The Defiant Hero Read Free

smile, that same slightly crooked smile that was in that photo, that convinced Meg.

    She’d found Razeen.

    As she watched, he went into the men’s room with the other three men. And she knew. It was now or never. She couldn’t have asked for a better location.

    Meg crossed the hall, heading directly for the ladies’ room, right next to the men’s. She pushed open the door and went into a stall, where she pulled up her pant leg and reached into her boot for the gun.

    She took off the safety the way the Extremist had shown her, slipped the compact weapon into her jacket pocket, finger wrapped around the trigger.

    Pushing her way back out of the stall, Meg purposely didn’t look at the big mirror above the sinks. She refused to look at the reflection of her face, pale and grim, refused to think about the fact that these next few moments could well be her last. By pulling out that gun, she would be making herself a target, damn near begging to get herself shot and killed.

    But she’d do it. She’d kill Razeen if she had to. And if and when it came down to it, she’d even die herself. For Amy.

    Yes, the Extremists knew quite a lot about her.

    But they didn’t know everything.

    They didn’t know about John Nilsson.

    She yanked open the door, hung a sharp left, and went directly into the men’s room.

    Alyssa Locke missed her uniform.

    She hated waking up each day and staring into her closet. She despised having to decide which pants to wear with which blouse and which blazer.

    And then there was the matter of accessories. Locke wished she could wear a tie, but unfortunately the Annie Hall look had come and gone before she was out of grade school. So she also had to worry about whether or not to tie a scarf around her neck for a splash of color. Would that make her look too feminine, or would it counteract the message sent by her extremely sensible, flat-heeled shoes?

    Yes, she missed her uniform.

    She also missed the order and regulations, and the inherent respect that was so often absent in the civilian sector.

    But that was about all that Locke missed since resigning her commission as an officer in the U.S. Navy.

    What she didn’t miss was the frustration. Frustration caused by the knowledge that despite her talents and skills, despite the fact that she was the best sharpshooter in the entire U.S. military, she was destined to be kept far from the real action. Despite the fact that she could meet the fitness requirements, there was no chance in hell she’d ever be welcomed into the hallowed ranks of a spec-op group like the U.S. Navy SEALs.

    Simply because she’d been born without a penis.

    Not that she particularly wanted one.

    Locke smiled as she got into the elevator and headed skyward toward her office. Now, that wasn’t entirely true. She did happen to want one. At times, she wanted one quite badly, in fact. Unfortunately, though, penises came attached to men. And therein lay one of her biggest problems.

    Men wanted to own her.

    Alyssa Locke was a beautiful woman. She could state that without any ego involved. Why should her ego have anything to do with it? It was pure genetics that gave her green eyes, flawlessly smooth mocha-colored skin, and a face that combined the best features from all of her various African American, Hispanic, and white parents and grandparents.

    Sure, maybe she worked out to keep the body God gave her trim and in shape, but the basics were there to start with.

    Now, her skills as a shooter . . . That was something about which she could be extremely egotistical. And rightly so, because she was as good as it got. She’d honed that skill with hard work and endless practice, until hitting a target dead-on became as natural and effortless as taking a breath.

    Yeah, when it came to shooting, she was all that, and more.

    The FBI wouldn’t have sought her out for their top counter-terrorist unit if they didn’t think as much, too.

    And when the FBI recruiter said