Donna Young - The Bodyguard Contract

Ian tugged Lara toward him until she sat on his lap. Gently he eased her head onto his shoulder, then settled back into the couch.

“Is this all necessary?” she whispered.

“If we’re going to do this, I want to be comfortable,” he murmured, massaging the back of her neck.

The exhaustion crept up on her, taking advantage of her relaxing muscles. “We should be downstairs, tailing Novak,” she grumbled halfheartedly.

“Not for a while. They’ll become suspicious if we keep disappearing on them.”

“Ian?” She yawned against his neck. “You never once asked me to prove the baby is yours.”

“Because I know it’s mine.” Ian paused. “Because what happened between us wasn’t ordinary, Red. It’s our baby.”

And come hell or Irish temper, he would protect his family.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Donald Prager, I love you, Dad

Donna Young, an incurable romantic, lives in beautiful Northern California with her husband and two children.

Lara Mercer—A government operative determined to stop a biochemical weapon from destroying hundreds of Americans, whatever the price—until she realizes the price might be her child’s life.

Ian MacAlister—An ex-Navy SEAL with a reputation for making the tough calls. But when a mission forces him to choose between saving the world and saving his family—can he walk away from love?

Father Xavier Varvarinski—A Russian double agent with a strong faith but a stronger desire to play God.

Anton Novak—An international arms dealer who controls a biochemical weapon powerful enough to wipe out an entire city—in addition to a government operative or two.

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

Epilogue

Electricity charged the air, preparing the night for the incoming storm. Black clouds swirled and thundered—a tempest in the midnight sky. From its center, spiraled a pair of sleek, nylon wings.

Lara Mercer ignored the storm and focused on her target—the crest of a concrete roof seventy stories above Central Park West. The wind burst beneath her, shoving her slightly off course. Immediately, she pulled the steering toggle, compensating.

One hundred feet…sixty…twenty. Another quick adjustment. After Lara’s feet hit concrete, her thumb punched the small laser mechanism on her harness. The para wings fluttered, once…twice, then vanished into ash, allowing the brush of the wind to scatter the remains across the concrete and tar. While she had expected the result, her eyes widened in admiration. She crouched, gun in hand. Damn. Doctor Kate D’Amato was getting downright scary with her gadgets.

Lara checked the corners of the rooftop through infrared goggles. The light bounced against, then behind the walls and the air-conditioning units, telling her no one hid in wait.

The storm picked up, torrent gusts of air spitting rain and snow. Lara judged the distance between the Manhattan skyscrapers to be approximately fifty meters.

After moving to the three-foot concrete barrier surrounding the roof, she pointed her cable gun down and squeezed the eject trigger. The steel anchor shot into the cement floor with a loud, clipped chink. After testing the secure anchor, she hooked the loose end—a pulley—to her harness.

Quickly, she holstered her gun and jumped, feet-first. One…two. She eased the brake on the pulley, preventing the cable from jerking. Any movement against the windows triggered a vibration sensor imbedded in its tempered glass.

She braced her feet against the steel of the building, her knees relaxed. The targeting system on her infrared goggles locked on the building across the street—number two in the triad of buildings. Lara aimed the cable gun, pleased when the red stream of its laserscope cut through the falling snow.

Swiftly, she shot another cable, her lips tilting into a wicked grin when she saw she’d nailed her mark—six inches of steel separating twin panes of smoked glass.

Behind the window stood huge cooling units and boilers. The rumble from the machinery made it impossible for the vibration sensors to function properly, so none had been installed. Mechanical floors were located every eighteen stories. This particular window was the closest to her objective—illegal arms dealing information on the hard drive of the corporate computer.

Glancing at her watch, she couldn’t stop a rise of satisfaction. The mission, although difficult, had not proven impossible.

Suddenly, the whir of cable sliced through the wind. Within seconds, Lara’s Glock was in her hand.

“Holster your weapon, Red.” The voice rumbled low through the transmitter in her ear.

Lara pushed her goggles down, leaving them dangling around her neck. A figure, male, dressed in a black Lycra bodysuit identical to hers, slid into position beside her. Even with his face hooded, Lara recognized the wide shoulders, the lean waist and hips. She took a deep breath, resisted the flutter in her stomach.

“Damn it, Ian. You almost got yourself shot.” Lara snapped the infrared specs back into place and shoved her pistol into her side holster.

“And here I thought you’d be glad to see me.” Like Lara, Ian MacAlister braced himself against the building, feet spread.

“Get the hell out of here. This is my operation.” Dismissing him, she linked her anchor cable to the one she’d just shot across to the second building. “I don’t need you hovering like I’m some new trainee.”

“You’re acting like one. This is a level four mission,” Ian said. His tone remained light, but his stance tightened. “Requires a minimum of two operatives.”

“The recommendation is two operatives,” she snapped, checking the lock on her harness, making sure it wouldn’t move down the cable until she was ready. “It’s not mandatory.”

“Still trying to prove something to Daddy, Red?” Ian aimed his cable pistol and fired. She didn’t have to look to know he’d placed the anchor close to hers.

Lara’s back teeth slammed together. For the last few months, she’d dealt with Ian. Ever since he’d been attached to Labyrinth—an elite black ops division of the CIA.

At seventy stories, they both knew she wasn’t in any position to stop him from joining her. And she wasn’t about to scrub the mission.

Irritation gnawed at the base of her neck. The man looked harmless enough—a white muted figure through her infrared goggles—but experience had taught her that Ian MacAlister was dangerous. And more importantly, her heart had taught her that he wasn’t to be trusted.

“I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Ian.” It was no secret that Lara had to work harder than most Labyrinth operatives. Not because she was a woman, but because up until a few months ago, her father, Jonathon Mercer had been their boss. Now, he was the Vice President of the United States. “I don’t need you to pull this off.”

“Wanna bet?” Ian asked, hesitating, while he adjusted his own line, long enough to shoot her a sideways glance. “A small wager, just to make things interesting.”