Desire for Revenge

Excerpt

            Can I cheat death twice?

            AJ Harris had a feeling she was about to find out.

            Pain streaked up the trunk of her body as she dropped to her knees onto the concrete sidewalk. The blaring sirens from the surrounding police cruisers warbled, and her vision blurred.

            Shot. What a stunning realization.

AJ’s right shoulder burned where the bullet struck. Her arm went numb then began to tingle. Unable to force her hand to wrap around the grip, her gun dangled, swinging inch by inch until it slipped off the end of her finger and hit the ground. She flinched, waited for the impact to send off a shot, but it only clattered onto the concrete. 

The zing of bullets and the crack of gunfire penetrated her ears, forcing awareness of the situation past the pain. 

Move. Her brain screamed, transmitting the message to other parts of her body. Leaning at an awkward angle, she fell onto her hip and rolled to a sitting position. Using her feet, she pushed until her back bumped against the rough brick wall of the Sear’s building. It provided little protection, but something was better than nothing. 

With any luck, the bullet had tagged her vest. She slid her hand under her jacket and probed along her shoulder until hitting a tender spot, which sent pain bursting into her chest and down her arm. Her fingers rested in the wet, thick warmth of her blood now soaking the sleeve of her police issued shirt. Nausea churned. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on staying lucid. 

Damn it. This can’t be happening. The guys were finally showing her some respect and treating her as if she was part of the team. Not an easy task in a male dominated industry, and for Hillside’s police department where she was the first and only female patrol officer, the difficulty magnified by ten. Going down in the first round on her first major call wouldn’t look good to her co-workers. How could they trust her to have their backs? 

Where had she gone wrong? Dispatch had called out a bank robbery in progress with hostages and damn near the whole police department had arrived before her. She’d expected the suspects to be inside the bank, not on the roof of the building. There had been no warning until the first shots rang out. 

Her mistake—assuming. She should have stayed alert, more watchful. 

The sudden silence yanked her from her analysis. The eerie quiet more ominous than the gunfire. Fear crept down her spine. Something was wrong. 

The calm before the storm? 

A few of the officers moved to position themselves near the bank’s front doors. Others peered over the hoods of their cars, everyone trying to determine if the suspects were still on the roof or had retreated inside. 

The squawk of the police two-way radio reached AJ, but she couldn’t focus on the relay of information. 

Sitting on the hard, cold sidewalk, a deep penetrating chill seeped through her, reaching to her bones. The buildings acted as a funnel, blasting the winter air down through the streets. She shivered, clenching her jaws against the hot points of pain. March had arrived, but for the Midwest, frigid temperatures and snow were still a frequent occurrence. 

She noticed everything around her. The gray buildings, the bare trees surrounded by concrete slab. The strobe lights on top the cruisers, the only color breaking up the bleakness. In complete contrast to the cold was the warm, fresh scent of donuts from the nearby bakery. 

A vivid image of her grandpa standing behind the counter of his own bakery not twenty minutes away, in an older, quieter part of town, came to mind. 

He’s lost so much already. More than anyone should have to bear. 

AJ shook her head, pushing the thought away. She couldn’t let worry distract her from the current situation. Think. 

She glanced up and down the street. Rush hour in downtown Hillside had come to a screeching halt. No cars with anxious drivers behind the wheel jockeyed for position on crowded streets trying to get home. Office workers, leaving for the day, now cowered back inside buildings or ran out of harm’s way. The normal flow of traffic rerouted. 

Things like this didn’t happen in small town Ohio. But didn’t everyone say that? Even for a large suburb north of Cincinnati, the residents didn’t see much crime and definitely not in the form of a bank robbery with hostages. 

AJ scanned the area until her eyes landed on the familiar face of her friend and supervisor, Steve Hastings, squatted down with his back pressed against the side of the cruiser. He spoke to Captain Marcus Delhi, who hunkered down beside him with the door of the cruiser open and communicating with his team over police channels. 

Seeing Steve steadied her frayed nerves. He would give her hell for getting shot, for making him worry, just like he would with any one of his team members. She gave him a thumbs-up when he glanced over at her, letting him know she was fine. 

The blood was running down her arm and out the end of her sleeve, staining the sidewalk. There was so much blood. 

What if I’m dying? Panic tightened her chest. Her eyes darted back to Steve. 

He moved so that his shoulder now supported him against the car, and he faced her. He mouthed the words, ‘are you hit?’ and she nodded. Steve said something over his shoulder to Delhi, who nodded in reply. 

AJ realized what Steve intended to do and held up her hand to stop him, but he ignored her. She fumbled for her gun to provide protection then remembered it lay a few inches away on the pavement. It wouldn’t have mattered. The movement froze her with pain. 

Then he was squatting in front of her with concern in his eyes and a cocky grin across his handsome face. He grabbed her gun off the pavement and returned it to her holster. 

“Let’s take a look.” He lifted the edge of her jacket to peek. 

“The arm is useless.” She bared her teeth at the grim lines bordering his mouth. “I’m fine. Don’t be a fool.” 

But he didn’t budge. “I’ve been a fool for you from the moment your scrawny ass walked into roll call.” He smirked. 

AJ snorted out a laugh, knowing her ass was anything but scrawny. Her vision wavered, and she reached for him, gripping his arm with her left hand. 

“You’re losing too much blood. Hold on, kiddo, I’m going to get you out of here.” 

A single gunshot rang out, and she heard the dull thud of the bullet imbedding itself in a solid mass. She saw the shock cross Steve’s face and the void in his eyes seconds before he fell backward onto the sidewalk. 

The silence ended. Gunfire erupted around them, drowning out her screams as adrenaline pushed her away from the wall and on top of Steve’s motionless body. 

She heard yelling but the voices faded away along with the sound of bullets rocketing by her head. The smell of blood and gunpowder mingled to nauseate and confuse her. But the pain in her shoulder eased as she lay on top of Steve and felt the warmth drain from his body. She whispered his name once, or so she thought, as the tears ran down her face. 

And she knew he was gone.

Desire for Revenge will be available the last week of April 2013.

Mistletoe Madness Blog Hop

Twas the Night before Christmas –    Romance Style 

By: Christina Wolfer   

 

 

Twas the night before Christmas with a silk teddy draped over the chair

She put on the last of her makeup and ran her fingers through her hair.

The stockings were snapped to the garter with care,

In hopes that her hero soon would be there.

Into the teddy, she slid with delight

And checking the mirror knew it looked just right.

With tiny lace straps and in the color of red

Instead of standing by the fireplace, she chose to wait on the bed. 

Soft candle light flickered as her internal flame burned.

Every nerve ending pulsed and her stomach churned.

He was all that she wanted and wished for tonight.

She had only this moment to get everything right. 

And then to her wondering eyes he did appear

She could see by the look, his desire was clear.

Oh, how handsome, tall, dark and rough,

She knew in a moment, one night would not be enough. 

He strode to the bed, trailed a finger down her face,

Then continued down to touch the silk and the lace.

He said not a word as he let his hands roam

She drew in a breath and let it out on a moan. 

He lay down beside her, so lively and quick,

He took her to heaven for he knew every trick.

More rapid than eagles, he too then came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called her by name! 

She lay quietly beside him, waiting to hear

The words “I love you”. She waited in fear.

For every good Romance must have a great plot

And in the tangled story the heroin got caught. 

For in the beginning, she thought what a jerk

But as the story moved forward, his charm it did work.

They labored through the conflict, both internal and out

And then in a flash, she fell in love, no doubt. 

But now as Christmas morning drew near,

Only one thing remained she needed made clear.

And she pondered and wondered as she stared at the wall,

Did he feel the same thing or nothing at all? 

She started to speak, but he stopped her in stride.

His eyes – how they twinkled – his mirth he could not hide.

He kissed her mouth roughly, then kissed her once more

As he reached for his pants that lie on the floor. 

And out of his pocket our hero did take

A bright, shiny diamond and it wasn’t a fake.

He held it out for the heroine, who smiled with glee

For all of her wishes this Christmas had come to be. 

“I love you,” he said as his sexy lips drew up like a bow

Outside in the beautiful Christmas morn, it began to snow.

And all was complete, wrapped up neat and tight

They heard in the distance “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!”

I Love Halloween

I live in the country, however, and there is one downside - I don't get Trick-or-Treat little ones at my door. So this year I'm making it up for this by taking treats to work tomorrow (graveyard brownies to the left) and by participating in a Halloween Blog hop over at Romance Author Hotspot

It's My Party and I'll Give Presents Away if I Want to

I’m turning 44 on July 19th and lucky for me, I’ve got nothing to cry about, except maybe a few more wrinkles and dimples that I didn’t have 20 years ago. But with each year that passes its hard not to look back and ponder the decisions I’ve made, to reminisce, think about where I am and what the future holds, to think about the accomplishments and yes, the failures.

I remember riding the bus for the hour-long trip to school everyday, staring out the window and being the star in the daydreams of my future. There was always adventure in those inspirational moments, many twists and turns, and oh, the drama. Inevitably, there were horses and I was a world-renowned horse trainer. There were sexy men with hearts of gold who swooped me off my feet. And the career woman who beat the odds in a male dominate world. I wanted to be anything but what I was and anywhere but on that school bus.

I had four major goals or vision for my life during those hours and years riding that yellow hunk of metal - they included the following:

1. Career woman

2. Barrel racer

3. Horse trainer

4. Published Author

The decisions and reminiscing:

1. Career woman - I went to college despite a school counselor telling me not to bother going because I’d never make it and a father who said I’d end up pregnant before it was all said and done. Jokes on them, considering that would never be possible, me getting pregnant that is. And not only did I make it through college, I did it with flying colors. Since graduating, I have done all the things I though a career woman would do. I’ve had the luxury of travelling all over the U.S. and staying in some magnificent hotels. I’ve worn fancy dresses to fancy dinners and drank some of the best Champaign (I’ll take a beer any day, thank you). I’ve given presentations to corporate staff and have sat in hour long meetings with customers from foreign countries. Was it as glamorous as the teenage girl thought it would be, at times—yes, but for the most part—no. It’s work just like anything else.

2. Barrel racer - When I was in my late twenties, I decided it was time to pursue this dream. I bought a 15-year-old seasoned barrel racing mare (Baby D), who taught me the ropes. We competed for fours years together and running some pretty good times when I had to retire her due to arthritis and the fact she’d gone blind in one eye. She’s thirty-two years old this year and looks like a spring chicken. She is doing great and enjoying life. Even though I don’t barrel race anymore, it’s still a dream fulfilled. I think about getting back into it, but it just hasn’t been the same since riding Baby D.

3. Horse trainer - This one is simple. I bought a yearling and trained her to replace Baby D. With the exception of hating to go in the horse trailer, she turned out to be an excellent all around horse. She is good in competition, but never managed to fill Baby D’s horseshoes. Where she does excel is with the little ones. Put a child on her back and she is the sweetest, gentlest horse you will find. I trained a horse. Goal accomplished.

4. Published Author - This one took the longest to achieve. More from lack of trying than anything, because once I tried things sorta happened pretty fast considering five years is nothing compared to the industry standard. It has been possibly the hardest to achieve because of the personal, emotional and time investment that it takes to write and then sell a book. And the time investment isn’t just your own, but your families, too. The time it takes away from them. It has been, however, the most satisfying, self-rewarding accomplishment because in writing I have found my passion.

Where I am:

Literally, right now? On my front porch, a cool breeze blowing across me and my laptop as I write. But in life terms—it’s all good. I’m still working the career woman angle until the movie deal comes through for one or all of my books. Hey, just because I’m 44 doesn’t mean I’ve stopped dreaming. I’ve still got my horses and I enjoy them even if I don’t barrel race or ride as often as I’d like. Spending time with them, watching them in the pasture and smelling them when I walk into the barn brings me peace. 

I have my dream home—a log cabin—and live on the farm I grew up on as a child. I have wonderful people around me—family and friends, many are both. 

I count on exercise now like never before and age defying creams all in effort to look younger than what I am. I’m playing softball again for the first time in 17 years, and that’s purely for enjoyment and because I missed it. 

God is a strong force in my life and I thank him everyday for the many blessings. I pray for strength to be the person He wants me to be and I hope one day to be worthy of His love and mercy.

What the future holds:

Who knows, right? It could all end tomorrow. Not the world, but my life or my life as I know it, but you can’t spend your time dwelling on that. You do the best you can and what’s meant to be will be. 

Work as if it all depends on you and pray as if it all depends on God.  

For my birthday, I’m giving away a FREE copy (e-book or print) of EMOTIONAL WARFARE and a $10 gift card to Amazon to two lucky commenters. Leave a comment below about a goal achieved or anything else or just leave your e-mail address to be entered to win.

ARC GIVE-AWAY: EMOTIONAL WARFARE

Leave any comment below regarding your plans for the 4th of July between now and midnight of the 4th and I will enter you in a drawing for an Advance Reading Copy (ARC) of EMOTIONAL WARFARE. Winner announced Thursday, July 5th. Please leave your e-mail address if I don't already have it or check back for the winner.

Book Blurb:

When highly classified military parts go missing from Libby Aerospace Technologies, Dana Porter is sent to Wyoming to resolve the issues and negotiate a new contract with the United States Navy Defense contractor. But first, she’ll have to figure out why the parts are disappearing. The further Dana digs, the more dangerous things become, and when an ex-employee ends up murdered, she suspects someone is illegally exporting the goods.

Despite General Manager Nick White’s resentment of Dana’s presence, he cannot afford to lose the contract and knows she is his best bet in making sure that doesn’t happen. He left Indiana over a year ago to get away from her. Now, she is scrutinizing every aspect of his business, finding inconsistencies he can’t explain and awakening old feelings he thought long gone.

Together, they will race against time to stop the illegal exports and secure the contract, but with hearts and lives on the line, not everyone will walk away unscathed.

 Excerpt:

Khartoum, Sudan

Khartoum’s New Islamic Alliance Military Compound 

Zufar was dead.

The words like a mantra repeated in Rustan Hasan’s head, mocking his very existence.

Zufar was dead. Zufar was dead.

It should have been me. The thought roared through him like a freight train, the painful truth suffocating. Not Zufar.

The pressure in Rustan’s chest built, closing off the air in his lungs as the commander of the Khartoum’s New Islamic Alliance fraction told them of the attack against the United States. Blood had been spilled in accordance with the Quran. But Rustan, with his heart breaking, did not care about advancing Islam, about Allah’s law or the overall goal of the mission. He wanted to drop to his knees and scream out the rage tearing at his insides.

His legs trembled, and his stomach convulsed. A loud howling filled his head drowning out the words of his commander, but not the pain. The thought of his mother and sister pierced his heart. His shoulders shook beneath the olive green of his military uniform as his mind flipped back in time of two skinny boys playing along a dirt road. Makeshift swords of long twigs gripped in their hands as they fought an imaginary foe.

“One day,” nine-year-old Zufar had claimed. “I will fight and kill the real enemy.”

Rustan pulled away from the memories, snapping his shoulders back to quiet the trembling. He would not humiliate Zufar’s memory by falling apart in front of his comrades. He would not disgrace his family.

Zufar had been brave, and the Muslim Brotherhood would glorify his actions. Allah would reward him in the afterlife. Zufar had lived and planned for the day he would commit jihad against their enemy. His day had come, but to Rustan, it was without victory. The enemy had won. They had succeeded in killing a great man—his beloved brother.

Trinity, Indiana USA

The thrashing and groaning tugged Dana Porter out of a deep sleep. She bolted upright with the realization that her husband struggled with a muscle spasm. She jumped out of the king size bed and circled around to Ted’s side. His eyes squeezed tight against the pain, his fist clenched in a seized state. His sweat-slicked body scented the air with bitter pain. He tried knocking her hands away as she worked to roll him onto his stomach.

“Leave me alone,” he forced out between clenched jaws.

A part of her wanted to leave him to writhe in agony until he begged for help. But he would be stubborn, and she couldn’t allow the pain to go on that long.

She positioned herself, one hand at his shoulder, the other at his waist. Mentally, she counted to three, then lifted, and shoved at the same time. He screamed out as he rolled onto his stomach.

Tears stung her eyes.

“Okay, it’s almost over.” Climbing on the bed, she knelt over him and began to knead the knotted muscles of his back with the heels of her hands, ignoring the ache moving up her arms.

Dana consoled herself with the knowledge that things weren’t as bad as they had been right after the accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. The spasms had come weekly then, but over time had diminished to every six months.

He resented her help, but didn’t fight her with the enthusiasm he once had. Oh, he remained emotionally shut off, almost proudly so.

“That’s enough, Dana. The spasm’s gone,” he murmured, tugging her back to the present.

She climbed from the bed and helped him onto his back. The spasms always left him weak and unable to manipulate his way out of bed. He would need help, and the need would piss him off.

She pulled the blankets up to his waist and thought, as she often did, what a magnificent chest he had. His arms and upper body thick with rope-like muscles from years of dragging his lower body around. She had told him once how beautiful his body was, running her hands over his chest. He had looked at her in disgust and pushed her hands away. The memory kept her from touching him now, kept her from looking into those ice blue eyes.

“Do you want to get out of bed or sleep a few more hours?” She asked, bracing herself for his harsh response.

“What are you going to do?”

She glanced at him, confused by the quiet reply. “I’ll go ahead and get my shower, maybe head into work early.”

“I’ll just lie here a while longer.” He grabbed her wrist when she turned away. The voluntary touch surprised her. “Thank you, Dana.” His words stunned her.

She faltered. “You’re welcome,” she mumbled and then retreated behind the bathroom door.

Under the hot spray of the shower, she let the tears scald her cheeks while painful, silent sobs ripped through her body. Three years and it still broke her heart at how cruel fate had been to Ted, how brutal it had been to their love.

Cover Reveal for WEIGHTED by Ciara Knight

Weighted is a young adult post-apocalyptic with paranormal elements. It is a prequel novelette to The Neumarian Chronicles, and will be released August 2012. Book I,Escapement, will be released in 2013.

Blurb:

The Great War of 2185 is over, but my nightmare has just begun. I am being held captive in the Queen’s ship awaiting interrogation. My only possible ally is the princess, but I’m unsure if she is really my friend or a trap set by the Queen to fool me into sharing the secret of my gift. A gift I keep hidden even from myself. It swirls inside my body begging for release, but it is the one thing the Queen can never discover. Will I have the strength to keep the secret? I’ll know the answer soon. If the stories are true about the interrogators, I’ll either be dead or a traitor to my people by morning.