Agent Gemini

A superspy meets her match in New York Times bestselling author Lilith Saintcrow’s latest romance!

As a genetically enhanced assassin for a secret agency, Cal has one mission: to recapture the sultry rogue superspy who calls herself Trinity. Yet when he finds her, Cal will risk everything to keep her out of his superiors’ deadly hands.

Despite a computerlike brain and the ability to heal herself, Trinity has no memory of her life before the agency. She’s desperate to uncover her identity. Every bit of trust she places in gorgeous, sexy Cal seems to bring back a little of her humanity. But her secrets might destroy them both, before the agency even gets a chance.

“I have to get away from you,” Trinity whispered.

“What?” He was staring at her mouth, as if trying to decode a foreign tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Trinity said. Strangely enough, she meant it. She grabbed her backpack and bolted past him.

At least, that was her plan. But Cal leaned forward, his hand blurring out and closing around her upper arm. “Is this really what you want to do?” Hot breath on her ear. “I’m here to help you, honey. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“I. Have. To. Get. Away. From. You.” She enunciated clearly, so he could not possibly misunderstand. “I am dangerous, Eight.”

“Don’t call me that.” Soft and reasonable. “You really think you’re dangerous?”

You have no idea. How many are dead because of me?

Then again, a better word might be toxic. More precise.

She tested his grip, struggling.

“I have a mission.” Analyses and percentages raced through her head. None of them added up correctly. How far had mental degradation progressed?

“So do I, honey.” A little husky now. “And it involves keeping you out of their hands.”

Dear Reader,

Plenty of people consider logic and emotion mortal enemies. Certainly Trinity, who readers will remember from Agent Zero, does. When does logic become monstrous, and when does emotion become pathological? The balancing point is different for every person. It was interesting to write Cal, whose casual exterior masks deadly seriousness, and Trinity, whose icy self-control is a survival mechanism, not a choice. The older I become, the more I find what you see isn’t ever what you get.

Even the most logical or self-sufficient superspy sometimes has to rely on someone else. I hope you enjoy the story of how these two people come to rely on each other. I’ll warn you, a great deal of this book takes place in the dusty desert, and I had to drink gallons of water while writing it…

Lilith Saintcrow

Agent

Gemini

Lilith Saintcrow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LILITH SAINTCROW has been writing stories since the second grade and lives in Vancouver, Washington, with two children, two cats, two dogs and assorted other strays. Please check out her website at lilithsaintcrow.com.

For Mel S., again, because of reasons.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Part One: Finding Trinity

Part Two: On the Run

Part Three: Caldwell’s Revenge

Extract

Copyright

Part One: Finding Trinity

Noah Caldwell had good news, for once, so he didn’t wait to make the daily report. When the brief codescramble of encryption was over, its whine through the earpiece enough to make him wince, he didn’t waste time on niceties, either. “Bingo, sir.”

“What?” Control sounded irritated, but that was usual. The past few months had been one irritation after another, and even Gibraltar Two getting off the ground with flying colors hadn’t sweetened the old man’s temper.

Caldwell himself was of the opinion that you had to be prepared to overcome obstacles to get near anything worth having, and it had served him well. It got him to his major’s acorn, at least, before he’d been put at Control’s disposal.

And he’d performed well. He was Control’s fireman now, rushing around the front to patch up holes. The chance for further advancement was very good—if he didn’t screw it up. “We have a security breach.”

“Where?” Control didn’t waste time getting angry. If it was bad news, Caldwell would own up to it soon enough.

Still, Caldwell reminded himself to step carefully. His heart hammered. He shifted his weight fractionally, looking out through the smoked glass of the office wall at the banks of computers, shuffling paper, glowing screens and uniformed people drinking overboiled coffee, collating, speaking into ugly but efficient headsets or phones. The only difference between this space and a telemarketer’s call center were the guards at the two doors, sidearms on display and their expressions granite-stony. “Beta Four.”

“Pocula Flats.” Control caught on, but not as quickly as he usually did. The old man must be tired—or worried. “That’s—”

“It’s our girl. The gamble paid off—now we have a location.” Caldwell kept his tone even. The old man didn’t like being interrupted, but would tolerate it in certain circumstances. If these didn’t qualify, none did.