LITMIR.BIZ

      This book is dedicated to my daughters, Courtney

      and Megan, who love reading as much as I do, and to my son, Adam, who shares my love of fast-paced, action-packed adventures. I love you all.

Chapter One

      Nerves prickled on the back of his neck as Nick St. Claire climbed the steps in the Brooklyn apartment building two at a time. The heavy smell of garlic and onion filled the air in front of apartment 12-C, masking any other scents. His stomach growled, but he kept moving down the hallway to 12-H. He hadn’t eaten in twelve hours, but now wasn’t the time to remember unnecessary details.

      His boss and friend, Royce Fontaine, moved on silent feet behind him. As a Stealth Operations Specialist, trained in all forms of warfare, including military operations in urban terrain, Nick understood the necessity of speed and surprise.

      This mission wasn’t dictated by the government as usual with the SOS agency. The unauthorized, late-night flight on the SOS private Learjet had been in response to an e-mail message from Royce’s old Army buddy. Need your help. Life or death. Come now.

      Royce had dropped everything, including an important case regarding death threats against a U.S. senator. He’d grabbed Nick on his way out the door of the SOS offices in downtown D.C., shouting for Tazer, one of the very capable female SOS agents, to cover for him while he flew to New York.

      When Nick arrived at the door to 12-H, splintered wood didn’t bode well for what might be inside. He pulled the SIG-Sauer from the shoulder holster beneath his leather jacket and nodded to Royce. Then he plastered his body against the wall and pushed the door open wider.

      Every piece of furniture was turned over or ripped; the room was a shambles. Nothing stirred in the living space, but a noise from a back room alerted Nick that they weren’t alone.

      He slipped in first, followed by Royce. In a low crouch, Nick swept the room with his gaze for bogeys before he entered the hallway.

      A weak moan echoed off the walls in the bathroom to the right.

      Glass shattered, followed by a metallic clanging in the room to the left.

      Nick pointed at Royce and then to the bathroom. He then pointed at himself and the room with the clanging noise. Without waiting for his boss’s response, Nick leaped over scattered clothing, books and tables and burst into a bedroom, weapon at the ready. Whoever had broken the window was probably down the fire escape by now.

      “Not without backup, St. Claire!” Royce hissed behind him.

      Nick ignored Royce, not stopping until he reached the window. He paused beside the broken glass, peering around the wooden frame, careful to limit his exposure to gunfire, not at all anxious to take a bullet. The clang of feet jumping down the fire escape stairs reassured him that whoever was on them was in a hurry to be gone.

      Using the barrel of his weapon, Nick swept the jagged window glass to the side and leaned out just in time to catch a glimpse of a broad-shouldered person dressed in black moving down the steps of the three-story apartment building. Nick swore. Almost to the ground, the guy would escape into the maze of dark city streets before Nick or Royce could do anything about it.

      To hell with that. Nick slid through the window and descended the steps two at a time. The noise of his shoes hitting the steel was deafening, but not so bad that he didn’t hear the ominous popping sound of shots being fired or the ping of bullets ricocheting off the brick near his head. He kept moving. If he stopped, the shooter would have time to make good his aim.

      A bullet glanced off the metal railing next to his leg. Another sprayed pieces of masonry over his head.

      Nick didn’t slow. Gun ready, he hit the ground feet first and performed a perfect airborne drop and roll, grateful for the

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