Marisela Morales, a trainee for Titan International
Investigations, is in Boston working with one of the Titan
security teams at a very high-class fund raiser. Much to
her delight Frankie Vega, her colleague and sometimes
lover, is also on the job. The two of them thwart an
attempted assassination of a United States Senator
attending the fund raiser. Marisela manages to catch up
with the shooter, but is unable to contain her. The
senator's wife hires Titan to protect her husband because
she believes this is in connection with an unsolved
murder. This case will expose long buried secrets about
four men; men whose lives are in imminent danger.
Yizenia Santiago is a highly paid professional killer who
only accepts assignments where the killer(s) have not been
brought to justice. She has been a contract killer for
nearly forty years. As a child in Spain she witnessed her
entire family's slaughter by Franco's secret police. As a
teenager, she meted out retribution to the men who were
directly responsible for killing her family. She has been
hired to eliminate four men who were responsible for the
death of a young girl fifteen years ago. Yizenia's
encounter with Marisela gives her reason to hope she has
found someone worthy of succeeding her in her crusade.
If you like your stories hot and spicy, DIRTY LITTLE LIES
is definitely for you. Julie Leto's second book starring
Marisela, Frankie, and their bosses, twin siblings Ian and
Brynn Blake, is rough-and-tumble action -- in and out of
the bedroom -- from the outset, and the relentless pace
never lets up. This is three-hundred-fifty pages of dry
humor, danger, and raw sex.
Three months into her training for Titan International
Investigations, Marisela Morales could use a little R’n’R,
and the tuxedoed hombre de misterio sending her
scorching glances from across a crowded ballroom looks
like he’d be happy to fulfill her needs. Closer inspection
reveals that the masked man is danger with a capital F—as
in Frankie Vega, her ex-lover and Titan colleague. But
before their reunion reaches the boiling point, a senator
is shot on the dance floor and Marisela must confront a
female assassin with a wicked reputation—and a link to
Marisela’s old life. Working with Frankie provides
Marisela with plenty of aggravation, along with some
sinfully sexy after-hours benefits, but she’ll need to
keep her mind on the job if she wants to beat the demons
from her past . . . and a killer chica who’s her biggest
challenge yet. . . . Smart, sophisticated, and sizzling
from start to finish, Dirty Little Lies is as
irresistible as an ice-cold Cuba Libre on a hot summer day.
Excerpt
Marisela threw her elbow back hard, satisfied when she
heard a breathless grunt. Spinning in the opposite
direction, she built momentum so that when her fist,
clutching the gun, connected with the nose of her
attacker, blood spurted and the assailant dropped to the
ground. She stepped back into the light as his body fell.
Good, it wasn’t Frankie.
Not that she’d feel bad if she knocked him out. He knew
better than to grab her like that--which is why she hadn’t
hesitated.
She quickly checked to see that the guy moaning on the
ground wasn’t armed, she pistol-whipped him to silence,
dragging him back into the closet from where he’d emerged.
The hallway was narrow, so a chair from the kitchen jammed
between the door and wall would keep it closed even after
the guy woke up. Where was Frankie? Had he been attacked
while she was in the house? She and Tracy had been talking
for a while. Was this another warning, another attack to
convince them to back off?
Marisela crouched down and scrambled back to the bathroom.
She knocked lightly on the door.
“Don’t open it, Tracy. It’s me. Are you still in there?”
She heard a whimper.
“Are you okay?”
A long pause. “I’m...okay.”
“Get ready to bolt. I just found the guy in your house.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry. I took care of him, but I don’t think he was
alone and I think his friends may have jumped Frankie. I’m
going to cause a diversion out front. When I do, I want
you to scramble to the truck, got it? Don’t look back.
Just get out. Drive like a bat out of hell. Don’t stop for
red lights. In fact, don’t stop until you’re with Parker.
Can you do that?”
The whimpers increased, followed by a series of deep,
nearly hyperventilating breaths.
“Tracy?”
“I don’t know where he lives,” she confessed. “He always
visits me!”
Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
“Okay, where can you go?”
“I have a neighbor, a few farms down. Her husband used to
be a marine. I’ll be safe, there.”
Marisela blew out a relieved breath. “Good thinking. You
bust your ass getting there and then stay inside until I
personally come get you, got it?”
“Yes,” Tracy said.
With a nod, Marisela made her way to the back door,
crouched down so no one peeking through windows would see
her. Not only did she want Tracy safe, she wanted to hear
the rest of the story. So much didn’t make sense. There
was a good chance that somewhere in the blanks Tracy had
yet to fill was the answer to who had hired Yizenia
Santiago. Marisela couldn’t imagine that Tracy had had
anything to do with the assassin. She wasn’t yet one-
hundred percent sure about Parker, but she doubted he’d
knowingly put his remaining sister in harm’s way. That
left the identity of the person who hired Yizenia wide
open--which put them all in danger.
The guy who’d attacked her in the hall wasn’t the same
sort of punk who’d ambushed them last night, but he was
only a slight upgrade. She could smell hired muscle, and
this jerk stank. But who had hired him? Did he work for
Yizenia? Parker? Some third unknown party they still knew
nothing about?
She hurried to the back door and caught sight of movement
inside the barn. Her main firepower was in the car, so
Marisela cut around to the front of the house. She
sprinted across the yard only to find the Corvette door
locked and Frankie, wherever the hell he was, had the only
key.
If she’d had her tools, she’d be inside by now. She could
break in, but in the time it took for her to crack through
the glass and retrieve her big guns, she could be
ambushed. She’d have to improvise.
She promised Tracy a diversion, but thought better of it
with no one visible in the front yard. The animals weren’t
happy in the barn, however, giving Marisela a clue to
where the real action was going down. She dashed around
the house to the bathroom window, knocked vigorously so
Tracy would leave, then cut across the yard until her back
was pressed flat against the outside of the barn.
She anticipated that the sound of Tracy’s engine revving
might bring the attackers out of hiding, so she waited
while Tracy hopped into the cab, turned the ignition and
sent the truck flying backward in a cloud of gravel and
dust. Just as she ground the pick-up into drive, someone
flew out of the barn. Marisela waited the split second to
make sure it wasn’t Frankie, then she kicked the guy in
the small of the back, sending him sprawling onto the dirt
and gravel road.
“Move and I’ll blast your fucking head off,” she screamed,
gun aimed and ready, though she had no intention of
killing the man. This day wouldn’t end in more questions.
She wanted answers.
He looked about ready to jump to his feet when the sun
glinted off her weapon. Heheld up his hands. “Don’t
shoot!”
“What? And ruin my fun?”
She cocked the hammer.
He froze like a popsicle.
“That’s more like it,” she said, her tone even. “Toss down
your weapon.”
“I’m clean,” he insisted, hands high. “I swear!”
She arched a brow, but wasn’t going to chance patting the
guy down. “You came here unarmed? That’s not too bright.
Who are you?”
“Look, lady. We’re just here to make you stop.”
“Stop what? Picking berries? Where’s my partner?”
The man’s eyes widened. His lips twitched. “What partner?”
His gaze shifted suddenly and Marisela dove over him,
certain she felt a presence behind her. By the time she
rolled back to her feet, she saw her instincts were right.
She fired, but the guy she’d vaulted over kicked the
weapon out of her hand before she could make her mark,
sending the Ladysmith flying into the nearby grass.
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