A Breath Away

A Breath Away

Wendy Etherington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Kelly Adams, Linda Gabler and

Theresa Johnson, who took my kids to the movies at a critical moment. You’re neighbors I miss and friends I cherish.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Coming Next Month

1

“WHERE’S MY PILE of money?”

Pissed off after an excruciatingly frustrating morning at the Atlanta airport, Jade Broussard glared at her cousin across his desk.

Rising from his black leather chair, Lucas grinned—the man was too charming for his own good. “Did I mention money?”

“A pile.”

“Mmm. I suppose I did.” He extended his arm toward one of the plush chairs in front of his desk. “You look exhausted. Coffee?”

Jade shook her head and instead prowled the room. His sleek yet posh office with its stunning view of Midtown was impressive. But then, she expected nothing less from Lucas. Everything he touched turned to gold, even though these days he was doing more pro bono work than litigating multi-million-dollar cases.

Instead of contemplating his attack of conscience, she recalled the phone conversation they’d had the night before.

“What do I have to do for this pile of money?”

“What you usually do—provide protection, investigate the crime.”

“The police investigate crimes,” she’d said, though he had her attention, a fact he no doubt realized.

“Just come. Please.”

She’d come. What else could she do? He was the only family she had left.

“I’m not exhausted,” she said finally.

“I should hope not. I sent a limo.”

“I’m furious. Do you have any idea how crazy that airport is? Landing delays. Terminal changes. People ambling everywhere talking on cell phones. Security is a mess.”

“They frisked you, didn’t they?”

“They tried.”

As if he’d expected her travel woes, Lucas had the nerve to smirk.

“I’m walking through the airport, minding my own business, when some overly paranoid, jerk-face citizen spots my Beretta beneath my jacket. All hell breaks loose, people ducking, diving and screaming.” She stalked toward him. “I’m a professional. I have a permit.”

“Of course you do.”

“I didn’t draw the damn thing, you know.”

“Though I imagine you were tempted.”

She planted her hands on her hips, remembering—with renewed fury—the humiliation of being escorted to airport security. “You’re damn right I was tempted. Freakin’ terrorists. They’re ruining this country.”

“No doubt their goal. Perhaps if you’d waited until you got in the limo to retrieve your gun from your carry-on bag…”

She shrugged. “Yeah.” She didn’t feel whole without a side piece, though. She felt vulnerable. Exposed. Alone.

Shaking off the thread of irritation, she finally dropped into the chair in front of Lucas’s desk and crossed her booted ankles. “What’s this case about?” For double her usual fee, there had to be more to it than “provide protection, investigate the crime.”

“A favor for a friend.”

“What friend?”

“The friendly kind.”

She smirked. “Cute. Where did you meet this friend?”

Lucas grinned, and his green eyes lit with an obviously favorable memory. “A bar. Yours, in fact.”

“Beau’s?”

“You own another bar?”

She frowned, ignoring the pang of grief that had never fully faded—even more than a decade after her parents’ murders. Beau and Katy Broussard had been a staple of the bluesy French Quarter. Their deaths had completely changed the course of Jade’s life. She’d inherited the bar, and eventually gotten vengeance on their killer, but she didn’t have them—their laughter, their touch or their guidance. Revenge had been a hollow victory, just as she’d been warned it would be.

Normally she liked verbal sparring with her cousin, but if this case was somehow connected to her personally—through Beau’s or her past—she didn’t intend to waste time with chitchat.

“Who’s the friend, Lucas?” she asked, her tone hard.

“Remington Tremaine.”

Jade fought a flinch, but apparently didn’t quite pull it off, since Lucas nodded.

“He said you’d know him.”

Her mouth had gone dry, but she forced herself to think fast. Tremaine was not someone she wanted anywhere near her cousin. Dangerous didn’t even begin to describe the man. “How long ago did you meet him?”

“Three years ago. We bonded over a glass or two of Southern Comfort, and he’s been a client ever since. His family has old San Francisco money, mostly from real estate and vineyards, but Remy loves art.”

No doubt stolen.

“I’ve arranged for the sale of some beautiful and rare pieces over the past few years,” Lucas continued.

While Lucas watched closely for her reaction, Jade simply nodded. Though she knew her cousin had a not-so-stellar past with the law, he’d long ago gone straight. These sales were legit.

Of course they are. Who’d suspect a genteel, handsome-as-sin art collector of anything more serious than spending more on wine than a car?

And wasn’t that precisely the point?

“What happened to Tremaine?” she asked.

“He was shot outside a restaurant here in Midtown two nights ago.”

A thousand thoughts rushed her brain instantly, and she fought to find one question she could ask. “How bad?”

“The bullet grazed his arm. He’s fine.”

“Which restaurant?”

“Plush.”

Jade finally managed to shake off the shock of hearing Tremaine’s name. “Plush?”

“A happening place for the idle rich and semifamous.”

“Naturally.” The bastard would fit right in.

“You’ll be able to see for yourself. The whole thing is on videotape.”

Jade raised her eyebrows. “You have a videotape of the shooting?”

“The police do.”

“And how did you find that out?”

“Not from the cops. The restaurant manager told Remy.”

“Convenient. What about press coverage?”

“Light. Unfortunately, a shooting isn’t big news in Atlanta unless somebody famous is involved. This particular restaurant insisted the cops keep everything quiet and had the pull to make it happen. ‘A local diner was shot last night’ was as much as the media got.”

Something positive in this mess, and yet the most important question was as yet unanswered. They might as well get to it. “Who suggested hiring me—you or him?”

“You know him from…before, don’t you?”

Jade shook her head. Her past was something Lucas knew she didn’t—couldn’t—discuss.

Eyeing her, he stroked his chin. “He asked me to hire you. He called from the hospital emergency room, in fact.”

“You’re that close?”

“No.”

Her cousin was a smart man. Brilliant, in fact. He’d sensed way more than was wise for him. He had a nice life and a beautiful new wife. He didn’t need the complications Tremaine had laid at his doorstep.

Some friend.

“He’s not really an art dealer, is he?” Lucas asked into the charged silence.

No. No, he certainly wasn’t.

Remington Tremaine was many things—arrogant and bold high among them. He was sneaky and obsessively private. He flouted rules and codes, and seemed to operate by a morality that made no sense to anyone but him. He was obscenely handsome and knew it. He was a dark mystery, the kind that inspired feminine sighs of longing and male snorts of envy. The kind whispered about by the very few who knew his true history.

The two most important things Jade knew about him, however, were the two things she absolutely couldn’t share with Lucas. One, Remington Tremaine was a former international art and jewel thief. And two, he currently was an undercover agent with the National Security Agency.

In this day of dedicated searches for terrorists, some of the “softer” crimes went unnoticed. Thieves were pushed aside in favor of tracking whispers about major terrorist attacks. But a small portion of NSA bosses suspected the spoils of certain burglaries were being funneled into terrorist groups, so there was still a group of agents who focused their talents on investigating that connection. Tremaine was part of that group, and the one most speculated about.

None of the other agents knew how the NSA had lured him away from his cushy life of crime to the side of law and order, but he’d apparently done enough to keep the directors from prosecuting him for his previous transgressions. She’d always thought he was one of those forgive-you-to-get-the-bigger-bad-guy deals that were made with criminals all the time.

What the hell had the NSA been thinking giving him a cover as an art dealer? That was like giving the drunk the keys to the bar.

“Dammit, Jade,” Lucas said as he stood, “I have a right to know what’s going on.”

Bracing her hands against the wooden arms of her chair, Jade rose slowly. At only thirty-three, she suddenly felt old and tired. But she was also furious. How dare Tremaine bring the NSA and God only knew what kind of criminals from his past to her doorstep? To Lucas’s doorstep—his supposed friend?

The past never really leaves us, her business partner and mentor, Frank Williams, had once said. How right he was.

“No, you don’t have a right,” she said, her gaze burning into his. “As of now, this is my problem. I want you to go back to work, back to helping people who actually need it. I want you to forget about Remington Tremaine. If anybody asks, you arranged the sale of some artwork for him, and that’s it. You know nothing else. Got it?”

Green eyes so like her own flashed back at her. “I won’t sit by and let you do this by yourself.”

Though she appreciated his blind support, she didn’t soften her gaze. “Where is he?”

“Someplace safe.”

“Dammit, Lucas, I don’t have time for games.” She leaned over his desk. “Where is he?”

“You’re not cutting me out.”

“Oh, yes, I am.”

“Then I have no idea where he is.” He turned his back on her.

She’d kill Tremaine for this, for involving her family in their sordid world of intrigue. Whoever was after him didn’t need to worry. She’d eliminate the problem and relish the act. Mr. Tremaine should look up her records. After reading the file about what had happened to the last idiot who’d messed with her family, he’d undoubtedly change his mind about getting to her through Lucas.

She hated herself for scaring her cousin, but she did it anyway. Lucas had no training and belonged nowhere near the danger surrounding Tremaine. “What about Vanessa?” she whispered to Lucas’s back.

Predictably, he spun to face her. He didn’t look so confident anymore.

This is what you do, girl. Find a weakness. Exploit it. Get the mission done.

“What about her?” he asked, his gaze hard and furious. And anxious.

“Your wife isn’t part of this.”

“Of course not.”

“But she will be if you persist.”

Lucas’s hands fisted at his sides. “Are you threatening me?”

“No.” She walked around his desk and stopped just inches from him. She looked up into his handsome, trusted, beloved face. “But they will.”

“Who?”

Whatever scum from her old life that seemed determined to follow her into this one. Why had Tremaine contacted her? If he’d been shot on the job, why hadn’t he gone to the NSA? Had his cover been blown? Had he lost faith in the agency?

Or was this shooting personal? Was that why he’d involved Lucas? To scare or intimidate her into taking his case?

Once upon a time she’d been an NSA agent, as well, so she could understand the disastrous implications of any of those scenarios. But she’d retired—and not on the best of terms. Even though she now owned a security and investigations company, and could protect the average John Q. Citizen, she didn’t have the power or contacts of the agency.

So why did Tremaine want her?

“Who would threaten me?” Lucas asked, bringing her thoughts back to him.

In disgust, she knew the vow of secrecy to her government only expired on her death, and no matter how bitterly she and the agency had parted, she owed them her silence about their ways and their world. She trusted Lucas, but she couldn’t share this with him.

“Whomever shot Tremaine.” She laid her hands on his shoulders. “This is outside your realm, Lucas. Admit it and let me deal with it.”

He shrugged off her touch.

She fought against the hurt of his rejection. “Where is he?”

“Gone.”

Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t that. She goggled at him. “Gone?”

“No one knows he left. They think he’s holed up in his hotel room.”

“They?”

“Everybody but me—including the police.”

Resisting the urge to pull her hair out by the roots—she’d save that bit of torture for Tremaine—she paced the room.

Damn the arrogant man. He should have let the NSA take him underground until the whole mess could be sorted out. Yet she knew, and not just because he’d called Lucas, that he’d abandoned protocol and forged his own plan. He’d no doubt continue to do so.

Lucas blocked her path. “Dammit, Jade, I want to help.”

She stepped back. “You can’t.” She wouldn’t let him. Risking the highly trained people in her own agency was going to be hard enough. “Where is he, Lucas?”

His eyes cold, he bit out his response. “He has a room at the Marriott Marquis. He said he’d meet you there later.”

As he turned away, she resisted slugging him and knocking some sense into his hard head. She loved him like a brother, and surely he’d get over his snit fit eventually.

He was her one connection to family. And yet, for her job, she’d hurt him.

Just another day in paradise.

USING THE KEY to Tremaine’s posh, two-bedroom hotel suite Lucas had given her, Jade took advantage of the solitude to snoop and make phone calls.

She noted the neutral black, bone and tan colors, as well as the glass, leather and steel that made up the contemporary decor and wondered if it suited Tremaine. The sumptuous living and dining area was as large as most people’s apartments, and there was a fully stocked bar. She could certainly understand why he preferred the suite to whatever holding room the NSA would stuff him in until they were ready to launch the complicated investigation into an undercover agent’s shooting.

But why had he gone against protocol to hire her?

She was good, and her team was great, but even with her and her partner’s network of contacts, they couldn’t get inside current NSA files. She and Tremaine had never met and knew each other only by reputation. Why was he hiring—and essentially trusting—her instead of moving under the NSA’s protective umbrella?

The answer seemed too simple to be correct—he didn’t trust the NSA.

Smart man.

Whatever his reasoning, he’d cleverly hooked her. She didn’t like violence coming anywhere near Lucas, and if protecting Tremaine meant protecting her cousin, she’d bite her tongue and do it. Plus, despite her urge to scoff at the pretty boy’s troubles, she was reluctantly intrigued about the legendary thief.

So, it seemed she and Tremaine were stuck with each other. She doubted they would get along—she’d heard too much about his tendency to follow only the rules that were convenient for him. In her mind, rules existed for a good reason—convenient or not.

His light-fingered past didn’t win him any points with her, either. Even if he’d been a very good thief.

Could you use good and light-fingered in the same sentence without sounding ridiculous?

Not in her book.

She used her cell phone to call her partner, Frank, and her best guards to her side. They’d all be on planes in the morning. She didn’t see any point in their coming sooner, since their client was MIA, and she preferred facing him alone at the moment.

If she decided to kill him, she could always bury his body and not involve her business in the crime.

Snooping-wise, she got very little that she didn’t already know. He’d left his luggage—purposefully, she was sure—so she found shaving cream, shampoo, condoms and a spicy, exotic cologne that would no doubt suit him. His wardrobe consisted of custom-made suits in charcoal and black and Italian loafers with tassels.

Art magazines and a highbrow novel encompassed his printed collection. And though she took great delight in gliding a razor blade down all the seams of his expensive leather bags to check for hidden compartments, she found nothing of interest.

If he was arrogant, at least he wasn’t stupid.

At dinnertime, she sampled from the fruit basket on the coffee table. Late into the night, she flipped around the TV channels and found nothing that could hold her interest for more than a moment or two.

Nearly all her clients begged for her services. She’d worked for rock stars needing protection from overzealous fans, wealthy businessmen who wanted to protect their assets from thieves. Even politicians, who always seemed dogged by threats and stalkers, called her and her team every election year.

They all did what she said without question, either out of fear for themselves or their families. They relied on her expertise.

No one had ever been so cocky as to order her services through a third party, then not even bother to show up for his purchase. She was sure the contrast wasn’t lost on Tremaine.

At l:00 a.m., she locked the guest-bedroom door, showered, re-dressed, then lay on top of the bed. She might as well get some rest if her client was going to continue to ignore her.

In a fitful sleep, she dreamed about her parents. They stood behind their ancient walnut bar at Beau’s, their arms crossed over their chests, their faces set with disappointment. Guilt washed over her. She wanted to tell them she hadn’t failed them. She wanted to explain she was sorry she hadn’t been there to protect them….

Then she was hugging Lucas. She lay her head against his chest and delighted in the beat of his heart, realizing there was still one person in the world who loved her unconditionally, who shared her blood. She relaxed, letting the feeling of security wash through her.

His lips whispered over her cheek. “I need your help,” he said softly.

In less than a second, she realized she was no longer dreaming. There were indeed lips against her cheek. Warm, soft, persuasive lips attached to a warm, hard, male body. Neither of which belonged to her cousin.

Though training and instincts screamed danger, she paused to breathe in the scent of a spicy, exotic cologne and a faint smell of whiskey and realized the rumors about her new client must be true.

He was very good with his hands.

By the moonlight streaming through the window, she could see he lay on his side, pressed against her, his lips sending shivers of delight skating down her spine, his clever fingers gliding up her stomach. Under her shirt. That simple touch ignited sensual sparks inside her, creating a longing she fought to ignore.

Did he intend to disarm her before seducing her? Somehow, she doubted he’d bother.

“Move your hand up another inch, Tremaine, and you’ll lose it.”

With a quick flip, she’d straddled him and pressed her Beretta to the center of his forehead.

The rogue had the nerve to smile. “My, my, Ms. Broussard. Is this how you greet all your clients?”

“Only the ones who pick the lock to my bedroom.”

“You could hardly call that thing on the door a lock.”

No doubt she could have gotten past it herself, but what infuriated her was that she hadn’t heard him. He’d come through the outer door, crossed the living room, opened the bedroom door, crossed that room, then slid into bed with her before she’d been aware. Normally, she’d have heard him when he put the key card in the exterior door lock. Either she was really tired, or he was even more skilled than she’d imagined.

She also wasn’t crazy about the way she’d responded to his touch. For a moment she’d relished the contact with him and wanted more. Staring down into his sculpted face, his silvery eyes glittering back at her, his jet-black hair gleaming almost blue in the low light, she wanted him still. His innate sensuality was even more potent in person than in pictures, though some part of her managed to recognize that an attraction to her client was a weakness she couldn’t afford.

More aggravated at herself than him, she holstered her pistol. “Is there a particular reason you’re in bed with me?”

“It’s my bed.”

“It’s the wrong bed. This is the guest room.”

He grinned. “My mistake.”

“I’m sure. Where the hell have you been?”

“On an errand of mercy.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Pictures don’t do you justice, Agent Broussard.”

“That’s former Agent Broussard, and I’ll have to return the compliment.” Her body still hummed from the feel of his fingers. Men—especially male clients—didn’t overwhelm her. They didn’t affect her personally.

He braced his hands at her waist. “We could continue what we started.”

To her surprise, Jade was tempted. She held nearly everyone at a distance, so she rarely took the time to indulge in sex. She was definitely aware of the hard ridge of male flesh pressed intimately between her legs. She already knew his hands promised magic.

Their physical attraction was as obvious in the room as the bed they were lying on. Her stomach fluttered with need. Her fingers tingled. All she had to do was lean down, press her lips to his…

“Bad idea,” she said, jerking back.

As she climbed off him, his eyes darkened with seemingly genuine regret. “Perhaps another time.”

She didn’t comment and glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 4:00 a.m. It was time to get back to business. “You want to tell me who shot you and why?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you, would I?”

“Why do you need me? Why don’t you trot back to Washington and let the NSA deal with this?”

He rolled off the bed and gained his feet with a grace that she was certain had gotten him through more than one second-story window undetected and unscathed. “I’ll tell you everything over coffee.”

Somehow I doubt that.

Watching him stride from the room, Jade’s gaze slid down his lean body, covered in tailored black pants and a black ribbed turtleneck, and wondered if he’d really given up his former profession.

How many people had he made a fool of in his murky past? How many beds had he crawled into? Was his present just as devious? She knew that less than half of the rumors about her were accurate. Was it the same for him? What was his real story?

He intrigued her more than was wise. In her line of work, she had to maintain a professional distance in order to serve her clients well. In her private life, space was just as welcome. But the moments of personal intimacy she’d just shared with Tremaine already had her thinking of him as something more than a client, and she couldn’t quite shake the lingering tremors of desire.

Not good. Not good at all.

Was she really crazy enough to help him?

Apparently, since she sighed and stalked after him.

She did, however, double-check to be sure her ammunition clip was fully loaded first.

2

REMY EYED JADE “The Arrow” Broussard over the rim of his coffee mug and again marveled that the hard, determined woman now pacing in front of him had been melting in his arms only moments earlier, her fiery hair tangled around his fingers, her voice husky with sleep.