Dom combed his fingers through Luciâs hair and she closed her eyes against the need to lean into his touchâ¦.
âIâm as good as anyone on the team ever was,â she said, and couldnât help the note of challenge in her voice. âI can do this.â For the first time in a long while, the stir of something waking deep inside Luci fluttered alive. Sheâd loved the team. Sheâd loved saving lives. Sheâd loved knowing her special skill could make a difference. Or destroy her world.
Domâs smile canted up slowly, reaching all the way up to his eyes, making them glitter with humor that caused her to feel lighter. He slouched in that sexy way of his, compelling someone unaware of his lethal skill to believe they had nothing to fear from him. He deepened his drawl, letting its smoothness reverberate like a caress. âThen itâs a date, darlinâ.â
To Joyceâfor the support and friendship.
A special thank-you to:
Mary Kennedyâfor the forensic psychology help. Chris Maddocksâfor the sniper help.
Flying an eight-hour solo cross-country in a Piper Arrow with only the airplaneâs crackling radio and a large bag of M&Mâs for company, Sylvie Kurtz realized a pilotâs life wasnât for her. The stories zooming in and out of her mind proved more entertaining than the flight itself. Not a quitter, she finished her pilotâs course and earned her commercial license and instrument rating.
Since then, she has traded in her wings for a keyboard where she lets her imagination soar to create fictional adventures that explore the power of love and the thrill of suspense. When not writing, she enjoys the outdoors with her husband and two children, quilt-making, photography and reading whatever catches her interest.
You can write to Sylvie at P.O. Box 702, Milford, NH 03055. And visit her Web site at www.sylviekurtz.com.
Lucinda Walden TaylorâAll the sniper-turned-soccer-mom wanted was a quiet life for her and her son.
Dominic SkyralovâThe Seeker knew Luciâs deepest secrets.
Cole TaylorâLuciâs husband; Domâs best friend. He was dead, but the memory of his death festered guilt in both Luci and Dom.
Brendan TaylorâThe son Cole never knew existed and Luci desperately wanted to protect from a life of violence.
Warren SwansonâHis goal was to expunge the sins of the soiled.
Laynie McDanielsâShe was the first to die for her sins.
Jill Walden CourvilleâLuciâs sister was Warrenâs latest pigeon.
Jeff CourvilleâThe geeky boy reminded Warren of himself.
Joe Bob GrigsbyâThe escaped felon chose to kill rather than surrender.
Amber FitzgeraldâThe fitness instructor softened the prey.
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
In the hours between three and five in the morning, life slowed to a crawl. Her bodyâs need for sleep had Lucinda Walden fighting to keep her eyes open. She pulled her eye off-scope to blink out the fatigue, then resettled her right shoulder over the rubber butt pad of her rifle. Eye on-scope again, she panned left to right, across the door and windows of the two-story shack in the middle of nowhere in North Texas, checking for activity.
Her job was simpleâbe ready to kill, but avoid shooting at all cost. Discipline. Control. Restraint.
Sweltering heat, even so early on this August morning, had sweat streaming down her sides, sticking every stitch of camouflage clothing to her skin. Fog, graying everything in its path and rising in tongues off the pond beside the house, gave the run-down place the look of hell.
âSierra One to TOC,â Luci whispered into the mic resting against her jaw to the Tactical Operations Center. The hostage taker couldnât hear her, but he was so close in her scope that it seemed as if he should. âI have subject movement. White alpha three.â Back side of the house, first floor, third window. âWhite male, five foot ten, one hundred and sixty pounds, dark hair and beard. Bare torso, low-slung jeans. Two pistols stuffed down his pants. One rifle cruising for a target. He has the kid on his hip.â Their subject looked like a desperado in a really bad Western.
âCopy, Sierra One.â
Luci tried shutting her mind off to the bawling four-year-old the hostage taker had strapped to his waist like a lifesaver, but couldnât keep the shine of his tears from invading. Donât you worry, little one. Weâll get you out safe. Thatâs what this team does. We save lives.
Hostage negotiations boiled down to building rapport, calming fears and making consequences acceptable. But talking sometimes wasnât the solution. This hostage taker wasnât in the mood for rapport. The instinct to save his own sorry hide was putting two innocents at risk. And with three consecutive life sentences to serve, he had nothing left to lose.