Siren in the Wind Book One of the MIT Series

Chapter One

Johannesburg. South Africa.

Present day.

Abby lowered herself into the water, welcoming the fluid embrace. Adjusting her goggles and tugging the back of her swimming cap down, she pushed off. God, she loved this, therapy for the soul. Soon she'd be warmed up enough to slide into an effortless rhythm and then the meditation would begin. The distant noises of the gym were drowned out by even breathing and the water sliding smoothly over her skin.

Lap one. The tension rippling through Abby's body craved release, and she pushed harder, cutting through the water with efficient strokes. Laps flew by as muscles burned. Quiet was how she liked it, and even though the rest of the lanes were empty, it was one of those days where it was impossible to unplug.

Abby avoided peak times at the gym—early mornings or late evenings—especially during the week with screaming kids or swimmers jostling for lanes. Off-peak suited her just fine, all on her own. Always alone. Her mind worried over the design work she'd recently lined up as laps flew by.

Jeez, Abby, relax, don't think about work, don't think about anything. She threw herself into lap forty-one with determined strokes.

***

Max Andersen couldn't take his eyes off the graceful swimmer. She swam alone. Seven o'clock on a wintery Sunday night meant the gymnasium was virtually empty, making his job harder to blend in. The upper level overlooked the Olympic-sized pool, and Max chose the treadmill in the darkest corner.

The pool's length spread out below. His hoodie was pulled down. That, combined with the scruff on his face, should keep him safe from prying eyes. Abigail Evans swam her fifty laps on a daily basis. She was a good swimmer and made it look easy, slicing cleanly through the water. Her long, lean strokes were hypnotizing.

Routine was dangerous, and Max knew her routine well; he'd been trailing her for the past three weeks. Soon they'd meet, and Abigail's world would change forever. Steadying his pace, Max fell into a comfortable run.

Johnny's voice rang in his ear. "We're set. Evans will meet her friends at that Italian joint, called La Coraggio, tomorrow at 1900 hours."

"The one at the strip mall near Edengate?"

"Yes, sir."

Max smiled wolfishly. "I'll be ready."

Game on. Lap forty-two.

"Hey, you!"

Max lost a step and glanced at a pert blonde bouncing onto the machine next to him. Jesus. The woman just wouldn't quit. This was the third day in the row that she'd approached him. Politely turning her down wasn't working, now she was a nuisance. Ordinarily, Max wasn't rude and back in the States this babe would probably be his type, but he was working, and his prey was the long-limbed brunette swimming below.

"Would you mind pacing me?"

Max gave her his best "Fuck off" glare and told her bluntly. "You wouldn't keep up."

She ran a glittery talon down his arm. "God, I love your accent. It's like so different, and your eyes are so damn cool. Scary but sexy gorge."

Lap forty-three. Where was Evans? Max paused the treadmill and subtly leaned over the front, checking if she was situated below. She was no longer in the pool, eight lengths shy of the usual fifty, probably headed to the change room. Damn. Max's teammate, Donnie, climbed off a bike and moved towards the exit. As Max stepped off, Miss Pink Spandex stepped up. The girl was persistent; he had to give her that.