High Risk

By Madelon Smid

When CIA agent, Lee Morrison, is wounded on a mission in Hong Kong, fate pairs her with ex-patriot Rik Van Doorn, an industrialist with a surprising number of skills. Together they must find stolen American missiles and get them off the market. Working undercover creates a close relationship, where the risks are high and trust is all important. But Lee and Rik owe allegiance to different countries, and enemies and friends are often interchangeable. Trusting is the highest risk of all. Though Lee willingly risks her life for their mission, Rik’s demand she stake everything on their love may be asking too much.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Sep 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781509211371

Madelon Smid

Madelon Smid is nature's child and happiest when she's kayaking a river or skiing down a mountain. Her characters share her love of adventure, risk and living fully. An avid reader, she discovered the romance novel at fourteen, then found writing them even more satisfying and sold her first romance in 1991. She parted ways with her first love - romance, to build a successful career as a nonfiction writer, co-authoring the Canadian Best Sellers Smart Women and Smart Women Get Smarter. The desire to spin fantasy into gold for her readers drew her back. She lives with her husband by a lake in Saskatchewan, where she writes about the strength and passion women and men demonstrate when they conquer the trials of life and love.

Book preview

Inc.

I’ll never have a better chance to get those files.

She yanked her arm free, rushed past their door, and on to the next. Smoke wreathed their faces, flooded his lungs.

Lee exposed the keypad, punched in some numbers, and pushed the door open. Rik followed her in, headed for the bathroom, soaked two hand towels under the taps, and rushed back to Lee. She already had the drawer unlocked. Gratefully, she accepted the towel and tied it around her mouth. A pillowcase, she yelled, lifting armfuls of files from the drawer.

Rik dragged a pillow off the bed and out of its case and held the makeshift duffel open while she dumped the files in. She didn’t close the drawer or lock up. If the fire didn’t reach the room, Radzinski would know his files were missing. She did use the skirt of her dress to wipe prints off everything she touched. Rik hadn’t touched anything with his bare fingers and shook his head in a negative when her eyes questioned him. Then he had her hand, was pulling her down the corridor. The companionway was filling with smoke. They raced down two flights of steps to the lower level, started running down the corridor toward the garage. Above something heavy crashed and the yacht gave a grinding groan and listed starboard. Water inched over their shoes.

Other Books in the Daring Heights Series

Climbing High

High Ground

High Seas

Reaching High

High Risk

by

Madelon Smid

The Daring Heights Series, Book 5

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.

High Risk

COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Madelon Smid

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Crimson Rose Edition, 2016

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1136-4

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1137-1

The Daring Heights Series, Book 5

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For Ryan, son, soldier, husband, parent,

whose intellect, courage, and heart are heroic;

and to the Dutch ancestors whose

blood runs through his veins.

Chapter One

She flowed out of the night like a square of black silk from a magician’s sleeve. One second, the balustrade was empty. The next, she balanced there, as dark and slender as a wand. Rik Van Doorn blinked, testing his vision. Yes, she still swayed on the narrow ledge, like a breeze in the night. She leapt, landing on the balcony tiles without a sound. One pale hand pressed against the dark stain spreading just below her breast.

He stood silent and unmoving in the deep shadows of the far wall, watching the intruder. In a second, he’d accost her on behalf of his host, though he had no high regard for the near thug giving the party. He was here as a favor to his government. Until then, he’d do what they’d asked—observe.

With a supple twist of her wrist, she slipped a thin, black balaclava from her head. Hair, as dark as the sky behind her, shed white sparks, then settled along her jawline. With a twitch here, a tug there, layers of floating fabric drifted over the body suit, forming a stylish evening dress. She unsnapped a pouch at her waist, extracted shoes that were nothing more than sky-high sandals with laces, and strapped them on after peeling what appeared to be thin plastic strips off her soles. She turned the pouch inside out and hung it over her shoulder with a glittering strap. She swayed again, pressed a hand below her breast. Inky lashes rested against her porcelain white face.

On feet trained to cross rice paper without making a sound, he moved closer. Several of the guests inside laughed raucously as they joined with a group standing near the open doors of the third story balcony. She started. Her eyes flashed open. Her slim body sank against the waist high balustrade, and her breasts moved as she took a deep breath. She straightened, covering the wet patch with a fold of her floating skirt, she tilted her chin and moved gracefully toward the party. As she stepped into the circles of light shed by sconces mounted along the wall of the house, he saw the dark smear on the hand holding the cloth. Blood.

Swiftly, he calculated the most probable scenario. She’d broken in and been wounded. He hadn’t heard gun fire, but Radzinski’s home in Hong Kong was huge. The Russian arms dealer had purchased the summer palace from its Chinese owner and had embellished the elegant lines until they looked as blurred and messy as a child’s painting.

With a house full of guests, Rik concluded, his men would use silencers. Possibly, she’d been knifed. The thought tightened his gut. Had she stolen something and escaped, or failed? Either way, she might have information he could use. She’d planned her exit through the party, but couldn’t pull it off with blood darkening her dress and staining her hand. He’d already noticed. The avid crowd inside took in every detail, turning it into gossip. Information was power, and they searched for it like gold. If she’d been in a skirmish, Radzinski would have his security tying the place up tight. Even as he worked out his next step, she swayed.

I’m a friend, if you want help, he said from the shadows. She might be armed and feel cornered. He didn’t want a bullet coming at him out of the dark.

Her eyes searched the spot where he stood. Friends don’t hide.

Her calm voice and quiet posture invited him into the open. He stepped clear. You’re injured. How badly?

Knife between the ribs. Not serious, just messy enough that getting out of here is a problem.

American. I can get you out if you trust me.

You haven’t shouted for help yet.

He laughed at her dry tone, her unflappable acceptance.

Radzinski’s not a friend of mine. I’d take pleasure in thwarting him. In fact, I’m here for that purpose. Looks like I got lucky.

Guess I did, too.

The droll tone, as she looked at her bleeding side, lured another low laugh from him. She intrigued and amused him, a rare occurrence these days.

I suggest we act like we hooked up at the party. We’ll mingle a while, as stage dressing, turn up the heat so others deduce we’re wrapped up in each other, then leave, like we’re heading for your place or mine. I’ll call my limo driver and have him ready outside so the minute we indicate we’re leaving we go straight out. If Radzinski’s suspicious, there won’t be a lot he can do with all his guests watching. Do you have anything on you he can find and use against you?

No, but I’m not sure I can continue bleeding for much longer without giving the game away.

There’s a powder room just down the hallway. We’ll go there patch you up, muss me up a little, and wander back into the party. Here, let me put my arm around your waist and cover that stain.

Together, they entered the crowded room. He took a quick look down at her in the brilliant light and stopped so suddenly, her foot kicked his.

Ouch. She hopped on one foot, glaring into his face. You made me stub my toe.

Sorry. Feeling like his brain had exploded, he tried gathering the pieces back together, tried pulling his transfixed gaze from her face. My God, she was exquisite. What creator had spent a million years composing the color, shape, and fit of her features?

Don’t just stand there gaping, she hissed with displeasure. "You’re supposed to get me out of here, not display me for the entire room.

Realizing he’d made them the focus of all eyes, he leaned over her, turning so he hid her from the room, and pressed a kiss against her cheek, discovering skin so soft he thought he’d touched his lips against a lily petal. He smoothed another against the silken hair at her temple, and a third in the curve where her long white neck met her shoulder. A glance revealed most their audience were once more looking away. They moved across the room, down the hallway, and into the powder room, like lovers absorbed in each other. Their natural chemistry bubbled like an out of control experiment, near combusting. Thank Buddha the room stood empty.

You didn’t tell me I’d be handicapped, he accused.

Handicapped? How? She was inspecting her dress in the full-length mirror, not looking at him. Her fingers plucked the soaking material away from her skin.

Look at you. He stood behind her, waving his hand at her reflection.

Yeah, I know the blood stain shows.

He groaned, fisted his hands in his hair, and pulled. You’re so damn beautiful the minute you stepped into the room all eyes were on you. How the hell can I get you out of here when every man is salivating over you, and every woman is taking inventory?

Oh, that. She met his eyes in the mirror, shrugged slender shoulders. Sorry. She staggered and backed into him.

Jesus. What am I going on about? You’re wounded and bleeding. Sit. He pressed her down on the toilet seat and yanked a handful of tissues from the box. How do you get under this? He examined the bodice of her dress, which seemed like some stretchy material.

It’s a leotard, one piece. The neckline stretches so I can pull it down my arms. She struggled, increasing the flow of blood oozing through the material. Giving up, she leaned back with a groan.

Here, let me. He dropped the tissue in her lap and carefully stretched the neckline, easing the opening down her arms, until he could lift each free. A small black bra covered beautifully shaped breasts. Feeling his instant sexual response, he looked away, leaning her back, until he could see the jagged cut piercing her between her the sixth and seventh rib on her right side.

Looks like your rib deflected the blade, missing your vital organs. It’s clotting on its own. Needs stiches, though.

Did I get so lucky I stumbled over a doctor? She bit back a groan as he pressed the wad of tissue against the deep cut.

No, just a guy who’s seen too many wounds inflicted on too many bodies.

He heard her light gasp, and looking up, saw beads of sweat break out along her upper lip. The rosy color fled, leaving a blue tinge on the cushiony flesh. Her skin was chalk white and clammy. Her eyes, a shimmering gold appeared glassy. You’re not going into shock, are you?

Not a chance, she said gruffly, blinking hard.

Hold this, he grunted. As soon as she’d pressed her bloody hand over the tissue, he rooted through the medicine cabinet.

Nothing, he said in disgust.

Look under the sink. There should be feminine supplies for guests, she suggested.

He found a box of tampons, another of sanitary napkins.

Great. Give me a tampon.

He peeled off the paper wrapper and handed it over, then felt his stomach muscles clench as he watched her push the tampon into the wound.

Her skin turned waxen. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. She breathed heavily through her nose. Now one of the thin pads, she instructed.

Again he peeled the paper off for her. You hold it in place, while I get your dress back on. There’s no way we can wash the blood out of the fabric.

Together, they managed. She sat, inhaling and exhaling several shaky breaths. He dampened a towel and wiped her face, noting her beauty required no make-up, though eyeshadow enhanced the fabulous cognac-colored eyes.

She stood, washed the blood from her hands, tidied her hair with a comb she took from the restructured backpack, and applied lip-gloss. Again, she examined her dress in the full-length mirror.

He hid the bloody tissue on the bottom of the trash basket and washed the blood off his hands. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he punched in his driver’s number and requested his limo.

Your arm will cover the stain if you keep it wrapped under my breast, she said frankly.

There’s music. We’ll dirty dance. That way I can hide your front with my body, get us across the room and sell the story. Win, win, win, win.

That’s just three wins that I count.

Oh, did I forget to say, and cop a feel. He grinned at her.

She laughed. You’d better tell me your name then.

Rik Van Doorn. He closed his fingers gently around the slim hand she offered.

Liqui Morrison. Lee to my friends.

Let’s get you out of here, Lee.

She stood, looked him over. I think you need a little window dressing. If you don’t mind? She hesitated, leaning closer, her ginger sweet breath feathering over his lips.

Be my guest. His voice came out so gruffly he cleared his throat and tried again. My lips are at your service.

She pressed her mouth against his, changed the angle before he could capture the myriad impressions of her silken lips, and compressed his again.

Pulling back, she took in the visual of her rosy lip gloss smearing his mouth, just riding above his upper lip in one place. She smoothed a final kiss high on his cheekbone. Hmmm. That looks authentic. She opened the door.

He stepped through ahead of her. When his brain finished backing up his reaction and started processing again, he realized they’d been lucky someone else wasn’t waiting in the hall. He wrapped his arm lightly around her ribcage and led her into the main room. Conversation came at them from dozens of groups. Music competed in the background, bass thumping behind an overlay of piano and guitar. Waiters circulated with trays of drinks and appetizers. Sparkling chandeliers highlighted glittering jewelry and crystal flutes. Perfume and after shave mingled with the aroma of heated flesh and caviar. Radzinski used his parties as a measure of his wealth and power. Taste and class eluded him.

Thankful several dozen couples were already dancing, Rik wrapped himself around Lee and moved her into the crowd. He tucked his mouth against the curve of her shoulder, his hand low on her butt. She was tall for someone with oriental blood, he guessed about five-foot-seven, and her five inch heels made her a comfortable fit for his six-two frame. He kissed his way up her neck, while he stroked down her back with his free hand, until his hands met low on her hips.

She played the game well, sensually rubbing her hips across his pelvis, rendering him aroused and ready, with no way of hiding his hard-on. She gave him a mischievous look. Sorry.

He drew her against him tightly, brushed his chest back and forth across her breasts, and felt her nipples bead. Sorry back. He smirked at her.

She laughed.

He liked that about her. She’d taken everything he’d thrown at her with humor. He didn’t know what she was up to, but he sure admired how she went about it. Whatever her game, she is damn good at it. Rik, who strove for excellence in all things, gave her high marks.

They were halfway across the room when Radzinski appeared at the top of the curving staircase leading from the lower floor. Two of his security guards flanked him, their eyes searching the room.

Can they identify you? he whispered as he stroked his tongue along Lee’s ear.

General body type and height, she spoke quietly against his jaw.

Let’s stick to the plan, then. He dipped her, making certain he stayed over the wet stain against her black dress. With a few twirls, they reached the steps. He stopped her in a group near Radzinski, made a play of introducing her to several of the business men and their girlfriends. You didn’t bring your wife to Radzinski’s parties, where back rooms were made available, along with drugs or hookers. He kept her wrapped tightly, his arm under her breasts, his mouth on her somewhere, when he wasn’t talking. She acted like she was two seconds from an orgasm.

If you’ll excuse us, he let his clipped Canadian intonation reach Radzinski’s ears. I think we’ll take the party elsewhere. My date has needs I can’t meet here.

He led her toward Radzinski, stopped in front of the stocky Russian. Mine host, thank you for an excellent evening. The champagne was superb, the company stimulating. We appreciated your hospitality, didn’t we? He pressed a kiss along Lee’s jaw.

A pleasure, Mr. Radzinski. She looked like she was totally wrapped up in Rik, desperate for a closer connection, as they started down the steps.

He kept his arm over the wound, hoping his limo waited at the entrance, praying Radzinski would let them go.

Van Doorn.

Radzinski’s harsh voice halted him. He held Lee still in the circle of his arm. He could feel the chills racing through her stressed body. Slowly, he pivoted and looked up.

I don’t believe I met your companion. The bodyguards moved down the stairway, getting between Rik and the main entrance.

He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips. No? My mistake. I didn’t think there was anyone in Hong Kong who didn’t know Lee. Darling, our host, Sergei Radzinski. This is Lee Morrison. We met in the states when I was there on business.

Radzinski’s face darkened. You’re an American? He questioned Lee, examining her closely. I’m interested in American exports. Maybe you can spare me some time before you leave.

How kind. But I’m already booked for the evening. She threw a look filled with sexual innuendo at Rik. But I’d love a tour of your home sometime. I’m an interior designer, and your place is my dream job. Any chance you have a room or two that hasn’t already been decorated?

At her obvious bid for business, Radzinski closed up. Another time, then Ms. Morrison. Possibly, you and Rik will consider joining me on my yacht next week. I am touring the islands of the Zhoushan Archipelago with a group of pleasure seekers for a few days.

Sounds great, Rik said. Send me the details, and we’ll see if we can make it work. He moved down the stairs, feeling the wet of Lee’s blood soaking through the sleeve of his jacket, past his shirt, and onto his arm. He was all but carrying her by the time they reached the bottom level and the waiting limo.

****

Radzinski’s thugs kept pace with them. No matter how good her act, they were obviously suspicious. She straightened away from him and stepped into the limo as steady as a gymnast. But then, she’d already displayed a remarkable sense of balance.

As soon as it drew away, he swivelled for a closer look at her in the dim interior. Perspiration dewed her face, blood soaked her dress. The closest hospital, he instructed his driver.

No. She was looking out the back window. Radzinski’s goons are following. They’ll know I’m the one they stabbed, if I go anywhere near a medical facility. Can you take me to my hotel?

Tight lipped, he told his driver the name of the hotel she gave him. Again, they threaded their way past the doorman and through a crowded lobby. Thank God she had her key card on her and they could step directly into the elevator. With only a quick glance at the security cameras, she faced the back of the car, her body trembling. He kept his hand under her arm, expecting her knees to buckle any second. When they stepped off the elevator, the hallway was empty in both directions.

What number? he asked, figuring he better know, in case she collapsed.

Twelve twenty. She turned right on shaky legs.

He swung her up in his arms and stalked down the hallway. I have a pal who’s a doctor. He’ll make a house call and not ask questions. Will that work for you? It better, or I’ll knock you out and get you medical attention, before I watch you suffer another minute.

Glassy-eyed, she studied him, nodded.

He took the card from her hand, swiped it through the door mechanism and striding inside, laid her gently on the bed. Whipping out his smart phone, he dialed and prayed Chan would be home.

Rik. Haven’t heard from you in a while. His boyhood friend sounded as tranquil as ever. They’d grown up on the streets of Beijing together, fought for survival side-by-side. As teenagers, they’d learned karate and sexual exploits, set-up their first illegal gambling club. When the money started coming in, Rik bank-rolled Chan’s medical career in the states. Then, while his friend followed his passion, Rik followed his, building an investment empire, first financed by crime, now wholly legal.

He’d avoided jail and a rap sheet. And if the Hong Kong Secretary of Security or the Canadian Ambassador asked the odd favor of him, he accepted, coming through for the Bureau was part of payback for the early days of crime. Now he was caught up in one of those favors, instructed to use his social status as an in with Radzinski and