Forced together by fate, bound together by desire   Framed for a double murder, Delta Force operative Cameron Moore is given a new lease on life by the CIA—provided he pays them back by doing their black ops dirty work. But now Cam is ready to renegotiate the deal, and he thinks he’s found the perfect bargaining chip: Skylar Slavin, bestselling author of espionage thrillers and the daughter of the CIA man who saved Cam from a prison sentence. Skylar has been living in anonymity, never suspecting that someone so dangerous—and so desirable—would plunge her into a world as treacherous as one of her spy novels. But how can Cam go through with his plan to kidnap Skylar when just the sight of her sets off an explosive attraction he’s never experienced before? And when Skylar falls prey to an even more perilous threat, this special ops soldier must call upon all his combat skills to protect the one person who can help him win his freedom—and the only woman he’s ever loved. “Fast, furious, and sexy . . . I couldn’t put it down.”— New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak Stephanie Tyler is the author of the Navy SEAL trilogy: Hard to Hold, Too Hot to Hold, and Hold On Tight . She lives in New York with her husband, her daughter, and a crazy Weimaraner named Gus. CHAPTER 1 Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell. Emily Dickinson The sleek, dark bitch tailing him over the crest of the mountain was definitely not standard Army issue. Cameron Moore ignored both the snow swirling furiously around his Harley and the classified stealth helo on his six as he began his ascent up the thin, curved ridge ringed by stone that would lead him to his destination. Half a mile earlier, when he'd heard the familiar thump of the quiet bird over the roar of his bike, the hairs on the back of his neck had risen. Now his gut tightened in tandem with the heavy whir of the rotors, and fuck, he'd thought this was over and done with. He'd had nearly five months of freedom, having been assured that his debt was paid in full, which meant there would be no more black ops jobs involving the CIA and this fucking helo from hell following him. But he'd been down this road before--after five years, eight years, ten years. The promise of release had never been kept, eleven years and counting. It'll never be fully paid. You knew that . . . you just didn't want to believe it. And still, he pushed on, trying to ignore the past that wouldn't let him forget. He'd only been back from a mission with Delta Force for forty-eight hours, on leave for the past twenty and headed to visit Dylan Scott--a man he'd met through Delta, and his best friend--in the Catskills when he'd been tracked. One of these days, Gabriel Creighton--CIA chameleon extraordinaire--wouldn't be able to find Cam anymore. The chip that had once been implanted in Cam's right forearm was only as big as a postage stamp, and as slim as one too . . . and was long gone. He'd convinced himself that Gabriel couldn't track him without it. Obviously, Cam had been way fucking wrong. He didn't have to wonder what his life would be like if he'd never met the man--he'd still be in jail, serving two consecutive life sentences. And he despised Gabriel more than his father, which was really damned hard to do, considering his father had framed him for the murders and left him to rot in a maximum security cell. For eleven years, Gabriel had been both mentor and taskmaster. Cam had never asked Gabriel for anything, not a single goddamned favor. The favors Gabriel insisted Cam provide for him were always dangerous and usually above the law. Jobs that necessitated a non-CIA operator with insider information, which Cam indeed was, hiding in the job of a Delta Force operator. If Cam's immediate sups knew what the jobs he did for Creighton really entailed, they'd never let on. And so Cam lived and worked, waiting for the magic number--the time limit Gabriel had imposed on him when Cam had been nineteen and willing to do anything to get out of that cell. An expiration date that only Gabriel knew. Now he stared down at the mark on the inside of his left forearm--the result of a tattoo that had been lasered off. It wasn't completely erased, was still a reminder. That was the thing about pasts, you could never fully eradicate them, and fuck it all, he'd tried to more than once. Finally, he stopped the bike on the edge of one of the small cliffs, pulled as close to it as he possibly could. The wind whipped him, making it hard to hold on to his footing, never mind the heavy metal between his legs. The stealth hovered, unable to land, but more than willing to block him. As he stared down at the dark, cavernous chasm ahead of him, he knew his choices were limited. Going down would be the coward's way out--and he was anything but. He'd never let go of the idea of vengeance, tasted it like a fine wine on his tongue--it ran heated through his blood, slamming his veins with a