He's strong. Fierce. Relentless.
Gray Box operative Castle Kinkade always gets the job done, no matter how tough the assignment. But when he agrees to protect white-hat hacker Kit Westcott, Castle's loyalty is tested like never before. Trapped in the closest of quarters, protective instincts flaring, he can feel the ice surrounding his heart melt...and he knows he'd do anything to keep Kit safe.
Castle is the last person Kit should confide in, let alone be attracted to, but he's the only ally she has left. Under threat of imminent attack—and a chilling conspiracy that hits too close to home—Castle and Kit are forced to put their hearts and lives on the line...and stop at nothing to face the greatest danger the world has ever known.
Castle’s blood pressure was so high he could hear the rush of it.
Kit
was a liar. A habitual, no, pathological, no, no, compulsive liar! His
gut churned with white-hot anger, but the sucker punch of betrayal was
worse.
She was innocent of collusion with terrorists. That much
he believed. But he could only buy stock in eighty percent of what came
out of her mouth. And it wouldn’t be so bad if the remaining twenty
percent wasn’t going to get them killed.
He sharpened his focus on the task at hand. They were going to get through this, alive, so he could strangle her later.
Castle
held on to her waist as he guided her to swing one leg over the side,
followed by the other. The breeze blew her dress up higher than
appropriate and he caught an indecent glimpse of her ass. Sweeter than
he’d imagined.
She stared up at him with those crazy-beautiful eyes, trying to suck him back in.
Damn
it to hell, why did he enjoy touching her so much? Why had it taken
every ounce of strength in him not to kiss her back earlier when she was
shivering in his bed, pressed up against him, wearing nothing but his
T-shirt?
Why did he still want to kiss her?
“Put your toes on the tiny lip,” he said, referring to the barely-there ledge, keeping his voice controlled, low.
“Tiny
is an overstatement.” She struggled to get her footing stable, her
thin-soled shoes slipping around with no treads, but he held onto her.
“I won’t let you fall, Kit.”
Her anxious gaze locked onto his and narrowed. “I know. You want the pleasure of killing me yourself.”
And
why oh why did her sassy remarks not only torque him tighter and
tighter but also turn him on brighter than a popped flare in the
pitch-black night?
“You probably want to use your bare hands around my throat,” she said.
“So
you’re a psychic liar. I was trying to pinpoint how to classify you,
but I don’t think that one is listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical
Manual for Mental Disorders.”
“Whatev—” She swallowed the rest of the word, controlling her tongue before she pushed him from peeved to righteously pissed.
About time she advanced to Go and collected a clue.
“Those
shoes are a problem,” he said. She’d be better off barefoot out here.
He took another look at the six-inch thick wall separating her bedroom
balcony from the main one and sized up the length of her arm span.
Holding
on to one balcony and reaching over to grasp the other might prove
tricky for her. Doing it at night in those slippery shoes was suicide.
He gestured for her to come back and helped lift her over the rail.
“Climb on.” He knelt. “I’ll piggyback you over.”
For
once, she simply did as he told her. No smart-ass remark, no protests.
No questions. Maybe she did trust him, at least in this.
Standing upright, he adjusted her weight on his back, getting it balanced. “Hold on tight.”
She wrapped her legs around his hips and clamped her arms around his neck in a choke hold.
“Not
that tight,” he hissed, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder at
the door. The curtain was in place, giving them precious minutes—perhaps
only seconds—that might mean the difference between success and death.
He swung his leg over the side and shimmied across the ledge.
The curtain rustled. Their time just ran out.
He
stepped up the pace, reaching across the wall to the other side as the
drapes were drawn. Castle stared at a man wearing glasses. His gaze was
hard and pitiless. He matched Kit’s description of Bravo.
Castle
wouldn’t be able to draw his weapon until they were on the other side
and he had a free hand. “Kit, reach into my holster and grab my gun?”
“Wh-what? I’ll fall.”
“You won’t.”
“Oh God. I’m going to be sick. I can’t.”
“You can. Trust me. They’re coming. Do it!”
She fumbled inside his jacket, her body plastered to his, legs in a death grip around his waist, and drew his Maxim 9.
The safety was already off.
“Aim at the other balcony,” he said, “finger on the trigger, squeeze, and shoot at anything that moves.”
A swish echoed in the wind as the balcony door opened.
Kit screamed, ducking her head, cheek pressed against his neck, and started shooting, wild and erratic.
For fuck’s sake. Were her eyes even open?
Silencers
on both sides softened the pop of the shots. Bits of stone from the
concrete wall sprayed in the air. Bullets cracked by his head, too close
for comfort.
Castle hooked his leg on the rail of the living
room balcony and rolled over, nearly knocking against the steel
staircase that went up to the roof. He tucked Kit beneath him, using his
body as a shield. “Please tell me your eyes were open when you fired?”
“You said nothing about my eyes.”
Wasn’t it implicit in the bit about aiming?
He snatched the gun from her, hopped to his feet, and aimed for the master bedroom balcony—with his eyes open.
No sign of Bravo or any from his band of merry hitmen.
Shit.
“Change of plan.” Gripping her elbow, he hoisted her up. “They’re about
to rush us, coming in through the living room doors. Can you swim?”
She gulped and looked over the balcony. “Oh, sweet Lord. You want us to jump?”
“Yes.”
“What if we miss the pool?”
“Push off from the railing when you jump. You won’t miss. Take off your shoes first so you don’t slip.”
“Stop
making everything sound so flipping easy. There’s four hundred feet
between us and going splat.” She shoved the flats in her bag.
“It’s
more like forty feet.” He helped her stand up on the top of the
balustrade. “Grip the handrail of the staircase.” He gestured to the
metal bar right beside her. “Steady yourself.”
“If we don’t die, we’ll break bones.”
A distinct possibility. “Who’s the crybaby now? If we don’t jump, we don’t make it.”
Once
she was in place with stable footing, Castle trained the gun on the
French doors, ready to lay waste to anyone who dared set foot on the
balcony.
“This plan sucks!”
“Did I neglect to mention I have a degree in sucky planning?”
Fearsome Gray Box operative Gideon Stone is devoted to his work and his team. He's never given reason to doubt his loyalty...until he's tasked with investigating Willow Harper, a beguiling cryptologist suspected of selling deadly bio-agents on the black market.
He knows she's innocent. He knows she's being framed. And he knows that without him, Willow will be dead before sunrise.
Thrust into the crossfire of an insidious international conspiracy, Gideon will do anything to keep Willow safe...even if that means waging war against his own. With time running out, an unlikely bond pushes limits—and forges loyalties. Every move they make counts. And the real traitor is always watching...
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Every Last Breath
Final Hour Book 1
An Amazon Best Book of 2019 So Far!
"Juno Rushdan is the real deal. Every Last Breath is an electric combination of heart-stopping thriller and swoon-worthy romance."—LEXI BLAKE, New York Times bestselling author
48 hours, 2 covert operatives, 1 chance to get it right
Maddox Kinkade is an expert at managing the impossible. Tasked with neutralizing a lethal bioweapon, she turns to the one person capable of helping her stop the threat of pandemic in time: the love of her life, back from the dead and mad as hell at her supposed betrayal. Recruiting Cole to save millions of lives may be harder than resisting the attraction still burning between them, but Maddox will do whatever it takes...even if it destroys her.
When Maddox crashes back into Cole Matthews' life, he wants to fight back. He wants to hate her. But the crisis is too strong to ignore, and soon the two former lovers find themselves working side-by-side in a breakneck race to stop a world-class killer with a secret that could end everything.
The clock is ticking.
A race-against-time romantic thriller, perfect for fans of JD Robb and Mary Burton!
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Juno is a veteran Air Force Intelligence Officer who writes romantic thrillers with sizzle, pulse-pounding suspense, and plenty of action. Her stories are about strong heroes and gutsy heroines fighting for their lives as well as their happily-ever-after. Expect an intense emotional journey and a thrill ride to keep you turning the pages.
A native New Yorker, she currently lives in the Washington, DC area with her patient husband, two vivacious kids, and a spoiled rescue dog. Juno loves hanging out with readers and anyone friendly over a great glass of wine.
The Final Hour series features a covert, off-the-books unit sanctioned to operate beyond the black and white constraints of other intelligence agencies. They work in the shadows safeguarding national security. When a horrifying conspiracy hits too close to home, they're the last line of defense. They'll do anything to keep their country safe and sacrifice everything for the ones they love.
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