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eBook Category: Romance/Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: Clint Nichols is way out of line, and he knows it. By kidnaping mafia princess Marissa Gabriole, he is risking a multi-year FBI investigation and his career. Like it or not, however, he is a man even more than an agent. Marissa had intended to spend the weekend relaxing and doing nothing when a commando-painted stranger emerges from the sea to capture her. She can't believe her brother would be involved with anything more evil than fudging his taxes, but Clint believes otherwise--and Clint can be very convincing. As the Mafia leaders close their trap, Clint and Marissa are forced to work together and their attraction can't be denied.

eBook Publisher: BooksForABuck, Published: Bantam Loveswept, 1998
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2005

16 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [975 KB], eReader (PDB) [182 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [179 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [159 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [159 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [211 KB], hiebook (KML) [441 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [220 KB], iSilo (PDB) [147 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [183 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [215 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [231 KB]
Words: 53870
Reading time: 153-215 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"Karen Leabo dishes up a splendid heroine and fast-paced action for our reading pleasure."--Melinda Helfner, Romantic Times Book Club

He sliced noiselessly through dark, murky water on a black night. The only way an uninvited guest could get into Houston's ultra-exclusive Seville Yacht Club was through the water, and that's how Clint Nichols was doing it. Wearing a wet suit, his face blackened with greasepaint, he knew he was almost invisible. Still, he swam mostly underwater, surfacing as infrequently as possible.

Almost there, he thought, his lungs burning. And still the most difficult work was ahead of him. His training at Quantico hadn't prepared him for anything like this. But he was in good shape--better than most of his younger colleagues. He worked like a demon to stay that way, especially since he'd hit forty.

The young Turks might think of him as a dinosaur, but he'd bet not one of them could make it through the grueling physical demands of this task. Too bad the only way he'd ever be able to brag about it was from a jail cell. The Bureau didn't exactly condone kidnapping and hijacking.

Clint carefully counted the boat slips. Most of them were occupied by empty, silent sailboats and cabin cruisers. The wealthy owners paid tens of thousands for the crafts themselves, and thousands more to berth them at the prestigious Seville dock, then actually took them out only once or twice a year.

The whole thing was a pretentious waste of money in Clint's book. Then again, he'd never made enough money to think about owning anything fancier than his 16-foot catamaran, berthed in his garage. How could he understand what motivated rich men, men like Jimmy Gabriole?

At least Gabriole occasionally used his boat. He often arrived without his entourage, believing he was inviolable at the high-security yacht club. This particular weekend he'd brought his sister, Marissa, with him, providing Clint with the perfect opportunity. An eye for an eye.

A little sister for an ex-wife.

Jimmy had raised Marissa from the time she was ten and Jimmy was twenty, when their parents had been killed in a car bombing. Rumor had it that he valued her far above any in his series of wives.

Slip 64. And there was Fortune's Smile, Gabriole's 42-foot cabin cruiser, not an ostentatious vessel by any means. Clint supposed that Gabriole didn't want to draw unwanted attention from the IRS. His official income was enough to allow him to live comfortably, but he wasn't a millionaire. Not unless you counted all the cash that came in under the table.

Fortune's Smile. Gabriole didn't know how ironic the name of his boat was. Fortune was about to frown on the Mafioso. Big time. He'd find out what if felt like have someone he loved disappear into thin air.

Clint found a vantage point behind a slime-covered pier and watched. The water was still a bit chilly on this late April night, and a soft rain was starting to fall, but Clint felt no discomfort. He was on a mission, and he had plenty of time. He wouldn't move until the optimum moment.

Clint had agonized for days about what to do. Rachelle, his sweet, wild little Rachelle, had been missing for almost a week, last seen at the Foxhunt where she worked as a dancer. Police questioning had extracted no useful information. Clint's boss, Neil McCormick, had told him to let it go. Rachelle was a minor player, and pursuing her fate might jeopardize an eight-month organized-crime investigation. Let the police handle it.

But Clint couldn't just sit on his hands, not when it came to Rachelle. She'd once been his wife, briefly. And though that had ended a long time ago, they still shared a bond. He looked out for her, bailed her out of scrapes now and then. And she provided him with useful bits of information. Her entire involvement with Gabriole and the Foxhunt had been Clint's idea. She'd risked her life for him. He could not abandon her now.

Clint pumped his legs beneath the water, trying to keep his circulation going. He didn't know when, or if, Marissa Gabriole would be left alone on the boat. But he would wait. He was good at that.