
Amazon
"Dark, gritty, sexy suspense with
one hell of a hot hero." -USA Today bestseller Debra Webb
A soldier is nothing without his
honor.
To avoid a dishonorable end to his
decorated military career, John Noble made a deal with the devil. He
gave up his name, endured harrowing training, and accepted every
mission thrown at him for one purpose: redemption.
When he accepts his latest orders,
providing personal security for a reporter in trouble, he bargains
hard to guarantee it will be his last job for the shadow agency he
knows only Unknown Identities (UI).
An ambitious reporter, Amelia Bennett,
is about to break the story of her career, if she lives long enough
to tell it. Caving to her boss's demand, she hires a bodyguard and
soon it is obvious John Noble is the only obstacle standing between
her and certain death.
Just when John believes he has found
someone he can trust and love, who loves him unconditionally for who
and what he has become, his orders are amended: Amelia Bennett is to
be terminated.
The Unknown Identities is an
alternative for elite soldiers and spies facing criminal charges...
if they can survive the program.
He lifted his glass to knock back the
last of the tequila, then abruptly stopped. Anticipation whispered
through him, bunching his muscles in an instinctive fight-or-flight
response to what he couldn’t quite see... couldn’t quite hear.
But he knew.
No amount of time or distance lessened
that innate recognition.
Once a hunter, always a hunter.
Never let anyone catch you off guard.
The air in the room thickened like
syrup, oozing into his nostrils but failing to fuel his lungs.
John Noble blinked and performed a
quick mental assessment of just how much tequila he’d consumed.
Not enough... for this.
He surveyed the crowded tavern, noting
the man at the bar in the Red Sox sweatshirt who stared at him
without bothering to look away. The baseball fan allowed his gaze to
linger a moment or two more then, as another patron stumbled over to
join him, turned away.
Just your imagination.
Imagination or not, his senses
automatically initiated a second inventory of his surroundings.
Waitresses clad in ass-hugging jeans and cleavage-revealing tops
continued to weave around and between the crowded tables with their
precariously balanced serving trays. The Friday night revelers
persisted in their sensual battle with the blaring music, bodies
grinding and voices pitched for carrying across the sea of sweaty,
visceral sensations. That it was only a few days before Christmas
amplified the weekly rituals.
Still... something was off, out of
sync. That nagging awareness just wouldn’t go away. Time felt
slower. Sound grew distant, sluggish as if a killing blizzard had
abruptly swept through the city, leaving a frozen wasteland between
John and all else. None of the other patrons paid the slightest
attention to the fact that the world around them seemed to have
closed in on itself.
John tightened his grip on the shot
glass and downed the tequila. With a grimace he lowered the empty
tumbler to the table. It was doubtful that any action on his part
would stop whatever was coming. The best he could do was brace for
its arrival.
His gaze snagged on the scars on his
wrists partially exposed by the cuffs of his cheap flannel shirt.
Rows of twisted zeroes seared into his skin. He closed his eyes and
wished away the stir of awareness that persisted. Inherently
understood that it was useless.
“Good evening, John.”
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