Midnight Target (Killer Instincts #8) by Elle Kennedy Read Online

  PRAISE FOR ELLE KENNEDY'Southward KILLER INSTINCTS SERIES

"Eye-stopping, riveting suspense . . . for those who bask their romantic suspense on the nighttime and steamy side."

—New York Times bestselling writer Christy Reece

"Dangerous suspense to quicken your pulse. Romance hot plenty to brand you sweat. Elle Kennedy puts them together and leaves you breathless."

—New York Times bestselling writer 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 every bit 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 iii."

—Romance Junkies

"Very adept romantic suspense . . . all the right elements that I look for in a volume similar this."

—Fiction Vixen

Besides 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 Awareness

Published by Berkley

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

Copyright © 2017 past Leeanne Kenedy

Penguin Random Business firm supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech communication, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by non reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in whatsoever course without permission. Yous are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

BERKLEY and BERKLEY Awareness are registered trademarks and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random Business firm LLC.

Ebook ISBN: 9781101991329

Kickoff Edition: May 2017

Cover art past Kris Keller

Cover pattern past Katie Anderson

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the writer'due south imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to bodily persons, living or dead, business organization establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Version_1

To all the fans of this series—

thanks for loving it as much equally I do.

Contents

Praise for Elle Kennedy's Killer Instincts Serial

Likewise by Elle Kennedy

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter one

Affiliate 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Affiliate half-dozen

Chapter 7

Affiliate 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Affiliate 11

Chapter 12

Chapter thirteen

Chapter 14

Chapter fifteen

Affiliate 16

Chapter 17

Affiliate eighteen

Affiliate 19

Affiliate twenty

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Affiliate 28

Affiliate 29

Affiliate xxx

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Affiliate 34

Affiliate 35

Epilogue

Excerpt from Ruled

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I have been dying to write this book always since I introduced Liam and Sully in Midnight Allonym. And then, when I introduced Cate and Ash in Midnight Activeness, I was even more impatient to requite these 2 couples their own stories. It took a couple of years to make information technology happen, simply information technology 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 of import, their friendship.

Sharon, for her eagle optics and always, ever beingness there for me!

Tash and Nic, for everything!

Jess Brock, the biggest cheerleader for this serial, besides 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 Metropolis, Guatana

"How'd it become?"

Cate Morgan glanced over her shoulder to find a dusky-skinned beauty standing behind her chair. Information technology e'er took her a second to remember that Riya Charan wasn't a moving-picture show star who'd wandered off the set, only an award-winning journalist with a scary number of battle scars from past high-take chances assignments. After iii weeks of being glued to Riya'south side, Cate had adult a serious girl beat out on the woman.

"Uneventful," Cate admitted as her colleague settled in the seat beyond from hers. "I'm loading the pictures now, simply I don't recall at that place's anything usable hither." She gestured to her laptop, which she was using to import the photographs from her photographic camera's memory card.

Unfortunately, her trip to the city center today had gleaned no results. She'd tailed the head of Guatana'due south naval defense ministry for hours, and the only shots she'd managed to snap were of the onetime general having lunch with his slime purse politico friends.

Riya frowned deeply. "Goose egg? Really? Tomlin's intelligence is usually spot-on."

"I don't know what to tell yous. Aguilar did get to the marketplace like Tomlin said he would, merely in that location was no hush-hush meeting. Hither—look."

She spun the computer around and clicked on the photos that had already been uploaded. In that location was shot after shot of Felipe Aguilar in the nearly deserted promenade that made up Guatana City's pitiful excuse for a marketplace. A mere ii 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 non-and so-long-ago past.

The rapid turn down of Guatana was the reason for Cate'southward extended visit. Afterward she'd dropped out of higher, it had taken a while for her freelance career to selection 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 test of the unsavory weather in Guatana. The homicide rate was astronomical, as rival cartels jockeyed for ability, all wanting to be the principal supplier of cocaine to the US. Politicians were either in the pocket of the cartels or backed by the military machine or both. Since freedom of the printing was a joke in this land, the online articl

es painted a far rosier picture of the small-scale Southward American nation, particularly concerning its apace collapsing economy.

If Cate's father knew what the conditions on the ground were similar, he'd shit a kitten.

However, it was the about 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 defenseless in the cantankerous fire of warring cartels. And aye, seeing all that turmoil bankrupt her middle, but at the same time, someone needed to exist hither to capture this. To evidence the balance of the globe what was going on right under their noses.

"Who do you think he's talking to?"

Riya's wary observation jerked Cate's attending back to the screen. The journalist tapped an unpolished fingernail on a pic that showed the full general holding a cell telephone to his ear. His forehead 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. "Only 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 optics remained fixed on the screen. "Let's enlarge some of these and pay closer attending to the crowd. Maybe the mystery appointment is lurking in the groundwork."

"I'm on it. I was planning on doing that afterward I finish uploading."

"Good."

When the other woman hesitated, Cate offered a frown of her own. "What'southward wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just . . ." Riya shrugged. "Nevertheless seems a bit silly to rely on my slightly in a higher place par sources when you lot've got a top-notch network to tap into."

Though it wasn't an accusation, it yet raised Cate's hackles. Riya couldn't sympathise why Cate wasn't taking reward of the resources at mitt. Hell, Cate herself could see why that might confuse people. Globe Magazine was a powerful media outlet, but Riya's contacts weren't fifty-fifty remotely comparable to the ones at Cate's disposal.

No, at Jim Morgan's disposal.

And therein lay the problem, considering Jim Morgan wasn't but a supersoldier—he as well happened to be Cate'due south father.

Her father.

God, it still felt surreal at times, having a dad. Four years ago, she was a seventeen-yr-old daughter living in France under her grandfather's pollex. Existence forced to visit a mother who was brain-expressionless. Being told her male parent had abased her and eventually died.

But it had all been a prevarication, an elaborate story concocted past a man who'd turned out to exist 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 e'er 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 demand for action and adventure.

Or at least she thought he'd understood. These days, she wasn't and then sure.

"I'1000 not involving my father," Cate said when she noticed Riya's expectant expression.

The other woman sighed. "Remind me again why?"

"Considering he's a stubborn ass who refuses to care for me as an adult." She made an unflattering noise nether her breath. "I told you lot—we're non 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'southward going to view you as a kid. You are a kid—his child."

"I'one thousand twenty-one," Cate protested.

Riya laughed again. "Parents will always recollect of their kids as babies. Hell, I'thousand thirty-ix and when I go to Mumbai for a visit, my male parent all the same 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'south father, who owned a cigar shop and was supposedly equally gentle equally a lamb. Morgan, on the other mitt, 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 practise the same. Or peradventure Noelle was worse, really, considering 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 desire to protect yous. Just I'm certain that in one case this article is published, he'll get it. He'll sympathise that you belong out in the world and not in some lecture hall."

"I dubiousness 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 attempt to necktie my shoes for me. He thinks I'yard incompetent."

Riya snorted. "Incompetent? Hon, nosotros never would've made information technology out of that village on the coast alive terminal calendar week if you lot weren't and so damn adept at hot-wiring cars."

"Morgan taught me that," she admitted, albeit grudgingly.

"Encounter? He wouldn't accept 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 lot and everyone else he cares about."

"Yes, but that has nothing to do with this assignment," Cate grumbled. "If I inquire him for intel nigh Guatana and the cartels, he'll do the opposite of help—he'll wing out here on his jet and drag me kicking and screaming dorsum to Costa Rica."

And she could not get back to Costa Rica. Morgan'south chemical compound, bordered by the jungle on one side and the mountains on the other, might be cute, but information technology was a damn fortress. Not to mention crowded. She couldn't walk out of her sleeping room 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 x minutes without thinking about that wiggle. 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'south resources," she maintained in a firm voice. "We can do some more than earthworks on our ain. We know Aguilar is involved in shady deals with the cartels—it's only a matter of time before we notice a concrete connection."

Riya looked unconvinced. "And if we don't?"

"Then . . ." Cate sighed. "So I'll think about calling Noelle, my dad's married woman. Or 1 of the twins—" At Riya's blank expression, Cate clarified, "Sean and Oliver Reilly. They're mercenaries at present only they used to be information dealers. They have more contacts than the CIA."

"All correct. Well, tomorrow nosotros're driving upwards north, and then hopefully we'll brand 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-scale 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 resource that citizens in the surrounding areas were existence deprived of. Fresh fruit, enough of grains, clean h2o. A insubordinate group in the area had caught air current of this and proceeded to torch the village, sending a clear bulletin to the Rivera cartel and to anyone who chose to cooperate with them.

God, this entire country was in anarchy. Civil strife, political blackmail, citizens taking orders from drug cartels because officials were too weak or too decadent to govern properly. Cate was both horrified and fascinated by information technology, and the latter only reaffirmed her deci

sion to leave college. Why would she want to sit in a lecture hall and have notes about foreign conflicts when she could exist experiencing those conflicts immediate?

And why couldn't Jim Morgan, a human who lived and breathed action, who craved the adrenaline high and welcomed the danger . . . why couldn't he empathise that she was cutting from that very same fabric?

"Permit'south study the maps at dinner," Riya suggested. "Nosotros'll decide which areas are worth focusing on and plan our road."

"Sounds good."

Riya scraped back her chair. "I'll ring you in a couple of hours. Correct now I'grand in desperate demand of a nap. I've been upwards since dawn."

"I'll see you afterwards," Cate said, her gaze returning to the laptop every bit the older adult female left the hotel bar.

It wasn't the most ideal identify to work, but the hotel Wi-Fi was spotty everywhere but hither. 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'due south 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 later she'd drained one-half the glass. It felt incorrect chugging make clean, ice-cold water when many of Guatana'southward 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 photographic camera in hand. She'd captured cruel, heartbreaking images these past three weeks. Images of starving children and drastic parents. Of bread lines that evoked memories of Hungary and Not bad Depression America. Of heaps of garbage being used as housing.

Ironically, the photos she was currently studying were somehow the almost gruesome of all. Felipe Aguilar, fat and tanned and clad in a thousand-dollar accommodate amidst a crowd of disheveled, sickly locals. Aguilar handing over a crisp bill at a coffee stand up, while ten feet away from him, three children scoured the muddy basis for loose change. Aguilar chatting on his cell telephone, while—

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