PRAISE FOR ELLE KENNEDY’S KILLER INSTINCTS SERIES
“Heart-stopping, riveting suspense . . . for those who enjoy their romantic suspense on the dark and steamy side.”
—New York Times bestselling author Christy Reece
“Dangerous suspense to quicken your pulse. Romance hot enough to make you sweat. Elle Kennedy puts them together and leaves you breathless.”
—New York Times bestselling author Vivian Arend
“Hard-core romantic suspense loaded with sensuality.”
—USA Today
“Relentless action, heated sexual tension, and nail-biting plot twists.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“An adrenaline-filled, exhilarating ride. The story is a thrilling, action-packed adventure as well as a tender story.”
—Fresh Fiction
“As sexy as it is exciting . . . action aplenty . . . spellbinding romantic suspense.”
—Joyfully Reviewed
“Seduction, sex, and suspense—Elle Kennedy is a master at blending all three.”
—Romance Junkies
“Very good romantic suspense . . . all the right elements that I look for in a book like this.”
—Fiction Vixen
Also by Elle Kennedy
THE KILLER INSTINCTS SERIES
Midnight Rescue
Midnight Alias
Midnight Games
Midnight Pursuits
Midnight Action
Midnight Captive
Midnight Revenge
THE OUTLAWS SERIES
Claimed
Addicted
Ruled
BERKLEY SENSATION
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2017 by Leeanne Kenedy
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY and BERKLEY SENSATION are registered trademarks and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Ebook ISBN: 9781101991329
First Edition: May 2017
Cover art by Kris Keller
Cover design by Katie Anderson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To all the fans of this series—
thank you for loving it as much as I do.
Contents
Praise for Elle Kennedy’s Killer Instincts Series
Also by Elle Kennedy
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Excerpt from Ruled
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have been dying to write this book ever since I introduced Liam and Sully in Midnight Alias. And then, when I introduced Cate and Ash in Midnight Action, I was even more impatient to give these two couples their own stories. It took a couple of years to make it happen, but it finally did! Midnight Target was an absolute joy/emotional roller-coaster ride to write, and as always, I couldn’t have survived this project without the help of some pretty awesome people:
Jen and Viv, for the feedback, encouragement, support, and, most important, their friendship.
Sharon, for her eagle eyes and always, always being there for me!
Tash and Nic, for everything!
Jess Brock, the biggest cheerleader for this series, as well as the funniest, sweetest, coolest publicist/friend/person I know.
Kerry Donovan, editor extraordinaire.
And finally, the readers and fans of this series. I write these books for you.
Chapter 1
Guatana City, Guatana
“How’d it go?”
Cate Morgan glanced over her shoulder to find a dusky-skinned beauty standing behind her chair. It always took her a second to remember that Riya Charan wasn’t a movie star who’d wandered off the set, but an award-winning journalist with a scary number of battle scars from past high-risk assignments. After three weeks of being glued to Riya’s side, Cate had developed a serious girl crush on the woman.
“Uneventful,” Cate admitted as her colleague settled in the seat across from hers. “I’m loading the pictures now, but I don’t think there’s anything usable here.” She gestured to her laptop, which she was using to import the photographs from her camera’s memory card.
Unfortunately, her trip to the city center today had gleaned no results. She’d tailed the head of Guatana’s naval defense ministry for hours, and the only shots she’d managed to snap were of the former general having lunch with his slime bag politician friends.
Riya frowned deeply. “Nothing? Really? Tomlin’s intelligence is usually spot-on.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Aguilar did go to the market like Tomlin said he would, but there was no hush-hush meeting. Here—look.”
She spun the computer around and clicked on the photos that had already been uploaded. There was shot after shot of Felipe Aguilar in the nearly deserted promenade that made up Guatana City’s sorry excuse for a market. A mere two years ago, the Mercado Esmeralda was a bustling tourist mecca crammed with booths and vendors, locally grown fruits and vegetables, and an array of merchandise at a low price. Now, with food and water shortages plaguing the small country, the market was a relic of a not-so-long-ago past.
The rapid decline of Guatana was the reason for Cate’s extended visit. After she’d dropped out of college, it had taken a while for her freelance career to pick up, but this past year had been chock-full of opportunities. This latest gig was a major coup—providing the accompanying photographs for Riya’s in-depth examination of the unsavory conditions in Guatana. The homicide rate was astronomical, as rival cartels jockeyed for power, all wanting to be the primary supplier of cocaine to the US. Politicians were either in the pocket of the cartels or backed by the military or both. Since freedom of the press was a joke in this country, the online articl
es painted a far rosier picture of the small South American nation, particularly concerning its rapidly collapsing economy.
If Cate’s father knew what the conditions on the ground were like, he’d shit a kitten.
Yet, it was the most exciting assignment Cate had landed to date, and far more rewarding than she’d anticipated. Sure, the hotel was seedy. The streets were overrun with beggars. Locals were killed on a daily basis, usually caught in the cross fire of warring cartels. And yes, seeing all that turmoil broke her heart, but at the same time, someone needed to be here to capture this. To show the rest of the world what was going on right under their noses.
“Who do you think he’s talking to?”
Riya’s wary observation jerked Cate’s attention back to the screen. The journalist tapped an unpolished fingernail on a picture that showed the general holding a cell phone to his ear. His brow held a deep furrow and there were unhappy lines around his mouth.
“No idea,” Cate said, clicking through ten more shots of Aguilar on the phone. “But if Tomlin’s right and Aguilar was supposed to meet someone, then maybe this is the other party. Calling to cancel the meeting, maybe?”
“Perhaps,” Riya mused. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the screen. “Let’s enlarge some of these and pay closer attention to the crowd. Maybe the mystery date is lurking in the background.”
“I’m on it. I was planning on doing that after I finish uploading.”
“Good.”
When the other woman hesitated, Cate offered a frown of her own. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . .” Riya shrugged. “Still seems a bit silly to rely on my slightly above par sources when you’ve got a top-notch network to tap into.”
Though it wasn’t an accusation, it still raised Cate’s hackles. Riya couldn’t understand why Cate wasn’t taking advantage of the resources at hand. Hell, Cate herself could see why that might confuse people. Globe Magazine was a powerful media outlet, but Riya’s contacts weren’t even remotely comparable to the ones at Cate’s disposal.
No, at Jim Morgan’s disposal.
And therein lay the problem, because Jim Morgan wasn’t just a supersoldier—he also happened to be Cate’s father.
Her father.
God, it still felt surreal at times, having a dad. Four years ago, she was a seventeen-year-old girl living in France under her grandfather’s thumb. Being forced to visit a mother who was brain-dead. Being told her father had abandoned her and eventually died.
But it had all been a lie, an elaborate story concocted by a man who’d turned out to be a criminal. The grandfather who’d raised her was an arms dealer who murdered anyone who looked at him wrong, and Cate never would’ve known the truth if Jim Morgan hadn’t walked into her life and saved her from a prison of luxury and lies.
She had idolized Morgan on sight. Everything about him spoke to her: his commanding nature, his steely strength, his gruff tenderness. He was the kind of father she’d always dreamed of having, someone who loved her unconditionally, who protected her, who understood the strange itch she’d had all her life, that deep-seated need for action and adventure.
Or at least she thought he’d understood. These days, she wasn’t so sure.
“I’m not involving my father,” Cate said when she noticed Riya’s expectant expression.
The other woman sighed. “Remind me again why?”
“Because he’s a stubborn ass who refuses to treat me as an adult.” She made an unflattering noise under her breath. “I told you—we’re not speaking at the moment.”
That got her a chuckle. “Seems like he’s not the only stubborn one in this scenario.” Riya’s tone softened. “Look, hon, he’s your father. Of course he’s going to view you as a child. You are a child—his child.”
“I’m twenty-one,” Cate protested.
Riya laughed again. “Parents will always think of their kids as babies. Hell, I’m thirty-nine and when I go to Mumbai for a visit, my father still asks if I need help tying my shoes.”
Cate laughed too. “So all dads are overprotective cavemen?”
“Pretty much.”
Maybe there was truth to that, but Cate had a feeling Jim Morgan was a thousand times worse than Riya’s father, who owned a cigar shop and was supposedly as gentle as a lamb. Morgan, on the other hand, was a black ops soldier–turned-mercenary. He could kill a man with his bare hands, and he was married to a woman who could do the same. Or maybe Noelle was worse, actually, because if Cate had to choose who was scarier—Jim or his wife—she’d pick Noelle in a heartbeat.
“All I’m saying is,” Riya went on, “he’s genetically programmed to want to protect you. But I’m certain that once this article is published, he’ll get it. He’ll understand that you belong out in the world and not in some lecture hall.”
“I doubt it,” she said glumly. “He acts like my photography is just an inconvenient hobby. And if he could get away with it, he totally would try to tie my shoes for me. He thinks I’m incompetent.”
Riya snorted. “Incompetent? Hon, we never would’ve made it out of that village on the coast alive last week if you weren’t so damn good at hot-wiring cars.”
“Morgan taught me that,” she admitted, albeit grudgingly.
“See? He wouldn’t have armed you with all those crafty skills if he didn’t believe you could handle yourself. And from what you’ve told me, he’d give his life for you and everyone else he cares about.”
“Yes, but that has nothing to do with this assignment,” Cate grumbled. “If I ask him for intel about Guatana and the cartels, he’ll do the opposite of help—he’ll fly out here on his jet and drag me kicking and screaming back to Costa Rica.”
And she could not go back to Costa Rica. Morgan’s compound, bordered by the jungle on one side and the mountains on the other, might be beautiful, but it was a damn fortress. Not to mention crowded. She couldn’t walk out of her bedroom without bumping into someone. Her dad. Noelle. Abby and Kane, the married mercs on her dad’s team. Ethan and Juliet, who’d also recently moved in. And, of course . . . Ash.
Goddamn Ash. She couldn’t seem to go ten minutes without thinking about that jerk. And he so wasn’t worthy of it. Nope, he didn’t deserve even a nanosecond of her mental energy.
“We don’t need Morgan’s resources,” she maintained in a firm voice. “We can do some more digging on our own. We know Aguilar is involved in shady deals with the cartels—it’s only a matter of time before we find a concrete connection.”
Riya looked unconvinced. “And if we don’t?”
“Then . . .” Cate sighed. “Then I’ll think about calling Noelle, my dad’s wife. Or one of the twins—” At Riya’s blank expression, Cate clarified, “Sean and Oliver Reilly. They’re mercenaries now but they used to be information dealers. They have more contacts than the CIA.”
“All right. Well, tomorrow we’re driving up north, so hopefully we’ll make some headway. Several of the northern villages are rumored to have ties with the Rivera cartel.”
Cate nodded. “I’d like to get some photographs of Árbora,” she said, referring to a small town that had been burned to the ground a month before.
According to Riya’s contacts, Árbora had been swimming in riches thanks to a deal with the cartel. In exchange for cutting and packaging drugs, the villagers were provided with resources that citizens in the surrounding areas were being deprived of. Fresh fruit, plenty of grains, clean water. A rebel group in the area had caught wind of this and proceeded to torch the village, sending a clear message to the Rivera cartel and to anyone who chose to cooperate with them.
God, this entire country was in chaos. Civil strife, political bribery, citizens taking orders from drug cartels because officials were too weak or too corrupt to govern properly. Cate was both horrified and fascinated by it, and the latter only reaffirmed her deci
sion to leave college. Why would she want to sit in a lecture hall and take notes about foreign conflicts when she could be experiencing those conflicts firsthand?
And why couldn’t Jim Morgan, a man who lived and breathed action, who craved the adrenaline high and welcomed the danger . . . why couldn’t he understand that she was cut from that very same cloth?
“Let’s study the maps at dinner,” Riya suggested. “We’ll decide which areas are worth focusing on and plan our route.”
“Sounds good.”
Riya scraped back her chair. “I’ll ring you in a couple of hours. Right now I’m in desperate need of a nap. I’ve been up since dawn.”
“I’ll see you later,” Cate said, her gaze returning to the laptop as the older woman left the hotel bar.
It wasn’t the most ideal place to work, but the hotel Wi-Fi was spotty everywhere but here. Upstairs, it was nonexistent, which was irritating as hell because Cate would’ve preferred the privacy.
She leaned forward in her chair and began sorting the day’s pictures by time and location and transferring them to individual folders. When a waiter came by with another glass of water, Cate gratefully accepted it, then fought a rush of guilt after she’d drained half the glass. It felt wrong chugging clean, ice-cold water when many of Guatana’s citizens were dying of dehydration every single day.
But that’s why she was here, right? To shed light on the injustice? People said a picture was worth a thousand words, and Cate always clung to that notion when she had her camera in hand. She’d captured brutal, heartbreaking images these past three weeks. Images of starving children and desperate parents. Of bread lines that evoked memories of Hungary and Great Depression America. Of heaps of garbage being used as housing.
Ironically, the photos she was currently studying were somehow the most gruesome of all. Felipe Aguilar, fat and tanned and clad in a thousand-dollar suit amid a crowd of disheveled, sickly locals. Aguilar handing over a crisp bill at a coffee stand, while ten feet away from him, three children scoured the dirty ground for loose change. Aguilar chatting on his cell phone, while—