Threat Level:Red (The Disavowed Book 3)

By: David Leadbeater



Curran said nothing further. Davic nodded. The man had learned his lesson.

“So,” he said, studying the bloody cleaver and feeling a little happier. “Whilst you still retain the majority of your toes, give me the codes.”





4





Dan Radford stared hard at the clock. This was worse than any Razor’s Edge mission he’d ever been involved with. The tension. The pure undetermined expectancy. How would it all turn out?

He’d been waiting all day. His nerves were shot. Amanda, his wife, wandered and slouched around, put her feet up on the couch, changed her jeans in front of him, showed him several snaps of her latest lover that she’d captured secretly on her cell-phone—a celebrity—and generally behaved like normal, everyday Amanda. It was Radford himself who had the problem.

Years ago, after they were happily married, Dan Radford had found his eye straying. He couldn’t help it. Then other things began to stray too, mostly the dominant brain between his legs. He didn’t hide his imperfections. He went to Amanda, told her, and eventually made a deal. They would have an open marriage, sleep with whomever they felt like, whenever they wanted to and, because they were so good at home—their friendship was the best either of them had ever had—they would stay together. Meeting like ships and souls in the night. Sharing their conquests.

Soul mates forever.

Years later, recently in fact, Radford had found his outlook changing; but not only that, the entire emotional attitude of his heart had shifted. No way could he ask her to change for him again, he sure as hell didn’t have the right, but he fell in love with her. Utterly, totally in love. And, quicker than he would have believed possible, his range of options diminished. From being a man with a girl in every state, every country, he became a man desperate to gain the love of just one.

His wife.

Amanda was oblivious. Her days involved nine hours of arranging publicity tours for authors, travelling to book fairs and events throughout the country, and generally partying how and whenever she wanted. She had adapted to the life, and the life had enveloped her.

But Radford had started to despair, making him distracted. This new feeling was never going away. Aaron Trent, the Edge’s team leader, told him to take the leap. Claire Collins of the FBI, their handler-in-forced-retirement and new mission accomplice, put it somewhat more bluntly, but then she was known as the hardest of ballbusters. And Radford had seen her hardness first hand. Nobody had impressed him more than she had at Monaco.

But today was the day.

Or rather, the day had passed them by and now tonight was the night.

Radford steeled himself. He closed his eyes and thought through what he had to say. Now or never, man, now or never. If you don’t do it you’ll regret it for the rest of your life, never knowing what could have been. The speech was long-since learned and directly from the heart. Now was the time. He sat down at the kitchen table, laid his hands on the dark, polished oak and took a breath.

“Amanda—”

“Oh, look,” she said as if suddenly remembering something. “I forgot to show you this.” She leapt off the couch and ran toward him on bare feet, holding her cell at arms-length, scrolling through pictures of God only knew what. Eventually she landed on the right one and stuck it in front of Radford’s nose.

He flinched. “That’s a penis. I’ve actually seen one before. But only one,” he added hastily.

“It’s Alex’s,” she said knowingly. “It may seem a bit big, thick, maybe even a bit clumsy but believe me, the man can use it.”

“Ah, thanks. It’d probably be best if you got it out of my face.”

“Oh, come on.” Amanda brandished it like a weapon. “After all the private parts you’ve shown me. You’re not homophobic are you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good, ‘cause I have a few more.”

Radford cast his eyes toward the clock, wondering how he could get her off this particular topic. The next thing closest to Amanda’s heart after wild sex was food. Luckily for her, the former kept her slim enough to indulge just as enthusiastically in the latter.

“It’s getting on for six. Shall we order that pizza?”

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