Under Fire (Defend and Protect Book #3)

Praise for Malicious Intent

"Malicious Intent has an addictive plot that delves into the dangerous underworld of digital crime, and the protagonists’ chemistry, brewed during a lifetime of friendship and romantic longing, positively sizzles."

Booklist

Perfectly balancing chilling suspense and uplifting romance, award-winning author Lynn H. Blackburn delivers a story of revenge, greed, and overcoming that you won’t want to put down no matter how late it gets.

More Than a Review

This book will grab you from the beginning and keep you captivated until the end.

Interviews & Reviews

Praise for Unknown Threat

"Blackburn’s Defend and Protect series is off with a bang in Unknown Threat. This heart-racing romantic suspense is one for the keeper shelf! Don your tactical vests and get ready to engage a compelling story that will forbid you from abandoning its pages. Do. Not. Miss. This. One!"

Ronie Kendig, bestselling, award-winning author of The Tox Files

"Unknown Threat is a fantastic read! An action-packed opening and sharply drawn characters drew me right in and held me captive. Blackburn has an exceptional gift for weaving twisting plots with characters that walk right off the page. I absolutely adore Faith, the bright and stalwart FBI special agent. I love the attention to detail regarding Secret Service operations. The swoon-worthy romance between Faith and Luke is the perfect slow burn. Unknown Threat is an exciting start to a thrilling new romantic-suspense series!"

Elizabeth Goddard, award-winning author of the Uncommon Justice series

"In Unknown Threat, Lynn Blackburn has created a page-turning novel with all the elements I’ve come to love in her books. The hero and heroine are unique and compelling, while surrounded by a rich cast that adds depth to the story. The suspense thread is intense and pulses with energy and pressure. And the romance? It’s perfection, with tension to keep me rooting for the characters. It’s a perfect read for those who love engaging stories that are threaded with hope."

Cara Putman, award-wining author of Flight Risk and Imperfect Justice

By far the best romantic suspense book I have read this year! Fans of Blackburn will not want to miss this fantastic read!

Write-Read-Life

"Unknown Threat by Lynn H. Blackburn is a fast-paced romantic suspense read. I loved the action-packed scenes."

Urban Lit Magazine

Wow, talk about an intense and riveting read. This series started with a bang and kept up a thrilling pace. I think this is my favorite book by Blackburn to date.

Relz Reviewz

Books by Lynn H. Blackburn

DIVE TEAM INVESTIGATIONS

Beneath the Surface

In Too Deep

One Final Breath

DEFEND AND PROTECT

Unknown Threat

Malicious Intent

Under Fire

© 2023 by Lynn Huggins Blackburn

Published by Revell

a division of Baker Publishing Group

PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

www.revellbooks.com

Ebook edition created 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

ISBN 978-1-4934-3967-6

Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2016

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.

Contents

Cover

Endorsements

Half Title Page

Books by Lynn H. Blackburn

Title Page

Copyright Page

1

2

3

4

5

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26

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28

29

30

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32

33

34

Epilogue

Sneak Peek from Deadly Objective

About the Author

Back Ads

Back Cover

1

ONE YEAR,

THREE MONTHS,

TWENTY-SEVEN DAYS EARLIER

US Secret Service Agent Tessa Reed was no stranger to hangovers. Her head throbbed in rhythm with the beat of her heart. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Didn’t want to face the day. She cracked one eye enough to confirm that it was still dark. She had no idea how much longer the night would last, but she didn’t fight the pull of sleep and allowed it to drag her under once more.

When she returned to consciousness, her headache was unimaginably worse. Light filtered through her closed lids and a noxious odor assaulted her with every breath.

She could power through. She’d done it before. Too many times. But the pain that radiated through her skull at the slightest movement had no equal in the vast landscape of her memories.

A few more breaths and she’d—

A cold realization flooded her as three separate sensations registered in a tsunami of horror. She was lying on top of the covers and . . . Her eyes flew open, then slammed to slits in an effort to minimize the impact of the light wedging around the edges of the curtains. She twisted, slowly, to confirm what she already knew.

Her shirt was missing.

No. No. This couldn’t be happening. Jesus, please, don’t let this be happening.

Tessa forced her eyes to open and took in her surroundings. She was in what had all the appearances of a cheap motel room. Her shirt was gone, but she still wore the rest of her clothes, including her shoes.

She had no idea where she was, how she got here, who had been with her, what they had done to her, or when they would return.

She fought the nausea and forced herself to sit, then held her head in her hands and took shallow breaths until the phantom ice pick slowed its attack on her brain.

Long before she was ready, she lifted her head and scanned the room. Her purse was on a low nightstand. Her shirt was nowhere to be seen.

What happened to her last night?

She took stock of her body. No bruises. No marks. No pain other than the hangover headache. Nothing felt numb or tender.

She reached for her purse and opened it, fully expecting it to be empty.

Her phone and keys were exactly as she’d left them.

If someone had abducted her, it was the worst kidnapping in history.

If she’d come willingly—no. She wouldn’t have. Right? Could she have come here—wherever here was—on her own? That didn’t make sense.

She strained to remember. She’d gone to Gino’s. She’d sat at the bar. Then? There was something lingering on the edge of her memory, but when she tried to pin it down, it floated out of her grasp.

This was not a normal hangover.

She pulled her phone from her bag.

Dead.

If she exited this room, she’d be walking into a completely unknown, and almost certainly hostile, environment—unarmed and unprepared for whatever was out there. And she’d be doing it without a shirt.

But if she remained, there was no way to predict what, who, or how many people might come through that door.

Tessa could handle herself. Far better than most women, and men, for that matter. But again, she had no weapon. And while she was no slouch in the martial arts department, she could be overpowered.

She couldn’t stay here. Every step sent pain ricocheting through her head, but she forced herself to check under the bed and in the drawers. Her shirt was definitely gone. She eased over to the window. Standing to the side, she peered into a parking lot. She couldn’t see a sign or any distinguishing features that told her where she was.

An ancient rotary phone sat on the dresser. She backed up toward it, facing the door at all times. She lifted the receiver and listened.

A dial tone. Oh, thank you Jesus. Thank you.

She processed her options in the space of three breaths and made the call.

She didn’t have a choice.

She waited for him to answer, knowing that with this colossal failure, the darkest parts of her soul would be forced into the light.

US SECRET SERVICE Special Agent Zane Thacker glanced at the phone screen. The number was local, but not one he recognized. He sent it straight to voice mail.

He had a love-hate, mostly hate, relationship with cell phones. But he kept his phone on him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred sixty-five (or six) days a year.

He had his reasons. Most of them were depressing. Which was why even though his phone was always nearby, not everyone who called reached him. Especially now.

Zane would have been happy if he’d gone his entire life without being shot by a grieving, revenge-driven assassin. But life hadn’t exactly made a habit out of taking it easy on him. No reason to start now.

The doctor had allowed him to return to work, but he moved slow, his reaction times remained sluggish, and the pain refused to leave. Which was why he was awake, dressed, and on his second cup of coffee before 8:00 on a Saturday morning. He’d given up on sleep hours ago.

The phone rang again.

No one who knew him would call this early.

Unless they were in trouble.

He accepted the call. Thacker.

Zane, Tessa gasped out in a voice that trembled. I need you to pick me up.

He had his keys and weapon before she’d finished speaking. Where are you?

I . . . I don’t know.

He disarmed the security system. Are you hurt?

No. But I can’t leave.

Everything in him iced over. Where’s your phone?

With me, but it’s dead. I’m calling from a phone in the room.

Hang on. He’d made it to his car and eased behind the wheel of his newish sedan. If he rushed, it would hurt, and that would slow him down. Better to move at a pace his body could manage. Once he was settled, he opened the Find My Friends feature that all the Raleigh Secret Service agents had willingly enabled a few months earlier. When someone’s trying to take out your entire office, there’s a small comfort in knowing you could be found.

One glance was all it took to confirm what Zane already knew. Everyone was where they were supposed to be. Everyone except Tessa.

Tessa Reed was not in her fancy apartment. The one with high-end security cameras in every communal space and well-lit parking lot. Her phone’s last tracked location was in a part of town no one should be in. Especially not someone who looked like her.

The last GPS signal shows that you’re at the Tropical Oasis Motel.

Okay. That’s probably where I am. Although there’s nothing in here that has the name. And no one in their right mind would call this place an oasis.

I’m on my way. Looks like it will take me twenty minutes to get to you.

Okay. Tessa’s whispered word held no relief or understanding.

Is there a particular reason you chose to be there?

I . . . I don’t know.

Zane slammed his hand on the steering wheel. He had so many things he wanted to say. But he knew better than anyone else that nothing he could say would fix this. Tessa had a problem. It was huge. It was going to cost her everything.

It might have already cost far more than she’d ever wanted to pay.

That thought sucked the anger from him. What was left was a potent combination of simmering frustration and heartbreaking compassion. Tess, is there a reason you’re still there?

I don’t have a shirt. Her voice was so soft, he could barely hear her.

What?

My shirt is missing. I’ve looked through the room. Under the bed. It’s not here. Zane, I don’t remember coming here. I don’t know how I got here or why I came. I don’t know what’s around me or where I am. There was an edge of terror in her words that went straight from Zane’s ear to his foot. He floored it.

Zane squeezed the steering wheel. Jesus, please help me. Tess. I’m going to ask you again. Are you hurt? Have you been assaulted?

No. No hesitation or uncertainty. My head is killing me, but aside from my shirt missing, I’m still clothed, I still have my purse, and my body has not been violated.

Zane had no words to express his relief. So he went with the easier topic. You still have your purse? You weren’t robbed?

No. But I don’t have any cash. I don’t even have my wallet. I left it at home.

None of this made any sense. Tessa, I need you to try to remember. Last night. Where were you? What’s the last thing you remember?

I went out for a drink.

Yeah. I got that part. Boy, did he ever.

At Gino’s. Gino’s was a newish bar in the Raleigh area. They catered to a high-end clientele. The kind of place where Tessa would fit in perfectly. The kind of place a woman would think she could get a glass of wine and not have to worry about anyone slipping something into her drink.

Or so people thought.

Tell me everything you remember from the time you walked into Gino’s until you called me this morning. She did. It didn’t take long.

Have you checked the room for anything left behind by whoever you were with?

Not really. I looked for my shirt, but then I called you as soon as I realized I can’t just walk out of here. I have no money, and my cell phone is dead so I can’t order an Uber. And even if I could, I have no shirt. I guess I could borrow a sheet or a towel to cover up, but again, I have no money and no cell phone. This doesn’t seem like the time to go wandering around knocking on doors and asking random people for help.

Agreed. While you’re waiting for me, you need to check the room for anything that might give us a clue as to what happened.

I will, but this phone is bolted to the desk. I can only get five feet from it. I’ll have to hang up.

No! Keep the line open but set the phone down on the desk. Say something every so often so I can hear you.

Tessa did what he asked. He heard her opening drawers and what might have been the shower curtain being pulled back. Two minutes later, she picked up the receiver. I found a cuff link.

Where was it?

Under the bed.

Is there anything distinctive about it?

My head is still fuzzy, but I think this is an image of Janus.

Zane had no idea who or what Janus was. Nor did he care at the moment. Does it look familiar? Do you remember seeing it before?

Tessa’s silence cut a gash through his soul. No. Zane . . . I . . . I can’t . . .

I’m almost there. Hang on.

By the time he pulled into the motel parking lot, he was vibrating with rage and fear and an intense desire to execute justice on his own terms. He didn’t park in a space and kept the car in drive while he scanned the building. This place is all ground-floor units. Don’t open them, but move the curtains so I can figure out which room you’re in. He didn’t need to tell her that this wasn’t the type of establishment where the patrons were likely to be receptive to a member of law enforcement knocking on their door. When he approached, he needed to be sure he was at the right room or things could go south, well, further south than they already were.

He scanned the windows to his right and left. Nothing. He drove until another building came into view. Move the curtain again.

This time, he saw the movement.

I see it. I’m hanging up. Don’t open the door until I knock. He parked the car and popped the trunk. Thirty seconds later he was walking to the room, a T-shirt from the stash of clothes he always kept in his vehicle in one hand, his other resting on his weapon at his waist. He reached her door and rapped his knuckles on it. Tess? Unlock the door.

Um. Zane. I don’t—

Unlock the door and then go into the bathroom. I’ll hand you the shirt once I’m inside.

Right.

Zane waited ten seconds, then opened the door and bit back several words that he’d given up using a decade earlier. The place was filthy. He didn’t even want to get the bottoms of his shoes dirty with the germs infesting that carpet. Tessa’s hand and half of her arm stretched out of the bathroom door. He placed the shirt in her hand. We should call the poli—

No. Zane. Please. Tessa emerged from the bathroom. I’m certain nothing happened.

Nothing happened? You woke up in a filthy hotel room without your shirt on!

Tessa took a step back. Please.

He should call the police. Get the place fingerprinted. Something. But Tessa was on a fine edge. She was in trouble. Big trouble. But she’d called him. He could be a law enforcement officer, or he could be her friend. But if he insisted on bringing the police in, she wouldn’t call him the next time.

And if she didn’t make some changes soon, there would be a next time.

Let’s go. She followed him to his car, and they didn’t speak until they were back in a better part of town.

Zane pulled into a parking lot already filling with Saturday-morning shoppers. He cut the engine and turned to Tessa. He didn’t have it in him to be anything but blunt. You could have been killed.

I know. One tear. Just one. But it broke something inside him.

All the fight in her was gone. Under different circumstances, he would be furious and do anything in his power to help her regain her strength. But in this moment, he hoped and prayed it meant she would be open to what he had to say next. You need to go to rehab.

Time froze while he waited for her response.

Yeah. I do. I need help.

2

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Zane stalked toward Tessa’s car. The evening had started out great and ended in unmitigated disaster. His relationship with Tessa had deteriorated to the point that they couldn’t even go out to eat with their friends and remain civil. One day they were fine. The next day they couldn’t be in the same room without sparks flying. And not the good kind. He didn’t know what her problem was, but he was done riding this roller coaster.

He reached her car. She glared at him through the window. He spoke, his voice low but loud enough for her to hear him. We need to talk.

The glass slid down. We do. But not here. Anger poured out of her in a flood that he could almost feel pulling him under.

The nature trail?

Fine.

Zane’s best friend and fellow US Secret Service agent lived in a nice enough neighborhood, but what it claimed as a nature trail wasn’t much more than a glorified walking path. But it was flat and, at this time of night, probably deserted.

Tessa drove away. He jogged back inside and met four worried gazes. Luke and his fiancée, FBI Special Agent Faith Malone, sat on one side of the living room. Gil Dixon, another Secret Service agent, and his girlfriend, Dr. Ivy Collins, were cozied up in an oversized chair on the other side.

Is she okay? Faith managed to ask the question in a way that cast no blame on the way the evening had ended. With Tessa excusing herself and all but storming from the house after Zane asked her a simple question.

I don’t know what her problem is. But I’m about to find out.

Zane. Luke’s voice carried a warning.

What? Zane snapped the question.

Be careful. With her and with yourself. You don’t want to say something you can’t take back.

I’m not the one you need to be worried about. Zane grabbed his keys. He and Luke had been roommates since his house was destroyed last spring. It worked out great, most of the time. Right now, Zane would give just about anything for some privacy. I’ll be back.

He climbed in the car and kept his speed low. It was a neighborhood, and he had no plans to accidentally take out someone’s family pet in his haste.

When he pulled into the parking lot of the clubhouse area, he saw that Tessa hadn’t waited for him. He parked and took his time following the trail. It didn’t take him long to spot Tessa’s long hair whipping in the breeze, her brown skin glowing under the small trail light by the park bench set up in a curve of the path.

She stood by the bench, braced for whatever was about to happen.

Lord, please don’t let me mess this up. He wanted to be gentle, but what came out of his mouth sounded like a cross between a growl and a snarl. We need to talk.

Her chin came up. We do. And if it’s all the same to you, I’ll go first. I’m sick and tired of your not-so-subtle attempts to manage my life. Just because you helped me find my feet as an agent when I moved here, just because you took me to rehab, just because you took care of things while I was gone—none of that gives you the right to control my life.

She took a quick breath and kept going. I’m an alcoholic, Zane. I will always be an alcoholic. But I’m healing. I’m free. I don’t want to go back to the person I was, and I’m not in immediate danger of a relapse.

I never—

Don’t. Don’t try to explain it away. I get it. I do. Your mother never managed to hold on to her sobriety, and your childhood was a nightmare because of it. You care about me, and you’re terrified I’ll be like her.

He couldn’t argue with that.

"But I’m not your mother. My life experience, and my alcoholism, is not the same as hers. I saw the path I was on, and I turned my life around before I lost everything. I’m not perfect. I’m not infallible. But I refuse to allow alcohol to steal the life God has purposed for me. I have so much to live for. So much to hope for. And I’m thankful, truly, for the way you stepped in and stayed by me for the past few months. But you are not my nanny. You are not my sponsor. And if you keep going the way you’re going, you won’t even be my friend." Her voice broke and the next breath she took was ragged, her next words quiet.

Can you imagine how hard it is for me to have you hovering at every gathering? Questioning every decision? Do you really think the others didn’t know exactly what you were getting at when you asked if I was going straight home?

He wanted to deny the accusation, but the lie wouldn’t come. He dropped to the bench and rested his head in his hands. For a long minute, neither of them spoke. Then Tessa sat beside him.

Why are we so messed up? Her words were a whisper. When you aren’t treating me like I’m a grenade with the pin pulled halfway out, you’re one of my favorite people in the world.

Zane sat up and turned toward Tessa. You’re my favorite. Hands down.

Her eyes widened.

And that’s why we’re so messed up.

I don’t understand. Tessa threw up her hands. If we like each other, what is the problem?

Tess. Her name on his lips was a frustrated groan.

"IT’S MY FAULT, ISN’T IT? Because of . . . what I did. Before." Even now, Tessa couldn’t make herself say it out loud. At first, she’d done a great job of hiding her attraction to Zane. He had been assigned to bring her up to speed in the Raleigh office. He wasn’t in her chain of command, technically, and it wouldn’t have been wrong for them to get together, but Zane had never given her a hint that he might consider her to be anything other than a friend. And she hadn’t wanted to make things awkward.

Until he came to her apartment one night to pick up some paperwork he wanted to get a head start on over the weekend, and she threw herself at him.

Tessa. No. He’d been gentle but firm. You’re drunk. When she came toward him again, his voice took on a bitter edge. Tessa. Really? I’ve told you about my mom. It doesn’t matter how attracted I am to you or you are to me. This—he waved a hand between them—will never happen.

He left, and they never discussed it. Not when he took her to rehab or visited her at rehab or brought her home after graduation from rehab.

But they had to discuss it now.

Look. She took a deep breath, but before she could continue, Zane took her hands.

Tessa, the way I see it, we have two choices. We either choose to be civil and only interact at the office, or we choose to be friends. Just friends. Regardless of any attraction we feel toward each other, the path to something more than friendship is one we can’t walk. You’re only a few months into your sobriety, and that’s where your focus needs to stay.

I’m well aware of what I need to do to protect myself and continue to heal. I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life, Zane.

I know. He squeezed her hands. And I’m sorry. You’re not wrong. I can see how I’ve made things confusing and frustrating for you by acting like I have some say in what you do or don’t do. Please accept my apology.

Tessa’s thoughts spun, and it took her several breaths before she could respond. I accept your apology.

Thank you. Zane released her hands and leaned back against the bench.

Where does this leave us? Tessa asked.

Where do you want it to leave us? Zane’s question held a tenderness and a vulnerability she wasn’t sure what to do with. I’m the one who’s turned into a meddling control freak. I’d say where we go from here is your call. But just to put this out there . . . I want to be your friend.

Tessa mirrored Zane’s position—back against the bench, arms crossed. "Do you think we can be friends?"

Zane didn’t rush to respond, and she appreciated that he took her question seriously. I’m not sure, but I would like to try.

3

PRESENT DAY

I’m going to kill the president.

US Secret Service Special Agent Tessa Reed read the threat, one of seven similar claims that had landed in her in-box courtesy of the Protective Intelligence Division, known as the PID, in Washington, DC. This batch joined the nine others the PID sent yesterday. All from social media accounts. All to be followed up on before the president’s arrival in Raleigh next Friday, one week from now.

And she was the lucky agent who’d be doing the following up.

She appreciated her boss, Resident Agent in Charge Jacob Turner, trusting her with the role of liaison to the President’s Protection Detail. She’d expected him to hand the assignment to either Luke or Gil, both of whom were more than qualified. Or to their new agent, Benjamin North, who was the most experienced special agent on their team and