Former Navy Seal Lawrence Decker joins forces with FBI
agent Jules Cassidy when hits are ordered on Decker and
former CIA agent Dave Malkoff. Evidence points to a rogue
black ops organization within the CIA called the Agency.
For money and power, the Agency blackmails or murders
anyone in their way. When the Agency believes Decker and
Malkoff have information that could destroy them, attempts
are initiated to eliminate them. The Agency is always one-
step ahead of the Troubleshooters, which means they are
either omniscient or they have excellent bugs.
With Troubleshooters spread all over the world, Decker puts
together an unlikely team. Besides Jules, Decker enlists
Tess Bailey, Sophia Ghaffari and the unpredictable
receptionist Tracy Shapiro. The unusual alliance bands into
a formidable force as they attempt to untangle the
information while in the midst of battling bombs, torture
and kidnapping. As the action intensifies, a surprising
romantic encounter catches Decker off guard. For the first
time in his life, Decker meets a woman who actually
understands him. It's inconvenient and at the wrong time,
so Decker places it on hold until they can discover who
runs the Agency.
After 14 Troubleshooters novels, Brockmann can still
produce surprises in the characters' relationships. I did
not see this one coming, making it probably the most
enjoyable storyline yet. Combining romance with unstoppable
action, Brockmann ratchets up the suspense as the plot
bounces from one critical situation to another. As always,
flashes of humor ease the tremendous emotional turmoil that
occurs.
Badly shaken after the loss of one of their own, the men and
women of Troubleshooters Inc. go up against their most
deadly opponents yet –- the clandestine organization called
The Agency.
Blackmail, extortion, murder: The Agency’s black-ops sector
will apparently stop at nothing to achieve their objective.
But this time they’ve gone too far and hit too close to
home.
Led by former Navy SEAL Lawrence Decker, a team
of investigators –- from FBI agent Jules Cassidy and former
CIA operative Dave Malkoff, to Troubleshooters Sophia
Ghaffari, Tess Bailey, and even receptionist Tracy Shapiro
–- band together to uncover the truth, and bring the killers
to justice.
But the stakes are raised even higher
when Decker barely escapes an attempt on his life. It soon
becomes clear that the hunters have become the hunted –- and
the Troubleshooters are no longer just solving a crime -–
they’re fighting for survival.
Excerpt
Prologue
Sophia kissed him.
Dave Malkoff sat there, on a standard-issue
stool in a generic travelers' bar off the lobby of an
equally unremarkable Sacramento hotel, as Sophia. Kissed.
Him.
It wasn't an accident. She hadn't lost her
balance and bumped into his lips with hers. No, no, that
was her tongue lazily but quite intentionally exploring the
inside of his mouth, her fingers in the hair at the nape of
his neck, her lovely, lithe body pressing against him until
she hit the barrier of the wooden seat between his open
legs and could get no closer.
She tasted both sweet and salty, like the wine
she'd been drinking mere moments ago, like the tears he
knew she'd shed when the news had come down that James Nash
was dead.
Dave's stomach twisted and his heart clenched,
and he almost – almost – pulled away to ask Sophia if this –
this kiss, this embrace – was some kind of knee-jerk
reaction to her grief over the loss of their friend and co-
worker.
Co-worker.
The word made it sound as if he and Sophia and
Nash had adjoining cubicles in some fluorescent-lit office
somewhere. Instead, their co-worker had been gunned down
as a result of their Troubleshooters Incorporated team –
with Dave as reluctant leader – having taken on a no-pay
assignment that went bad.
And yes, thanks in part to Nash's sacrifice,
the rest of the team was finally safe – including all of
the hostages that had been taken.
Hostages that included Sophia Ghaffari.
Who was now kissing him.
Him. As in David Malkoff.
She was kissing him as a direct result of his
having, earlier that day, blurted out the fact that he was
in love with her, making this entire situation even that
much more bizarre.
It was only in his wildest dreams that he'd
ever imagined confessing his feelings. He and Sophia were
friends, buddies, pals. For years, he'd been terrified of
ruining their comfortable relationship by revealing the
pathetic truth. For years, he'd convinced himself that he
was content to love this incredible woman from afar – to
keep his feelings for her hidden, unrequited and pure.
And in those wildest dreams, if he did
fantasize summoning the courage to speak his heart, he'd
never imagined her reacting with anything other than
kindness. She'd wince at the thought of hurting him, then
gently pat his hand while telling him how much she valued
his loyalty and friendship.
The idea that she might actually consider his
announcement something of value, and then try to touch his
tonsils with her tongue, had never, ever crossed his
boggled mind.
And yet, this was the reality in which he now
lived.
A reality in which her breasts were soft
against his chest. A reality in which she angled her head
and opened her mouth wider so that he could lick his way
into her mouth. And dear God, the sensation of Sophia's
tongue against his own flooded him with a wave of heat and
need so intense his knees went weak – thank God he was
sitting down.
And still she kissed him, right there in that
extremely public bar, in the very hotel where a large
number of their other co-workers from Troubleshooters
Incorporated were also staying. Anyone could walk in and
see them. Their boss, Tom Paoletti. Tom's second-in-
command, Alyssa Locke. Their mutual friend and James
Nash's former partner, Lawrence Decker.
And okay, thinking about Decker instead of
focusing his full attention on the fact that he was kissing
Sophia was probably not the smartest thing Dave had ever
done.
Sure enough, as if she'd read his mind, Sophia
finally ended the kiss.
She pulled back, the tip of her tongue a pink
flash against her lips, as if she were savoring the taste
of him -- though she was more likely cleaning up any excess
saliva he'd left behind because, face it, when it came to
kissing, he was sorely out of practice. But then there
they were, his heart damn near pounding out of his chest,
that soft lower lip he'd just thoroughly and intimately
enjoyed now caught between Sophia's teeth as she gazed
searchingly at him, a question -- or maybe it was just
blanket uncertainty -- in her crystal blue eyes.
Dave had to laugh, because the idea that she
could kiss him like that and remain at all doubtful as to
his enthusiastically positive response was ridiculous.
His arms were still around her. She was still
standing between his legs, her fingers still playing with
his hair, which felt about four million times better than
he'd ever imagined. She smiled then, too, laughter lines
crinkling the corners of eyes that both glistened with
sadness and sparkled with life. She was so beautiful – and
even more gorgeous inside, in her generous soul – that he
couldn't speak.
So he kissed her again.
As he lowered his mouth to hers, before he
closed his eyes, he caught a glimpse of Sam Starrett – a co-
worker from the San Diego office and husband to company XO
Alyssa Locke -- in the mirror behind the bar.
"Whoa," he was pretty sure he heard Sam say as
the kiss Dave had intended to be as sweet and tender as the
one Sophia had just given him turned into something else.
Something molten and powerful and scary as hell – or it
would have been had this woman not turned to fire in his
arms. She was kissing him back with the same amount of
need, molding herself to him even as he damn near crushed
her in his arms.
And when he pulled back -- because, God! – she
was breathing as hard as he was. Again, she just stood
there, this time her forehead pressed against his as she
labored to catch her breath.
"We should probably...um..." Dave couldn't do
more than whisper, couldn't really figure out what they
should do, other than get out of there, because, yes, that
was Alyssa in the lobby right outside the bar door, talking
on her cell phone.
"Go." Sophia finished his sentence for him,
pulling back to nod her agreement.
Somehow Dave let go of her, and she gathered up
her jacket – a huge Windbreaker that one of the paramedics
had given her some hours ago, to ward off the chill of the
evening in the mountains. She also took her wineglass and
his mug of beer, both of which had magically been refilled,
no doubt by the attentive barkeep, and headed briskly for
the door.
Dave couldn't walk out of there without
adjusting his pants, so he tried to do it surreptitiously –
and failed. It was a stare-into-space, grab-and-pull kind
of move, only he managed to meet Sam Starrett's eyes in the
bar mirror. Dave quickly looked away, but it was too
late. He saw speculation in the former SEAL's eyes.
Surprise was there, too -- a heavy dollop of Sophia's with
Malkoff? No way... But it was the speculation – where
were they going and what were they going to do when they
got there? -- that bothered Dave and made him stop at
Starrett's bar stool instead of following Sophia out the
door.
"It's been a long day," Dave told his immediate
superior's husband. "I'm just going to see Sophia up to
her room."
Almost as handsome as James Nash had been,
Starrett was Texas-born and -raised, with a cowboy drawl
and good ol' boy attitude, both of which came and went at
whim. He'd draped his long, rangy frame on one of the
stools, his booted foot claiming possession of another for
his wife – no doubt his version of "save, save, super-
save." His Texas-sky eyes were guarded as he met Dave's
gaze, as he tactfully didn't call Dave's obvious
bullshit. "I'm sorry for your loss, Malkoff. I didn't
know Nash all that well, but he was..." Sam cleared his
throat. "He'll be missed." He looked at Sophia, who'd
come back into the bar to see what had slowed Dave
down. "I'm glad you're safe, though. You must be feeling,
uh..." Another throat clearage. "You know, relief can be
a pretty consuming emotion, so—"
"Which is why I'm seeing Sophia to her room,"
Dave cut him off. "Good night."
As he turned and headed for the door, his hand
against Sophia's back, he could feel Starrett's gaze
following them.
She was silent as they went toward the
elevator, as they joined two elderly women, one with a
walker, who were waiting for the lift to arrive.
Dave took his mug and had a healthy slug of his
beer. The door opened with a ding, and after the little
old lady faction had boarded, he let Sophia go first. He
didn't need to ask what floor she was on. They'd checked
in at the same time – he knew they were both on four.
The door closed and as the elevator groaned its
way upward Dave felt Sophia reach out and touch him, her
fingers hooking on his belt at the back of his pants. He
didn't dare look at her, didn't dare touch her, didn't dare
say a word. He just kept his eyes on the numbers appearing
above the door. Two. Come on. Three. God, this thing
was slow.
Four. Finally. The number lit but the
elevator seemed to hover in limbo for eons before a bell
rang and the doors opened.
And then they were alone in the hall, and the
elevator door was closing, and Sophia finally spoke. "What
you told Sam," she said, leading him down the corridor as
she fished in her pocket for her key card. "You
weren't... Were you..." She laughed and started again as
she took the card from its paper folder and slid it into
the lock. "He's right, you know. About relief being..."
The green light flashed and the lock clicked, and Sophia
grabbed the handle and opened the door, holding it there as
she turned to look up at him, her pretty face
somber. "That's not what this is."
Dave nodded as he looked, hard, into her
eyes. "I know," he whispered. He also knew what --
precisely -- this was. The first runner-up could still get
the prize if the real winner bowed out.
If had become when over the past few weeks as
Troubleshooters team leader Lawrence Decker had made it
profoundly clear that he had no room in his life for
Sophia, who'd fancied herself in love with him for years.
No doubt about it -- the man was a moron to have pushed her
away.
But he had. And now Sophia claimed that she'd
come to terms with the fact that sitting around and waiting
for Decker to get a moron-ectomy wasn't going to get her
the things she wanted. A home with a man who loved her. A
family.
"You coming in?" she asked, holding the door
open and turning back to look at him as he leaned there
against the wall.
With her shimmering blond hair, delicately
featured face, gracefully shaped mouth, perfect nose, huge
blue eyes, that fairy-princess point to her chin, Dave
found her to be so beautiful, his throat ached. Or maybe
it was aching because he knew -- as her best friend and
confidant for so many years -- just how damaged she truly
was. He knew how hard she'd worked to regain the semblance
of a normal life, to overcome the violence and tragedy of
her past.
He also knew that she hadn't had sex in years.
Neither had he. Which she, of course as his
best friend, also knew.
This was going to be... Dave searched for the
correct adjective. Terrifying was up there with amazing
and miraculous. Was there a word that included all three?
Thrilling wasn't quite right and...
"You don't have to if you don't want to," she
said, and he realized that his delay in response had
retriggered her uncertainty.
"I'm an idiot," he said, coming inside and
closing the door behind him, leaning on it so that it
latched, throwing the bolt and the night lock, too. "I was
just relishing the moment and—"
"Are you scared?" she interrupted.
He blinked at her directness. "Yes, but not
for the reasons you think."
She smiled at that.
Dave had to smile, too, as he looked around the
room for a place to put down his beer mug. "We don't
exactly have a lot of secrets, do we?"
"I still have a few," she admitted as she put
her jacket over the desk chair, as she kicked off her
shoes. "And I'm betting you do, too."
The room was standard as far as hotels went.
Nice enough in size, with a neutral decor that neither
pleased nor offended, and a king-sized bed that he forced
himself not to look at. There was a cluster of furniture –
a small table and several chairs – over by the windows, and
he headed toward its relative neutrality.
"I'm not scared," she told him as she set her
wineglass down on the bedside table. "At least I wasn't
while you were kissing me. Which is something I
desperately want you to do again. Which is going to be
difficult with you over there and me over here."
"I'm trying to give you space," Dave told her
through a heart that was securely lodged in his throat.
She desperately wanted him to kiss her again.
"No, thank you," she said.
"Because, see, we should probably talk and I'm
not sure I can do that with my tongue in your mouth. Which
is not to say I didn't completely enjoy—"
"We can talk more later. If we need to. I
mean, we've talked for years." She held out her hand to
him and his feet moved toward her of their own volition.
So he spoke quickly. "It's occurred to me that
it's been a while since either of us have taken a shower."
Sophia went still. It wasn't so much that her
expression changed, because it didn't. She didn't move,
she didn't say anything, but Dave stopped short, knowing
that he'd somehow said the exact wrong thing.
And in a flash he remembered her telling him –
haltingly -- about her captivity, about how the other women
would bathe her. They'd put perfume in her hair and on her
body, dress her completely in white – the better for the
blood to show, should a man prefer that sort of thing.
"I meant me," he added hastily. "I'm pretty
sure I reek—"
"I love the way you smell," Sophia told him,
tears in her eyes because she knew he knew. And likewise
he knew she knew he was now – absolutely – terrified of
making another insensitive blunder. "I've always loved the
way you smell."
"Really?" Dork that he was, his voice actually
cracked, but she didn't seem to notice or care as she
nodded. He took her hands. "Soph..." Tell me what to do,
what you need...
She answered his unspoken question. "Just kiss
me the way you kissed me downstairs."
He pulled her close, and she went up on her
toes to meet him halfway as he covered her mouth with his
own. He didn't try for tender, didn't go for sweet – not
that it would have made a difference if he had, because
trying to wrangle the heat that sprang up instantly between
them would have been as futile as trying to put out a five
alarm fire with a baby blanket.
He wasn't sitting down this time – there was no
bar stool to keep her from pressing herself fully against
him, so she did and it was all he could do to keep
standing. He was still aroused from those first kisses, a
fact that he was no longer able to hide from her. Not that
she seemed to mind.
In fact, on the contrary, she looped one leg
around him, as if she wanted him closer, and God, now his
hands were on her perfect rear end, pulling her more
tightly against him as he kissed her and kissed her.
He could feel her pull his T-shirt free from
his jeans, feel the coolness of her hands against his back
as she pushed the shirt up in an obvious attempt to get it
off.
It made sense that she would want to undress
him – she was in control, this was her choice. And he had
just decided that he'd stand there, doing the one thing he
was certain she liked – kissing her – when she pulled her
mouth free to whisper, "Help me."
So he did, yanking his shirt up and over his
head, while she rid herself of her own shirt, then kissed
him again, as if she couldn't bear to spend too many
seconds without his mouth on hers.
He was living his most cherished fantasy. He'd
been granted his heart's one desire. No doubt about it, at
some point during this past total suckfest of a day, he'd
done something really right to be here now. His mind raced
as he ran his hands across the softness of her back, her
shoulders, her arms, aware as hell – despite the fact that
his eyes were closed -- that Sophia was pressed against
him, nearly skin to skin, in her bra. Which, for the
record, was white and sweetly lacy with a tiny pink flower
sewn between her perfect breasts.
He could feel her hands at the waist of his
jeans. She opened his belt buckle like a pro – okay, don't
think that -- unfastened the button, found the zipper pull
and...
Famine, disease, drought. Dave fought to
focus, but it wasn't until he conjured up a picture of
James Nash, with a white sheet being pulled over his head,
that he knew for sure that he wasn't going to embarrass
himself by coming in Sophia's ridiculously soft hands.
Of course, now he had to fight not to cry, and
he was certain, without a doubt, that bursting into tears
would be far more embarrassing than ejaculating within
three seconds of Sophia's touch. Although both were to be
avoided, if possible.
So he gently moved her hands to a less
sensitive spot, as he lifted his head and admitted, "It's
been a while, and I'm afraid that..."
She stepped back, stepped out of her pants
while he did the same. She hesitated, though – even if
only briefly. Anyone who didn't know her as well as he did
might've missed it. But she did hesitate, glancing over
her shoulder at the mirror behind her before unfastening
her bra and slipping her panties down her smooth, perfect
legs.
The mirror behind her...
The light was dim enough that he could barely
see the scars from her captivity – the largest one being on
the small of her back. But he knew – as she did – that
they were there.
And Dave also knew, with a seemingly brilliant
stroke of insight, what to do, what to say to this
gorgeous, naked woman standing there, so vulnerably, before
him. "In truth," he said, his voice raspy, hoarse to his
own ears, as he pulled her close and touched her, skimming
his hands across all that gorgeous, gleaming skin, across
her breasts, her stomach, her back and, yes, even her
fading scars, "it has nothing to do with how long it's been
and everything to do with you. I've always found you
completely irresistible. Always."
She lifted her head to smile up at him, but her
trepidation was still there, in her eyes.
So he kissed her – kissed her and tugged her
back with him, so that they fell, together, onto that bed.
Deep in the recesses of his brain, he knew he should be
careful not to be on top of her. He should loosen his grip
so that she never felt restricted or overpowered. He
should let her remain in control.
But she clung to him, opening her legs to pull
him closer, wrapping her arms and legs around him, her hand
on his butt, pushing him even more tightly against her, her
breath hot against his ear as she reached between them with
her other hand. "Dave. I want..."
Her fingers closed around him, leaving no doubt
in his mind exactly what she wanted and when she wanted it –
him, and right now. She shifted her hips and he felt her
yield to him. She was soft and slick and tight around him,
and as he slid into paradise he knew there was something he
had yet to do or say, but when he opened his mouth, "God, I
love you," came blurting out.
They were the exact same words that had gotten
him here, and once again, it was the right thing to say.
Sophia laughed, but there was a catch in her voice, and he
lifted his head to look into her eyes as she held him
there, tightly inside of her, as intimately joined as two
people could possibly be.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For saying that."
"It's true."
Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached for
him, pulling his head down and kissing him, moving against
him, beneath him, as best she could with his weight on top
of her.
But the sight of those tears haunted him and he
had to ask. "Are you sure you're—"
"I'm good," she said. "I'm great. I'm
unbelievably... Oh, Dave, I need... More... Of you...
Please..."
More of him. Okay.
He moved with her then, carefully, slowly, and
she seemed to like that – "oh, yeah..." – so he didn't
speed up. The friction was incredible, the sensation sheer
bliss – as if he were being stroked by the softest of
hands, except not really, because it was even better than
that.
Kathy/Anise had liked sex hard and fast, and
she'd always, always been running the show, even when she'd
been beneath him. It had been 180 degrees different than
these long, slow withdrawals, and equally endless deep,
deep thrusts that made Sophia moan – dear God, much more of
this and he was going to lose it – except what the hell was
he doing thinking about Kathy now when he was making love
to Sophia – Jesus, he was making love to Sophia. Dave
wondered inanely if she were thinking of Decker or maybe
her dead husband, Dimitri, or even some distant, long-ago
lover that she'd let slip away, and there was no way he
could compete against any of them, except now he was way
too much inside of his head so he tried to clear his
thoughts of everything but this intense, mind-blowing
pleasure he was feeling – that she was feeling, too.
"So good...," she breathed. "So good."
Good didn't begin to cover it, but good was
better than bad, it was better than get me out of here,
don't touch me, get your fucking hands offa me....
Good couldn't kill you, except Dave was dying,
he was choking, he was drowning, and he didn't want to die,
but Jesus, he didn't want to go back to that basement with
the bright light and the questions and the pain.
They'd taken all of his fingernails off his
right hand and had made it clear they were ready to start
on his left because they hadn't caught on that he was
stronger than anything they could throw at him. The
waterboarding, the electric shocks, the blows to his face
and body...
He just ran to Sophia in his mind, losing
himself in his vivid memories of the too-short time they'd
shared. Seven weeks. It had been slightly more than seven
weeks since that first night.
His favorite escape was to go back to that
night, to that very first time they'd made love. While it
wasn't the best sex they'd had – because God, they'd had a
lot of sex in seven weeks, even with both of them out of
town for part of that time -- it was, for him at least,
among the sweetest.
Although this time the monsters had gone too
far but then pulled him back before he'd had the chance –
in his mind – to reach his very favorite part. To make
Sophia come. Which pissed the shit out of him.
They yanked the rag from his throat, hauled him
up, and bent him over so the water they'd forced into him
left his stomach and lungs as he coughed and choked and
vomited his way back to reality – which sucked ass.
He fucking hated it here, yet his body gasped
for air, tears streaming down his face as he puked even
more, as he spit out a tooth that he must've broken as he'd
savagely bit at that rag they'd stuffed in his mouth.
Here in the land of light and pain, those
beautiful weeks that he'd spent with Sophia seemed distant
and blurred, like a rapidly fading dream -- only he knew it
had happened. He knew that, in her own way, Sophia loved
him, that she'd been ready and willing – and yes, even
eager -- to spend the rest of her life with him.
Dave clung to that truth, like a distant echo
of the most beautiful, pure music cutting through the
cacophony of angry demands and the shrill buzz of pain.
It was his love for Sophia, his memories of
their time together, that was keeping him sane, keeping him
alive, although it wouldn't help him for much longer – he
knew that, too. He could feel his already damaged body
weakening – the infection from his knife wound getting more
severe with each passing hour. And each time it was harder
to come back.
But back he was, and he waited, still gasping
and coughing, for the questions that would come. And for
the blows that would follow when, once again, he failed to
give his captors the information they wanted.
His world had shrunk to four absolute truths.
He loved Sophia -- heart, body and soul.
He would die before betraying his teammates,
his friends.
He was going to die. He knew that when these
monsters who were torturing him finally realized that they
could not break him, they would, unflinchingly, put a
bullet in his head or slash a knife across his throat.
And the fourth truth?
Dave knew that Sophia was – at that very
moment – in the company of Lawrence Decker. Deck -- who
loved her almost as much as Dave did.
And the jealousy and resentment he'd always
felt, the green monster that, for years, Dave had never
quite been able to tame, had changed. Over the past
nightmarish blur of hours it had been twisted and crushed
and turned into something hard and gleaming and clean. A
gem of emotion – pure and brilliant.
It shone through his pain, brighter even than
any of his other truths.
Because Dave knew with faith as solid as stone
that Decker would keep Sophia safe from harm.
And for that, Dave would be eternally grateful,
even after his last breath had left his lungs.
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