New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann has thrilled audiences with her Tall, Dark and Dangerous series. Experience it here with a hero who must face the most daring adventure of allâfalling in love.
Once a hero, always a heroâ¦
Melody Evans just wants to marry an ordinary, average man who doesnât take risks. But when the foreign embassy where she works is taken over by terrorists and sheâs rescued by a daring Navy SEAL, Melody blames the extreme circumstances for their ensuing passion. When it comes to ordinary, Harlan âCowboyâ Jones is anything but, and their encounter leaves Melody with a little more than just memoriesâ¦
Seven months later, when Cowboy pays Melody a visit, heâs shocked to find her pregnant with his child. Now all he has to do is convince her theyâre meant to be togetherâthat he can be as ordinary as the next guyâ¦
Thanks to Candace Irvin, who helped clear up a great deal of confusion about rank and pay-grade and U.S. Navy life in general.
My eternal thanks to my tall, dark and dangerously funny friend Eric Ruben, who called me up one day and said, âHey, Suz, I just read a great article about navy SEALs. You should check it out.â (I did, and the rest, as they say, is history.)
Thanks, also, to the EAJ Project volunteers from the Team Ten list (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/teamten) for their proofreading skills: Group Captain Rebecca Chappell, Jolene Birum, Joan Detzner, Nancy Fecca, Ginny Ann Jakob, Annie Lewis, Leah Long, Gail Reddin, Vivian L. Weaver and Deborah Wooley.
Special thanks to the Friscoâs Kid Project volunteers, who got left out of the acknowledgments for that book: Cocaptains Rebecca Chappell and Agnes Brach, Miriam Caraway, Maureen Cleator, Nicole Ione Cottles, Anne Dierkes, Melody Jacobson, Leah Long, Kelly Ludwig, Nadine Mayhew and Lauri Uzee. Hooyah, gang! Thanks so much to all of you for helping out.
Thanks to the real teams of SEALs, and to all of the courageous men and women in the U.S. military who sacrifice so much to keep America the land of the free and the home of the brave. And last but not least, a heartfelt thank-you to the wives, husbands, children and families of these real-life military heroes and heroines. Your sacrifice is deeply appreciated!
Any mistakes Iâve made or liberties Iâve taken in writing this book are completely my own.
For my big sister, Carolee Brockmann.
And for my mom, Lee Brockmann, who even likes the ones that never sell.
It was extremely likely that she was going to die.
And with every hour that passed, her chance of making it out of this godforsaken country any way other than inside a body bag was slipping from slim to none.
Melody Evans sat quietly in the corner of the little windowless office that had become her prison, writing what she hoped would not be her final words in a letter to her sister.
Dear Brittany, Iâm scared to death of dyingâ¦.
She was terrified of the finality of a single bullet to the head. But she was even more afraid of the other sort of death that possibly awaited her. Sheâd heard of the kinds of torture that were far too prevalent in this part of the world. Torture, and other archaic, monstrous practices. God help her if they found out she was a womanâ¦.
Melody felt her pulse kick into overdrive, and she took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
Remember the time you took me sledding up at the apple orchards? Remember how you got on the sled behind me, and told me in that supertheatrical voice you sometimes used that we were either going to steer a straight course down the hill through the rows of treesâor die trying?
Her older sister had always been the adventurous one. Yet it was Brittany who was still at home in Appleton, living in the same four-story Godzilla of a Victorian house that theyâd grown up in. And it was Melody who, in a moment of sheer insanity, had accepted the job of administrative assistant to the American ambassador and had moved overseas to a country she hadnât even known existed until six months ago.
I remember thinking as we plunged down the hillâGod, I couldnât have been more than six years old, but I remember thinkingâat least weâll die together.
I wish to God I didnât feel so aloneâ¦.
âYou donât really think theyâre going to let you send that, do you?â Kurt Matthewsâs acerbic voice dripped scorn.
âNo, I donât.â Melody answered him without even looking up. She knew she was writing this letter not for Brittany, but for herself. Memories. She was writing down some childhood memories, trying to give herself a sense of that peace and happiness sheâd known once upon a time. She was writing about the way sheâd always tried so desperately to keep up with a sister nearly nine years older than she was. She skipped over the sibling infighting and petty arguments, choosing to remember only Brittâs patience and kindness.