Title: Blamed
Author: Edie Harris
Series: (Blood Money #1)
Published by: Carina Press (HQN)
Publication date: November 3rd 2014
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
Born into a long line of spies, sanctioned killers and covert weapons developers, Beth Faraday carried out her first hit-for-hire when she was still a teenager.
That part of her life—the American spy royalty part—ended one year ago, with a job gone wrong in Afghanistan. The collateral damage she caused with a single shot was unfathomable and, for Beth, unforgivable. She’s worked hard to build a new life for herself, far away from the family business.
But someone, somewhere, hasn’t forgotten what Beth did in Kabul. And they want revenge.
As the Faraday clan bands together to defend Beth and protect their legacy, Beth is forced to flee her new home with the unlikeliest of allies—MI6 agent Raleigh Vick, the only man she’s ever loved. And the one she thought she’d killed in the desert
That was worse.
He
sucked in a breath as they hit the street, the chilly night air swirling around
them as Beth hustled him to the other side of the block. “Not sure going back
to yours is the best idea,” he mumbled, hissing as each step jarred the wound
in his side. He hadn’t been lying when he told her it was a flesh wound, but he
could feel the bullet lodged against his lowest rib, pinching and scraping and
being generally uncomfortable.
She
shouldered open the front door to her building. “Do you want me to get that
bullet out of you or not?”
“I
do,” he grated as they ascended the stairs. “But we’ve got a limited window
before they send someone to do my job for me.” He let her push him into her
apartment, taking a seat at the dining room table while she set the alarm and
locked the door.
“And
by job, you mean me, right?” She
didn’t look at him as she dropped his briefcase to the floor and disappeared
down the hall, emerging a moment later with a hefty black nylon case that
resembled an oversized lunch cooler. Drawing his surrendered gun from the
waistband of her jeans, she replaced it with hers, setting his Ruger aside on
the kitchen counter before she unzipped the case and began pulling out various
medical supplies: latex gloves, sterilization pads, tweezers, an actual suture
gun.
Thirty
seconds later, she was kneeling next to his chair. “Lift your hand and take off
your shirt.”
“Bossy.
I like it.” But he complied, yanking his tie over his head, unbuttoning and
shrugging off his shirt, and was relieved to find that the bleeding had slowed
to a trickle.
Dark-lashed
hazel eyes glared up at him, their gold-speckled gray flashing under the light
of the chandelier above the table. “You flirt with me, I make this hurt.
Understand?”
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