He had one chance to bring down a criminal, and operative Cal Spencer wasn't about to let a beautiful brunette stand in his way. Unfortunately ex-cop Gina Torno refused to step aside and let Cal take over a mission she and her team had spent months executing. Cal admired Gina's perseverance, but when she suggested they join forces Cal was torn. Letting down his guard and trusting her could cost him his life. Yet he needed intimate details only she could provide?not to mention their barely controlled attraction made it difficult to deny her anything. Including answers to who he really was?

"Dana Marton's Intimate Details (4) racks up a terrific finale for a suspenseful series. Still on the trail of a terrorist in control of a deadly virus, ex-con Gina Torno is spending some time in paradise with her all-female team as they try to round up information to stop a worldwide tragedy. Sneaking through an empty office, Gina runs into gentleman British agent Cal Spencer, and the two join forces to roust the enemy -- and keep each other alive. Cal is funny and charmingly vulnerable despite his "spy gadgets," and Gina's tentative overtures into a relationship are touching." -Pat Cooper (Romantic Times Magazine)

"Dana Marton concludes her superb MISSION: REDEMPTION series with INTIMATE DETAILS. I am sorry to see this series end. Each book is a stand alone story and yet the tale and tension builds with each novel. Gina's story is full of sexual tension and a high level of danger, with the two as a pair handling both with ease. Wonderfully matched, Gina and Cal come together in a blaze of forbidden passion that adds to the tension of the story. The ending is perfectly orchestrated and completely satisfying as all the pieces fall neatly into place. Dana Marton proves once again what a talented author she is with this utterly fascinating series. Intimate Details is an excellent ending to an excellent series. Kudos to Dana Marton for keeping her readers so aptly entertained." --Debby

A few minutes later, the guy was back to shuffling on the roof again. Gina moved toward the office door and tried the handle. Locked. What if she couldn't get out through there? She definitely couldn't skip out the window. The roofer would see her from above. She didn't have much time. In a few minutes the men would begin working on the broken window behind her. They would likely enter the office to do that. If she wasn't out of here by then, she'd certainly be discovered.

She was determined not to be the one who messed up the mission. She was the only one on the team with a background in law enforcement. More so than the others, she should know what she was doing. More so than the others, she deserved to be in this mess. Anita, Carly and Sam shouldn't have been in prison in the first place.

Anita had been framed; Carly's only crime was being too intelligent for the rest of the world to know what to do with her; Sam was the product of the system that had let her down.

Her own incarceration, however, Gina thought, was fully justified. She had taken a life. And it didn't matter that she had served time to pay for that. In her own mind, it would be a long way before she was forgiven.

Maybe if the mission succeeded. If she saved all those lives at risk. Maybe that would balance the scales.

She took a few pictures with her camera ring as she shuffled through the papers on the desk?a bunch of bills, lists of building materials and supplies. None of it looked super important, but she didn't have time to analyze the data right now. Once she was back with the others, they could talk it over and see if they could come up with some connections, unearth some clues.

She tried the drawers, but they were locked, as were the file cabinets. She didn't dare turn on the computer. It was likely password-protected anyway. And the men might be here before the log-in screen ever came up. Talking of the devil, there they were already.

"Nasty," the roofer said.

She squatted on the other side of the file cabinet to make sure she wouldn't be seen from the outside and prayed for a miracle.

"Want me to break out the rest of the glass?"

"Hang on. I'm going to take out the whole frame. Don't want to make a mess inside," the window guy told him.

Twenty minutes later, her knees throbbed from squatting motionless and her feet had fallen asleep, her mind numb from the crude conversation filtering in from outside. The topics centered on sex and booze, more information than she'd ever wanted to know about the special skills of some of the women who worked in the main building. And the men still weren't done with the repairs. How long did it take to change glass in a frame, anyway?

Something popped.

"All right. I have to do the rest from the inside. Hold on to this and don't let it move."

No, no, no. Gina glanced around, desperate. The man couldn't come in. There was no place to hide in the small office. And even if there were, she couldn't move at all; the roofer guy outside the window would see her. Or maybe not.

He turned to hold up the window with his back and lit a cigarette, grumbling to himself and cursing the cyclone. She could hear the other one in the hallway. She had less than a minute.

She stepped up on the table without making a sound, reached for the nearest ceiling panel and pushed it out of place, then pulled herself up, holding her breath so she wouldn't sneeze from the dust she was stirring up. Oh, man. The structure was awfully rickety up there. And pitch-dark.

She didn't want to think about the inventory of tropical bugs that likely shared the space with her. She put the ceiling tile back, then spread her weight as best she could. She didn't have much time to find a comfortable spot; the door was opening below. Somebody came in. Paused.

"Wind blew in a bunch of dust," window guy said right beneath her and moved something around on the desk. "You'll need both hands. You think you can put down that smoke for another minute or two?"

Something crawled across Gina's leg in the darkness. She shuddered. When she'd been a cop, she'd faced down deranged criminals without trouble. But the thought of palm-size tarantulas cozying up to her freaked her out. So much for the tough-chick act she'd worn since she'd signed up for the police academy then perfected on the force and polished in federal prison.

She'd been too jumpy this morning already. Stupid nightmares had come back again. Probably from the stress. Their mission was nearing its end and the stakes couldn't have been higher. She hated waking up drenched in sweat; she hated the dark swamp of guilt, the disappointment she felt in herself for having done what she'd done. The time she'd spent at Brighton should have eased her conscience, but it hadn't.

She listened to the men below and did her best to put the past out of her mind.

Thankfully whatever the two guys needed to do didn't take long. They were leaving within five minutes. She decided to wait another five before taking off, in case they were still cleaning up outside.

Unfortunately the door opened again before she could make her move.

"Gentlemen, please take a seat," a slightly accented voice said. It definitely didn't belong to either the window guy or the roofer, the voice more cultured, more professional. "How do you like the island so far? Sorry about the mess."

Papers flapped, sounding as though he was shaking off files.

Was he wondering about the dust on his desk? Would he look up and figure out where it had come from? Gina held her breath. She'd been in tight situations before and bluffed like a pro or fought her way out if nothing else worked. But this one was stickier than the average mess-up.

She would have a hard time coming up with a believable story if they caught her stuck in the ceiling. Yet panicking over the spot she was in never entered her mind. Keeping calm went a long way toward coming out of a bad situation alive.

"We're just cleaning up after the storm. Everything should be back in order within a day or two," the man said, and Gina allowed herself to relax for the moment. Didn't sound as though the guy was about to investigate the dust.

"That's fine. Doesn't look like the island was hit too badly. And it's gorgeous even with the residual damage. Thanks for having us here, Mark," someone responded.

She recognized the name. And then the voice, too, fell into place.

"And your housing?" Mark asked.

As far as she could tell, he was the overseer of the island. He had greeted them in the harbor upon arrival.

"I still don't understand why we are here. There are maybe forty people on the island. You don't need two full-time doctors, not like us anyway. There's a hospital in Papeete. I understand Mr. Towers has a helipad and an Agusta and a Bell to go with it."

So the other two were the doctors. Gina stored the information and wondered where the helipad was and if Tsernyakov's two choppers were on the island. She didn't know much about helicopters but recognized the names of the models at least. Something else they had to investigate.

They'd been keeping an eye on the bay for arrivals from the sea. They had to get a location on the helipad, keep an ear out for any birds coming or going.

"Where is Mr. Towers?" the doctor with the deeper voice was asking.

She held her breath for the answer.

"He was held up in a meeting in Venezuela. He is expected here shortly. I have your contracts."

There was some paper crinkling below, then silence, the doctors probably skimming over what they were being offered.

Somebody cleared his throat. "What you need is a primary physician. Or even a paramedic would be sufficient. We are both specialists. Not that the offer is not generous," he rushed to add.

Gina held her breath as dust tickled her nose. Tsernyakov was bringing in two medical specialists. She would have given anything to find out what their specialties were. It might present a clue about the large-scale weapon Tsernyakov was selling, whether it was biological, chemical or a dirty bomb.

The island had a helipad and two choppers and some serious-looking bunkers. He was beefing up staff and fixing up housing. Did that mean he planned on riding out the attack here?

"Would you at least agree to wait for Mr. Towers to discuss this with him?" Mark asked.

He sounded deceptively mild and professional. But if he was working for Tsernyakov, the doctors didn't have much of a chance. He was merely giving them the illusion that the choice was theirs. In any case, if they stayed long enough, once the attack happened, it might be impossible for them to leave.

Gina repressed a shudder, thinking of her friends and herself. What about them? If they couldn't stop the terrorist attack, would they be marooned here with Tsernyakov and his band of criminals?

Today was November twentieth. Seven more days until the red-letter day, but what was it? Was it the date for the handover of the weapon or the date for the actual attack? How were they supposed to succeed with their mission when they knew so little?

They had Philippe Cavanaugh in custody, but Cavanaugh wasn't talking. At least security had relaxed at his estate in his absence, his guards easing into complacency. The team had been successful in pulling off a night mission and gained access to both of his safes, found enough clues to confirm that Cavanaugh indeed was one of Tsernyakov's right-hand men. Not that it was that special of a position. Tsernyakov had more right hands than the goddess Shiva.

"Of course. Spending time here is no hardship," the younger- sounding doctor said below. "I just?"

"We are probably not a good fit for the post, that's all. If Mr. Towers would like us to make a recommendation for someone who has the right skills for the type of injuries that are most likely to need treatment in a place like this, we'd be happy to help."

She turned her head in hopes of getting it out of the dust patch and stretched her arm in the process. It touched something hairy. And warm.

She bit her lip to keep from yelping. What was that? The thing didn't move. She cautiously stretched her fingers toward it again. Skin with sparse hair. A sick animal? A healthy one would have hightailed it out of here when she came up.

The skin twitched. Whatever it was, it was alive. She pulled her fingers back again and tried to put the picture of a giant rat out of her mind. Not enough hair for a rat, she told herself. Still, the air caught in her lungs.

She wasn't claustrophobic, but all of a sudden it seemed there was not enough air to breathe in the small space. Every horror movie she'd ever watched came back to her with goose-bump-raising detail.

Things she could see she could take on, no matter how formidable or dangerous they seemed. The hairy thing in the dark, however, got her imagination working?and it went to places she didn't want to follow.

"You should probably read through the contract in the meanwhile anyway. No harm in that," Mark was saying just as something closed around Gina' s wrist with a sudden quick strike.

It took all her willpower not to jump, not to betray her presence to those below. Then her brain clicked back to working after the first moment of pure fright, and she registered the fingers around her wrist.

A human hand. It held her as tight as a vise.