Deception (eBook)

Chapter 1

Bogotá, Republic of Colombia, South America

Jolted out of a stunned silence, Olivia Lawrence Ward swore under her breath as she watched the two men slug it out; shattering yet another piece of solid oak furniture. The thundering crash was loud enough to wake the dead—not to mention the entire hotel. From her vantage point, with her arms shackled on high to the headboard of her humungous four-poster bed, it was all flying fists and tactical bone crunching kicks.

At this point, there was zero hope of her salvaging the unexpected intelligence gathering opportunity that had presented itself. All because of him.

When that detestable man had first burst through her bedroom door, she had thought that she might have a chance to finally get answers... Well, until she saw the look of pure rage on Joshua Hunt’s face as he stomped over and with almost superhuman strength tore the three-hundred-pound cartel lieutenant, aptly nicknamed ‘Crush,’ away from her.

She bristled: The identity of the gigantic beast’s elusive boss would remain a frustrating mystery.

Granted, at the time of Hunt’s breach, she had not been in the best of strategic positions with grappling to strangle the ox on top of her with her bare calves and thighs encased around his thick neck. All while his calloused, left-sided claws viciously clamped down on her throat, blurring her vision as she gasped for a burning breath.

Ignoring the mobster’s pelting right hook in her side had not been by choice either. Darkness would have set in right before Crush gutted her—or did God only knows, something worse... Eyes stinging through the woozy terror of hypoxia as life slipped away, she had imagined her life flashing before her eyes and suspected that she, in a Freudian moment, had hallucinated none other than Joshua Hunt.

Olivia blinked the men in the room into focus. She blocked out the lingering pain from undoubtedly cracked ribs; the downside of getting enough oxygen to the brain.

Realistically speaking, even if she had access to her handcuffed arms, they never would have wrapped firmly enough around that bull neck to choke the life out of her aggressor—no matter how hard she tried. The grim options facing her were simply to kill or to die.

Perhaps then, it had been hopelessly naive of her to think that she could have somehow turned the tables and extracted information from that brute of an interrogator. Though Olivia Lawrence Ward might have been in over her head—and clinging on for dear life—there was no way she was copping to needing Joshua Hunt’s help. Ever.

In fact, one might even argue that she had made it easier for him to fight off her assailant by doing the pre-combat battery and strangulation softening-up work. If only she could truly consider that supposition...

Olivia bit her lip as her unexpected savior put his hands up and took a deliberate step back from Crush, disengaging from the fight. Wild panic surged through her veins. Ugh! That traitor is feeding me to the wolves.

Hunt winked casually at her before removing his crumpled and torn black tailored suit jacket, as if the two combatants were gentlemen embroiled in a civilized brawl over a noble lady. His muscled menace of a rival merely smirked while fisting his palm for the deadly duel to continue. Hunt tilted his head, cracked his neck, and then launched into a wild growling attack.

Olivia’s eyes remained fixed on the smaller matador. Despite the passing of half a decade, there was no mistaking that chiseled jaw, the dark slightly wavy hair, the ironclad look of determination and... that body that was to die for. Her stomach fluttered. Olivia abruptly shut that wretched trapdoor into the rabbit hole of memory lane and fumbled at freeing her hands with one of the most versatile of female accessories: her bobby pin.

Mesmerized by her supposed rescuer now, as he skillfully dodged swipes of a jambiya—a deadly curved dagger associated with the men from Yemen, she noted that his shoulders had filled out to perfection. That once lean and muscular swimmer’s body had transformed into a menacing machine of force, agility, and splendor. Drawing her in, like a moth to the flame.

Evading yet another crushing blow, Joshua tore a thick stake loose from what had once been a side table before waving the makeshift shield as a protective barrier. Next, Crush sneered at him in frustration and heedlessly charged forward for the kill; dagger in hand. Olivia held her breath as the men ploughed to the ground, entirely outside of where she could stretch to see. Her throat constricted as the jarring groans and guttural grunting intensified, right before a tortuous gurgling sound was followed by nothing but... silence.

Desperate to see, Olivia strained her aching muscles and arched her back, a chill running down her spine. Raw panic engulfed her.

“Josh?”

Rising slowly, as if from the ashes, Joshua Hunt stood there with his chest heaving at the end of her bed, his face bloodied and shirt shredded. His appraising gaze roamed up her body; over her exposed thighs and viciously torn dress. Heat flushed her face. His stare finally met her eyes.

“You say my name as if you care whether I live or die... I suppose I should feel privileged that you remember me at all.”

Remember? How can I forget? The sound of his deep, rumbling voice stirred unwanted memories. Adding insult to injury, Olivia cursed her treacherous body’s fiery reaction to this man considering the lengths she had gone to in exorcising him from her life.

The look in his eyes softened. “Liv, you know better than to follow a story like a crazed bloodhound without the necessary security team in place.”

Caution did not get her to where she was. Besides, if journalists traveled with a protective entourage, nothing of substance would ever get published.

“Wow, are you giving me advice now, Joshua? Last time I checked, you had no say over me.” The words sounded sharper than she had intended.

Like that, his stony mask was back in play. “This is quite a bind you got yourself into, Lawrence.”

Her eyes narrowed. He knew precisely how much it irked her to be called by only one of the names in her double-name surname.

“You mean these?” She finally wriggled her hands free from those horrid handcuffs and offered him a triumphant grin. Even if it hurt her face.

The side of his lips curved. “As always, your timing is impeccable... you’re clearly out of practice. I could have used your help a minute or two ago.”

“I didn’t want to risk hurting your fragile manly pride.”

Scampering from the bed, Olivia straightened what was left of her mangled dress. She limped around to the far side of the room to inspect her attacker. Dull, lifeless eyes bulged, in stark contrast to the grotesque sparkling handle of the bejeweled jambiya protruding from Crush’s bull neck. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood. Hunt had deftly avoided causing a messy arterial spray... by millimeters.

Lawrence Ward inhaled sharply and removed her wrecked stilettos from her wobbly feet. Both her heels had snapped right off in the deadly tussle and were still securely embedded in the ox’s hide. Those frantic kicks had made far less damage to his torso than she had hoped. Olivia made a mental note to place an order for custom-made, steel-reinforced heels... not that she was hoping for a rematch.

Hunching over, she patted down the dead man’s pockets. No phone, nothing. Damn it. How is this possible?

Annoyed, she grumbled; “Did you have to kill him? I was about to find out who he was working for. You just tanked five months’ worth of hard work and bait traps, you buffoon.”

Joshua’s eyebrow lifted. “Quite a busy bee you are with so many irons in the fire. I’m rather curious, how were you planning on getting that information out of him... if he finished what he started?”

Her face blanched. It definitely did not seem like she was engaged in saucy honeytrap foreplay when her rescuer had barged in there or had the upper hand. This begged the question as to why, after all these years, Joshua Hunt was standing here at this exact moment—in her bedroom—hundreds of miles from, well, anywhere.

Olivia crossed her arms and gave him a defiant glare.

His brow furrowed. “Are you not going to ask me who I work for?”

As if she would believe a word that came out of this louse. She chewed the inside of her lip. Of course, I am... a ‘job.’

“You should clean up. There’s blood all over your face,” she snapped back.

Hunt pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and lifted it to his oozing brow. “You don’t look much better yourself.”

Olivia grimaced wiping the blood from the side of her mouth where the former mobster lieutenant had struck her, suddenly aware of her stinging lip....