Blurb
With her Special Forces brother missing, she has only
one other person to turn to. When her friend Flynn Swann isn’t available,
Barbara is left with no choice but to trust the man Flynn sends to save her.
Psychiatrist Dominic Salter’s information from her
superior officer’s file is that Barbara has gone rogue. Despite the damning
evidence, every instinct tells him he’s dealing with an honorable woman, one
who single-handedly saved Flynn from torture and a sure death. Dominic’s
challenge is to delve his way beneath her tough, defensive attitude and coax
the truth from a woman who’s too frightened to reveal her dark secret.
In his brand new facility containing a state of the
art Dreampsych Transcender he’s experimenting with, a machine far beyond a
simulator, Dominic has to gain the trust and confidence of Barbara while he
resists the hard pull of attraction to this kick-ass woman.
Betrayed by a member of his staff, events take a
sinister turn, and the pressure is on in a fight against time for Dominic to persuade
Barbara to put her trust in him and reveal the truth before matters are taken
out of his hands.
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Excerpt - Chapter One
She raised a shaky hand to rub her fingertips over
taut lips and tried to swallow, but her tongue was too thick to allow it, her
mouth too dry to comply. She held the same hand horizontally in front of her
face and watched the vague tremble. The tremor that threatened her sharp shot.
The shake that no longer allowed her to pick up a glass of whiskey without
being a dead giveaway.
She needed help.
Flynn.
Flynn could help.
She’d saved his life, goddammit. Of course he would
help.
So she waited in the silent twilight for Flynn to
come.
Pitch black descended and still no sign of the man. So
dark she could no longer see the trembling hand in front of her face, but the
sweat still formed in the creases along her palm, making her hand slip as she
tightened her grip on the gun. She swapped it over from right to left while she
rubbed the damp onto the leg of her black yoga pants. It made no difference,
she could shoot as well with one hand as the other. Not that she could see to
shoot, but she hadn’t imagined for one moment Flynn would have kept her waiting
this long, and dark would close in before he arrived.
She’d hunkered down in the comfort of the straw, her
mind filled with visions of blood and gunshots while night descended faster
than she’d realized.
She’d kept Flynn waiting three nights previously. God
only knew how long he’d waited for her, but she’d listened to her sixth sense,
believed someone else was there at the meeting point, and she’d hightailed it
out of there, leaving Flynn to his own devices. He was still a tough cookie. No
point in her hanging around to save him. She’d already saved his sorry ass once
before.
The dim light of the stables flickered on and filled
the place with a dull buzzing sound. Cautious, she straightened and moved
toward her target. The cowboy seemed to be the right height, but it looked like
Flynn had gone to seed since leaving the Special Forces three years earlier.
She’d heard rumors he hadn’t coped well with civilian life. Probably more to do
with having half his face carved up. She twitched her nose in distaste. The
voices of the men who had tortured him filled her head, the vicious sound of
their hyena cackles as they cut Flynn with glee. It hadn’t been the prettiest
of sights, but she’d seen worse. She’d even killed men herself, but never for
fun. Only out of necessity, duty, and a desperate desire to live.
It was the pleasure they’d taken out of torturing a
man that had turned her stomach. Not that anyone knew. She’d die before she
allowed anyone to see her
weakness. It looked like she may have to, after recent
events. She’d thought she’d never witness anything worse than Flynn’s torture.
But she had.
She closed her eyes and took a moment to control her
pulse rate before she stepped forward.
The cowboy turned, staggered slightly in the dead
giveaway of a drunken sidestep, and smiled broad and sloppy as his unfocused
gaze met hers. Drawing in a deep, slow breath, she realized her mistake. It
wasn’t Flynn.
With no other option, Barbara tucked her gun into the
back of her pants. It was a mistake she would never have made a month ago. One
that under any other circumstances would have cost her life. Lucky for her, it
was only some piss head in her way.
“Hey.” Loose-limbed, she stepped forward, a deliberate
wide smile in place. “I’m looking for Flynn. Is he here?”
Confusion flitted across the man’s face, his brows
pulled down in an exaggerated drunken frown.
“He’s a dipshit.”
Surprise at his viciousness stopped her advance as the
man swayed, took two clumsy steps to his left before he gained his balance, and
stood swaying before her. His thin lips twisted, bitter and angry.
“You’re not his girl. His girl’s a fuckin’ little
bitch. Lost me my job and had me arrested.”
With barely a twitch of her eyebrow, Barbara skimmed
her gaze over him. Nasty little fucker. Reminded her of her mother’s boyfriend.
Several of her mother’s boyfriends. But one in particular had been a mean son
of a bitch. He’d slapped her around plenty, until her mother had caught him and
almost pulled his hair out by the roots. Her mother may have had scores of men
come and go after Barbara’s father’s death, but she never let a single one mess
with her daughter.
Barbara narrowed her eyes at him, never flinched as
the horse behind her snorted and stamped impatiently in its stall. All her
concentration centered on the drunk. She’d learned long ago with hard lessons
not to take her gaze off the threat. This guy was definitely a threat.
“No, I’m not his girl. Have you seen him?”
He rubbed his hand over his lips, sly gaze darting
sideways. “I heard he left with the slut.”
Muscles tense, Barbara felt the sick slide of dread.
“Where’d he go?”
“New Zealand. They were talking about it in the
jailhouse.”
“Who?”
“The fucking sheriff and his fucking deputies.”
“What were you doing there?” She wasn’t interested,
but she could see him lowering his guard as they chatted. She never lowered
hers. That’s what got you killed.
The guy turned his head and spat into the hay and then
sneered at her. “Mistaken identity.” He held up a hand with fingers swathed in
bandages.
“Uh-huh.”
“Flynn’s bitch said I went after her. It was her who
attacked me and broke my fucking little finger.”
She repressed the desire to smile. She hadn’t much to
smile about, but it seemed as though Flynn could have met his match after all.
“Stupid fuckers let my wife bail me out.”
Barbara couldn’t stop the blink of surprise. He had a
wife? Poor woman.
“She’s my ex-wife.” His mean eyes flickered down. “She
just wants rid of me.”
She could imagine why.
Barbara watched as he skimmed his bloodshot gaze over
her, recognized the lascivious leer, and knew instinctively she wasn’t simply
going to walk away from their encounter. “So, what are your plans?”
“Fuckers took my gun, but I had another one they
didn’t know about at my stupid fucking wife’s house. She didn’t even know it
was there. I’m going to take me a horse and ride out of here, and no one is
going to stop me.”
She stepped back and spread her arms wide for him to
carry on. “I wouldn’t want to try.”
He took a small, stumbling step forward and then
lurched at her. Little shit, she never quite saw him coming. She’d somehow
thought he would have a little more finesse. His body slammed into hers, and
she realized what she’d thought was fat was one hell of a lot of solid muscle
bound tightly in that fat.
As he took her down, she allowed her body to go loose.
She anticipated the fast whoosh of air that expelled from her lungs, but his
weight was a little harder and heavier than she had expected. Winded, she lay
still for a long moment. By the time she recovered, he had her breast in his
hand, squeezing it tightly. Pain and indignation radiated through her, but as
she tried to move, he slung his leg over both of hers to pin her to the ground.
The metal buckle on his belt dug hard into the flesh of her belly, and as she
wriggled in the straw, the slide of it cut in deeper. The solid press of her
own gun into her spine had her stilling.
The guy was an idiot; sometimes they just made it too
easy by underestimating her. She may only be five feet four inches, but she was
a trained soldier, goddammit.
With a weary sigh, she gave her head a disgusted shake
and tightened her lips as she slipped his gun from his hip holster and held it
against his temple before he could take another drunken grunt. She pulled back
the hammer and met the surprise in his rheumy eyes. There was barely a tremor
in her grip as her finger softened against the trigger. No need to terminate
him, provided he was reasonable.
Bastard.
The quiet snick of metal stopped her mid thought.
“Take the gun away from Buddy’s head.” Mellow Irish
tones reasoned with her from behind her head.
She held it firm, never so much as twitched.
The silver glint of a gun slid into her peripheral
vision and kicked up her pulse.
“I’ve got him covered, Barbara, you can remove your
gun.” Her name from the unfamiliar Irish voice had her hesitating.
The sour smell of whiskey puffed over her skin, and
the bloated face of the drunk still lying on top of her gave her a moment’s
pause. She could have simply immobilized him and left him writhing in agony on
the floor by twisting his already broken finger, or she could blow his brains
out, the stupid fuck.
It wouldn’t have bothered her.
Sweat slicked on the handle of the gun to make a liar
of her. Who was she trying to kid? It was never a choice she’d make to
deliberately take a life. He may be stupid, but he was no longer a threat.
Where to Find Diane Saxon
Author Amazon
Profile Page
Diane
Saxon lives in the Shropshire countryside with her tall, dark, handsome
husband, two gorgeous daughters, a Dalmatian, one-eyed kitten, ginger cat, four
chickens and a new black Labrador puppy called Beau, whose name has been
borrowed for her hero in For Heaven's Cakes.
After
working for years in a demanding job, on-call and travelling great distances,
Diane gave it all up when her husband said “follow that dream”.
Having
been hidden all too long, her characters have burst forth demanding plot lines
of their own and she’s found the more she lets them, the more they’re inclined
to run wild.
Previous Books:
Loving
Lydia -Atlantic Divide Book 1
Bad
Girl Bill – Atlantic Divide Book 2
Finding
Zoe - Atlantic Divide Book 3
Flight
of Her Life
Flynn’s
Kiss – Disarmed & Dangerous Book 1
Short
Circuit Time
For
Heaven’s Cakes
Banshee
