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Unexpected Trust
Unexpected Trust
Unexpected Trust
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Unexpected Trust

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Book 2 of the Unexpected series. Check out Book 1: Unexpected Rescue.

Special Agent Hugh Cranford, better known as Sport, is conducting an off-the-record investigation. He’s after Danny O’Sullivan, a spy rumored to have assisted in the ambush of Sport’s former SEAL team. Danny claims he and Sport are on the same side, and the real traitor is the man Sport is working for. But Danny is a master manipulator. He’s also the most seductive man Sport has ever met. Sport can’t help being attracted to him, but that doesn’t mean he’s willing to trust him.

In his quest to bring down a few highly-placed traitors in the US government, Danny O’Sullivan has been keeping tabs on Sport. When Sport comes looking for him, Danny decides to bring Sport in on his secret mission and into his bed. Sport may not trust Danny, but he wants him. As the two men risk their lives to complete Danny’s mission, they discover neither is as strong as they like to pretend.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherSilvia Violet
Release dateJul 16, 2014
ISBN9781310161841
Unexpected Trust
Author

Silvia Violet

Silvia writes erotic romance in a variety of genres including contemporary, paranormal, and historical. She can often be found haunting coffee shops looking for the darkest, strongest cup of coffee she can find. Once equipped with the needed fuel, she can happily sit for hours pounding away at her laptop. Silvia typically leaves home disguised as a suburban stay-at-home-mom, and other coffee shop patrons tend to ask her hilarious questions like “Do you write children’s books?” She loves watching the looks on their faces when they learn what she’s actually up to. When not writing, Silvia enjoys baking sinful treats, exploring new styles of cooking, and reading children’s books to her incorrigible offspring.

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    Book preview

    Unexpected Trust - Silvia Violet

    Unexpected Trust (Unexpected 2) by Silvia Violet

    Copyright © 2014 by Silvia Violet

    Cover art by Meredith Russell

    Edited by Alison Todd

    SMASHWORDS EDITION

    All Rights Reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

    Published in the United States of America.

    Unexpected Trust is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are fictionalized. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

    Chapter One

    Sport was about to receive a reprimand. The stunt he’d pulled at the scene of his newest case— giving orders, acting like he was in charge when the Bureau hadn’t officially been given jurisdiction yet—was about to bite him in the ass. But Sport was used to being told off. He acted on instinct when he was on the job, whether as a special agent or when he was a SEAL.

    He braced for impact and knocked on the door to the Special Agent in Charge’s office. It’s Cranford, sir.

    Come in, SAC Darrow answered. He sounded calm, even friendly, but why not? He was probably looking forward to forcing disciplinary action on Sport.

    Keeping his face expressionless, Sport walked across the office until he stood in front of the SAC’s desk. Darrow made him wait while he glanced through a file. The urge for Sport to justify himself tussled with the desire to appear unaware of any wrongdoing.

    Finally, Darrow closed the file with a sigh and gestured toward one of the chairs facing his desk. Have a seat.

    Sport did as requested, though he would have preferred to stand.

    You’ve been given an assignment that will take precedence over your current cases.

    Not what he’d expected.

    I wish I could tell you more, but I haven’t been read in on it. The man was pissed about being left out.

    Why the hell would Sport be assigned to something his SAC wasn’t privy to? I’m not sure I understand.

    I sure as hell don’t, but that’s the way it is. The notice came straight from the Assistant Director of the Counterterroism Division, Mike Arthurs. You’re to report to headquarters in— he glanced at the clock on his desk, —an hour, and you’ll find out what you need to know.

    Sport frowned. There wasn’t necessarily anything strange about being pulled for a special assignment. His time as a SEAL had given him a special skill set. He’d been tapped for a counterintelligence assignment once before, but Darrow had known the details then. Sir, may I ask—

    No point in questioning me, I don’t know any more than you do. Be thankful though. This assignment may have saved your ass after the stunt you pulled yesterday.

    Sport nodded. Saying anything about the day before would only make it worse. Have a good day, sir, he said, turning to leave.

    Cranford?

    Yes, sir? He faced Darrow again, not liking the look of concern on the man’s face. Darrow was a good leader: tough but concerned for the men and women who worked in his division of the Washington field office.

    Be careful.

    More so than usual?

    He gave a sharp nod. My impression is that extreme caution is called for on this one.

    Darrow was as suspicious of this assignment as Sport was, but he wasn’t going to say that outright. Message received, sir.

    Good. Now get out of here, I’m busy.

    Yes, sir.

    Darrow never liked to be caught being soft. Caring enough about your men to warn them to watch their backs shouldn’t be considered soft; it was part of being a good leader. Personal feelings had to be set aside for the most part on a mission, but if you ignored them altogether, you weren’t human anymore. If your people were nothing but pawns, you couldn’t function as a team. He’d known leaders like that in the Navy. They never held their men’s loyalty like those who remembered how to be human.

    ****

    An hour later, Sport stared at the walls of a conference room at headquarters. Why were they meeting here instead of in Arthurs’ office? An off-the-books operation? That had to be it, considering Darrow hadn’t been told anything. Sport’s background could easily make him the right candidate for it—and possibly his pushing the rules would too. He had no problem working under the radar, but something had his instincts on high alert.

    Even though he knew better, he tried to ignore that tight feeling in his gut, the one that signaled danger. Maybe he was just twitchy because of Darrow’s attitude. Or maybe he was still uneasy after realizing Jackson, the CO of his SEAL team, had been right all along and the ambush of their team had been led by a supposed ally. The same traitorous bastard had gone after Jackson a few months ago. Sport had gone to the rescue with an FBI team. They’d captured Rodriguez, the man who’d orchestrated the attack, but he killed himself before revealing anything about the men he was working with. The cartel he worked for was still out there, and Jackson was certain they had patrons in the US government. Simply knowing that made Sport jumpy.

    The door opened and Sport put on his obedient agent face before looking up at the Assistant Director.

    The man handed him a phone. I’ll contact you on this when I need to. Do not contact me any other way during this assignment.

    With all due respect, sir, what is the assignment?

    Arthurs sighed and ran a hand through his hair. For the foreseeable future, you’ll be on the books as working on a special assignment for me. Once it’s over, you’ll go back to the field office.

    A knot formed in his stomach. Something definitely wasn’t right. Arthurs looked distracted, anxious. What will I actually be doing?

    We’ve got a lead on the connection between the men who ambushed your team and the US government. We’ve known for a while that the cartel used bribes to get themselves in place with our military, but now we’re close to finding out who took their money.

    Sport tensed. He should be excited. He wanted to bring down the cartel and any son of a bitch who’d helped them. His team had lost Dallas, their medic, and Jackson had almost lost his leg. Sport relived that day nearly every night in his dreams. It had taken Jackson an entire a year to be able to pull himself out of the past enough to really function. But Sport felt none of the enthusiasm he would expect from an assignment like this. Something was still raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He didn’t trust Arthurs, even though he had no reason not to. You want me to look into it, sir?

    Yes, but not officially. We don’t want to tip anyone off before we’ve got something solid.

    And you chose me because...

    Because you have a stake in it. I need someone who can be invisible and is also a skilled interrogator.

    Red flag. That was not how things were done. Sport should’ve had to beg to be part of this assignment. If an agent was even suspected of being too emotionally invested, he’d be off a case. And Sport didn’t think Arthurs meant the kind of interrogation they taught at Quantico, but instead the kind he’d done as a SEAL, the kind that made him feel sick and dirty afterwards. He could certainly be invisible, that was part of what it meant to be a SEAL. But could he be objective? Hell fucking no.

    I’m working alone?

    Arthurs nodded. Yes. You will not discuss this mission with anyone but me.

    Yes, sir. Arthurs was giving orders like Sport was still military, something not generally done in the FBI.

    You’re looking for a man who goes by the name of Danny O’Sullivan, at least when he’s in DC. He’s an operative, and a damn good one.

    CIA?

    Arthurs shrugged. His identity is so cloaked we haven’t figured out who he works for. He has CIA contacts, but they deny he’s one of theirs.

    Which didn’t mean shit. Fucking spooks.

    It’s likely he’s pitting two or more agencies or clients against each other. He’s the kind of man who only works for himself. He owns a club downtown. Start there. Find him and watch him.

    What am I watching for, sir?

    Anything that ties him to Rodriguez’s organization.

    So he was supposed to pin down a connection between a man even the FBI couldn’t get a lock on and an organization, a sideline business of a powerful Colombian cartel, that didn’t officially exist. Piece of cake.

    The logical place to start would be by locating O’Sullivan, observing him, and digging into his background, but that didn’t require his specialized skills, so why him? And if I find something?

    Bring it to me.

    Maybe then Sport would be expected to interrogate more info out of O’Sullivan. If he thought the man was responsible in any way for what happened in the jungle, he’d do anything he could to see that he paid, including putting a bullet right between O’Sullivan’s eyes.

    Arthurs handed Sport a flash drive. This is what we have so far. It’s not much. Needless to say it’s for your eyes only.

    Sport got the impression the Assistant Director was enjoying the cloak-and-dagger shit. That bothered Sport, adding to his sense that something was off. This wasn’t a spy movie, so why was Arthurs acting like it was? Everything he said seemed manufactured purely to manipulate Sport.

    Contact me on this phone if you find something significant. Otherwise, check in with me at seven tomorrow morning.

    Yes, sir. I’ll get started right away.

    Do not go back to the field office. I want everyone to assume you’ve been sent out of town. That way they won’t be inclined to contact you or ask awkward questions.

    Such a high level of secrecy didn’t seem right. Sport did understand the need to keep O’Sullivan from finding out they’d made a connection between him and Rodriguez. However, he doubted the man was so good that he’d sense more than one man after him. Sport would, but few were as watchful or paranoid as he was.

    Chapter Two

    Danny O’Sullivan leaned back in his tattered office chair, put his feet up on his desk, closed his eyes, and tried to enjoy the relative quiet. Sure, the music still vibrated the walls, but at least he could hear the sound of his own breathing. He must be getting old. He couldn’t stay on the crowded dance floor all night anymore, and he seemed to have lost his taste for fucking every random guy who offered himself. Maybe it wasn’t age, maybe he’d finally found the sense of self-preservation he’d been missing his whole life. Yeah right. Although he was never going to think about safety first, a crowded dance floor was a damn good place for someone to literally stab him in the back.

    A lot of men would kill for the life he’d been living for the past few months. Running his uncle’s club—which functioned with very little assistance from him—fucking, dancing, and drinking.

    Earlier that night, an aggressive little twink had humped Danny on the dance floor, clearly ready to get fucked right there in front of everyone. Danny had considered obliging, but doing so would have left him far too exposed—even for him—and it would’ve pissed him off if he’d had to shoot somebody while driving his cock into the boy’s skinny ass.

    The kid was so fucking eager though. Danny had dragged him into a back room, put his own back against the wall, and pushed the boy to his knees. He’d sucked Danny’s cock like it was his favorite flavor of lollipop. Such a good little boy. Danny had tried to relax and enjoy it but he’d been more bored than anything. He had to resort to using his favorite fantasy—subduing an agent as strong and crafty as he was, a particular agent he wished he’d never laid eyes on, then fucking the man ’til he screamed—to get off.

    The kid had clearly hoped for more, but Danny had sent him off with a flick of his hand before retreating to his office with a bottle of whisky and a shitty attitude.

    If only drinking was all Danny had on his mind. He was waiting, waiting until the men he intended to destroy made a move. Eventually, they’d send someone his way. He’d made himself easy enough to find. Usually he got off on the ops he chose, but this was too personal, and he’d rather be dodging bullets than sitting around doing nothing.

    One of the two phones he carried vibrated against his hip, the one only a handful of people called. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. A blocked number. Whoever was bothering him better have news. Yeah?

    An agent is coming your way.

    His FBI contact. So the bastard finally sent someone after me.

    Not just someone: the man he’s going to use and then set up.

    Danny smiled. That was exactly what he’d been hoping for. The ex-SEAL. The man who’d dominated his fantasies since he’d first seen him.

    I’ll be waiting for him.

    Hugh Cranford, better known as Sport, was a formidable opponent and from what Danny could tell, a relatively decent man. He’d researched Cranford as soon as he was tapped by the bureau. Danny suspected from the start that Arthurs wanted Sport recruited so he could use him as a scapegoat and pretend the attack on Sport’s SEAL team had been an inside job. Sport rushing in to save Jackson from the bastards who’d killed their team member the year before had probably complicated the plan, but Arthurs and his associates hadn’t given it up.

    There were several ways he could go about the next phase of his operation. His favorites involved seducing Sport. The man was gorgeous as fuck and powerful to boot. Most people would assume a man like Sport was as straight as they came, he’d certainly brought home plenty of women since Danny started surveillance on him, but none of them stayed the night or returned. And Danny held proof that Special Agent Cranford wasn’t averse to taking a man to bed, or at least putting him up against a wall.

    The night he’d seen Sport in action, he’d hardly been able to take his eyes off the tall, broad-shouldered man who was everything Danny could have been if he’d chosen a different path. Danny usually mocked the upright, loyal type, but Sport intrigued him, in part because he’d gone off the rails to go after his friend, putting loyalty ahead of orders. The man bent the rules when he needed to as long as justice was being served, giving Danny hope he could bring him over to his side.

    Sport had taken a cab that night, and Danny followed him in his car. Sport disembarked in front of a club near the riverfront where anonymity was guaranteed. It was also expected that anyone stepping inside wanted sex, the rougher the better.

    Sport settled at the bar and downed drink after drink. He looked furious, probably more with himself than anyone else. Danny could tell by the way he carried himself, even if the drinking hadn’t been a clue. Danny toyed with the idea of making a move on the agent, but this wasn’t the time. Instead, he chatted up a couple of young men who’d been eye-fucking him while they made out with each other. When he proposed that one of them seduced Sport while Danny fucked the other against the wall out back, they grinned like they’d won the lottery. The fact they couldn’t let on to Sport that it had all been planned seemed to make it even sweeter for them. Danny was afraid they might come at the thought before he ever got them outside.

    If Sport had been anything approaching sober, Danny wouldn’t have gotten away with it. But he was drunk and angry, and he’d let his guard down. By the time Sport stumbled outside with the twink Danny had sent to seduce him, Danny already had the young man’s friend pressed against the wall, hands spread, legs apart.

    The boy with Sport looked at Danny and winked. Danny scowled, but the kid didn’t have time to react because Sport grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to his knees. Danny rolled on a condom and slicked up as he watched, slapping his partner

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