UNDER COVERS

a novel
by Ami Speare

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dedication:

to my readers — this one is for you. ilysm.

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epigraph:

"The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting."

– Sun Tzu from The Art of War

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PART I

one | minsk

the capital city of Belarus; formerly the capital of the Belorussian Soviet Socialist Republic, one of fifteen republics of the USSR in the twentieth century

JAKE

May 4th, 15:48 (GMT +3)
11 days until it happens

THE FIRST TIME I saw Rayna Shahid, she was launching herself off the rooftop of a cocaine den in Bogota, dodging the gunfire splatter of a Colombian drug cartel.

Slender little thing, sun-bronzed skin and a flying cascade of black hair, skidding down a rusty drainpipe, leaping and ducking her way through crowded alleyways, vanishing into the smoggy horizon.

I'd never seen anything like her. I thought it was some wild delusion, the product of too many days spent undercover in the tropical heat.

The second time I saw Rayna Shahid, she'd nearly blown my entire operation by worming her way into the black-market firearms syndicate I was infiltrating in Taipei.

I swear I nearly strangled her on the spot. I'd been tracking those fuckers for months. A couple days before the tactical team was scheduled to bust the entire joint apart, there she was, messing up all my careful plans. Silky black hair and these ridiculously sharp brown eyes that had haunted my dreams since I first caught a glimpse of her.

I'd had to break my cover to fill her in. She was interfering with an official MI6 investigation, and she didn't give a single fuck. With a sly, twinkling voice, she told me exactly where I could stick my investigation, that she was working under the authority of the Canadian government, that I technically had no real jurisdiction. The fucking nerve.

Whatever tales Western media has propagated about how nice and friendly Canadians are—it's all complete and utter bullshit. Rayna Shahid is a manipulative, cutthroat witch of a woman, hiding her nefarious intentions behind a polite, gracious smile.

From Amsterdam to Johannesburg to Kolkata, chasing insurgents and smugglers and militias. Chatter through the vine about a Canadian agent stirring up trouble, the waft of a familiar taunting laugh, a flash of inky hair, a snatch of her faint rosewater scent.

The third time, I don't see her. Rayna Shahid sees me.

In fact, I don't even know she's in the room until I feel the cool pressure of a 9mm muzzle grazing my temple.

Oh, bloody hell. How the fuck...? Not a hint, not a sound.

A tinge of rosewater, an unimpressed hum of breath. "Jake Morgan." My name drips off her smooth tongue like some kind of revolting poison.

I chuckle, swipe a palm across my jaw. "Put the gun down, darling. But hey, nice to see you too."

The metal digs in more insistently.

I'm creeping a hand casually toward my belt, but then there's a flurry of slim fingers swiping around my hips, plucking my Glock away. Her pistol skips over to my neck, lower, as she frisks her way down me. Knuckles skimming beneath my shirt, fingertips sneaking into the waistline of my trousers, along the back of my thigh, my knee, my calf, past the top of my boot. Her touch is practised, swift but sensual. She's teasing me on purpose. With a quick flick of her wrist she confiscates my hidden revolver, two knives, and a taser.

When she's done feeling me up, her warm breath tickles the top of my spine. "You shouldn't be here," she flatly informs me. "I'm on a case and you're ruining it."

"Sounds like a shitty thing to do, huh?"

A soft scoff. "Taiwan? You're still sore about that? It's been like a year, Morgan."

Taipei. I almost lost six men in the chaos. The Chief gave me so much shit afterwards. "I told you we had it covered but you insisted on sticking around. You nearly got me killed."

"Not my fault you're an arrogant bastard." The round imprint of her breasts against my back is an unnecessary distraction, but that's how she likes it. "If you'd have just accepted my help, things would've been perfectly fine."

"That's not how it works, sweetheart. More agents mean more complications and more loose ends. I like to take care of my business alone."

I can hear the sickly-sweet, insincere smile in her voice. "All alone? Poor baby. Your fist must be exhausted."

Don't think about her on her knees, choking on your dick. Don't fucking go there. So not the time right now, fuck...

She's still pointing her gun at me, finger curled around the trigger. Maybe I should be worried, but I'm not. She just enjoys fucking with me.

I do a quick survey of our surroundings. A dingy, deserted hideout abandoned by the Russian mobsters I've been tracking across Belarus. Cement walls, cement floor. Clunky cold-war era computer shoved onto a table in the corner, ransacked tin filing cabinets layered with dust. Basement cellar, no window. Single exit, positioned behind her.

I could flip around, easy, disarm her in half a second, have her pinned to the concrete before she can even open her feisty mouth to cry for help. Just as my fingers clip a scrap of her neck, she twists my hand away.

Her words flutter into my ear. "Here's the deal, Morgan. We're both after the same thing. We can either cooperate, or you can crawl back to London empty-handed."

"That's cute, princess. If you think I'm trusting you with anything then you're madder than I—mmph..."

She cuffs me on the head so hard that I nearly bite my tongue off. "You sure know how to flatter a woman," she observes drily. "Cut the crap. Where is it?"

My skull tingles, sore. Her question makes me chuckle. "Where's what?"

"I said cut the crap."

I hold my empty hands up defensively, watching from the corner of my eye as her gun tracks my every move. "I don't have it. I swear by Queen and country."

She mutters something sour beneath her breath about an old hag and a bark of laughter shoots from deep in my chest. "Hey, she's your queen too, love. You know, they used to jail people for that sort of treaso—ouch! Bloody hell, will you stop fucking hitting me?"

She tosses me a sparkling, self-satisfied smile that makes my pulse race a little faster. "Looks like you're the idiot who just defamed Her Majesty, because I know you have it." She paces around me, thinking aloud. "I followed a lead to Kyiv, where my source told me I was a day late because an MI6 agent had already tapped him for intel. So I hightailed it to Minsk, asked around... And ended up here." Her shining brown eyes narrow at me. She's directly in front of me now, arms outstretched, aiming her pistol right between my eyeballs. "So either you have it, or it's already gone."

My traitorous gaze sweeps down the length of her. A small black t-shirt and dark denim jeans hug every single one of her killer curves, lithe legs stretch on for kilometres, smooth golden skin, a tumble of thick, dark hair pouring over her poised shoulders. Just as hazardous as I remember. Prettier, even. Jesus Christ.

"I don't." I meet her steady, discerning eyes with my own, giving nothing away. I can almost see the crunching and churning in her brain as she studies me, trying to determine whether or not to believe a single thing I say.

The "it" she's after is an encrypted flash-drive. Details, blueprints, schedules, rendez-vous points. Critical intelligence to locate the missing girl. The mob is coordinating the kidnapping, distributing the plans through their network. First step in finding where these fuckers are keeping her is to intercept the USB before it falls off the grid into the wrong hands.

Like the dainty, conniving hands of the woman beside me.

The Chinese and the Americans are lurking in the shadows too. There's no saying what other governments might do with the information — politicians are arseholes; we just run around, doing their bidding, feeding into their stupid games.

We knew Ottawa would send their best agent to track down our lost heiress. If I'm being entirely honest, I hadn't given it much thought. They're all absolutely bloody useless, the lot of them. Rubbish competition. Child's-play.

"Well, if you're sure you don't have it, I guess you're no use to me then, huh?"

Entirely useless, every last one. But I forgot about her.

Big mistake, Morgan.

The first of many where Rayna Shahid is concerned, I am already certain.

It's the last thought in my head before I'm knocked to the pavement, the entire world choking black.

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Author's Note [Sept. 23rd, 2022]:

OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING!!!!!! ARE Y'ALL READY FOR THIS????

Flip to the next one! There are two more chapters today!

I've been waiting to post this book for MONTHS. I'm so, so excited to share Rayna & Jake's story with you — this is going to be hot and fun and crazy!

xoxo Ami