Peyton Riley (Takedown Book 2)

By Bianca Mori

Not to get Liam Neeson on your asses, but the fact is that Peyton Riley has a very specific skill set. She's good at her job and has just gotten off a major project when she crosses paths with the gorgeous snake-in-the-grass calling himself Carson Varis. He's taken her against her will, but to where, and to what end? She's got days to figure this out and escape -- before her boss finds out where his specialist has disappeared.

Carson Varis has got an eye for art and a mania for professionalism. No one does work-life balance like he does. But a certain fiery redhead has gotten his goals in a twist. He has his employer's order to fulfill, but can't get the memory of her body (and her hair, and her deep blue eyes, and oh, that mouth) out of the way. Can he get it together and pull off a job well done?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bianca Mori
• Release date: Aug 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370630592

Bianca Mori

Bianca Mori writes contemporary romances, romantic suspense and crime fiction set in the Philippines, Asia, Europe, the United States and all points in between. Her steamy stories have been called "fast-paced and super-hot," "engaging," "vivid" and "engrossing." She lives in Manila with her family and a hyperactive pug. Find Bianca on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram as thebiancamori or at her website (www.biancamori.com).

Book preview

Peyton Riley

Takedown Book 2

Bianca Mori

Peyton Riley

Bianca Mori

This is a work of fiction. Settings, names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events and characters, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, excepting brief quotes used in connection with reviews written specifically for a newspaper, blog, magazine or other related media.

Copyright © Bianca Mori 2015

Acknowledgments

I wrote this book with Amsterdam in my head as the perfect setting. A lot of my inspiration came from Currystrumpet.com, a wonderful blog written by Deepa Paul-Plazo. Thanks for making Amsterdam come alive, Deepa! Any errors are mine.

Thanks are in order as well to Mina Esguerra, Liana Smith Bautista and all the wonderful people who comprise the Romance Writers of the Philippines Facebook group (writers and readers), some of whom were kind enough to read In Too Deep and tell me that they really, really wanted to know what happened next. That pushed me to finish this. This is for you.

Lastly, and I know she won't be able to read this but what the hell: Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse novels got me through when I just didn't want to edit this book anymore. The sexy, intrigue-laced and supernaturally fun world of Bon Temps just helped get me in the right headspace when it came to Peyton. Couldn't have finished this without those books.

Peyton Riley (Takedown Book 2)

Not to get Liam Neeson on your asses, but the fact is that Peyton Riley has a very specific skill set. She's good at her job and has just gotten off a major project when she crosses paths with the gorgeous snake-in-the-grass calling himself Carson Varis. He's taken her against her will, but to where, and to what end? She's got days to figure this out and escape–before her boss finds out where his favorite specialist has disappeared.

Carson Varis has got an eye for art and a mania for professionalism. No one does work-life balance like he does. But a certain fiery redhead has gotten his goals in a twist. He has his employer's order to fulfill, but can't get the memory of her body (and her hair, and her deep blue eyes, and oh, that mouth) out of the way. Can he get it together and pull off a job well done?

Gustave! Carson cried as the older man lunged.

He gripped her arms, bound to the chair, with such force that she yelped in pain. You caused my sister's death, you witch! he screamed in her face. Was it worth stopping the acquisition that a poor woman had to lose her life?

I—I didn't mean for her to die! she yelled back, the panic that she'd been mastering surging through her body, a lunatic tide, burning and acidic. I've never—in all my time—no one's ever been hurt—

Ha! Gustave cried, and then he laughed maniacally. "'No one's ever been hurt'? Do you truly believe that, cheri? That when you destroy a person's livelihood, they are not ever hurt?"

They stared back at each other—she watching every flicker of muscle in his face for an approaching strike, he as though at something unpleasant stuck under his shoe. The revulsion in his face was clear. "Nagore may have been the first woman who's life you ended, but you have killed others before, oh yes, cheri, scores of them—killed their worth, killed their estimation, killed them in their minds so they walk among us like zombies—and you have done it all, Mademoiselle. You have blood on your hands!"

What do you want from me? she cried.

He gripped her arms again and shook her. You owe me my sister's life!

I cannot bring her back!

Then you are in my debt! He stood and appraised her, a dead calm stealing over his face as he looked her up and down. Oh yes, dearest. You are in my debt.

Chapter 1

The hood was ripped off Peyton Riley's face, catching on her red curls. Her head pounded in pain and her throat felt raw, like she'd breathed in diesel exhaust all day. She twisted in her seat, trying to see who pulled it—not only were her wrists handcuffed behind her, there was a long plastic tie across her chest and another fastening her ankles to the chair legs. All she could make out a shadowy, tall figure passing in the harsh glare.

The glare from a single lamp, lit with a white bulb, pointed at her from across the dark room. The shadowy figure went to stand behind another, sitting behind the lamp, thrown in darkness. She opened her mouth and let out a harsh laugh.

"The fuck is this?! Interrogation for Dummies?"

The seated figure laughed immoderately. Ah, but Carson! He had a slight French accent. You deed not say she was so funny?

At the sound of her captor's name, rage surged through Peyton's body, making her heart thunder against her rib cage. She squinted at the standing figure, trying to make out the familiar, tall, broad-shouldered frame. Memories of the past few days, of how he'd charmed her, let her take him to bed, how he'd looked at her with a dangerous combination of lust and sincerity, rushed through her head, making her vigorously struggle against her bonds. It was a futile effort that could lead to her hurting herself, but she didn't care.

He stood silent now, watching her. If she got out of this mess she'd make the bastard pay.

Where am I? What are you going to do with me? she rasped.

"Ah, cheri. But I would just like to talk," said the Frenchman. He sounded charming, urbane, as though he really regretted having to tie her up like this. It infuriated her.

"Talk? Talk? Let me go, and we'll talk."

Frenchie chuckled again. I am afraid that is not possible, Mademoiselle Riley. You are, shall we say? Quite slippery.

The name caused her to still and master her nerves. How do you know that name?

"We know much about you, cheri. A hundred conjectures raced through her mind at his words. And I should say Monsieur Carson is knowing you quite intimately."

Can we just get on with it? she spat out. I'm not interested in being tortured for information or whatever. Ask me what you want and I'll answer. I'm not protecting anyone.

There was a delighted gasp and the smack of hands clapping. That is wonderful! I am so happy you are deciding to be cooperative.

I'm not deciding anything. The handcuff bit into her wrist and she was losing feeling in her hands. She tried a different tack. Would you please untie me? This is all so unnecessary.

Not until we finish our little talk, he said, amusement ringing in his voice.

What do you want to know?

"I would like to talk about Barcelona, cheri."

There was an ominous pause as she struggled to master herself.

Breathe in and out. Focus. Concentrate on calming the racing heart, the panic in her bones, the million disjointed thoughts firing up like New Year's Eve in her brain.

The seated Frenchman shifted forward, and when he spoke the urbanity was gone from his tone. Let us be plain, Peyton. I know you are connected with the recent disturbance in Barcelona. Alejandro y Compania. His voice was low, but every syllable dripped menace. "Ah! You flinch—that is very good. You are starting to feel afraid—and I've always found that fear, cheri, is the beginning of wisdom."

There's nothing I know ab--

There was a metallic crash as he sprung from his seat and the chair toppled over. "Do not play the idiot with me, cheri, it does not become you!"

He took a moment to collect himself. Carson, my good man. Do correct me if I am wrong. Is not our guest helpless and securely fastened to her seat?

Yes, and was that a slight tremor in the hateful voice of her captor, the traitor?

Am I not well-informed of her employment, whereabouts, recent history—a veritable curriculum vitae?

Yes.

She was fooling herself, trying to hear what she wanted to hear. His voice was