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  WETWORK

  by Marie Harte

  WETWORK

  He might command her body, but she owns his heart.

  Trevor Doran is trying to fit into civilian life now that he's no longer working secret missions for the government. But his job as a financial investigator for a security firm doesn't give him the thrill he needs. With his last love dead from a mission gone wrong, he doesn't need that kind of life anymore. Does he?

  His attention soon turns to the beautiful, shy Emma Clark—a friend of his sister's who intrigues him. He’s getting a vibe from her that makes him want to know more. Is she as submissive as she seems? When Emma starts receiving unwanted attention from a secret admirer, he steps in to help. Then the case he's investigating at work gets messy. Danger's afoot, and it'll take all his skill to keep Emma safe. And all her patience to get Trevor to open himself up to putting his heart at risk and loving again.

  The Works Series

  Bodywork

  Working Out

  Wetwork

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and plot points stem from the writer’s imagination. They are fictitious and not to be interpreted as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locations or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Wetwork

  Copyright © July 2014 by Marie Harte

  No Box Books

  Cover by TINB

  All Rights Are Reserved. None of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for reviews or promotion.

  http://marieharte.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Chapter One

  The Ides of March, Seattle

  Wetwork. The assassination game. A hit, a mark, a job.

  Been there, done that. Got the scars to prove it. Despite trying to blend into the civilian sector, Trevor was having problems. Two months back in Seattle and he still wanted to kill first and ask questions later. Not cool, Doran. Using the breathing exercises his old handler had given him, he tried to mold his anger into something constructive. He stepped up his pace, working off the beer he’d guzzled at the seedy bar that felt more like home than his sister’s apartment.

  Technically, his apartment, since he’d been subletting.

  He walked faster down the alley, weaving in and out of the dealers and druggies with more money than sense. The crap they sold down here could pass as drain cleaner and probably had at some point in its creation. Seamy, dirty, and dangerous, the area shouldn’t have soothed him, but it did. Down here he could throw a few punches, let off some steam, and not worry about getting sued for defending himself. Sure, a heavy bag at the gym made more sense, but a bag didn’t hit back. A bag wouldn’t stir him from the numbness creeping in.

  Thoughts of Dana put him into a funk, and he hated that he found himself wanting to dwell on the misery of her passing. But even feeling shitty had to be better than feeling nothing.

  Footsteps followed, distant yet there, allowing him to shake off the doom and gloom that normally affected him this time of year. A thrill hit him hard, and he worked to temper his need for adrenaline. Hell, he was no better than the junkies. They all seemed to need a fix. He tugged his ball cap further over his face, glad he’d worn basic black along with jeans for casual Friday. Nothing conspicuous about him down here, just another addict looking to score.

  He left the alley and headed down a narrower passage between the buildings. Time to get busy. He had another hour before he was due to meet his sister and her fiancé for game night. A lot different from the way he played this particular game—one in which he’d rarely come in second.

  With a grin less a smile than a sneer, he darted around a stack of crates and waited in the shadows, where he felt most comfortable. Where he could be alone.

  Bitter memories of Dana intruded. Her laugh, the way her eyes twinkled when she worked a job. Dana striking a fake pose in San Salvador against the setting sun, a beauty queen holding a gun in one hand, a knife in the other. So sexy, so alluring. And now, so very, very dead.

  He sighed. Next week would mark the second anniversary of her passing. Typical to be emotionally bombarded with useless memories. What did Dr. Samuel like to say? Embrace the sad with the glad.

  Yeah, right. Stowing the sentimental claptrap his mandatory therapist had doled out like candy, he focused on becoming the predator, not the prey.

  His sensitive hearing picked up muted breathing. From the sound of the footfalls closing in, someone large, heavy. A challenge, thank God—one he’d been missing since planting his ass behind a desk at Sawyer Security.

  He waited, anticipation fueling his blood, and sank to a crouch, ready to spring. The sounds of his pursuer slowed, and Trevor tensed.

  Walking with a healthy sense of caution, his opponent passed the crates. Just as Trevor had suspected, he was huge. After a moment, the guy stopped in his tracks, then spun and pointed a gun at Trevor’s heart—or where Trevor’s heart would have been had Trevor not been crouched down. He launched and took his attacker to the ground with ease.

  After knocking him down and grabbing the gun, Trevor made hasty use of the weapon as a club. He clocked the asshole in the head twice, and the bastard clutched his bleeding temple, moaning. Though he didn’t appear to be ready to react with speed, the attacker was an unknown quantity, and Trevor had been burned before.

  The gun felt light in his hands, but before Trevor could inspect it, two more thugs rushed into the alley and swung wildly at him. Confused at the lack of sophistication he might have expected from professionals, Trevor easily dodged their punches and returned more than a few. He knocked another man to the ground, down but not out as the guy shook his head from a ringing blow. Damn, Trev. You’re better than that.

  While Trevor blocked a punch from the one man still on his feet, a new attacker, this one larger and meaner looking than his buddies, joined them. He acted like he knew how to handle himself, and Trevor knew he’d be the one to watch. Especially when he used Trevor’s split attention to his advantage and slugged Trevor hard in the gut.

  He hit Trevor just right, because Trevor lost his breath for a moment. The newcomer followed the punch with another meaty fist to the exact spot, bruising the hell out of Trev’s ribs.

  “Stay down, you stupid bastard,” the big guy warned.

  Trevor wanted to argue, but he couldn’t do more than cough while he sagged against the nearest brick wall. While the new guy stood guard, two of Trev’s attackers dragged the unconscious man away with them.

  The bruiser who’d managed a few lucky punches gave Trevor a measuring look. “A smarter guy would stay out of things that didn’t concern him.”

  Trevor did his best to memorize the guy’s features. He had broad shoulders, height putting him at around six-three or four, and a scar that bisected his left brow. Brown hair and brown eyes. Mean looking, yet average when his expression evened out. Then the bastard raised his hand and pretended to shoot Trevor with his fingers.

  Bruiser gave a short laugh, then followed the others out of the alley.

  Wishing he could follow the assholes and plant a few bullets in some bodies, Trevor straightened with care and looked for the gun he’d tossed away earlier. He bent, swearing, and picked it up while cradling his side.

  “What the…?” A toy gun?

  After a glance around him, and sensing nothing out of the o
rdinary, he backed out of the alley, tossed the toy in a nearby dumpster, and walked quickly away. Talk about a weird ending to a shitty day. The only good thing about his week was that it had come to an end.

  He knew he had to alert his new boss to the incident. Though Trevor had taken to sitting behind a desk, working digital security—monitoring, collecting information, and feeding the field operatives—the Lancaster case had worried more than a few agents at the firm. Still, Trevor hadn’t had any contact with the bastard poor Mrs. Lancaster was doing her best to divorce. So why the heck would Lancaster, or anyone else for that matter, think to attack him?

  Could this have to do with his past working for Uncle Sam?

  No. No one he’d known in that world would use such sloppy technique, unless the intent had been to distract him. But distract him from what? All his cases for the government had closed. No loose ends. No one knew Trevor had done anything but work as a financial consultant overseas. He was sure of it.

  After pausing to shoot Evan Sawyer a text describing the altercation, Trevor convinced his boss he was fine and put the matter out of his mind. For now.

  At least one good thing had come of having his ribs bruised. He wasn’t bored anymore. The fact that he looked forward to a night of violence told him he needed to try harder to blend into normal society. Granted, doing security work in any form had risks, but not sitting behind a desk gathering information in Seattle.

  Trevor dusted his hands on his jacket and rejoined the more civilized crowd downtown. Glancing around and spying nothing else out of the ordinary, he walked back the way he’d come. He made a few out of the way twists and turns before reaching his car and subtly checked for signs of tampering. Finding none, he got in and let out the groan of pain he’d been holding.

  Even if no one followed him as he drove around the city, he took the long route to Green Lake. Some habits were hard to break.

  He reached his sister’s place and parked in the front, where a few other vehicles sat parked as well. He recognized Shane’s car. If Shane had arrived, his girlfriend Shelby wouldn’t be far. He liked the couple. Shelby was his sister’s best friend, and he loved her and her unconventional family for taking Maggie in. For that alone he would work to get along, regardless of feeling like a fifth wheel anytime the group convened for fun.

  Shaking off his frustration and trying to look forward to spending time with new friends and family, he left his car, locked it, and walked up the steps to a classy house he more than approved of for his sister.

  A veritable mansion for the size and location, her new house made her old apartment look like a shoe box. He sighed, realizing that since he lived there, he’d end up being the old lady in the proverbial shoe. Minus all the kids of course. Talk about depressing.

  Before he could ring the bell, Maggie whipped open the door. “You’re late.”

  A pint-sized version of him, she had the same golden-blond hair, blue eyes, and attitude. He’d missed her when overseas. She was currently the only thing tying him to Seattle and normality, and he intended to make up for missing so much of her youth.

  “Sorry. I got turned around. The construction…”

  She dragged him inside. “Say no more. The city gets on my last nerve shutting down street after street.” She stopped him in the hall. “Get along with Mac. Promise.”

  “Fine. I promise.”

  “I mean it. Stop trying to egg him on. I know you like him.”

  “He’s a jarhead. Of course I like him.”

  “He’s not a Marine anymore.”

  “Honey, once a Marine, always a Marine.”

  From behind her, a deep voice agreed. “True. I can kick Trevor’s ass all over the place, even with a bum knee.” Mac Jameson—Maggie’s fiancé.

  Trevor heard Shelby laugh from the living room. “Sounds like Trevor’s here. Come on in. The party’s just getting started.”

  He gave Mac a sneer, secretly pleased his sister had found a badass for a fiancé, and enjoyed the snort of derision Mac returned.

  “Nice look.” Mac shook his head. “But grunge went out back in the 90s.”

  Trevor raised a brow. “Yeah? Well steroid use is illegal. Might want to lay off, Conan.”

  Mac was huge, looked like a pro-lifter, and co-owned a gym with his uncle. Talk about someone not to piss off. So of course, Trevor did his level best to needle the guy at every opportunity. It wouldn’t hurt Mac to prove his worth. If he couldn’t handle Trevor, he didn’t rate marrying Maggie.

  “Oh, you’re one to talk.” Mac gave him a thorough once-over, guy to guy. “Hide it all you want, but you’re almost as big as I am. For damn sure your mouth is bigger.” He frowned, and Trevor realized he’d been rubbing his ribs. “What—”

  “Funny guy.” Trevor slapped Mac on the back and nudged him into the living room, deliberately ignoring the ache in his side. “Not as dumb as you look. Good to know.”

  Mac chuckled, enjoying the repartee as usual. Maggie pretended to ignore them, but Trevor saw her smirk. The troublemaker liked the way her brother and her man teased, even though she pretended not to.

  “You know, I…” He trailed off when he realized more than the usual gang were in attendance. A pretty woman he didn’t know walked out of the kitchen to talk to Shane and Shelby. Behind her, two more unfamiliar women joined the gathering. Three women, no other men.

  He grabbed Maggie by the arm to yank her close. In a low growl, he whispered, “Please tell me this is not a set up.”

  “It’s not.” She tried to jerk her arm free, and when she couldn’t, she looked to Mac for help.

  He shrugged. “Told you to let it be.”

  “Thanks for the support.” She tugged again, and two of the women glanced at them. Maggie gave them a wide, fake smile before turning back to Trevor. Between her teeth, she ordered, “Let go.”

  He waved at the crowd watching them. “We’ll be right back. Need to talk to my sister for a minute.” He dragged Maggie back into the foyer, out of sight, and Mac followed. “If this is another one of your matchmaking attempts, I’m leaving.”

  “It’s not. We needed even numbers for game night. I swear.”

  “Are they all single?”

  “Shane and Shelby are engaged.”

  “I know that. I’m talking about the overload of estrogen in the room.” He heard Mac laugh and saw the big guy wink before Mac headed back to the living room. Turning on Maggie, Trevor demanded an answer. “Well?”

  She didn’t respond right away. Bingo. He turned and took a step toward the door.

  She latched onto his arm with a death grip. “Okay, okay. Yes, they’re single. But Emma’s a friend. Not a date for you. Unless you want to make one, that is. The other two ladies are regulars at the gallery.” The Beholder, the art gallery showcasing Maggie’s artwork.

  “Maggie.” He groaned.

  “Come on. For me. Just have a good time. No pressure. Just fun.”

  He seriously considered leaving, but seeing the plea in her sky-blue eyes—a look he’d never been able to deny—he succumbed. “Shit. Fine. Let’s go have some fun.” He did his best to put on a cheery smile as he followed her into the living room and introduced himself to her friends. Janelle and Kayla were attractive women in their mid-thirties. Professionals clearly interested in what he had to say, by the way they studied him with frank appreciation.

  Then the other woman, the one not like the others, stood front and center before him, pushed there by Maggie.

  “Trevor, meet Emma Clark. She owns my favorite bakery. You know, Sweets n’ Tweets, the shop with the bird logo next to Sofa’s Coffee?”

  Emma didn’t directly make eye contact, and in that pause, Trevor took inventory. Honey-blond hair waved around a pretty face, giving him flashes of dark eyes and a flawless olive complexion. A hint of Mediterranean ancestry, perhaps. Sizing up strangers came naturally to him, and he assessed her in seconds. Upon closer inspection, he realized she had one hell of a figure she tried to ca
mouflage behind baggy jeans and an overlarge Seahawks sweatshirt. Emma was tiny but curved in all the right places.

  Interest flared when she finally met his gaze and flashed him a shy smile. Her dark eyes seemed almost black, and the contrast with her light hair and feminine softness captivated him. She curled her hair around her finger, a nervous gesture. Emma seemed to hide behind her clothes and her hair, and he wondered if she’d scatter like a mouse if he moved too quickly.

  Yet for all that she was the complete opposite of Dana, a woman he’d once loved like no other, he felt a stirring of…something. Attraction, intrigue, and an odd need to know more about her.

  He held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Trevor. Nice to meet you.”

  With the slowness of a turtle, she reached out and took it, her hand dwarfed in his. The soft warmth of her skin sent a surprising bolt of heat through him, and he inhaled, taking in the sweet scent of her. She wore some kind of floral perfume. Subtle, light, and alluring. He didn’t know what to make of his sudden, intense attraction.

  She blinked at him in surprise, then quickly pulled her hand away. A delightful blush settled over her cheeks. “I’m Emma. Maggie’s friend.” She said that with seeming pleasure. Then she laughed. A light tinkle of joy that put him in mind of fairies…if fairies had breasts that would fit perfectly in his large hands. “Maggie’s one of my favorite people. She comes into the bakery a few times a week.”

  “At least.” Maggie glanced pointedly in Mac’s direction. “My man has a sweet tooth.”

  As if feeling her gaze on him, Mac glanced at her, winked, then turned back to Shane.

  Trevor asked, “Maggie said you own a bakery?”

  Emma nodded and gave him another shy smile.

  After a moment, Maggie rolled her eyes and explained, “The place used to belong to her mom, but she passed a few years ago. Then Emma’s aunt ran the place for a while, but it needed more help than she could give. Emma stepped up and took over, and now it’s her place. She loves baking.”