Committed

Chapter One

Maggie chuckled at her idea for a new business card. Like that would go over well with her bosses at COBRA Securities, the hottest security firm in the country. Maybe ninja wasn't the most politically correct term since they were contract killers after all, but it sure was catchy.

She rolled her shoulders and stretched the muscles in her neck. Her body ached, but it was a good pain. The long hours she put in honing her body were paying off. Dante Costa was teaching her deadly combat training moves. She was literally becoming a weapon. Her goal was to get out from behind the desk and out into the field. She wanted to be a kick-ass COBRA agent like Hillary Billings or Kayla Hepburn. Those two could take down a man twice their size. Maggie was determined to be just as good as any agent, male or female.

Okay, so she was a little on the short side. Barely hitting 5 foot two and weighing in at 115, she wasn't anyone's idea of a threat. But she'd added ten pounds of muscle and she was learning moves that didn't require strength as much as technique, and yes, sometimes fighting dirty. Many involved attacking the body's most vulnerable parts: eyes, neck, throat, groin. To protect a client or herself, Maggie wouldn't hesitate to use any move in her arsenal.

She took a swig of the bottle of water she carried everywhere and mopped her face with a towel. She needed a shower but had to stop by the grocery store first. Her fridge was empty and her tummy was growling.

She secured her long blond ponytail into a haphazard bun and zipped her parka. Christmas was only a few days away and it looked like they were going to have a white one. Fat flakes drifted down in a lazy, meandering pattern to coat the streets and sidewalks.

Maggie filled her cart with lean proteins and vegetables, adding a bag of M&M's as a reward for a hard week of work. She'd earned it. She paid for her groceries and exited the store. A man dressed as Santa Claus leaned against the side of the store, barely lifting his arm to ring a bell in front of the red kettle. Not the poster child for holiday spirit. She dug into her purse and dropped a few coins in the bucket. Santa thanked her with a "ho, ho, ho." She smiled and pushed the cart to her car. She'd just unloaded the last bag and closed the trunk when she felt something sharp poke into her back.

"Don't move, don't make a sound," a voice whispered in her ear. "You're going to casually get in the car and we're going to take a ride."

"I don't think so," she sputtered.

"You misunderstand," the voice growled. A strong hand covered in a dirty white glove wrapped around her back, locking her arms against her sides. She found herself guided to the passenger side of the car. "That wasn't a request."

He opened the door and urged her inside. He could have shoved her but instead he eased her in so that she didn't hit her head. As far as kidnappers went, she was at least thankful hers was courteous.

"Climb over and drive," he ordered. "And don't even think of trying to escape."

She settled in the driver's seat and made her move, hoping for the element of surprise. She lunged for his eye but he blocked her move and counter-move as easily as if she were a pesky gnat. Then she saw the gun.

"Impressive," he drawled. "Krav Maga?"

She nodded absently, her eyes glued to the gun. Her first chance to test her martial arts skills and she'd failed miserably. Then she looked up and gasped. "Santa?"

"So, Mr. Claus," the petite beauty questioned, "where am I headed? The North Pole?"

Smartass. As if things could not get any worse for Carter McQueen, he hooked up with a freaking comedienne. Just what he needed when his life was going to hell in a handbasket. Speaking of hands, his were so cold in the threadbare gloves—probably a combination of shock and chilly temps—he didn't think he could pull the trigger if he had to. But the blond angel next to him didn't need to know that.

"Your place," he answered, scanning the parking lot for any sign of the Floyd gang. He didn't see any menacing figures nor hear the throaty rumble of their bikes. And they certainly wouldn't be looking for him dressed as Father Christmas. The last time they saw him, he was covered head to toe in leather and blood thanks to Rebel Floyd.

"Ha! I don't think so," she said with a huff.

"Huh?" He looked at her and noted that she really was adorable with her brows puckered, her mouth in an adorable moue. But she was starting to turn fuzzy around the edges. Not good. He needed to get somewhere safe: the sooner, the better.

"Need a hearing aid, old man?" She tapped an ear to emphasize her question. "I'm not taking you to my place," she snorted. "I'll drop you off at the bus station and you can catch the Greyhound back to Mrs. Claus."

"Drive," he growled, waving the gun for good measure.

She gulped, faced forward and shifted the car in gear. She punched the gas too hard and he had to brace himself against the dash. He swallowed the moan that threatened to burst forth. God his ribs hurt. She looked pleased with herself, glancing over to gloat. Then her eyes widened and she swerved.

"Oh my God, you're bleeding!"

Carter's vision was narrowing to two pinpricks. He really didn't want to pass out now. He shook his head to clear it but all that managed to do was make his wounds ache more, especially the one on the back of his head where Rebel snuck up on him and bashed him in the skull. He never would've gotten the jump on Carter otherwise. He groaned and focused on breathing.

"What happened to you? One of the elves get a little too reckless? Rudolph get frisky?"

All the women in the world and he had to hook up with Lucille freaking Ball.

Despite the frigid temps, a bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. He really wasn't going to be vertical for long. "Just. Drive," he gritted out. He hoped the white spots he was seeing were snow. Otherwise, his vision was fading fast.

"You really don’t look good, Kris," she stated.

"Kris?"

"As in Kringle…get it?"

Yeah, he got it. "Har, har."

She smiled, obviously pleased with herself.