LITMIR.BIZ

      CAST OF CHARACTERS

      Anita Caballo—Her life was torn apart when she was framed for embezzling from the family business. Now, with a chance to prove her innocence, will she survive long enough before someone tries to silence her forever?

      Brant Law—FBI special agent. Brant selected Anita for the mission, but is far from trusting her. Before long, Brant wonders if she’ll actually succeed in knocking down the walls around his heart.

      Nick Tarasov—Member of the Special Designation Defense Unit. He trained the women for the mission.

      David Moretti—The women’s legal advisor.

      Samantha Hanley, Carly Jones and Gina Torno—The other three members of SDDU.

      Tsernyakov—Illegal weapons trader. He is among the five most wanted criminals in the world.

      Philippe Cavanaugh—An international businessman who is up to his neck in dirty dealings.

      William Bronten—Anita’s old boyfriend.

      Ironclad Cover

      Dana Marton

      

      With many thanks to Denise Zaza,

      Allison Lyons and Maggie Scillia.

      Contents

      CAST OF CHARACTERS

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter One

      She was bait, dressed in clingy red silk to attract the attention of every man in the room. The spaghetti-strap gown was sleek and sophisticated, the cut over her right leg revealing enough skin to be interesting but still acceptable for the serious businesswoman she was supposed to be.

      “I’ve got visual of target number two,” Gina’s voice rasped through the nearly invisible transmitter in Anita’s ear.

      “I don’t see him.” She spoke under her breath toward the flower-pin-slash-microphone on her shoulder as she turned in a slow circle, her body tensing. “Where is he?”

      “Upstairs to the left of the bar. Right under the chandelier.”

      She looked in that direction, but too many people were standing between her and the spot Gina had indicated. The lavish reception the Cayman Islands Chamber of Commerce was throwing in honor of its members was in full swing, the black-and-white checkered marble tiles of the floor barely visible under the feet of guests who were networking, scoping out new deals and drinking copious amounts of champagne.

      “I’m on it.” She moved through the crowd to get closer to Philippe Cavanaugh, target number two.

      Target number one, Jose Marquez, a high-ranking city official who had several retail shops on the island, had already left. But not before Gina had worked her charm on him and gotten a business card, along with a request for a presentation next week on what Savall, Ltd., the front for the women’s covert operation, could do for his company.

      One down, two more to go. They needed to get to all four of their targets. People were dying—the latest intelligence had linked Tsernyakov to the mine bombings in Africa. They needed results.

      She made her way to her target without any obvious hurry, as if she were simply meandering through the crowd, maybe searching for a friend. “Excuse me. Thank you.”

      The air was thick with the smell of money—expensive perfume and exclusive cigars. Her four-inch heels clickety-clicked on the marble tiles, the sound barely audible over the ebb and flow of conversation that went on in a half-dozen different languages, the ringing of glasses being touched together, the sudden pearls of laughter that bubbled above the din.

      She walked to the back of the gallery, through the glittering crowd. Philippe Cavanaugh, international shipping magnate, was where Gina had said he would be, handsome and debonair in his tuxedo, deep in conversation with another man and two lavishly dressed women. He had come, which hadn’t been a certainty—although they’d had high hopes, given that the man was one of the main supporting members of the Chamber.

      “I got him,” she said under her breath and let herself relax. “Where are you?”

      “Downstairs by the bathrooms.”

      That Gina would spot Cavanaugh first even though she was a lot farther from him and not even on the same floor, didn’t come as a surprise. She seemed to have a special sense for these kinds of things, probably left over from her cop days.

      Once Anita knew where to look in the giant room, she easily spotted her partner for the night. The cream-colored dress they had talked Gina into wearing looked striking on her petite figure. The idea had been for the both of them to attract their targets’ attention and the attention of other powerful men on the island—any of who might have had some kind of connection to Tsernyakov, an elusive weapons dealer who was at the top of a dozen most-wanted lists.

      The relatively new piece of intelligence that Tsernyakov had a connection on the island was a closely guarded secret about a man considered to be one of the most dangerous men in the world. The task of finding this connection and, through him, getting a location on Tsernyakov was the seemingly impossible mission that Anita and Gina along with Carly and Sam—who were staking out the house of target number three tonight—had agreed to a few eventful weeks ago.

      “Ready to make contact?” Gina asked.

      A man walked by too close and was watching Anita, so she couldn’t immediately respond.

      He flashed an interested smile. “Hi.”

      She nodded to him, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to encourage him at the moment.

      “Are you here alone?” he asked.

      “No, but I think I might have lost my date.” She pretended to scan the crowd below. “There he is.” She waved at no one in particular, then shrugged. “I don’t think he sees me.”

      “If he could lose you, he doesn’t deserve you.” His smile widened, showing sparkling white teeth. “Can I get you a drink? I’m Michael Lambert.”

      “Anita Caballo.” She offered her hand and made a point to remember his name. “Thank you, but I think I might have had too much already.”

      “Then I’m definitely sticking around.” He winked. “Besides, you can never have too much good champagne.”

      He was tall and sexy—dark hair, dark eyes—with more than a hint of naughty to him. In coloring and body type, he looked a little like Brant Law, the FBI agent who had gotten her into this mess, except for that battle-hardened edge on Law. Michael’s infectious grin said his focus was heavily on fun. Nothing wrong with that. Law was entirely too stark and serious.

      “Michael. Hey, Michael! Stop pestering the lovely lady for a minute and get over here. I found a buyer for your boat,” a redheaded titan yelled toward them.

      Michael held up his index finger to ask him for time. “I would like to sell that miserable boat,” he told Anita with chagrin. “Promise you’ll be here when I come back?”

      “Promise,” she lied to be rid of him.

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