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Triple Threat--by Mia Varano
Coming November 2009 from eRedSage.com
Three Kinds of Wicked Series
Tempers flare and sparks fly when a lonely, embittered FBI agent tries to convince a rootless showgirl, suspicious of government agencies, to testify against a dangerous mob boss.
The two are on a road to disaster until a dark stranger on a Harley rides to their rescue, showing them how to love and trust again.
Read Excerpt
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Excerpt
And then he came.
He rose from the shimmering highway as if ejected from the asphalt, black on black. As the Harley drew closer and the whine of its engine pierced the dense silence of the desert, goose bumps rushed along Brandy’s arms.
Agent Coltrane tensed beside her, and as the biker slowed down, Coltrane reached into the open trunk and pulled out his gun.
Brandy squinted at the stranger, his longish, dark hair blowing behind him beneath the abbreviated motorcycle helmet, his black T-shirt molded to his body by the wind. He didn’t look like one of Vinnie’s boys, but you couldn’t be too careful.
The motorcycle pulled onto the shoulder of the road, churning up sand and grit. Brandy covered her face with her hands to protect it from the particles needling her flesh.
Agent Coltrane growled beside her. “Let me handle this.”
What did Coltrane plan to do, shoot the biker and steal his motorcycle? For being one of the good guys, Agent Coltrane had a dangerous edge.
It turned her on.
He shoved his weapon in the back of his waistband and pulled his wrinkled T-shirt over his head, hiding all those rippling muscles from her greedy gaze.
She’d been happier to find him in her trunk than she’d let on. Even though she’d been making her own way in the world longer than she could remember, she welcomed the support and protection Agent Coltrane and his big gun represented in the middle of the desert. Of course, he was hardly the type to wrap her in his arms and soothe away all her fears.
She had yet to find the man capable of that.
The stranger cut the bike’s engine and slid from the Harley. The action jolted her since man and machine seemed welded together into one powerful entity.
His black motorcycle boots crunched the gravel as he ambled toward them with the grace of a jungle cat, unusual for a big man.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Coltrane widen his stance and hook one thumb in the front pocket of his jeans. The pocket closest to his weapon.
The biker stopped in front of them and dragged the helmet from his head. He shook out his hair, as blue-black as a raven’s wing, which skimmed his broad shoulders.
“Do you have a problem?”
His voice, low and as smooth as aged cognac, insinuated itself into her core, stirring up those old feelings of longing, of wanting to belong to something, to someone. She leaned in toward him to catch the last syllables from his lips.
Agent Coltrane snorted. “What was your first clue?”
Brandy drew her brows together and shot Coltrane a warning look. This man in black had the ability to help them, and Coltrane couldn’t tame his sarcastic tongue. Coltrane really had to work on his people skills.
“You look...lost.” Their savior shrugged and shoved his dark sunglasses to the top of his head, sweeping his hair from his face.
Brandy sucked in a breath and stepped back. The man’s eyes looked almost black in the fading desert light and their intensity dominated his beautiful face, all sharp angles and shadows.
She clutched her hands in front of her to quell her compulsion to run her palms across the deep lines bracketing his mouth.
Pain. His eyes and the harshness of his mouth spoke volumes of pain.
Definitely not one of Vinnie’s guys. Couldn’t Coltrane, even with his limited understanding of the human heart, understand that?
“We’re not lost. She...we ran out of gas.”
The stranger nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a couple to run out of gas two hours out of Vegas.
Coltrane took charge, as usual, but at least the rod up his back seemed to bend a little. He must’ve realized the biker posed no threat to them. Despite his height and muscular build, the stranger possessed a calm gentleness.
“Could you ride over to Buzzard Flats, get us some gas, and then bring it back here? I’d pay you for our gas, your gas, and your time.”
The man’s grim mouth quirked at the corner. “There is no Buzzard Flats.”
“W-what do you mean? I saw the sign back there.” Brandy’s arms flailed at her sides. They couldn’t be on this road much longer. There were only so many roads out of Vegas, and she didn’t want anyone else following her. Coltrane represented danger, but at least he didn’t want to kill her.
“Buzzard Flats is a ghost town.”
“Shit.” Coltrane slammed his fist against the car. “Can you make it to the next town then? We’ll wait for the gas. It should be cooling off out here in a few hours.”
“You look like you’re in a hurry. It could be dangerous waiting out here.”
Brandy’s head snapped up in unison with Coltrane’s.
Agent Coltrane placed his hand behind his back again, his fingers tracing the handle of his gun. “What do you mean by that?”
The man flipped his sunglasses back over his eyes and shrugged. “The desert looks empty during the day, but it’s filled with creatures, some more dangerous than others.”
Brandy pressed her fist to her mouth as her heart skittered in her chest. Yeah, and Vinnie’s thugs were probably the most dangerous creatures of all. A cold dread seeped into her skin, and she tottered forward.
The stranger’s tattooed arm shot out, curling around her waist. His warm breath tickled her ear. “You’ll be fine.”
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