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  For My Sister, thanks for all the support!

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Stinger

  Also by Gina Robinson

  Praise for Gina Robinson

  About the Author

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  Being called into the chief’s office was something Malene Cox looked forward to. A special missive commanding her attendance in a solo meeting with the notorious Emmett Nelson, head of National Clandestine Services, the spying arm of the Central Intelligence Agency, meant a plum assignment. Something filled with intrigue, and she hoped, lots of shopping.

  As head of NCS’s cover life department, Malene lived for these moments. She smelled a sweet professional challenge. It was just too bad she never got to talk, and maybe brag just a bit, about her top secret work for NCS with anyone outside of the Agency.

  Her friends and family believed she was wasting her considerable artistic design talents on a boring, though adequately paid, facilities position with the CIA. Working for the pension and the government benefits. Yes, working for the CIA did have a certain cachet attached to it. But when you weren’t a spy, only a drone who bought office furniture, as her former mother-in-law liked to call her? Well, that killed any mystique, status, and prestige that might have been attached to working for her secretive employer. Malene always had an underlying sense that she should be offended that no one considered her spy material. She could be just as sneaky and secretive as the next person.

  Besides, if she were a spy, would she really tell anyone? But no one seemed to think of that, and for some reason, it rankled her.

  Of course, if she did tell anyone what she actually did for the Agency—designing and coordinating cover wardrobes, furnishing and setting up cover homes, setting up social media and creating convincing documentation for NCS’s agents—no one would ever believe her. Hers was a job that didn’t exist, not to the general public. Didn’t anyone wonder about the cover part of being undercover? What did people think—that these things just sprang into being fully formed? That the spies took care of these details themselves?

  Now that was laughable. The spies she knew, and she knew all the Agency spies, including her ex-husband, Tate, couldn’t be bothered with tasks as menial and mundane as setting up their own cover lives. Which left it to Malene to coordinate with senior field agents, handlers, and the top brass at NCS to get their secret agents comfortably settled into any new cover that was demanded.

  It was challenging and creative work that required a deep knowledge of personalities and personality traits, psychology, history, and a myriad of cultures. Malene had trained at Central Saint Martins College in London, where she’d dabbled in fashion design, interior design, and psychology, and had eventually graduated, married Tate, and joined the CIA. Ironically, though he’d never had much appreciation for the work she did for the Agency, Tate had been the one to bring her to Emmett’s attention. He was, in essence, her recruiter.

  Malene had talent. She had the eye, an eye few people had. Her coworkers told her she should have worked in movies. She’d make an excellent wardrobe designer, set director, or location finder. But Malene loved what she did. She reveled in keeping secrets and being responsible, in some small way, for protecting and defending her country.

  She was definitely not a thrill-seeker, had never wanted to be at the wrong end of a gun or an antiballistic missile. Now, a little covert shopping, that was another thing. She loved the secretive element of her job—the fear that she could be found out as she set up a life. The joy of imagining lives that could be and bringing them into being without anyone suspecting. Of shopping at everything from exclusive shops to tag sales. Her job was simply, and absolutely, perfect.

  The chief’s door stood open. Malene knocked lightly on the door frame.

  Emmett Nelson looked up from his laptop and smiled at her. “Ah, Malene, there you are. Come in.”

  It was amazing there was any room on his desk to set his computer. Emmett’s office was renowned in the Agency for being cluttered with the eclectic—tiny figurines, airplane models, McDonald’s toys, miniature gadgets, puzzles and mind-benders, abstract art, energy-drink cans, bottles in odd shapes, and just about anything else a person could imagine. Probably including a few deadly weapons disguised as toys, compliments of the research and development department.

  Emmett called his eccentricity and habit of collecting interesting odds and ends from across the globe and displaying them in his office the sign of a creative mind. The clutter inspired him.

  The disorder offended Malene’s sense of design, but she understood Emmett’s love of it. Her fabric samples, paint chips, and magazine clippings inspired her in much the same way.

  “You wanted to see me, Chief?” She slipped into the room and closed the door.

  It went without saying that you closed the door when having a meeting with Emmett. Everything in this building was top secret, even what the chief had for lunch. The entire building was shielded and protected by scrambling equipment and signal-blocking machinery. Every type of cloaking device imaginable protected the clandestine missions being planned inside the building and the intel that protected the country. Emmett’s office was triple shielded. Topping the airline industry, the Agency believed in triple redundancy. Double redundancy was not enough.

  There was a saying among spies, “Trust no one.” And that was never truer than inside agency headquarters. You never knew who might have turned, or was a plant, or a mole, or a double agent. The paranoia could drive a normal person crazy. It certainly did its best to make Malene berserk. She would have appreciated a little trust, even just a smidgen.

  “Have a seat.” Emmett gestured toward the impressive deep-brown leather guest chair.

  Emmett had some of the best furnishings in the Agency. He had to. He never knew when the director, a five-star general, or the president would stop by. Malene had picked out most of them herself. The Agency couldn’t trust an outside design firm with the details or layout of Emmett’s office. Loose lips and all. And people willing to take payoffs.

  Emmett wore an immaculately tailored suit that fit his sleek, athletic frame as if it had been made for him. And it had been. She’d designed and ordered it herself. It was darn good work.

  Today Emmett looked every inch the government professional, a politician, the boss—handsome and stately. Which was her intended effect when she’d designed the suit. Emmett could appear any way he chose. He was also one of the world’s finest masters of disguise.

  Malene tried to digest what it meant that he was looking bosslike this morning. Did that bode ill, or not?

  N
ot, she decided. If he looked too friendly, it meant he was up to something. Always be suspicious if the boss offered you a drink as soon as you walked in. If he appeared too sympathetic, it meant he had bad news to relate. Bosslike couldn’t possibly mean anything other than he had an exciting assignment for her, something to be taken seriously. She was Emmett’s go-to cover-life girl. Maybe it even meant a raise. She’d been doing some fine work this past year. She was due one soon.

  She sat and relaxed into the plush, buttery leather of the wingback chair.

  “A high-priority job’s come up,” Emmett said without preamble. “I need my best personnel on it.”

  Malene clasped her hands in her lap and smiled back at him. “I’m your woman.” She certainly was. She wasn’t vain, but she wasn’t falsely modest, either. She worked hard and excelled at what she did—she was quite simply the best.

  Emmett gave her a half-smile and cleared his throat. “I appreciate your enthusiasm and loyalty, but let me give you a piece of advice—never agree to a deal until you’ve heard the details, large and small.”

  “Read the fine print, right. Got it.” She felt duly chastised, but it didn’t kill her enthusiasm. She’d accept no matter what.

  “I need absolute subjectivity and impartiality for this job,” he said, peering at her piercingly. “You’ve always been a consummate professional. I’ve never had any complaints there. But I know better than anyone there’s a limit to a person’s ability to remain impartial where emotions are involved. Personally, I have my doubts about whether you’ll be able to separate your personal from your professional life during this project.” He sighed and shrugged. “But I’m up against it.

  “I’ll understand your objections completely, and allow you to withdraw your agreement. No black marks on your record.” His eyes twinkled with tease.

  Malene was smart enough to know there’d be no way to decline, but she listened politely as a sick feeling settled in her stomach. Personal from private? That didn’t sound good. Not at all.

  “I’d like you to think it over and give my proposal a fair shot. As head of the department, it falls under your jurisdiction. You’ll ultimately be in charge, but you’d have a little distance. But I’d like, I need, your personal hand in this. If you think you can handle it.” He ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair as if he was struggling with his decision.

  But Malene knew the boss too well to be fooled. He’d just issued a challenge—one he was certain he’d win.

  She was on extreme alert now. What was the chief hinting at? Tate was about the only thing that would sour her on an assignment. Oh, damn.

  “With Kendra out on maternity leave, I know you’re swamped. Her absence is partly why I’m asking you to attend to this matter yourself.”

  Emmett was usually direct. Malene grew distinctly anxious, and that sick feeling turned into a roiling knot, as he hedged. The mention of Kendra also made her sit up straighter. Since Malene had divorced Tate over his mission-related infidelity, Kendra handled all his cover-life needs. Not that there were many—Tate never went undercover as anything other than himself—Tate Cox, software guru, son of deceased Senator Burrell Cox and wealthy socialite Lenora Andrews Cox, and international playboy.

  Heaven knows there was a time or two when Malene had been itching to get her hands on one of his assignments. For one, Tate got some of the most interesting missions in the Agency. And two, well, she wasn’t usually a vindictive woman, not where anyone but Tate was concerned. But she wouldn’t have minded a little bit of good fun and innocent revenge for the emotional travails he’d put her through during their marriage. These days they were cordial, polite, distant, with an underlying sense of seething when their paths crossed. What would it hurt to mix things up a bit?

  She knew all the little ways to make him squirm and she wasn’t above using them. Emmett, however, had been sharp enough never to give her the opportunity. Until now? This must be important stuff.

  “This must be Tate’s mission.” Though her heart raced, she tried to remain calm, and sound almost bored. “He doesn’t usually present much of a challenge for my artists.”

  Emmett laughed. “Ah, but this time he’s taken on a rather unique, and extremely dangerous, situation.”

  “That’s so like Tate.” So she’d been right to be leery.

  Emmett picked up a wooden puzzle cube and rolled it in his palm. “Careful what you say. Objectivity, remember? This could be a career-maker for you. A mission so delicate, there will be a rare amount of active fieldwork involved.”

  Fieldwork? Now he really had her attention. As long as she wouldn’t be looking down the barrel of anything stronger than a beer …

  “I need someone nimble and adaptable. Someone who thinks on the fly. Someone with connections all over Britain and Europe. Someone whose presence won’t arouse suspicion.”

  Malene took a deep breath. “What has Tate done now?”

  Emmett raised a brow at her skeptical question.

  Malene was Kendra’s supervisor. She knew a great deal more than most people about the trouble Tate could get into.

  “An enemy agent has apparently fallen in love with him. So she claims.”

  “What!” She recovered from her shock quickly and shook her head and laughed. “Poor thing.”

  She could handle this. She hoped. Where Tate was concerned, she still had a decent amount of unreasonable, unfathomable jealousy. “Well, it’s not the first time. He can turn on the charm when he wants to.”

  She didn’t really feel much sympathy for this poor, vulnerable, “loses her heart too easily” foreign agent who’d fallen for Tate’s act. “I’m guessing Nicole isn’t too thrilled about this news.”

  Tate had been dating Nicole Arceneau, a French actress, for the past six months. Malene had heard rumors Tate was thinking of marrying her, mostly from their five-year-old daughter, Kayla, who guilelessly spilled her daddy’s secrets. He’d never mentioned it when he’d picked Kayla up for one of his custodial visits. But then, he and Malene never talked much. It was more of a “grab the kid and dash” situation.

  Malene didn’t relish sharing Kayla with Nicole. If she had her way, Tate would remain single until Kayla was grown. She didn’t need an evil stepmother interfering with her parenting. It was bad enough she had Tate to contend with.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Emmett said a little too casually. “Nicole broke it off. Rather suddenly. She’s taken up with a French director and eloped.” Emmett grinned. “Guess she chose career over pleasure.”

  Malene was stunned. Why hadn’t she heard? She was supposed to be in the intelligence business.

  For the past week, Tate had been in town between assignments. He’d had Kayla with him several days and she hadn’t spilled a word about his breakup. Usually her five-year-old would blab news like that to her the minute Tate dropped her off. She wondered what he’d bribed her with and why the media hadn’t picked up the story.

  “Actresses can be fickle. Tate must be heartbroken.” Served him right. Then she felt herself grinning. One bad stepmother avoided.

  Emmett shook his head. “He bounces back quickly.”

  That was true, too. But she had the feeling Emmett was teasing her, either that or trying to get an obtuse point across. “When did this big breakup happen?”

  “A month ago, while he was still in Monte Carlo. We’ve had a hell of a time keeping it under wraps.”

  That explained things. Malene frowned. Sneaky bastard. She really was out of things. She made a mental note to get some new internal informants and either teach Kayla how to pry better or outbribe Tate for the intel her daughter was keeping from her.

  “And now he’s taken up with this foreign agent on the rebound? As much as he loves women, that doesn’t sound like Tate. He’d never purposely date the opposition unless it’s his mission.”

  She hadn’t heard about this new love affair, either. Or mission, if that’s what it was—a way to infiltrate the enemy camp and ge
t human intelligence, humint? As she knew all too well, Tate wasn’t above prostituting himself for a mission. But she still should have heard about it.

  She hated to ask the next question. “And by enemy agent, I assume you mean RIOT?”

  The Revolutionary International Organization of Terrorists was NCS’s main adversary. A group of terrorists bent on creating worldwide anarchy and ultimately installing their leader, Archibald Random, as grand poobah and supreme leader of the world. Random had a genius IQ and some days seemed unstoppable. His terrorist network included organizations from street gangs to the Mafia and Al Qaeda. Each group acted in their own interests, but ultimately he controlled them. He also had his own team of spies and personnel who worked directly for him.

  Tate, and therefore Malene, always wondered whether these groups knew they were expendable to Random. Random was a terroristic genius, strategically minded in a frightening and accomplished way.

  Emmett nodded. “Yes, RIOT, of course. And it will be his mission.”

  She sighed heavily. “I’m confused. You’d better give me the mission details. And not to contradict your authority, Chief, but are you sure sending Tate out to date the enemy is a good idea? He falls in love so easily.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “The last thing I need is to share custody of Kayla with Tate and his evil RIOT mistress.”

  Nicole was starting to look pretty good in comparison. Damn that French director.

  Emmett gave her a crooked smile. “That’s why I need you for this job. Tate has to seduce this young woman and convince her to come to our side—without losing his heart in the process. I need you along riding roughshod to make sure the mission goes as planned.

  “You’re extremely valuable to the Agency and know too much about too many Agency operations. If the terrorists got hold of you…” He shrugged. “It’s dangerous to send a senior official like you into the field. Under normal circumstances, I’d avoid it.”

  Oh, boy, Malene thought. She didn’t like the sound of this at all. “Let me get this straight—you want me to stop Tate from falling in love with a RIOT agent who’s in love with him? What makes you think I have any influence over him?”