Unforgiven Read online

  Also by Rebecca Zanetti

  The Dark Protector series

  Fated

  Claimed

  Tempted

  Hunted

  Consumed

  Provoked

  Twisted

  Shadowed

  Tamed

  Marked

  Talen

  Vampire’s Faith

  Demon’s Mercy

  Alpha’s Promise

  Hero’s Haven

  Guardian’s Grace

  Rebel’s Karma

  Immortal’s Honor

  Garrett’s Destiny

  The Realm Enforcers series

  Wicked Ride

  Wicked Edge

  Wicked Burn

  Wicked Kiss

  Wicked Bite

  The Scorpius Syndrome series

  Scorpius Rising

  Mercury Striking

  Shadow Falling

  Justice Ascending

  The Deep Ops series

  Hidden

  Taken (e-novella)

  Fallen

  Shaken (e-novella)

  Broken

  Driven

  Laurel Snow Thrillers

  You Can Run

  You Can Hide

  UNFORGIVEN

  Rebecca Zanetti

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Contents

  Also by Rebecca Zanetti

  UNFORGIVEN

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2022 by Rebecca Zanetti

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: June 2022

  ISBN: 978-1-5161-1125-1 (ebook)

  First Print Edition: June 2022

  ISBN: 978-1-5161-1126-8

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  This one is for Chicks with Sticks, my golfing team. For Debbie, Jessica, Desiree, and Marianne. We’ve been friends for many years, and I’m thankful for each one of you. Getting fourth place during last winter’s league was awesome—and yes, there were four teams. Go Chicks!

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to everyone who has been reading and liking the Deep Ops series because I get to keep on writing it! I have many people to thank for getting this book to readers, and I sincerely apologize to anyone I’ve forgotten. In addition, after 70 books, I’ve run out of nice adjectives to describe everyone I need to thank, so I’ve moved on to just thanking people. You’re all awesome, hardworking, amazing, and wonderful.

  A HUGE thank you to Tony Zanetti for being the best husband in the world, and thank yous to Gabe and Karlina for being such awesome kids. Being your mom is my biggest blessing.

  Thank you to Jim Dorohovich, who came up with the perfect name for this series as well as how to improve on a Moscow Mule.

  Thank you to my wonderful agent, Caitlin Blasdell, and to Liza Dawson and the entire Dawson group, who work so very hard for me.

  Thank you to my hardworking editor, Alicia Condon.

  Thank you to the rest of the Kensington gang: Alexandra Nicolajsen, Steven Zacharius, Adam Zacharius, Ross Plotkin, Arthur Maisel, Vida Engstrand, Jane Nutter, Lauren Vasallo, Lauren Jernigan, Kimberly Richardson, and Rebecca Cremonese.

  Thank you to Anissa Beatty for the absolutely fantastic work as my virtual assistant and especially with my street team, Rebecca’s Rebels.

  Thanks also to my constant support system: Gail and Jim English, Debbie and Travis Smith, Stephanie and Don West, Jessica and Jonah Namson, Kathy and Herb Zanetti, Chelli and Jason Younker, Jillian and Benji Stein, and Liz and Steve Berry.

  Chapter One

  The desk light barely kept the darkness from pushing inside the windows, its shadows slinking to the edges of the office. Gemma Falls finished neatly filling in her calendar while chills skittered down her back. The chills were a part of her. She’d learned to accept them instead of fighting each cold finger. They always won.

  Sitting at her maple desk, her gaze lifted from the computer screen to the closed office door, which was locked. Just one lock, though. Would it seem odd to her new colleagues if she added three more locks as well as a security chain? Probably.

  She hunched closer to the screen and prevented herself from turning on the main light in the office. Her screen was good enough for now.

  The winter storm grew stronger outside, scattering ice against the windows. She looked out, noting the icicles barely visible around her second-story window. Tree branches scraped the brick building, their tendrils making an eerie noise against the window. Rising, she stepped around the box of discarded holiday decorations her friend hadn’t had time to put away and walked to the window, looking outside.

  Her office faced an interior courtyard surrounded by brick buildings. Snow and ice covered the picnic tables and benches, and no footsteps were visible, because the university had been closed for the holiday season. The new semester started the next day, and the cold of January wasn’t letting up any.

  The darkness of night failed to offer any comfort, so she studied the small office. Serena had left her books and supplies on the shelves, although she’d taken her personal belongings. Gemma’s things would take less than ten minutes to unpack. All stuff she’d picked up the last few years that looked personal but didn’t give a clue as to her life. Souvenirs from places she’d only passed through, as well as a couple of photographs of her with people she didn’t know. Pictures she’d snapped at public places that looked as if she was in a group having a great time.

  She didn’t even know the names of the people in those pictures.

  It was all right. She was smart and she was careful. A mantra she’d learned to repeat to herself nearly every day, hoping the words dug deep and took root. There was too much to lose, and it was her job, her duty, to make sure she stayed smart and careful. Her stomach growled from missing dinner and probably lunch. For now, she had to get ready for this life. Her new one. She returned to the desk to finish the syllabi she’d need to hand out during her two Monday classes the next day.

  She’d never taught before.

  What if she failed at teaching a subject she barely remembered? She sat back and forced her shoulders to relax. This was just another persona, and she could do it. It helped to pretend she was somebody else, so she imagined she’d been teaching college for years and this was merely another semester. By the time she became accustomed to the schedule, she’d be gone. At least she’d have some money in her pocket when she left. Times had been
tough the last six months, and the odd jobs she’d managed to pick up hadn’t given her much comfort.

  A sharp rap on the door had her biting back a scream. Her heart thundered into motion and her breath seized.

  The tree branches scraped an ominous warning against the window as the wind increased in strength.

  Slowly, she drew a snub-nosed .35 from the top drawer to set at the back of her waist beneath her blue cardigan. She’d obtained the gun illegally, so there was no record of her owning it. Swallowing, glancing uneasily beneath the desk, she rose and walked around it, past two student chairs and boxes she had yet to unpack. She reached the door. Asking who was there would seem weird because she wasn’t at home.

  So she unlocked the door and opened it, her body on full alert and ready to go for the gun.

  “Hi. Saw your light.” A man stood in the darkened hallway, only the night lights illuminating the long spans of faculty offices. He stood slightly back as if giving her room, his voice soft in the evening and his British accent unmistakable. “I’m Jethro.” He held out a large hand.

  She swallowed and accepted it, shaking quickly and releasing him. Good. He was a person who was supposed to be in the building, and that fact lowered her blood pressure immediately. He wore casual jeans and a T-shirt beneath a battered, brown leather jacket. “Gemma. Gemma Falls.” The name rolled easily from her tongue after a month of practice. “Jethro Hanson?” He was even better-looking than her friend had said.

  “Yes.” His smile would appear charming to most. He stood well over six feet tall, with dark blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a bone structure sharp enough to have been cut with a chisel. His accent was full-on British, his backpack professoresque, and his body muscled, no doubt from too much time in a gym. His shoulders were too wide for a professor’s, and his torso tapered down to muscular legs in jeans. As he took her in, from head to toe, a lock of his thick hair fell over his brow to add a hint of boyish charm that almost softened the utterly male sexuality he wore so naturally.

  “I see,” she whispered, caught up in his scent for the briefest of moments.

  If he noticed her confusion or reaction to him, he didn’t let it show. The guy was probably accustomed to it. Instead, his smile deepened, showing a dimple in his left cheek. As if the rest of him wasn’t enough, he had a freaking dimple. “Serena asked me to show you around DC University, but I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow morning. Not many people work Sunday nights around here.”

  She locked her knees in place and looked up, way up, to meet his gaze. So this was the guy who’d stolen Serena’s office last year. They’d buried the hatchet and had become friends, according to her. Only friends, though. Perhaps he didn’t steal the breath of every woman in his vicinity. Just Gemma’s. Maybe her blood sugar was too low. “I wanted to get organized before class tomorrow.”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “This substitution is very last minute. Do you know where Serena is? Her email said she took a temporary research job and had already found somebody to take her classes. It’s not like her to be rushed about things.”

  Gemma straightened her shoulders. Rushed? Not likely. She and Serena had arranged this a month ago, but to make their plan work, Serena had waited until the last second to tell DC University, so there was no choice but to hire Gemma. “It seemed like a good opportunity for her, and I’ll only be here a semester, so everything will work out. Serena will be back in June, I believe.” Gemma needed the money, but she could only afford to stay in one place for a few months. She barely kept from tugging on her blondish-white wig to make sure it remained in place.

  “Serena isn’t the impulsive type, so I’m concerned about her.” Jethro took another step back, his gaze piercing. “Her email came from her university account, and I don’t know how to reach her at the new place of employment. Do you have her contact information?”

  “No,” Gemma lied. “I’m sorry. She said she accepted a government contract with some sort of top-level clearance, and that’s all the information she could divulge.” It was close to the truth, and the explanation made sense, considering Serena was a genius in about every quantum field there was. “I’m sure she’ll be in touch when she can be.”

  He just studied her. This close, he smelled like expensive cologne. The good kind that was outdoorsy and masculine. “Then I suppose it’s fortunate you were available to substitute for her this semester, and on such late notice.”

  “Sometimes things work out. I was between jobs and more than happy to help out,” Gemma said, trying not to squirm beneath his regard. She had the oddest feeling he didn’t like what he saw. That was good. She didn’t have time to make friends, and the more people who left her alone, the better. Safety was all that mattered.

  “I see. How do you know Serena?” he asked, his body language casual and relaxed. Even so, a tension came from him, one that sped up her breath.

  “How does anybody know anybody?” she asked. “Serena and I go way back.” It was the truth. They’d met as undergraduates in college, and they’d gone their separate ways to earn their graduate degrees. Gemma had followed the wrong path, without question.

  If he caught her avoidance of the question, he didn’t let on. With a smooth motion, he shifted the heavy-looking pack from one muscled shoulder to the other. “That’s good. We’ll miss Serena this semester, but it’s nice to have new blood around. How about I meet you early tomorrow, say around seven, and show you the campus?” he asked, his tone polite.

  She forced a smile. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve already explored and know my way around. Thank you, though.” She kept her tone pleasant but dismissive.

  His chin lifted slightly. Barely enough to be observed, but she’d learned the hard way to notice signs of irritation in a man. His intelligent gaze pinned her, and for a second, she felt trapped and breathless. Not scared. Then his gaze relented. “I see. Very well. If you require any assistance, please call on me, Ms. Falls.”

  Had he emphasized the title? Heat started to filter through her face, but she shoved down emotion. She barely kept from defending herself, pointing out she had earned a master’s degree in statistics with an emphasis in game theory. She didn’t have a doctorate. Most professors at the elite university held doctorates, and apparently this one was a snob about it. Fine. That was good. She didn’t want to join their titled ranks. The real world would crush a guy like this—one who’d no doubt lived his life inside the cocoon of academia.

  She glanced at her watch. Pointedly.

  “It’s fairly dark outside and the storm is getting worse. Would you like me to walk you to your car?” he asked, all warmth gone.

  “No. I have another hour or so of work to do here,” she said, taking a step back. She’d parked beneath a light pole as close to the building as possible, making sure she’d have a clear line of sight from the front door to her clunky car. “Good night.” Without waiting for his response, she shut the door. Her head ringing, she placed her right hand on the heavy wood and then leaned in, ear to door, listening for his retreating footsteps. Once the sound dissipated, she quietly engaged the lock.

  Deep breath. Take a deep breath. She did so several times before turning back to her work, quietly edging around the sharp corners to sit in the ergonomically correct chair, then pushing back to look beneath the desk.

  Trudy remained curled up on the large pillow beneath her worn green blankie with the elephants on it, her three-year-old body lax in sleep, her face peaceful. Her curly brown hair had escaped its twin ponytails, and her pink lips were pursed as she dreamed, hopefully of ponies and kittens.

  A burst of love pulsed around Gemma’s heart a second before the edge of fear crept in. “We’re safe, baby,” she whispered.

  For now.

  Chapter Two

  “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” Jethro said to the mutt as they walked along the wide hallway through throngs of students, many of whom stopped to pet the dog.

  Roscoe panted happily, butting up against a tall, leggy blonde.

  The teenager dropped to her haunches and dug both hands through the dog’s fur, scratching his ears. “He’s so sweet. What’s his name?”

  “Roscoe,” Jethro said. “I have to bring him to work with me on Mondays because it’s my longest day, and I don’t trust the bloke at my flat alone for that long.” Somehow, no matter what Jethro did, the dog found any alcohol on the premises and created a disaster. He needed to store his wine collection somewhere else.