Blamed By Edie Harris Born into a long line of spies, sanctioned killers and covert weapons developers, Beth Faraday carried out her first hit-for-hire when she was still a teenager That part of her life—the American spy royalty part—ended one year ago, with a job gone wrong in Afghanistan The collateral damage she caused with a single shot was unfathomable and, for Beth, unforgivable She’s worked hard to build a new life for herself, far away from the family business But someone, somewhere, hasn’t forgotten what Beth did in Kabul And they want revenge As the Faraday clan bands together to defend Beth and protect their legacy, Beth is forced to flee her new home with the unlikeliest of allies—MI6 agent Raleigh Vick, the only man she’s ever loved And the one she thought she’d killed in the desert Book one of the Blood Money series 84,000 words Dear Reader, Welcome to the November 2014 edition of the Dear Reader letter This month, Carina Press and I share an anniversary: five years since we joined Harlequin! Harlequin has been an amazing home for both of us, showing support, enthusiasm and offering a team environment for both the business and for authors I’m thrilled to have seen Carina Press and our authors grow to great success in sales, reviews, careers and awards in the five years since we opened our doors, and we believe things can only get better from here In honor of the holiday season, two authors bring us holiday novellas First, in Shannon Stacey’s contemporary romance, Her Holiday Man, two people, both wounded by love in the past, are brought together by a widow, a child’s joy, and the spirit of Christmas Later in the month, star-crossed lovers Gabe and Cat meet again at Christmas after five years apart—just a week before she’s set to marry another man, in the historical romance A Christmas Reunion by Susanna Fraser Lauren Dane is back with the third installment in her urban fantasy series, and this one is more romantic than ever! Don’t miss Rowan and Clive in Blade on the Hunt As a follow-up to his incredibly popular romantic suspense Fair Game, male/male romance author Josh Lanyon brings us Fair Play, in which ex-FBI agent Elliot Mills must figure out who is willing to kill to keep his former ’60s radical father’s memoirs from being published In Tempting the Player by Kat Latham, a rugby player’s extreme fear of flying keeps his career from taking off—until a sexy pilot tempts him into her cockpit to help him overcome his phobia of planes and commitment Joining Kat in returning with a contemporary romance is Stacy Gail with Where There’s a Will, the much-anticipated story of Coe, who won reader’s hearts in Starting from Scratch This is one hero who will steal your heart, all because of the milk! Designed for Love by Kelsey Browning is also in our contemporary romance lineup in November A former Houston socialite is out to prove she’s more than a blonde bobblehead by managing a huge construction project When an environmentalist mucks up Ashton’s plans, she must rely on the bluecollar contractor who can either help her build her dreams or crush them Last, but not least, of the fantastic contemporary romances is male/male romance In the Fire, the second part of the In the Kitchen duology by Nikka Michaels and Eileen Griffin After spending the last eight years apart, chefs Ethan Martin and Jamie Lassiter have to decide whether to face the fire to get what they want or live a lifetime apart Don’t miss the chemistry and emotional angst between Ethan and Jamie in this explosive duology Two murders in two mansions in two weeks—what’s going on in Naples’ most glamorous neighborhood? For cozy mystery fans, Jean Harrington’s Murders by Design series should not be missed Pick up her newest release, The Design Is Murder, or catch up with Designed for Death, The Monet Murders, Killer Kitchens and Rooms to Die For This month we’re thrilled to welcome Edie Harris to our publishing team with Blood Money, her romantic suspense series that follows the lives and loves of a family of spies In Blamed, A Blood Money Novel, we meet the first of the siblings Beth Faraday, a former assassin who wants nothing more than to stay retired, finds her new life turning anything but normal when sexy British spy and ghost from her past Raleigh Vick shows up in Chicago, determined to protect her from the bounty that’s been placed on her head Coming in December: Leah Braemel caps off her sexy cowboy romance trilogy, new author Caroline Kimberly is back with her sophomore historical romance, Michele Mannon concludes her knock-out MMA trilogy, and so much more! Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend Happy reading! ~Angela James Editorial Director, Carina Press (Five years and counting!!) Dedication For T.M For K.C For B.W And always, always, for my mother Acknowledgments As the daughter of an editor, it has always been my belief (and chagrined experience) that every writer, no matter how talented, needs an editor More than that, a writer needs an editor who won’t cater to the arrogant whims of said writer, but will best serve the interests of the book—characters, plot, the works It’s been a privilege to collaborate with one such editor, Kerri Buckley of Harlequin Carina Press, as we kick off the Blood Money series together with Blamed This book is far better than it would otherwise be because of her; thus far, it’s been a trial not to fly across the country and tackle-hug her for all the wonderful work she’s done and continues to with the Faraday clan Thanks must also be given to Angela James, for believing in this series enough to acquire the first five books in one fell swoop, and to my agent, Laura Bradford, for making all the behind-the-scenes publishing-business stuff happen like magic You ladies are bomb Also? Thank you to my father for making me watch Harrison Ford’s The Fugitive at what was likely too young an age I imprinted on it (and Die Hard, let’s be honest), and look where we are now Love you Author’s Note Fun fact: Beth and Vick started life as a weekly serial feature titled “In Her Sights” on my website in 2011 Yes, you heard me—2011 Then I sent them into time-out on my hard drive until they agreed to play nice with one another and were reborn into bigger, better, brighter characters three years later when I submitted a 140-character Twitter pitch during #PitMad in January 2014 to Angela James, the editorial director of Harlequin Carina Press My tweet: She was an assassin; now she’s retired, but a sexy MI6 agent from her past missed the memo The price on her head doesn’t help, either And lo, the Blood Money series was born There’s lots I could—should—say about writing Blamed, but the most important thing is this: Please don’t go looking for a secret storage wing, like Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, in the Art Institute of Chicago I took what we call “creative liberty” here, and the very nice museum security guards will totes escort you from the building And probably ban you for life And that would be the worst, so consider yourself warned “Forgiveness is a virtue of the brave.” —Indira Gandhi Contents Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Epilogue Life in Death: The Faraday Story by T S Marcus, PhD About Ripped Excerpt From Ripped About the Author Copyright Shadows sat beneath her witchy eyes, stains of recent sleepless nights “I’m getting there.” Lifting her undamaged hand, she curled her fingers around his wrist, but didn’t attempt to thwart his touch “I hear you were the one who found me.” “You don’t remember?” “It’s all static Everything after the end, as soon as I was out of that room ” Dropping her hand, and his with it, she tilted her head to the side, eyes trained on his face “Nice beard.” His lips curved “Apparently, I’m on vacation.” “And you couldn’t swing by to see me in your copious amounts of free time?” “I was waiting.” Stepping back to include her father in the conversation, Vick explained their discovery “Adam traced the camera footage to an IP address in Moscow, and we just hacked the computer it led to.” He gentled his voice “Karlin Kedrov is alive, Beth We believe he was the driving force behind your abduction.” Instead of appearing shaken, as Vick had been when Kedrov’s mutilated face popped up on Adam’s screen, Beth frowned thoughtfully “I think I knew that.” She glanced between Vick and her father before gesturing to her head “It’s kind of a jumble up here right now, but I remember Nash asking me something about Kedrov, toward the end.” “That settles it,” Frank stated “Until we find Kedrov and put him down, you’re staying here Your art job can wait.” Beth shook her head in vehement denial at her father’s pronouncement, but gave her attention to Vick “If it’s not Kedrov, it’ll be another evil dude God knows the world’s full of them, or I would’ve been out of a job long before Kabul I refuse to sit around waiting for the other shoe to drop “The past year in Chicago, I’ve only been living half a life, because I kept trying to conform into this person I’ll never be I know who I am and what I want, and I honestly believe I can make it work But I don’t want to be the paranoid, guilty girl who sleeps with a gun under her pillow anymore.” The arm cast in plaster lifted to lie across her chest, as though shielding the vital organ beating with determined life beneath her sternum “I don’t want to come home from work in the evening and spend half an hour checking the perimeter warnings I set that morning I’ll never be happy if I go through life constantly on guard, with nothing to protect me but but me.” So Tobias had been right—Beth did want someone to lean on Vick edged closer, sensing his chance, if he dared to take it “What if I protected you?” Her gaze on him remained wary “I’m not interested in sudden disappearances or waking up next to a man I literally don’t recognize An ephemeral spy isn’t what I need.” “Tell me what you need, love.” “Mornings with you,” she answered promptly, bluntly, her pale face a solemn mask “Nights with you Uninterrupted days with you.” Her voice broke then, throat working against a blatant surge of emotion “I don’t want you to be a ghost anymore, Vick Ghosts don’t get to have mornings.” “Done.” Shock slackened her jaw “J-just like that?” “Just like that.” Observing her struggle, he cupped her nape in one hand, reveling in the nearness of her, the heat under his palm that told him she was alive and well and no longer hanging on through sheer Faraday willpower, as she had been when he found her in the bunker “I don’t think you understand, Beth You’re in my blood In my soul I crave you more than sun, or air You’re an addiction I never want to break Be with me, always.” “Yes Yes, always.” Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she swiped furiously at the wetness with the sleeves of her sweater “Vick?” Burgeoning hope pumped through his veins, pulse racing “Yes, darling?” “I want to try something new.” The words, an echo from a far more intimate moment, jarred him, and he didn’t dare look to see if her father still watched, knowing his face flamed with the memory of precisely which new something she’d tried on him last time “Uh, baby—” Without warning, she stepped carefully into his body, tucking her socked feet between his and circling his torso with slender arms nowhere near to full strength Pressing her cheek to his chest, he glanced down to see her eyes flutter closed, her slim body melting against his on a sigh A hug Her something new was a hug The room, the house, the world disappeared as he wrapped his arms around her with infinite care Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he squeezed his eyes shut and drowned in the perfection of the promise of this particular hug He gave and took comfort in equal measure, and peace—actual peace —numbed his senses to all but Beth He breathed in the faint apple scent of her shampoo, the lingering sting of antibiotic cream, the fine wool of her sweater angel-soft against his exposed forearms Her hips aligned with his, and while the innate sensuality of Beth never failed to stir him, this time he simply accepted the neat fit of their bodies as further evidence the universe had always intended them to find each other Emotion swamped him like a tidal wave, and he shuddered against her Can’t hold her too tight, can’t hurt her, can’t hurt her But she soothed him with a hand rubbing up and down his spine, quiet shushing whispers that said she understood Oh, how she understood After eleven years, their happily ever after could finally begin Gently disentangling her body from his, he tenderly wiped away her tears before scrubbing a rough hand over his eyes “You’re mine?” he whispered hoarsely “Yes.” The joy of it all made him dizzy “You’ve always been mine?” “Always, Vick.” Biting her bottom lip, she gazed up at him, considering “The only question is, where we go from here?” A clearing throat drew their attention, and they turned as one to find Frank studying them, brow arched in an absolute mimic of Tobias’s “How about Chicago?” Beth shook her head “Dad—” Frank ignored his daughter to speak directly to Vick “It’s been brought to my attention—by all three of my sons, I might add—that you are no longer employed.” The older man indicated a manila envelope resting on his lap “This is your un-redacted file, Raleigh Anton Vick Your former boss faxed it over this morning.” Tension crept into Vick’s shoulders “And?” “I read it.” His gaze narrowed “And then I cross-referenced it with Elisabeth’s work history with the company What you think I found?” “A series of coincidences,” he deadpanned, and had the chest-beating satisfaction of watching Beth’s full lips curve in amusement Joking aside, he asked, “Sir, why you have my file?” “Because you love my daughter, and my daughter is determined not to stay where we can keep an easy eye on her, so I suppose you’ll have to do.” Beth inhaled sharply at his side, but Vick nodded in agreement “That sounds about right.” “Good Now—” “No, not good,” Beth interrupted, a mulish set to her jaw “Not now We need to backtrack to where you—” she pointed at her father, “—said he loved me, after which you—” and this time it was Vick on the receiving end of an angry index finger, “—said, ‘Sounds about right.’ Which I’m pretty sure I’ve said about a sandwich order at some point in my life.” Frank stared at her, uncomprehending “All right, so is it me you’re pissed at, or the spy?” “It’s me,” Vick assured him before linking his finger playfully with Beth’s jabbing one He lowered his voice “Better ways to say I love you for the first-ever time, aren’t there.” Eyes gleaming bright, she swayed toward him again “I don’t remember everything about about London, but our conversation in the park is fairly clear.” Her finger tightened around his “You told me the woman you’d end up with would be one with whom you were ‘desperately, madly, unequivocally in love,’ and you couldn’t ‘bear the thought of living without her.’” Swallowing hard, she dropped his hand “I won’t be a placeholder, Vick No one else could love you like I do.” Heart in his throat, he cupped her face between his palms “You already know you’re not a placeholder Because you trust me, like I should’ve trusted you Now, remember what I said about promises, back in Chicago?” When she nodded, he pressed his forehead to hers “I’m about to make you a promise, darling.” His mouth kicking up at one corner as their interlude in the hotel bathroom flitted through his mind “I promise to remain desperately, madly, unequivocally in love with you for the rest of my life Because I cannot tolerate the thought of living without you, Beth Faraday.” Lips hovering over hers, he whispered, “It was too close, baby I wouldn’t have survived.” The truth of the revelation searing his tongue, he fitted his mouth over hers in a kiss that melded past, present and future, all shared with the woman in his arms The woman who had always been his “You done?” When they parted breathlessly, Frank rolled his eyes “We need a tactical command office in the middle of the country—Chicago makes the most sense, as far as urban areas go If he’s got the good sense to take what I’m offering, your man here will operate the office as he sees fit and report directly to me.” “Dad.” “Or to Casey,” he added with a petulant grumble “Though since it’s my idea, reporting to me seems—” “Dad.” Beth crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at her father, but Vick read the tentative excitement bubbling beneath her surface “You can’t just open a satellite Faraday location in Chicago on a whim.” “I’m still the CEO of Faraday Industries,” Frank growled, tapping the envelope containing Vick’s file against his leg in agitation “If I want to open an office in Chicago, I will damn well open an office in Chicago, whim or not.” He speared Vick with a doubtful glare “This isn’t a cover, understand? You’d real work and sign real papers No changing identities when you get bored Can you accept that?” “Yes, sir.” Vick turned to Beth Reaching out, he grabbed hold of her unbroken hand and brought it to his lips A gentle kiss along her knuckles, followed by the subtle caress of fingertips over sensitive skin “But the decision is ours, not mine alone Where we go, we go together.” From now until forever, his life was hers, and he wouldn’t jeopardize it by taking a single step without her by his side For her ears alone, he murmured, “Ready to take on the world when you are, love.” A brilliant smile broke out over her beautiful face, healthy color flushing her creased cheeks, and she rose on tiptoe to breathe the wonderful words against his lips “Then the world had better fucking watch out, because here we come.” Epilogue Somewhere in London The door to Chandler McCallister’s cell slid open with a hiss, the electronically monitored locking system disengaging by the only hand programmed to unlock her sterile cage Swinging her legs over the side of her cot, Chandler flexed her bare toes, dreading the first touch of the cold concrete against sensitive skin They were right to deny her a rug; she’d have unraveled the threads, stripped the fibers, and braided together a makeshift garrote Tobias Faraday would have been dead in ten seconds She looked at him now, filling the doorway, long and lean in another one of his dapper suits The cold-blooded bastard was always tailored to within an inch of his life, not a single stitch out of place, his necktie never askew That sort of clinical perfection tended to frighten a girl It was a good thing Chandler didn’t scare easily “Hullo, keeper.” She stood, keeping her arms loose at her sides The soft black sweatpants—no drawstring, of course—and white knit T-shirt she wore were what Faraday had given her when she’d been moved into these stellar lodgings three weeks earlier That the fabric quality was superb succeeded only in making her despise him more “Miss me again?” “Hardly.” He moved into her cell, crossing the threshold for the first time ever Shadows fled to reveal a face too angular to be handsome, the lines and planes of his features icy sharp beneath skin the color of her favorite chewy caramel candies Dark brown hair, clipped short and ruthlessly styled, offset the mercurial gray of his chilly gaze—a gaze that never left hers “We need to talk.” Flipping her messy hair over her shoulder—because a comb was absolutely out of the question— she risked a step toward him “I so adore our little chats, Toby, you know that.” “Don’t call me Toby,” he said mildly, his only indication of irritation the brief clench of his sculpted jaw All of the man’s edges were dangerously chiseled, but the effect wasn’t breath stealing, as it might be on a warmer man On him, his edges were icebergs: a warning above of the danger beneath So she supposed, actually, that Faraday did steal her breath Just not for warm-fuzzy-sexy reasons “I feel as though by holding me against my will for weeks on end, you’ve essentially given me permission to call you whatever the bloody hell I want You soulless prig.” Oops Her mad was showing What was Pip’s nonsense mantra? Ah, yes—calming breaths calm your breasts Come to think of it, Chandler’s nipples were feeling a little riled More than likely due to the cold concrete beneath her feet Forcing a deep and, yes, calming breath, she fixed Faraday with her best helpful smile Which might also have been her best most patently false smile, but beggars, choosers and whatnot “What did you want to talk about this time? No, wait, let me guess—your sister.” The bastard always wanted to talk about his sister, and frankly, Chandler was damn tired of hearing every man around her go on ad nauseam about Beth this and Beth that In her opinion, everyone would’ve been saved a great deal of trouble had Chandler’s bullet in Chicago hit Beth Faraday a few inches to the left Or higher, for that matter A head shot would have done the trick nicely A gleam shifted across Faraday’s stormy eyes “Strange, but I know when you’re fantasizing about killing someone Particularly my sister.” In a deliberately casual move, he fitted his hands into his trouser pockets, the unbuttoned jacket of his suit pushed away from his hips to reveal a flat abdomen covered by a neat navy waistcoat Never a simple two-piece ensemble for Faraday, no He layered up like a Victorian virgin on her wedding night “We have decided on the conditions pertaining to your freedom.” Her heart leapt “We?” “I,” he corrected, with a slight incline of his dark head “I have decided on the conditions pertaining to your freedom.” His magnanimous acknowledgment rankled Her hands turned to fists “Are you planning on sharing, or just standing there like a knob all day?” Again, the tightening of his jaw was the single clue to his emotional state “You’re a failed double agent, Ms McCallister You’ve been disavowed by your government, and left to rot by your Russian friends So, tell me—what use you believe you might have to Faraday Industries?” Chandler had been imprisoned before; she probably would be again before retiring to a boring civilian life Tortures had come and gone, threats and pain and a host of other demeaning cruelties inflicted upon her person It was the nature of the work, and work was soon to be all she had Provided she could convince MI6 to un-disavow her and prove what little innocence she still possessed “Are you offering me a job, Toby? Because I have to say, not sure I’m private-sector material.” His next step left less than three feet between them “Not a job Redemption.” She’d go for his nose first, straight perfect thing that it was, then his knees Jump on his back, lock his throat in the crook of her elbow, and—”Redemption?” Her fists released, aching fingers flexing as she shook off her plan of attack A mental image of her sister’s face flashed before her, reminding her of all she stood to lose unless she grabbed up an opportunity, when presented Even if the opportunity was presented by the Ice King himself “Yes.” For a moment, she thought Faraday almost smiled But that was ridiculous “Just ‘yes’? No questions asked?” “Just yes,” she echoed, completely serious When he closed the distance between them, she tilted her head to hold his gaze “No questions asked.” “You know where we’re going, then.” His hands left his pockets, the elegant fingers of his right efficiently buttoning his jacket before dropping his arms to his sides He stood as loose as she, and for once, Chandler didnt see the cold faỗade of a boardroom boss but the battle-ready stance of a warrior who was the living embodiment of a steel blade The shock of him stole her breath—though she would deny, on pain of death, the strange heat spreading through her seized lungs Her voice broke low, whether in excitement or dread, she didn’t know Probably some sickening combination of the two “We’re going to Russia.” Life in Death: The Faraday Story by T S Marcus, PhD (A Comprehensive Examination of America’s First Warmongering Family) Library of Congress Classification Number: EJ3369.V22 T101 2014 PART I: ROOTED in REVOLUTION (excerpt) [ ] In 1773, the dissident group Sons of Liberty planned and implemented one of the United States’ most famous acts of defiance: the Boston Tea Party The organization is credited with instigating violent uprisings in the years leading to the American Revolutionary War, though during the war itself, the Sons of Liberty tempered into more formal factions of freedom fighters General knowledge holds that the Sons of Liberty were a group of likeminded middle-class individuals who banded together to fight the incendiary taxations leveled at the colonies by the British government What the history books have failed to cover—or discover—was the powerful force not only bankrolling the Sons of Liberty, but inciting them as well: a man named R Jonquil Faraday Faraday arrived in Boston in 1757 via the Poisson Rose, the ship of a French privateer famous for smuggling rebellious souls from Europe to the New World The Poisson Rose’s captain, exiled aristocrat Basile Baptiste, possessed a reputation for demanding transport payment in Spanish gold, and R Jonquil Faraday stepped onto colonial soil already infamous for meeting Baptiste’s fee ten times over—paying for his own passage, as well as the passage of his wife, two young sons, and six men who had been in Faraday’s employ back in England That kind of wealth, from a man who would insist on labeling himself as a commoner, was to be feared as much as it was admired Acquiring a parcel of land outside of Boston’s city limits, Faraday and company constructed what could only be described as a compound, with the main house, bunkhouse, stable, and work barn enclosed by a chest-high fence riding the property line By the end of 1758, it is reported that Faraday had raised a sign at the entrance to the compound, reading, I answer to none but me RJF Rumor quickly spread through Massachusetts concerning Faraday, the “king unto himself,” and the reasons behind his leaving of England aboard a French ship carrying a fortune in Spanish gold The gossip fueled a tempest of local curiosity, none of which garnered much attention or concern from those with loyal ties to the Crown, regardless that some claimed he was a thief, some a bastard royal, and others yet a madcap inventor Only the last was ever confirmed In 1982, a pamphlet was found tucked between the pages of a little-known treatise on peace1 that had been languishing on a dusty shelf in the University of Oxford’s Bodleian Library Within the pamphlet (which is sadly unavailable for public view due to the deterioration of the parchment and the light sensitivity of the ink), a Roland Faraday is mentioned in conjunction with a 1754 explosion that decimated the west wing of a medieval keep near Wolverhampton The explosion is stated in the pamphlet to have been caused by “the miscalculation of unstable scientific elements,” the physical quantities of which “are presumed to have been misappropriated by Mister Faraday through illegal means after his request for permission to experiment by the master of the keep, Lord Valsar, was denied.” Four men are reported in this pamphlet to have died in the explosion and ensuing fire, among them Valsar’s elder son This is the only evidence we have placing Faraday on English soil prior to his name appearing on the Poisson Rose’s manifesto There exist no clues to Faraday’s activity between ’54 and ’57, apart from his sudden and surprising possession of Spanish gold It is assumed the death of Valsar’s son was the impetus for Faraday’s departure from England In 1765, following the implementation of the Stamp Act and the flurry of vocal and sometimes riotous demonstrations it inspired, the Sons of Liberty formed its first cogent group in Boston Men who earned their livings as doctors, lawyers, artisans, and the like gathered together to “ensure their rights as Englishmen.” As time went on, and the strictures against colonial citizens increased, the Sons of Liberty adopted a more volatile, violent approach to voicing their concerns It could be argued that this approach would never have occurred had a 1769 midnight meeting in the Red Letter Tavern not taken place between Faraday and a prominent Sons of Liberty organizer, merchant and purported smuggler Conrad Jackson During this meeting—as Jackson later noted in his journal—Faraday made apparent his virulent distaste for and distrust of the reigning monarch, King George III He is quoted in Jackson’s journal as saying, “There ought not to be man enthroned who thinks himself next to God, whose power smites those who dare challenge his delusions of holiness.” Faraday went on to say, “I for one will engage in the seditious behavior necessary to bring equality to our people Never again will a man be thwarted in the pursuit of his livelihood by those who would deny their blood runs a common red, but blue instead.” As their conversation came to an end, Faraday promised Jackson and the Sons of Liberty the financial support necessary to fund their revolution, a promise he never failed to meet when they came to him again and again until the cessation of hostilities in 1783 After the meeting at the Red Letter, a large wooden coffin was delivered to Jackson’s rear doorstep In it lay five gleaming bayonet rifles, engraved with the letter “F” along the barrel Jackson writes in his journal, “Never have I aimed a weapon so true as the Faraday Never again I wish to aim any other, for the Faraday seems an extension of my arm, my breath, my will.” The ominous delivery of the coffin of rifles to Conrad Jackson revealed the purpose of the cloistered Faraday compound: Faraday and his people had spent the prior decade developing highfunctioning weaponry, no doubt invented for the express purpose of starting a war with the country Faraday believed had wronged him when Lord Valsar denied him the right to legally perform his scientific inquiries Most likely, this is the pursuit of livelihood which Faraday referenced in Jackson’s account of their meeting I answer to none but me The prophetic nature of this statement cannot be undersold, because today, more than two hundred and fifty years after the hanging of that sign, the Faraday compound still stands, and Roland Jonquil Faraday’s descendants remain a deadly law unto themselves The treatise is thought to have been written by a rector’s wife circa 1750 It is signed only with the letters “Mme,” though there is the faint imprint on the title page of the seal used by the Rectory at Milland Pond The treatise is currently on rotating display at the Bodleian Library in Oxford, and a digital version is available via the university’s online catalogue ***** Keep reading for an exclusive excerpt from RIPPED, book two of the BLOOD MONEY series by Edie Harris, coming in Spring 2014 from Carina Press Tobias Faraday won’t forgive rogue MI6 agent Chandler McCallister for the role she played in his sister Beth’s abduction—and subsequent torture—but he’s willing to offer her a chance at redemption All Chandler needs to is help him infiltrate the black-market arms ring run by the criminal mastermind who put the Faraday family in the crosshairs Prologue They no longer held him with clammy palms and meaty fingers, but instead bound his wrists with worn leather cuffs The men on either side gripped the chains linked to the cuffs, forcing his arms to spread wide and leaving Tobias struggling for balance where he knelt on the dirty, cracked cement of the warehouse floor They’d removed his shirt, belt, shoes and socks, but even with only his trousers to protect against the early morning chill lingering in the stale air, sweat sheened the exposed skin of his torso His gut ached with the bruising blows delivered by one of Kedrov’s henchmen, and the muscles in his shoulders and back trembled faintly, tautly stretched by the chain-wielding goons next to him He didn’t attempt to engage them in conversation; that time had long since passed, and besides, he wasn’t willing to barter for his release alone If he left this Russian hellhole, he was doing so with his partner, or he wouldn’t leave at all Footsteps echoed in the hallway behind him—multiple pairs, three heavy, one light It was the lighter he strained to hear, listening for a shuffle, a limp, anything to indicate that the owner of that gait had been harmed in any manner But her tread was steady, her stride already familiar to him without sight The woman walking toward him now carried confidence in every footfall, and the tight ball of anxiety lodged in his chest relaxed somewhat The muscle-bound men at his sides shifted, chains clinking as their fists tensed Their attention fixed on the entrance to this warehouse chamber, Tobias subtly tested the give of the cuffs at his wrists No chance at freedom, not even if he dislocated both thumbs The goon on his left permitted more of a tug than the right-side goon, that one shooting him a pointed glare as he tightened his grip on the chain linked to the right-hand restraint A reminder that, yes, Tobias was well and truly trapped and, no, his situation wasn’t about to change anytime soon Four people breached the cavernous room in silence Keeping his chin high, Tobias adjusted his limited stance, pressing his bare toes to the ground and relocating the pressure from his knees farther back If need be, he could push to his feet, catching at least the left-side guard by surprise, if not the right Were luck on his side, the sudden movement might buy him one second, perhaps two, and that would be enough to shove Lefty in the path of a stray bullet or six He possessed no compunction about using a villain as a human shield, not at this late hour in the game But jump he didn’t, wanting—needing—to see her first To make contact with those brandy-brown irises he knew melted like chocolate when he kissed her, stroked her He refused to make a single damn move without her, the understanding deep inside him now, clear as day, that it would always be like this Always her for him, until he no longer drew breath Which was what made the following few minutes so unbearable Words in Russian that his brain struggled to translate, his attention focused entirely on the petite woman who’d rounded Thing One and Thing Two to stand in front of him Her gaze scanned him quickly, coldly, the calculation in her assessing eyes an element he hadn’t seen from her in weeks She stared at him, bare-chested and kneeling before her, bruises mottling his ribs and face, and he felt exposed Though not uncomfortable with her perusal She’d given Tobias that sensation of overexposure before, and he had survived it—triumphed over it, in fact—embracing the animal dwelling within him he’d always sought to quell There was pleasure to be found in losing control That was the lesson Chandler McCallister had taught him Such pleasure Tobias could never come back from it and hope to survive He looked her over, fearing his inspection revealed far more of his feelings than hers had, and noted the dark smudges beneath her eyes The tense set of her full lips The clenching of her sharp jaw But no blood, no bruises, and her black jacket remained zipped to the base of her throat Still “Are you all right?” Her mouth compressed into a thin, bloodless line “Ask me tomorrow, Toby.” His heart sped at her words A prematurely gnarled hand gripped her upper arm, twisted by burn scars but evidently strong enough to make Chandler flinch Unthinking, Tobias tugged his restraints, lunging forward as Karlin Kedrov moved into the pool of light provided by the single bulb swaying overhead “Ah-ah, Faraday Do not be rude.” The man’s grating English was shaped by his heavy accent “My pet is not for you to touch.” “This woman is not your pet.” She belonged to no man, not even Tobias, and he liked her that way Kedrov grinned, or maybe grimaced—his features too twisted to be certain “No?” The hand on Chandler’s arm slid upward to her shoulder, squeezed “Well, then, koshka.” Kedrov’s fingers threaded through the loosened strands of honey blond spilling around her shoulders, head tilted to study her blank expression, voice patronizingly affectionate The raging beast inside Tobias snarled at the scarred man’s possessive touch “You know what you must do, yes? To prove the American wrong?” She nodded, and a belt, his belt, appeared in her hand, the black leather wide in her small palm Stepping forward as Kedrov shifted back into the shadows, she again met Tobias’s gaze No emotion lurked in her brown eyes now, no tell to alert him she was playing a role, another role, always a different role Tension gathered once more beneath his sternum, hands fisting as the chains dictated his position He bent at the waist in a forced bow, acquiescing to the pressure on his arms as he gritted his teeth and stared at the floor, the planes of his bared shoulders offered up to her To the belt Words stoppered his throat, a bottlenecked torrent of feelings he refused to release in front of their audience He could this for her He would this for her, damn it, even without knowing all the variables at hand He had to trust in her, trust in them, and withstand what was to come The belt cracked as she whipped it at her side, a preparatory gesture A warning He lifted his gaze from between his knees to drink in the sight of her once more, and a chill entered his veins at what he saw in her face Determination, yes, but also a glow of of sadistic glee Pretending or not She shook her head, almost sadly, as she studied his expression “What did I tell you about me, Toby? From the very beginning, what did I make clear?” Swallowing against the inner cold threatening to freeze his heart, he growled, “That you’re a selfserving bitch.” His lips didn’t want to form the curse, didn’t want to hurt her with her own words, and what a fool that made him “Excellent memory.” Her throat moved, but no sound emerged No sound except—”Toby?” The glow in her eyes dimmed, and again he lunged, unable to stop himself from trying to protect her even as the goons at his arms slammed him to the floor, his body folded at the waist and his forehead nearly touching the cold cement His lungs heaved like bellows as he strained futilely against their hold A pistol cocked behind Chandler “You have five seconds, koshka.” His eyes slid shut as he braced his body “Do it,” he demanded “Do it, and be done.” ©2014 by Edie Harris About the Author Edie Harris studied English and Creative Writing at the University of Iowa and Grinnell College She fills her days with writing and editing contract proposals, but her nights belong to the world of romance fiction Edie lives and works in Chicago and is represented by Laura Bradford of Bradford Literary Agency Visit her website for backlist titles, contact information, and regular updates on upcoming projects www.edieharris.com Where no great story goes untold The variety you want to read, the stories authors have always wanted to write With new releases every week, your next great read is just a download away! Keep in touch with Carina Press: Read our blog: www.CarinaPress.com/blog Follow us on Twitter: www.twitter.com/CarinaPress Become a fan on Facebook: www.facebook.com/CarinaPress ISBN-13: 9781426899263 Blamed: A Blood Money Novel Copyright © 2014 by Edie Harris Excerpt from Ripped: A Blood Money Novel ©2014 by Edie Harris Used by permission of the author Edited by Kerri Buckley All rights reserved By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9 All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries www.CarinaPress.com ... Vick started life as a weekly serial feature titled “In Her Sights” on my website in 2011 Yes, you heard me— 2011 Then I sent them into time-out on my hard drive until they agreed to play nice with... the desert Book one of the Blood Money series 84,000 words Dear Reader, Welcome to the November 2014 edition of the Dear Reader letter This month, Carina Press and I share an anniversary: five... characters three years later when I submitted a 140-character Twitter pitch during #PitMad in January 2014 to Angela James, the editorial director of Harlequin Carina Press My tweet: She was an assassin;