A writer of thrillers spiked with romance, PM Kavanaugh has always loved intrigue, danger and adventure, especially when observed at a safe distance from her own life. She shares her home, dreams and some of her plotting dilemmas with her clever-enough-to-be-a-spy husband and her talkative office cat, Max.PM Kavanaugh will be awarding a 1st prize of a $20 Amazon GC and a 2nd prize of a $15 Amazon GC to randomly drawn commenters during the tour.
Follow orders or die. Anika Washington knows the rules laid down by the counterterrorist agency that owns her. When she aborts a mission in order to spare a young girl, she’s given an ultimatum: take on a new mission that requires betraying her fellow operative, and lover, or forfeit her own life.
After discovering that her lover, Gianni, has chosen another, Anika accepts the mission. In the aftermath, she learns that Gianni was faithful to her and she’d been tricked into thinking otherwise. The knowledge comes too late and she’s almost killed in an agency double-cross.
Now she must run—battling time, former enemies and the agency itself to stay alive and save the man she loves.
“All accounted for.” Gianni’s faint northern Italian accent threaded through his words.
It startled Anika, how the timbre of his voice reverberated through her body. It was as if he were lying right beside her instead of sitting in the transport vehicle two blocks away. Lying here, with his lips pressed to her ear, like when they were… but no, they hadn’t been together like that in ages.
She jerked her mind back to the mission. Told herself that her elevated heart rate wasn’t caused by the sound of his voice, but by its message. “Go time” was fast approaching.
She flexed her toe against the endorphin patch in the inner sole of her boot. After one slow breath she was calmer, like a warm wave had rolled through her. The effect wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes, just until she needed adrenaline back in her system to rev her through the mission.
The bomber guards trained their eyes on the surveillance monitors. The visual sweeps displayed only what U.N.I.T., the global counterterrorist organization that she worked for, wanted them to see—a closed building and lightly-trafficked streets. The alley where Anika lay in her container appeared empty except for recycling bins.
She studied her target, the guard on the right. Taking him out would trigger the other bodyguard. The resulting blast would look like an accident by one of their own.
“Deactivating entry point,” Gianni said. The blue beams preventing access into the museum flickered and disappeared. “Begin weapon prep.” His voice had evened out, the accent almost undetectable.
Had he used his endorphin patch, too? Anika smiled. Unlikely.
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