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.
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.
