The Defender: RYDER, Cover Six Security #3

5 Stars: “A wonderful second chance romance in the middle of murder, mystery and mayhem on an isolated paradise island with great characters and a smartly written story that had me on the edge of my seat unable to put the book down from beginning to end.”

5 Stars: “I love Lisa’s writing! She draws me in to where I was sitting right on the remote island with everyone else; I was walking through the inky-pitch blackness of a cave (basically scared out of my mind because I hate the dark), but seriously she pulls you there (wherever there may be) and you are surrounded by every nuance and I LOVE it! This is what draws me back, time and again, not to mention the amazing characters, but her writing is the best!”

5 Stars: “I absolutely loved it! Wow I think I have a small, ok huge crush on Ryder! His story is so good and Lisa B. Kamps description of him is drool worthy and he’s a protective alpha, which I adore in my leading heroes…Emotional, hot and very interesting plot. I stayed up til 1 AM because I HAD to finish it and couldn’t stop reading until I did.”

EXCERPT:

“Treasure?”

Ryder “Boomer” Hess forced the word between clenched teeth. For all that he was seething inside, he was damn impressed with how calm he sounded. So what if the volume of his voice was a decibel or two louder than it should have been? He blamed that on needing to compete with the sound of the surf lapping against silky white sand fifty yards to his right.

He turned his head to the right and stared at the surf in question. Squinted against the bright sun reflecting off crystal blue water. Clenched his jaw a bit tighter. Jammed his fists into the pockets of his tan tactical pants.

He would not blow up.

He would not. Blow. Up.

He sucked in a deep breath, released it entirely too fast to derive any calming effects from it, then turned back to the woman standing five feet away from him.

“You fucking called me down here for fucking treasure?”

The woman didn’t even flinch. Of course not—she was too damn stubborn. Too damn mule-headed. Too damn sure of herself to be intimidated by his outburst.

And too damn use to those outbursts to be even remotely fazed.

She crossed her tanned arms in front of her, clenched her own jaw and tilted her head back to glare at him. Silence hung in the still air, thick with tension.

Heavy with her own imminent explosion.

Ryder braced himself for it. Narrowed his own gaze behind the dark sunglasses and rolled his shoulders back. Shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. Waited…and waited some more.

Instead of the expected explosion, the woman closed the distance between them and abruptly jammed one long finger in the middle of his chest. Hard. And damn, that fucking hurt, especially when she kept doing it, punctuating each word with another jab.

“Treasure hunters.” Jab. “And you have a foul mouth.” Jab. “Do you know that? Mom would wash your mouth out—” Jab. “—with soap if she heard you—” Jab. “—talk that way!”

His patience with his sister finally snapped and he grabbed her hand before she could add even more bruises to his sternum. She struggled against his gentle hold and tugged her hand from his, muttered something under her breath, then pulled one leg back and kicked him in the shin—

With her bare foot.

She gasped in surprise then bent over, cradling the injured foot with one hand while she hopped around. Ryder rolled his eyes and stepped back, just in case the whole hopping-around thing was an act to get him to drop his guard.

“Holy hell, Allison. What the hell did you think would happen? You don’t kick someone with your bare feet.”

She stopped hopping around long enough to glare at him. “I’m wearing flip-flops. And you’re an ass.”

“Those aren’t real shoes. And I’m not the one with a broken toe.”

“It’s not broken. I should have kicked you in the head!”

“Why? So you could break your foot instead?”

“No! So I could knock some sense into that damn thick skull of yours!”

Smothered laughter came from behind him, the sound quickly choked back when Ryder turned. Colter Graham—otherwise known as Ninja—stood perfectly still, his head turned to the side, seemingly preoccupied with the sight of the waves crashing against the beach.

Yeah. Right. Sure he was.

The ass.

Ryder turned back to his sister. “You said it was an emergency.”

“It is—

“You said you needed help—”

“We do.”

Ryder ignored the we part because no way in hell could he even go there right now. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the other woman standing a few yards away. If he did, he would totally lose his fucking shit—and not just because his sister had called him down here to this quasi-remote island in the middle of fucking nowhere on false pretenses.

He advanced on Allison, not bothering to hide his anger. “Ninja and I just spent the last twenty-fucking-four hours breaking our necks getting down here because you said it was a matter of life-or-death!”

Allison’s gaze dropped to the ground. “I didn’t exactly say that—”

“The hell you didn’t. ‘Ryder, this is life-or-death. I need your help.'” He mimicked her voice then clenched his jaw again and sucked in another deep breath. “Or don’t you remember saying that? Right before the damn phone went dead!”

“Phone service down here isn’t always reliable—”

“Dammit, Allison, this isn’t a joke. Do you have any idea what the hell was going through my mind after you called?” No, she probably didn’t. And knowing his little sister, she probably hadn’t even given it much thought. He’d been going through pure hell the last twenty-four hours, not knowing what the hell was going on or what the hell he was going to find when he got down here. Twenty-four hours’ worth of commercial flights, layovers, delays, and fucking waiting.

Only to learn that she was worried about treasure hunters?

What. The. Fuck.