I was the sole MI6 agent who had gone along on the extraction mission. It had taken begging the lead agent, Paxon “Irish” Warrick, to allow me to.
Begging was not something normally in my wheelhouse. At least not before. My life had changed, though. I was no longer the bon vivant I once was. At thirty, I was young for a has-been, which meant a rebranding was in order.
If one was to ask anyone in the espionage community about me, the first word likely to be used was lothario. Ineffective would certainly be in the top three. Former MI6 agent would fill the remaining slot.
As I sat in on the meetings during which the mission was planned, I felt the disdain of my peers. I hadn’t been imagining it; their lack of respect was as heavy as it was thick.
I’d used the derision to convince Irish to let me go along. It was a feeling he’d experienced much longer than I had. For several months he, like Xander, was believed to be a double agent—a traitor—someone to be reviled not just by those he worked with but the entirety of the democratic world.
What I’d said was I needed to be on the mission. Yes, needed, I’d confirmed when he questioned my word choice.
If I were able to prove my worth, perhaps one of the two private intelligence and security firms who had jointly been assigned the mission, would offer me a job. I’d even consider a contractor position with the CIA, if it came down to it. Although that would be a harder sell.
It wasn’t just my professional reputation I needed to fix, though. What people thought of me personally was just as dire. What was I especially good at? Seducing women—ala James Bond—I’d heard frequently.
Perhaps when I set out as a member of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service, I’d fancied myself to be the real-life version of 007. I’d relied on my looks and charm throughout my life. Not doing so was a hard habit to break.
That I’d been invited to the after-party to celebrate Irish’s receipt of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, I saw as a win.
While I’d promised myself I would take it easy, the alcohol flowed freely as we celebrated the end of a yearslong mission as much as we did Warrick receiving his country’s high honor.
The gathering had been arranged to take place in the hotel where most of us were staying. Thus, several of the group assembled were drunker than I was. Not that being “less drunk” was something I could tout as an accomplishment.
I approached the bar to order what I’d promised myself would be my last drink and noticed a woman—a stunning woman—sitting alone, her glass nearly empty.
“May I get you another?” I asked.
“Um, I promised myself this would be my last,” she said, lifting the drink that was now only ice.
“I’ve made myself the same promise,” I said, motioning to the bartender. “One more and then I’m cut off for the night.”
“I guess I could have one more.”
Three drinks later, for both of us, we frantically tore at one another’s clothes in the elevator that would take us to the top floor and to my hotel room.
Like my resolve not to overindulge alcohol, I vowed instead that tomorrow, I would also curb my carnal excessiveness.
“Tell me your name,” I said as I had for the last two hours without success.
“No names,” she responded, tugging at my belt buckle once we were in my room.
When I woke the next morning after very little sleep but hours of mind-blowing sex, I wasn’t surprised to see my lover had sneaked out sometime between dawn, when we both passed out from exhaustion, and now, a little after ten.
I stretched my arms over my head and rolled out of bed. “One day at a time,” I muttered to myself as I looked in the bathroom mirror at the man who looked far more like my father than the way I saw myself.
Two hours later, I walked onto the lift that would take me to the office of the newly named CIA director. Once there, I would request permission, and ask for help, in locating a Chinese national. The man was the son of a British diplomat and MI6 asset who I’d been responsible for protecting the last two years.
Taking on the personal mission was yet another item on the list of my path to redemption. If I were to find the man who had been missing for nine years and whom the US had a great interest in questioning then maybe I’d be able to check “professional reputation improved” off my list.
I stepped out when the doors opened and, to my utter dismay, came face-to-face with the woman I’d spent the previous night with.
“Good afternoon,” I said, approaching the gorgeous creature who had gone ghostly pale the moment our eyes met. “I’m Niven St. Thomas. Most call me Saint. What is your name?”
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Sainted
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Also by Heather Slade
BUTLER RANCH
Prequel: Kade’s Worth
Book One: Brodie
Book Two: Maddox
Book Three: Naughton
Book Four: Mercer
Book Five: Kade
K19 SECURITY SOLUTIONS
Book One: Razor
Book Two: Gunner
Book Three: Mistletoe
Book Four: Mantis
Book Five: Dutch
Book Six: Striker
Book Seven: Monk
Book Eight: Halo
Book Nine: Tackle
Coming Soon!
Book Ten: Onyx
ROYAL AGENTS OF MI6
Coming Soon!
Book One: The Duke and the Assassin
Book Two: The Lord and the Spy
Book Three: The Commoner and the Correspondent
Book Four: The Rancher and the Lady
THE INVINCIBLES
Decked
Undercover Agent (written in Cocky Hero Club World)
Edged
Grinded
Riled
Handled (written in KB Worlds Everyday Heroes)
Smoked
Bucked
Irished
Coming Soon!
Sainted
ROARING FORK RANCH
Coming Soon!
Book One: Roughstock
COWBOYS OF CRESTED BUTTE
Book One: Fall
