The Midnight Hour Read Free

live a loveless life like him. And just like Sandy Carroll, the fate of any woman whom Warren showed more than a sexual interest in, was sealed.
    Feeling agitated, Cross walked across the room to ring the bell for service. Miguel came quickly.
    "Yes, sir."
    "Bring me a woman," he snapped. "On second thought, bring me two."
    He saw Miguel's smile before he quickly nodded. "Right away, sir." Then the man left.
     
    Cross had understood Miguel's smile. He and his men enjoyed getting Cross's leftovers.
    Two weeks later
    Tori sat outside the office of Abram Hawk, her boss and the man who headed Night Shield, the covert branch of the CIA. She was ready for the reprimand she knew awaited her. Hawk was angry with her. Furious was a better word. Going to the hospital that night two weeks ago and pretending to be a doctor in order to see Drake Warren had been a possible breach in security. It was definitely an outright defiance of orders and she was prepared to face whatever punishment Hawk dished out. But deep inside she knew she would do it again if it meant prolonging the life of Drake Carswell Warren, and from the last report, he had come out of the coma within twenty-four hours of her visit and would make a full recovery.
    She closed her eyes. There were few agents who didn't know or who hadn't heard of Special Agent "Sir Drake" Warren. He worked alone and his reputation among the agents, who did not know his name, was legendary.
    Drake was known to volunteer for assignments no one else wanted and took risks that were often in violation of the Agency's standards and codes. Several times she'd heard that Hawk had come close to terminating Drake's association with the Agency, but everyone knew that Drake was too valuable an operative to let go.
    His risky antics were tolerated because no matter how he went about carrying out his assignment, Drake produced results and was always successful in getting the job done- ^d that included the rescue of the vice president, who had gotten kidnapped last year while en route to Syria, right from under his secret servicemen's nose. The embarrass-1 ment of that folly was highly confidential and the government was determined that the people of the United States 1 remain clueless about it. It had been Drake who single-1 handedly entered the Al Qaeda stronghold and rescued the j vice president just moments before he was to be taken to ' another location for execution.
    "Hawk will see you now, Victoria," Lucille Mitchell, Hawk's assistant, said in her soft, professional voice.
    Victoria's eyes opened and her brows shot up. Everyone at the Agency called her Tori, so in her own way Lucille was giving her a heads-up that Hawk was not in a good mood. "Thanks."
    Victoria opened the door and entered what other agents jokingly referred to as Hawk's den. Usually a visit meant one of two things. You were about to be briefed on a new assignment or he was about to rake you over the coals. The moment Tori closed the door behind her and met the gaze of the man who stood next to the huge oak desk, she knew that not only was she about to be raked over the coals, she was; about to be put on a spit and roasted until she was well-done.
    Abram Hawk, the head of special covert operations for the CIA, stood well over six feet tall and possessed a very commanding presence. She had thought that very same thing of him when she was a marine captain and he had) been her colonel. He had left the Marine Corps for this job with the CIA at the same time she had begun going on covert missions for the marines. And she could never forget he was the reason she was now working for the CIA.
    His hair, a mixture of silver gray and black, was cropped short and the look reminded her that no matter what job he commanded, he was still military through and through, which meant he expected whatever orders he gave to be: obeyed. At fifty-six, he had an athletic physique that was probably due to all those hours he spent at the gym. He was a fair