Another day living large in luxury. As much as Rocco wanted to complain about wearing business suits and not firing weapons, he couldn't. Waking up with a gorgeous girl, planning a terrorist takedown, acting like this was his normal life-wasn't a bad way to live. He slammed back the last of his black coffee and double checked the .45 he'd decided to use as his sidearm and the 9mm subcompact tucked into his ankle holster. Both weapons were concealed, not his preferred way of carrying. It was much easier when those babies were easy-access, strapped to his hips, thighs, chest, wherever. But wearing weapons like they were some Armani accessory didn't go with the designer labels.

The morning ticked by so slowly. He stood, glanced in the mirror next to the kitchenette, and didn't recognize himself. Yeah, he needed to get back to camouflage and ditch his collar stays. Caterina swayed in, looking every bit her part: elite, untouchable, and all his. The room brightened when she walked in, and that had zero to do with his mind trips. He checked his watch. "It's go time."

"Almost ready." With a quick tug that nearly stopped his heart, she propped up a long leg on the coffee table and hiked a clinging skirt thigh-high. A serrated blade was already secured to her thigh, and she was repositioning a subcompact .22. After a moment of up, down, all around-he would've killed to be that gun-she smoothed the fabric down as she stood, grabbed her Diet Coke off the table, then did a spin. "Can you see anything?"

Man, he saw all kinds of stuff, mostly a woman he couldn't spend enough time with, both in and out of bed. He saw a deadly intelligence gatherer with a Northern African knowledge base that made him proud and an operative who'd been an independent operator for so long that she seemed to ping-pong between taking El Mateperros down and simply taking him out... but none of that was what she meant.

His palms itched to slide over her curves. "Nope. Don't see a thing."

The soda bottle hung limply in her hand, and her chin fell back when he stepped close enough that their stomachs kissed.

"Good."

Damn, that accent would be his undoing. "Let me tell you what it does to me, knowing you're all geared up under that pretty little outfit of yours." He slipped his arm around her waist, letting his hand drift down the sway of her back and settle on her perfect ass. Her subtle perfume teased him, intensifying how extraordinarily feminine she looked and mocking how absolutely dangerous she was.

"But you didn't see this. Did you?" From between her breasts, hidden by the silk of her blouse, she produced a blade. The thing was thin as a letter opener, sharp as a razor, sexier than all the lace lingerie in the honeymoon suite. All the blood in his chest dropped, rushing straight between his legs. Sporting wood and having no time to do anything about it, he laid a kiss on her that did little to tame the snap, crackle, pop rushing under his skin.

He brought his lips off hers, just enough to still feel their heat. "You don't actually want us to leave the room, do you?"

Her melt-in-his-hand chocolate brown eyes turned to concrete. All the gauzy softness she'd been seconds ago stiffened into a starched soldier. "Of course I do."

Alrighty then. She had a serious hard-on for this job. A knock at the door took both their attention. They were a few minutes behind, and Roman wasn't having it.

"Vamos." His fake-newlywed-wife turned hardened-operative detached herself from him and power walked in killer heels toward the door. She threw it wide as if she couldn't wait to leave.

Roman leaned against the wall, eyeballing them suspiciously, then shook his head. He stepped closer and discreetly motioned toward the elevators. "You're being watched."

"You sure?" Rocco asked.

Caterina glanced down the hall. "We should confirm."

Roman nodded. "Agree."

"Got it handled." Rocco took Cat's hand, and Roman led the way.

Passing the housekeeping cart, Rocco paused in front of the woman fiddling with a bed sheet. "Excuse me."

The woman looked up, putting the sheet on her cart. She wore a uniform and name badge like she worked there. "Yes, sir?"

"I lost a button." He gestured to a sleeve cuff that was hidden by his sports jacket. "Do you have one of those sewing kits?"

Caterina laughed and rolled her eyes at the attendant. "Like he would sew anything."

The woman nodded, surprise that they'd approached her written all over the lines scrunched on her forehead. "Of course. One second." She searched the top of her cart, the sides, and a few pouches. "I'm sorry. I'll have one left in your room."

"That'd be great. Two doors down on the right. Thanks." Rocco winked and wrapped an arm casually around Caterina.

She whispered into his ear. "We're in play."

"Ten-four, darlin'." Because seriously, housekeeping didn't know where their supplies were? He expected better from the likes of the ACG's people.

Roman punched the elevator's call button, and a minute later, they stepped in. "Too easy."

"Or sloppy."

Cat shook her head. "Not El Mateperros. Never sloppy."

"So they wanted us to know they were there?" Roman walked toward the door as they neared the lobby's level. "Why?"

"He wanted us to know." She chewed her bottom lip. "The bastard has a thing for mind games and power trips. The Lockes are a new vendor. He wants the upper hand. I'd be surprised if he didn't pull something else equally as bold."

Caterina made a good point. The elevator car slowed to a graceful stop, and they hit the lobby looking every bit their parts. Rocco and Cat, Mr. and Mrs. Locke, arms-dealing lovers, and their bodyguard, Liam Laird. They were an imposing bunch. Even clothed like urban sophisticates, he and Roman looked like a two-person football team-the American, pigskin kind of football-and Caterina like a movie star billionaire heiress. Looks and money. And she was his. They pushed through the doors and merged onto the bustling, London streets. The crowd moved about them.

Roman slipped on a pair of shades and lagged behind them. "I make this bodyguard work look good."

Rocco rolled his eyes. "If you say so."

Caterina went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, whispering. "See anyone?"

He shook his head. They wanted to avoid the sitting duck routine while waiting for El Mateperros to send for them. The right offense was a good defense, and that meant getting to where they were out in the open and on neutral ground.

Well, not neutral.

Parker's intel from the devices they'd planted said Big Ben was the ACG's ground zero, and Titan was on their way for an offensive strike of the head-fuck variety. If the ACG had plans to strike Big Ben, and no one was supposed to know, then they were playing their own version of obvious-maid-in-the-hall-watching-a-room, which was kind of a long name for a game that should've been called one up, fuck you.

They needed El Mateperros unsteady and ready to make a mistake. They needed more than to just stop a single terrorist attack or remove a single terrorist leader from power. What they really needed was to learn more about the ACG's behavior, future plans, and then when the opportunity was right, they would take El Mateperros into custody, after learning every possible tidbit of intel. Then the ACG would no longer be one of the world's most secretive groups.

"We've got company," Roman gruffed behind them.

Caterina linked arms with Rocco, and they put their best tourist-foot forward, because what else would honeymooning, arms-dealing couples do before a meet-and-greet with an elusive terrorist? Just a normal day in their made up world. She pointed to a store front filled with candies, then spun to his chest, arms around his neck. "Got one. Your four o'clock. White male. Khaki jacket, white shirt, blue jeans."

Damn, she played the newlywed wife gig well. She repositioned to his other shoulder, and Rocco held her close, just for a moment to breathe her in... and let her look for other ACG groupies. He eyed Roman, who nodded.

Rocco flagged another and whispered her ear. "And your two o'clock. Black hair, dark skin. Same clothes. Jeans, white button-down. No jacket."

"That's a lot of people to set up a sit down. El Mateperros means business." She shook her head. "I've got a bad feeling."

She was right.

Roman came closer, hand on the butt of his sidearm. "We've got more company."

"This isn't a meeting invite." Rocco stopped, unwinding Cat and grasping her hand. He narrowed his gaze. "They're closing in."

"You got this?" she asked.

She might have had some moves, some training, but field operations weren't in Cat's repertoire. He knew that, and if he'd had even the slightest suspicion the ACG would play like this, Cat would be locked safely in his other hotel room.

Roman moved in front. "We got this."

Big Ben was within sight when Roman led the charge, leading them to a location where they could get a bearing on their defenses. Rocco and Cat powered behind him, ignoring the ACG men who had them surrounded. Their goal was Big Ben. If they could get there before confrontation, their message would be sent.

And... they had arrived. Roman stopped and turned to face one side of their attack. Rocco took the other, sandwiching Caterina between them. An ACG man came from the front and another from the back.

"Nice spot. Ever been here?" Roman quipped.

Clear as the uncertainty on their faces, they didn't like where they were. Big Ben, fuckers. We know.

Even though they had Cat enclosed, she was cool as the metal barrel on his favorite Glock. He felt the energy radiating from her. The strength and focus. Roman sidestepped into the closest ACG man's line of sight, cutting him off from his target-Daniel Locke.

"Back away, buddy."

"Daniel Locke." The man stood down but leaned to speak around Roman's shoulder. Apparently, he had a death wish. "Come with me."

Roman had him turned around, arm jacked behind his back. "How about some manners? Fucker."

Two ACG approached from behind. He had them, and Roman had the others. But when one fucker put hands on Caterina, Rocco's whole world went red. For split second, he worried that this was the worst piss-poor timing for a hallucination, but then realization slapped his senses into gear. Someone put hands on his woman. She happened to be schooled in the art of pain and torture, but that didn't matter. She was his, and that man might die because of a mistake.

Caterina's hand went to her breast, extracting the hidden ice pick of a knife and throwing it into the man's foot. His head snapped down when Rocco's fist knocked it back up. Blood sprayed down to the sidewalk.

"Don't touch my wife," he growled, rabid and wanting more.

Around them, the ohs and ahs of startled passersby started a commotion. Someone had surely called the cops. Not exactly how their plan was meant to go but not the worst thing that could happen.

A new man approached. The other ACG assholes appeared to back off and take their cues from him.

"Your wife will be left alone." He extended his hand to Rocco. "It's time for you to come with us."

He let it hang in the air, unanswered. "This isn't my usual way of doing business."

"El Mateperros is expecting you."

"You aren't making any friends, asshole."

Cat stood beside him. "I am fine."

Rocco took Caterina's hand in his, decided not to create a bloody scene on the streets of London, and sawed his teeth together. "Anyone touches my wife again, they won't live another day on El Mateperros's payroll. Understand me? I don't care who he thinks he is."

"Not her. You."

That was exactly what he wanted, to leave Caterina safe with Roman, but she'd probably de-ball him later if he tried that move. Taking longer to respond than he should have, Rocco shook his head. "She goes where I go. Package deal. As does that man." He pointed to Roman. "I need assurances that she's safe after your thugs made their move."

The man stepped forward and placed his palm on Caterina's shoulder. She didn't react. Didn't have to. Rocco's muscles surged forward. His shoulder caught the man before his brain caught up and said not to attack. They slammed against a storefront. The man's head smacked back, and spider-webbing cracked the glass. Trickles of blood ran down his neck.

"Never touch her." His body pounded. Unanticipated fury caught him off guard, but he channeled it. His hands cupped the man's neck. "I'll tear your throat out if you lay hands on her again."

Sweat beaded on the man's forehead, and lack of oxygen turned it a gonna-die-soon shade of fleshy red. The other ACG men approached cautiously from behind but didn't engage. Roman hovered, ready for whatever Rocco needed.

"Got me, dickhead? Touch her and die." Rocco rippled his fingers then released.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The familiar sing-song of adrenaline rushing through Rocco's veins centered him. Amid the coughing and hacking, Caterina stood next to him, unfazed. There may even have been the slightest smile on her face, though she tried to downplay her amusement. Funny how he was getting to know her slightest tics.

Rocco glared at the other men and returned his gaze to the cougher. "We prefer discretion. I prefer a blanket of anonymity. That is how I do business. I don't care if it is El Mateperros or not. Understand me?"

Sirens roared.

Rubbing his throat, the man stood down and walked toward the other men. A quick nod and a mumble, then two Mercedes sedans rolled up.

Rocco turned to Caterina. "You okay, darlin'?"

"Never better." Her eyes twinkled.

He squeezed her hand, uncomfortable with the anger bubbling in his chest. "Someone touches you like that again, prepare for the unexpected."

In her heels, she went up on her tiptoes again and whispered into his ear, "Un segundo."

There she went with her Spanish again, as if he could ever say no. At least he understood this one. One second. Got it.

Caterina stepped to the disoriented man who still rubbed his throat. She let loose a fury of words he didn't know but would pay to hear again. Tearing him up, then down, verbally assaulting him for laying a finger on her. Shock pinched the man's face. He seemed even more surprised at the finger poking than at the scuffle.

Cat turned back to Rocco, went back to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Had to get something off my chest."

Talk about a proud moment. He chuckled, shaking his head. Roman tried to hide a laugh with a cough, and the ACG men were either embarrassed or in shock, but all parted as Caterina walked toward the waiting Mercedes. Her lips screwed, and her head tilted, letting dark brown hair fall over a smoky eye. "Are we leaving?"

"We are." Roman moved toward her, and Rocco followed.

The driver of the car held open a door for Cat like some pleasant terrorist chauffeur. When Roman took the front passenger seat, Rocco slipped in the backseat with Caterina.

She whispered close enough that no one else could hear. "Temper, temper."

Lacing his fingers into to Caterina's, Rocco tried to focus on their goal. They needed details on the ACG's upcoming attacks-not just Big Ben-in order to prevent them. They had to find out how extensive the network was and if the rumors about their financing had any truth. They had to do everything they could to take down El Mateperros, bring him to justice, and dismantle the ACG.

Easy enough.

The driver handed each of them black silk scarves. "Eyes, please."

That was expected. Caterina took hers without questioning and fashioned it over her eyes. Roman glared from the front passenger seat, but did his too.

"Between the two of us-" Rocco glared at the driver. "If something smells wrong, the ties come off, and you'll be in a world of hurt. You feel me?"