Devil or Angel: DIAMOND DOGS, #0

By Ann Malley

Angel snarled like the animal she'd become. Nobody would feed on her tonight...not ever!

Highly educated and determined, this adulting phenom will make her own way, far from smothering parents. But the bustling hub of D.C.'s capital region, where Angel insists on being fully self-sufficient, is the perfect hunting ground for apex predators. Thanks to a mother who still believes she knows best, Angel's one-and-only ex, the perfect Christian young man with an Ivy League degree, has her address and phone number. Men go through controlling stages. Drugs, too. All Chandler needs is the stabling influence of a good woman.

 

All Angel wants is to climb the corporate ladder she's selected, secure total financial independence, and land a date with a deliciously handsome, amazingly respectful older man. Roham's reputation as a true gentleman and champion has every woman in Angel's building looking his way. Angel needs protection, however, when the big, bad city bears its diseased underbelly with a mind to swallow her whole.

Will Roham Arshad save the day? Will he try? Or is he just another devil sent to snare fresh meat? As Angel once told her mother, evil comes in many forms, perfection most of all.

 

Read your FREE copy of Devil or Angel today for coming of age, age gap, false identity, undercover, conspiracy, romantic suspense thrills galore. No swearing, no sex, no kidding! Devil or Angel is the first in ANN MALLEY'S DIAMOND DOG SERIES, an action romance suspense thriller series that will have you running off pure adrenaline!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Malley
• Release date: Nov 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223896944

Ann Malley

When I'm not creating stories, which is never, I'm tootling in my empty nest. Suffice to say I'm always tootling and finding story seeds everywhere. Life is great. It's better when you watch closely and see patterns repeat. Like turning back to fur babies when the kids have flown. Go #teamfurbaby! It's all good. My husband of 33 years has finally come around. We've adopted a feral calico, Peanut, much to the horror of Boo, our inside Turkish Van. (She looks like one and tends toward snooty airs to overcome her poor farm beginnings :^) Together, exploring fun foods, the joy of gardening, and what can be done with emptied rooms, we're getting there. Keeping it real. Exploring options. And choosing to be colorful whenever possible. Or maybe that's wishful thinking--always a good thing!

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

About the Author

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Copyright © Ann Malley 2023

All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

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Washington, DC Beltway

Business District

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Wait a minute. CIA special agent Roham Arshad smiled with actual pleasure and it wasn’t because of the oversized macchiato with extra froth warming his right hand. He lingered inside the first-floor café instead of making his way into the concourse. Was it wishful-thinking that had him imaging fissures busting the cement block of his latest case? Possibly, but further investigation was necessary.

He stepped toward plate glass while a bumbling sleight of hand beyond the window jolted the corpse of endless recognizance with no sign of life whatever. Chatter picked up by various three letter agencies had seen him assigned to the State Department’s Diamond Dog operation when he’d rather be overseas. Foreign nationals were using American assets to facilitate money laundering, the transport of illicit tech, and whatever else benefitted terrorists whose goal was the annihilation of peace wherever it reared its hopeful head.

He'd had no light on said chatter until now.

No link.

The sooner he exposed stateside connections, however, the sooner he’d be cut loose for real work. But define real. He took a hit of blessed caffeine, licking froth off his lips like a toddler slurping cocoa on Christmas eve. The courier he was watching was a kid, a young adult with a winged foot on his beanie and upscale tennis shoes sticking out beneath uniform, black slacks. He cozied up closer to the stone planter set against the far side of high-rising marble walls. Was he taking soil samples? Seriously. The plant was common enough, but the kid lifted leaves with the shame-faced aspect of freshman pledge shifting skirts at rush week frat party.

Weird was the least of it.

Roham had too many years’ experience people watching to think differently.

But there was more to this Gong Show entertainment than bizarre behavior.

While there was nothing off about a courier in the Stanhope Building’s commercial hive, or an interest in all things botanical, this guy was with Mercury Messenger, hence the wings. Mercury had an exclusive contract with Fischer Enterprise. FE, as it was known in increasing circles, consumed nearly an entire floor in the Stanhope’s opposite tower. The rising star company was Roham’s official subject of interest, the company and all those who drew a paycheck therein.

Roham’s rumbling stomach demanded a Danish to go with his afternoon brew but no.

He was hungry for closure.

The courier continued to fish around beneath the waxy leaves.

Was he delivering or dropping off?

Had Mercury broken ties with FE?

Basic questions needed answering, like how a courier could afford an impressive pair of designer tennis shoes. The hike in minimum wage was hardly compensatory when it came to skyrocketing costs that only left consumers paying what was really a tax for the right to breathe American air. Food and circus are what those in power must supply. A Ceasar-dispensed pay hike was the pretty girl at a magic show designed to relieve watchers of their wallets. With brows as relaxed as his cover required, Roham followed the shoes when the courrier left the planter and headed east toward a swelling group waiting for the elevator.

The kid peered side-to-side, adjusting his unseasonal jacket.

Roham straightened the line of his sports coat as he moved into the crowd.

He pretended concern over the state of his trimmed beard and clubbed hair.

Did this courier know he was part of a terror cell using a stateside import export company? He may have only found out, but that didn’t explain the kid’s coziness with potted plants. The courier zig-zagged, a basic move of intel operators and crooks alike, then stabbed the button for the fifth floor.

Roham’s brows ached to meet now, but any show of