Exposure

  CRITICS HAIL DEE DAVIS AS A MASTER OF ROMANTIC SUSPENSE!

  ENIGMA

  "Tremendously gripping . truly riveting."

  —RomanticTimes (4 1/2 stars,Top pick)

  ENDGAME

  "Dee Davis is at the top of her game in this clever and quick-paced ride over dangerous ground. With a hot love story and a coldhearted villain, Endgame is romantic intrigue at its best Davis never disappoints."

  —Mariah Stewart, bestselling author of Dead Wrong

  DANCING IN THE DARK

  "Top-notch suspense.This story of extreme loss, treachery, and danger also adds up to great romance."

  —Romantic Times (4 stars)

  "Dancing in the Dark is a definite page-turner; and a story you'll want to finish in one sitting."

  —Romance Reviews Today

  MIDNIGHT RAIN

  "Engaging characters and lots of plot twists make for a spine-tingling romance."

  —Booklist

  "Taut suspense, wicked humor, powerful romance— Midnight Ram has it all."

  —Christina Skye, nationally bestselling author of Code Name Nanny

  "Top-notch romantic suspense."

  —Romantic Times (4 stars)

  DARK OF THE NIGHT

  "A highly entertaining read, both as a mystery and love story, [which embraces] all the components that a reader could want."

  —Rendezvous

  "Full of suspense and intrigue . Blackmail, murder, and a storyline that takes great unexpected twists will keep you at the edge of your seat!"

  —Old Book Barn Gazette

  "Intrigue, deception and murder make Dark of the Night a great way to spend your entertainment hours."

  —Romantic Times (4 stars)

  "A compelling, thoroughly entertaining tale of romantic suspense. Fans of the genre should add Dee Davis to their list of'don't miss authors."

  —AOL Romance Fiction Forum

  JUST BREATHE

  "A wonderful, not-to-miss, stay-up-late read."

  —Philadelphia Inquirer

  "Ally McBeal meets Mission Impossible ."

  —Publishers Weekly

  "A book that successfully merges the elements of a spy novel and a romance comes around once in a blue moon. I look forward to the next Dee Davis novel with excitement."

  —Bookaholics

  AFTER TWILIGHT

  "Dee Davis has crafted a compelling story that deftly combines suspense and romance, offering the best of both. I'm adding her name to my must-read list."

  —NewYorkTimes bestselling author Kay Hooper

  "Perfect pulse-pounding reading for a cold winter's night."

  —Romantic Times (Top Pick)

  "An exciting romantic suspense thriller... not to be missed."

  —Huntress Reviews

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  EPILOGUE

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  ISBN 0-373-77060-X

  EXPOSURE

  Copyright © 2005 by Dee Davis Oberwetter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.HQNBooks.com Printed in U.S.A.

  For JK and KP

  The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,

  —Edmund Burke

  PROLOGUE

  Shchuch'ye, Russia

  "TWO MORE MINUTES, and then we move." Khamis al-Rashid checked his watch on reflex. He was more than aware of the time, as every second counted, his dreams almost within his grasp.

  "What about him?" Malik Barzani, Khamis's second in command, nodded toward the shadowy figure ofYuri Dynkin. Using the Russian was a calculated risk. He had helped with Khamis's enterprises before, but his motivation was purely financial, which meant that he couldn't be trusted completely. Still, he knew the compound and he knew where the R-VX was stored.

  So for the moment, at least, Khamis was forced to rely on the man.

  "We let him guide us to our objective, and then we'll reassess his value." Khamis's smile was hollow. He glanced down at his watch again, and signaled Dynkin. It was time.

  The Russian moved ahead, guiding them through a maze of barbed wire and wooden fencing. Most of it was decrepit to the point of collapse, but occasionally they were forced to stop and use wire cutters to gain access. Beyond the fencing, the dark outline of the storage facility loomed. Five thousand metric tons of nerve agent housed in buildings that looked ready to collapse at the slightest hint of wind. The ex-Soviet Union had fallen hard, and nowhere was it more evident than Shchuch'ye.

  Khamis smiled, this time with genuine amusement. What the infidels lost, the righteous gained. And in this case it would lead to personal triumph. He ducked under broken wire and stopped, surveying the compound, waiting to be certain that they were still undetected.

  Malik slid to a stop beside him, his assault rifle aimed in the direction of the buildings. But there was no sound. The guards were underpaid and understaffed and, on a cold night like this, preferred the meager shelter of their barracks. It seemed Dynkin's intel had been correct.

  Signaling Malik to split to the right, the two men moved forward, Khamis shifting to the left so that they flanked the building they were targeting. Dynkin followed on Khamis's heels, his machine gun held ready.

  Silence reigned as they moved into place on either side of the building's double doors, and with a finger count of three, Khamis and Malik pulled open the doors, swinging around to face the yawning black opening.

  Again nothing moved, and the three men donned gas masks before sliding inside and securing the door behind them. Pale tendrils of moonlight washed through the windows of the storage building, but it was not enough to guide them. Instead, Dynkin switched on a flashlight, careful
ly shielded so that it wouldn't be visible through the window.

  Walking quickly between rows of wooden shelving, he steered them through the stockpile of chemical munitions, stopping at the back of the building in front of a tier of metal canisters.

  "This is what you're looking for." He gestured toward the towering shelf and stepped out of the way.

  Malik hoisted the leather satchel he'd been carrying onto a nearby table and, after inspecting the contents of the shelf, donned protective gloves and carefully removed three of the canisters, placing them in the case's specially constructed foam-lined interior Once the R-VX was safely in place, he turned with a grin, giving a thumbs-up in the American manner.

  The gesture sent a shiver of hatred running through Khamis, but he quashed it, knowing that out of control emotion could be a man's most dangerous enemy. With a nod at the other two men, Khamis gestured for them to begin making their way out of the building. Then with a last look around the warehouse, he followed, his A-91 trained on the door.

  If Dynkin's information was correct, there wouldn't be anyone to question their exit, but he wasn't about to take the chance. Firing in a facility like the one here at Shchuch'ye would be risky. If any one of the munitions was hit, the resulting release of gas could easily knock out a sizable chunk of this godforsaken corner of Russia. But if it was their only defense, Khamis was willing to take the chance.

  The chill air smacked his exposed cheeks as he pulled off the gas mask. The compound was still shrouded in silence. A swath of illumination from the barracks door cut across the dusty yard some two hundred meters to their right. But other than the flicker of light, there was no visible activity.

  Apparently Dynkin had been right. Khamis waited until Malik had crossed the first barrier and was well on his way toward the second before motioning Dynkin to follow. The man shook his head and waved Khamis on, tipping his head toward the barracks, motioning with fingers to eyes that he'd keep watch.

  Khamis nodded his agreement and slid through the barbed wire, following the same path as Malik, his friend visible in the distance, the dark shape of the duffel evident in the hazy wash of moonlight.

  Behind him, the night suddenly exploded with noise, a siren splitting through the night, accompanied by the cutting illumination of a searchlight. Swiveling backward but still moving, he scanned the compound, counting at least eight guards emerging from the barracks. According to Dynkin there should have been only three.

  Adrenaline surging, he searched for the Russian, only to find him still standing at the first barrier, his arms waving in either signal or surrender. There was no way to decipher which it was, and in truth it didn't matter. Dynkin knew too much and so, even if he was innocent, presented a risk too great to allow.

  Raising the silenced assault rifle, Khamis centered on the Russian and took the shot. The mail dropped without a sound. Khamis slipped the A-91 over his shoulder and turned to run, just as the first volley of machine-gun fire spattered across the dusty ground.

  He cleared two more barriers and was under the third when the sound of helicopter blades filtered through the night air. The dark shape of the aircraft filled the sky, two beams of light sweeping the ground, intersecting and diverging as they passed over the turf below.

  Far ahead, Khamis could see Malik as he ducked under the cover of a stand of trees. At least for the moment, his friend would be safe. Khamis crawled under the barbed wire and rolled to his feet, running all out toward the final barrier. Fifteen meters and he'd be there. The air filled with the noise of gunfire again, another volley from the machine guns.

  Again he hit the dirt, crawling forward on his elbows, his weapon still grasped firmly in his hands, years of training making his actions instinctive. Five meters to go. The ground around him spit puffs of dirt, this time the gunfire coming from above. The searchlights were still moving, however, meaning the shots were preemptory. They hadn't found him yet.

  He crawled under the fallen barbed wire and pushed forward, stopping as his coat snared on the wire. Reaching for his pocket, he cursed, remembering Dynkin had the wire cutters. The machine-gun fire was closer now, and he could hear his pursuers calling out to one another. With a surge of adrenaline, he jerked free leaving a large chunk of his coat behind.

  Running now, bent double to the ground, he headed for the trees, grateful when the passing helicopter lights again missed him. It was dark in the woods, but he didn't stop. The rendezvous point was still a good distance away, and he had to move quickly—the plane wouldn't wait.

  One of the canisters would be payment for the ride, and the fact that Malik had the satchel meant that Khamis was now expendable. There was relief in the knowledge that Malik would escape with the R-VX, but disappointment in knowing that he might not be able to see the mission through.

  Still, there was a chance, and he ran on, oblivious to the tree branches that clawed at his arms and legs. He didn't bother to try to silence his footsteps. There was little point. Either he'd make the plane or he would die. It had always been an option, but one that he'd chosen not to dwell on. Unlike many of his compatriots, he was not keen on sacrificing himself for the cause. He'd already paid more than his share, and until he had achieved his revenge, he had no intention of dying.

  Bursting from the woods, he raced forward, the dimmed Sights of the plane directly ahead. Malik was standing by the wing, the precious satchel still clutched in his hand. Behind him, Khamis heard the swell of the helicopter and knew that he had only seconds.

  Malik, too, saw the whirling rotors, and turned to board the plane, hands from inside the fuselage reaching out to pull him aboard. The little plane's engines roared to life, and it began to taxi, the helicopter's gunmen firing randomly, the distance still too great for contact.

  Khamis ran forward, the moving plane quickly closing the distance between them. In seconds he'd be parallel to the fuselage door. Malik's face appeared, his arms outstretched, and with a flying leap, Khamis dove for the door just as the plane lifted from the ground.

  His muscles contracted in protest as he whipped back and forth in the wash, but a second pair of hands joined Malik's and together they managed to pull him aboard, the plane soaring over the treetops, well out of range of the helicopter.

  Antiaircraft guns flashed below, but only for a moment, and then silence reigned, the hum of the engine the only noise, the lights of the men below diminishing to pinpricks as the plane rose higher, finally disappearing altogether.

  Khamis lay against the interior wall of the plane, his breathing still coming in gasps. Malik made the thumbs-up sign again and, despite his loathing for all things American, Khamis returned the gesture.

  Praise Allah, they were safe, along with the nerve agent. There were still hurdles to overcome, the most important being access into the U.S., but his objective was righteous, and God was smiling upon him. Success was within reach, and the ensuing revenge would taste sweeter than sun-kissed tamr.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gijon, Spain

  NIGEL FERRIS LOWERED his binoculars and blew out a breath. Surveillance was not his strong point. He had neither the vision nor the patience for such endeavors, and yet here he was, waiting for Alberto Salvatore to make his move.

  Nigel had been stuck here on the outskirts of town for the past week, watching the arms dealer and his henchmen come and go from their portside warehouse. His instructions were to observe, but considering the amount of activity in the past twenty-four hours it was fairly obvious that something was about to go down.

  Salvatore supplied weapons of all sorts to the highest bidder with no concern as to the end use of his product. A menace in general, he'd come to the attention of MI6 when rumors surfaced of a potential arms deal with a particularly militant faction of the IRA.

  Although things had been quiet of late in Northern Ireland, there was always the chance of someone stirring things up, and any movement along those lines had to be carefully monitored. Nigel, unfortunately, had drawn the shor
t straw.

  Or more accurately, he'd managed to piss off Jason Hard-castle, his immediate superior, by doing an end run around the man to work with Last Chance in America. The English government, though allied with the U.S., wasn't all that keen on its agents running willy-nilly over to the colonies at the whim of a man like Cullen Pulaski.

  Not that Nigel had been responding to Cullen, anyway. It went far deeper than that. And the only reason he was sitting in Spain watching the world through the window of a dingy walk-up flat as opposed to finding himself on the dole was the fact that his superior's superior knew that, push come to shove, he'd always land on the side of Britain. He'd proved that fact in spades, and the resulting betrayal had almost cost him his friends.

  But in the end, he'd managed to repair the damage, which was more than he could say for Hardcastle. The man would no doubt carry the grudge for eternity—or longer. The outcome being that Nigel could count on a series of lackluster assignments for the immediate future.

  He lifted the glasses again to peer out the open window at the warehouse below. His contact with Spanish intelligence was working across the street in an equally inhospitable room. Of course, at the end of a long day, Enrique had a warm bed and a willing wife to go home to.

  Not that location made any difference for Nigel. Home wasn't a word that had any particular meaning. He still had his family's estate in Gloucestershire but he hadn't visited it in years, leaving the upkeep to a series of caretakers. The only time he felt any sense of place at all was when he was with Gabe and Payton.

  Tragic, but true. He grinned at his own morose turn of thought and forced himself to focus on the warehouse below. The black sedan out front was Salvatore's. He'd been inside for about twenty minutes, the timing atypical. In the three weeks Nigel had been observing the warehouse, Salvatore had only shown his face a couple of times, and then he'd never deigned to leave the confines of his car, the meetings lasting less than ten minutes.