as he closed the hood and stared down at her. “I’ll be waiting on you.”

  “And I’ll be there,” she promised. Because there was no way she was going to miss this. She’d seen him in town often enough, she’d even fantasized about him a time or two after glimpsing him.

  The hot SEAL. The bad boy of Al
pine. Every woman she knew at the college lusted after him. And Sabella decided, in that moment, Nathan was going to be hers.

  Two years later

  “Oh my God, Bella, what have you done?”

  Bella jumped as she turned to face Nathan, seeing his wild eyes, his pale features, his hard, buff body stalking across the front yard, his chest slick with sweat, bits of the grass he had been cutting sticking to his jeans as he strode furiously to where her car met the back of his truck.

  “It’s just a little dent, Nathan. I promise . . .” Her heart was in her throat. Not in fear. He would never hurt her. But he sure knew how to pout when he wanted to.

  “A little dent.” He gripped her shoulders, moving her aside as he stared down at the crumpled fender as it sank into the bumper of his truck.

  It was an accident. It was all his fault. If he hadn’t been wearing those butt-snug jeans and boots with no shirt as he cut the lawn, it would have never happened.

  “You hit my truck.” Male pride and offended dignity filled his voice. “That’s my truck, Bella.”

  Yes. It was. And he was very proud of the powerful, black four-by-four he babied worse than any woman would a child. She would be jealous if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t actually bring it into the house.

  “I’m really sorry, Nathan.” Her accent thickened as she stared up at him, biting her lip nervously as she wondered how much he would pout.

  Nathan could go all quiet, somber, and answer her in monosyllables that drove her insane. He would glare at her.

  He would watch ball games. He would come to bed late. Late. After she went to sleep. And wouldn’t give her any until the next morning. It really wasn’t fair.