A Breath Away. Wendy Etherington

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      USING THE KEY to Tremaine’s posh, two-bedroom hotel suite Lucas had given her, Jade took advantage of the solitude to snoop and make phone calls.

      She noted the neutral black, bone and tan colors, as well as the glass, leather and steel that made up the contemporary decor and wondered if it suited Tremaine. The sumptuous living and dining area was as large as most people’s apartments, and there was a fully stocked bar. She could certainly understand why he preferred the suite to whatever holding room the NSA would stuff him in until they were ready to launch the complicated investigation into an undercover agent’s shooting.

      But why had he gone against protocol to hire her?

      She was good, and her team was great, but even with her and her partner’s network of contacts, they couldn’t get inside current NSA files. She and Tremaine had never met and knew each other only by reputation. Why was he hiring—and essentially trusting—her instead of moving under the NSA’s protective umbrella?

      The answer seemed too simple to be correct—he didn’t trust the NSA.

      Smart man.

      Whatever his reasoning, he’d cleverly hooked her. She didn’t like violence coming anywhere near Lucas, and if protecting Tremaine meant protecting her cousin, she’d bite her tongue and do it. Plus, despite her urge to scoff at the pretty boy’s troubles, she was reluctantly intrigued about the legendary thief.

      So, it seemed she and Tremaine were stuck with each other. She doubted they would get along—she’d heard too much about his tendency to follow only the rules that were convenient for him. In her mind, rules existed for a good reason—convenient or not.

      His light-fingered past didn’t win him any points with her, either. Even if he’d been a very good thief.

      Could you use good and light-fingered in the same sentence without sounding ridiculous?

      Not in her book.

      She used her cell phone to call her partner, Frank, and her best guards to her side. They’d all be on planes in the morning. She didn’t see any point in their coming sooner, since their client was MIA, and she preferred facing him alone at the moment.

      If she decided to kill him, she could always bury his body and not involve her business in the crime.

      Snooping-wise, she got very little that she didn’t already know. He’d left his luggage—purposefully, she was sure—so she found shaving cream, shampoo, condoms and a spicy, exotic cologne that would no doubt suit him. His wardrobe consisted of custom-made suits in charcoal and black and Italian loafers with tassels.

      Art magazines and a highbrow novel encompassed his printed collection. And though she took great delight in gliding a razor blade down all the seams of his expensive leather bags to check for hidden compartments, she found nothing of interest.

      If he was arrogant, at least he wasn’t stupid.

      At dinnertime, she sampled from the fruit basket on the coffee table. Late into the night, she flipped around the TV channels and found nothing that could hold her interest for more than a moment or two.

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