Undercover Bride. Kylie Brant

      A note from gifted autor Kylie Brant, author of over ten books for Silhouette:

      Dear Reader,

      This is my first opportunity to work with a continuity series, and I’m incredibly pleased to be included in A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY. The plots are suspenseful, the heroes delicious and the heroines strong and courageous—all the ingredients for page-turners!

      Undercover Bride is the second book in the series and poses the kind of dilemma I relish. After all, what could possibly go wrong when a female secret agent investigates a white supremacy group and its handsome, dynamic leader? As it turns out, plenty can happen—and does!

      My writing shares time with my full-time teaching job, my husband and five children. Now that two of my kids are in college, we only juggle three athletic calendars each season. These days, the most time my husband and I spend together is sitting on a bleacher at a game of some kind! We’re also veterans of emergency-room visits, usually the result of the aforementioned sports. But when the games are over, the housework done (sort of!), I can close the office door, turn on the computer and just dream away. And in between the frequent interruptions of phone, husband, children and dog, Rachel and Caleb’s story unfolded.

      I invite you to sit back, block out your distractions and immerse yourself in the results!

      Sincerely,

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 1

      He didn’t look like a man committed to spreading hatred, prejudice and destruction.

      Rachel Grunwald tacked the color eight-by-ten glossy onto the padded wall before her where she could study it while she continued her workout. The photo of Caleb Carpenter managed to convey an aura of power; an invisible energy that all but crackled just below the surface. Based on physical appearance alone, she would have guessed the man as high-level military, or even as one of those exorbitantly priced motivational speakers that seemed to abound these days. As the leader of The Brotherhood of Blood, Carpenter was, in a manner of speaking, both.

      She drew her arms up and slowly slid one foot behind her to rest on point. Eyes fixed dispassionately on the photo, she arched her back and raised her leg, the fluid movement as graceful as ballet.

      Most would consider the man handsome. His piercing blue eyes contrasted sharply with his short, sleek black hair. Some might mistake the strength in his jaw as a mark of integrity; the squared-off chin as a sign of determination. Few, she imagined, would look at the man and guess him a racist who preached death or deportation for the non-Aryan and disabled.

      She spun, her foot shooting out to land hard against the picture. If Carpenter had actually been standing before her, she would have just broken his nose. A slight frown marred her exquisite face. Her timing was off. She’d aimed for his nose. With an acquired patience, she ran through the move a dozen more times, until she was satisfied with it. In her eight years as an agent she’d found it most effective to neutralize an opponent completely, rather than to merely annoy.

      She bent to the palm-size tape recorder on the floor and pressed Play. Moving to the long foam-packed punching bag, she swiped her face and bare midriff with a towel and waited for the quietly measured tones of a man she’d never met to describe her next mission.

      “Angel. You’re looking as gorgeous as ever.”

      Sending a rapid series of jabs and fake crosses to the center of the bag, she grunted at the recorded words. “Always the charmer, Jonah. If you only knew.” She could feel the trickle of perspiration matting her blond hair, but disregarded it. A shower would revive the perfect looks she’d been born with, the looks that had given rise to the agency’s nickname for her. The angelic face was as much a tool as the body she punished into well-honed condition. Both masked a will of finely forged steel.

      “You’ve heard, I’m sure, about the events surrounding the kidnap and rescue of East Kirby’s son. I’m sorry to say we failed to apprehend the kidnapper.”

      The mastermind of the plot, Rachel knew, was thought to be the same person attempting to destroy SPEAR, the top-secret agency she worked for, and the man at its helm, Jonah himself. All the agency had to go on at this point was a name Jeff had overheard one of his captors mention. She feinted right, then plowed her left fist into the bag, imagining for the moment it was the stomach of the traitor, a man known only as Simon.

      “Jeff Kirby was found buried alive on The Brotherhood of Blood compound in Idaho, which is owned and operated by Caleb Carpenter. He was traumatized, but he’ll be okay. A photo of Carpenter has been included. We need to discover the link between him and Simon. With your experience, of course, you’re perfectly suited for the task.”

      The experience Jonah referred to was her specialty at anti-militia assignments. Her most recent task had been to infiltrate Comrades, a white-supremacist group hidden deep in the Appalachian Mountains of northeastern Pennsylvania. She’d moved her way up in the organization, from instructor of hand-to-hand combat tactics to junior advisor to the commander.

      Panting, she moved away from the bag and grabbed one of the ropes that dangled from the overhead beams she’d left intact when she’d had the old barn renovated for her home. Scrambling up it, she kept her mind focused on the