Lethal Pursuit
Lethal Pursuit
By Kaylea Cross
Security Forces Lieutenant Maya Lopez is right at home in a war zone: she’s been fighting all her life. A hard-won commission in the air force has brought her to Afghanistan, and if she plays her cards right, she could end up with an FBI job. It won’t be easy, but that just makes her more determined.
Jackson Thatcher is a protector in all senses of the word. A pararescue jumper with Southern-boy charm, he easily captures Maya’s interest, but her trust is another story. He’s sexy, strong and caring, but she makes it clear she’s no damsel in distress. She’s never relied on any man, and she’s not about to start now.
When Maya and Jackson become pawns in a radical warlord’s deadly game, they find themselves on the run and must depend on each other if they want to make it out alive.
Don’t miss
Deadly Descent
and
Tactical Strike,
also by Kaylea Cross.
91,000 words
Dear Reader,
Usually I begin these letters with some chatty information, but I’m departing from my norm this time to give you the opportunity to talk to me. At Carina, we’re always discussing our books and making sure we’re meeting your needs—not just with story and content, but also in the way they’re put together. This month, I’d like to reach out to you and ask your opinion on how the Carina Press books utilize the front and back matter. Do you like having the dear reader letter in the front? Would you prefer if it were in the back? Is there something more—excerpts, book lists or other information—we could be providing after the books? We welcome your comments and hope you will reach out to us with your thoughts at
[email protected]
.
In the meantime, it’s business as usual here at Carina Press headquarters, and that means a lineup of excellent books (no bias here!) for the month of September. We welcome author Jael Wye to Carina Press with her science-fiction fairy-tale retelling,
Ice Red
, in which the tale of Snow White plays out on the deadly and beautiful planet Mars 300 years in the future. Joining her in launching a new series is return author Nico Rosso, who grabbed my attention the first time he pitched this series to me as “demon rock stars.” Misty is thrown into rock star and immortal demon Trevor Sand’s supernatural world of music, monsters and passion in
Heavy Metal Heart.
More unique voices this month include urban fantasy author R.L. Naquin’s newest Monster Haven novel,
Fairies in My Fireplace
, as well as
Agamemnon Frost and the Hollow Ships
, book two of Kim Knox’s male/male science-fiction trilogy.
Sandy James wraps up her Alliance of the Amazons series with
The Volatile Amazon.
The Water Amazon leads the Alliance as they face their archenemy in their last and greatest fight. Veronica Scott joins Sandy in the paranormal category with Egypt-set
Warrior of the Nile.
We have multiple releases in the erotic romance genre this month, including
Love Letters Volume 5:
Exposed
, in which the Love Letters ladies strip away everything but the hot truth, and four couples see each other in a tantalizingly revealing new light.
Forbidden Obsessions
by Jodie Griffin features Bondage & Breakfast owner Gabe McConnell, who finally gets his chance at love when he meets a novice submissive who touches a part of his dominant heart no one else ever has. In Lynda Aicher’s
Bonds of Hope
, former America’s sweetheart Quinn Andrews has an opportunity to revive her career by playing a sexual submissive in a highly anticipated new TV series. Quinn is ready to throw herself into the role, and sex club The Den is the ideal place for a crash course.
Also in the erotic romance genre, we’re pleased to welcome author Lise Horton to Carina Press with
Words of Lust.
A career spent teaching erotic literature does not prepare brainy Professor Serafina Luca for NYC construction foreman Nick Stellato, but his lessons in lust promise to fulfill her wickedest desires, and his promise of love, her wildest dreams.
For historical romance fans, Alyssa Everett offers up
A
Tryst with Trouble.
The arrogant heir to a dukedom and a blunt-spoken spinster take an instant dislike to each other, but must join forces to solve a murder mystery in this clever regency romp.
Kaylea Cross returns with another edge-of-your-seat romantic suspense novel,
Lethal Pursuit.
An air force pararescue jumper and a female security forces officer are locked in an intense battle of wills, but when they’re captured by an enemy warlord, it takes everything they have to survive and fight their way back to friendly lines together. Check out the other books in this series,
Deadly Descent
and
Tactical Strike.
We’re excited to present
Corroded
, the next book in Karina Cooper’s St. Croix Chronicles. Now fixated on revenge, bounty hunter Cherry St. Croix must bend all her intellect on catching a murderer—no matter whose help she must ask, and to whose demand she must submit.
Last, I’m thrilled to announce the release of three debut authors this month. Rebecca Crowley’s contemporary sports romance,
The Striker’s Chance
, gives us passion on and off the pitch when ambitious PR manager Holly Taylor has to revamp the playboy image of sexy, stubborn professional soccer player Kepler de Klerk. Michelle Witvliet breaks onto the romantic suspense scene with
Breaking Protocol.
She can’t let go of a tragic past; he faces an uncertain future; so they live in the moment and discover all they really need is each other. And in our new adult lineup, debut author Melissa Guinn offers a new adult romance novel about first love, second chances and learning to let go in
Headfirst Falling.
I hope you enjoy this month’s releases as much as we have, and find them satisfying, remarkable and memorable!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the amazing men and women of AFSOC, but especially to my very favorite heroes, the selfless men of United States Air Force Pararescue, who stand ready to go into harm’s way so
That Others May Live
. Hooyah!
Acknowledgments
I would like to acknowledge several people for their help not only with
Lethal Pursuit
, but for the entire series as well.
First, my wonderful and supportive critique partner, Katie Reus, whom I could not do without. Thank you for being such a supportive and caring friend! I love you bunches.
And of course, I couldn’t have made the stories shine without the patience and insight of my wonderful editor, Rhonda Helms.
Also, one man in particular deserves a huge shout-out, because without his help I could never have given these books the sort of realism I wanted. Research is a wonderful thing, but having a trusted go-to source who’s actually “walked the walk” is invaluable.
To David A. Weaver, U.S. Air Force (Ret.) (former Pararescueman)—you rock my socks, sir. Thank you so much for always taking the time to respond to my many questions, and for taking me seriously even after you knew I was using the info in steamy romances. I am so proud to “know” you.
On a final note, any errors or inaccuracies that exist in the book are my fault.
PJs are such unsung heroes; it’s high time these quiet professionals gained more recognition and respect for what they do.
Contents
I
am an American Airman.
I
am a Warrior.
I
have answered my Nation’s call.
I
am an American Airman.
My mission is to Fly
,
Fight
,
and Win.
I
am faithful to a Proud Heritage
,
A
Tradition of Honor
,
And a Legacy of Valor.
I
am an American Airman.
Guardian of Freedom and Justice
,
My Nation’s Sword and Shield
,
Its Sentry and Avenger.
I
defend my Country with my Life.
I
am an American Airman.
Wingman
,
Leader
,
Warrior.
I
will never leave an Airman behind
,
I
will never falter
,
And I will not fail.
—Airman’s Creed
Chapter One
“Try that again, and I’ll break your freaking arm.”
At the menace in her growled words and the way she wrenched his arm up behind his back, the drunk soldier beneath her abruptly went still. “Okay,
okay
, dammit. Lemme up!”
“Not a chance.”
Asshole.
Security Forces Lieutenant Maya Lopez dug her knee harder into the back of his neck, pressing his face flat into the dirt while she secured his hands behind him with a plastic zip tie and pulled tight.
“Ow!” He twisted, only to stop when she leaned more of her weight against his neck.
She bent until her mouth was close to his ear. “You don’t really want to mess with me right now,” she warned softly. “I’ve just worked a twelve-hour shift that included taking down a bunch of insurgents trying to plant an IED in the road less than five miles from here.” And the chatter said more activity was imminent, maybe even more attacks on the base like there had been before Thanksgiving. Everyone was extra vigilant these days. “Don’t make me kick your drunken ass all over again, because I promise you, this time I won’t be so gentle.”
The man grunted, his face sweaty and red, but wisely decided not to fight. The sweet reek of alcohol poured from his skin. Had he been bathing in beer, for Christ’s sake? The alcohol ban on base hadn’t stopped him and his buddy from hoarding their stockpile.
Satisfied he would stay on his belly this time, Maya pushed to her feet. She rolled her shoulders to ease the soreness from where his elbow had caught her in the middle of her back during the initial scuffle. Her right hand was already banged up from her altercation with the insurgents earlier. If she hadn’t been ready for it, this guy might have knocked the wind right out of her instead of merely nailing her between the shoulder blades with his elbow. Her cheek throbbed from where he’d managed to catch her with the edge of his hand in the struggle. It proved danger didn’t exist exclusively outside the wire.
Beside her, Randall, the other Security Forces member she’d been paired with for this shift, hauled his own impaired suspect to his feet and looked at her with amusement. “You need a hand?”
“No.” The bruise on the front of her ribs from when she’d blocked an insurgent’s kick a fraction of a second too late ached with each breath she took. Her pride hurt worse though. She’d underestimated the slender, quiet teenager when she’d taken him into custody. A constant reminder that she couldn’t afford to ever drop her guard, though she’d surprised the hell out of him when she’d suddenly taken him down. This drunk guy too.
“Didn’t look like it, but thought I’d ask,” Randall said with a chuckle.
Pausing only long enough to brush the dirt off her ACUs, Maya reached down and unceremoniously hauled her prisoner to his feet. The man stumbled and weaved a moment before finding his balance. His blood alcohol level had to be off the charts. Facing a possible discharge or criminal charges would sober him up quick enough.
“I didn’t do nothin’ to deserve being arrested,” he grumbled, his words slurred.
“You got drunk, started a brawl in the middle of the MWR and busted someone’s face open,” Maya shot back. “Then you resisted arrest and tried to tangle with me. Now do us all a favor and just get in the vehicle without causing any more problems.” She gripped his beefy upper arm and forcefully steered him to the waiting Humvee she’d just ridden in on. Stuffing him in the back beside his buddy, she slammed the door shut and climbed into the passenger seat.
Randall slid behind the wheel, wearing a big grin.
“What?” she demanded.
“That was so awesome.” He shook his head. “Felled the guy like a two-ton tree. All five feet of you.”
“I’m five-four-and-a-half.” People always underestimated her because she was small. She took pleasure in making sure they only made that mistake once.
“Yeah, okay.” Chuckling, he drove to the detention center. After dropping off the prisoners where they would sleep it off in a holding cell until they were dealt with in the morning, she headed across the base on foot toward the B-hut she shared with three other women. Well, technically two now, since her buddy Ace hadn’t returned to Bagram yet.
One of her roomies, Honor, was reading on her bunk. She sat up and drew her shoulder length red-gold hair to one side, eyeing Maya’s face with curiosity. Her cheek must be swelling. “What happened to you?”
“Somebody took exception to me arresting them,” she muttered, angry at herself for not blocking the blow quicker.
“Apparently. Want some ice for that? I’ve got a cooler with bottled water and sodas I brought in last night.”
She flexed her right hand, which pulsed in time with her face. Was gonna be damn sore in the morning. “Nah, I’m good. What time does your shift start?”
“In another hour. I’m finishing up an overhaul of a hydraulic system on yet another old Chinook.”
“Sounds like fun,” Maya said dryly. She liked Honor and their other roommate, Erin, well enough, but it wasn’t easy for Maya to get close to people. Ace had been her best friend, her only real friend. She missed her like crazy.
“Hey, don’t knock it ’til you try it.” Honor tossed her book aside. “By the way, any word from Ace yet on when she’s coming back?”
“In her last email she said it looks like they’re gonna have her come back in another few weeks to finish her tour. They wanted to let the last of the media interest around her story die down before then.” God knew the media had hounded her ever since word got out that a senator’s daughter and her gunship crew had gone missing in enemy territory just before Thanksgiving.
“And what about Ryan?”
Ace’s man, a CCT with the ground team that fateful night, was ultimately responsible for getting her out of a lethal situation alive. “He’s still here. I saw him last week over at the MWR.” Maya nodded at the cooler at the foot of Honor’s bunk. “Can I steal a water before I go?”
“Sure, help yourself.”
“Thanks.” She snagged one and stuffed a change of clothes into a bag. “Have a good shift.”
With the bag draped over her shoulder, Maya chugged half a bottle of water and rolled her head around to ease the tension in her neck as she began her walk. The muscles in her upper back were knotted and stiff, as well as the knuckles on her right hand. The bruise on her ribs felt tight and sore. All in a day’s work here at Bagram. A hot shower was definitely in order. Her reaction time had been too slow today. She would push herself that much harder next time she trained in the sparring ring.
The base was busy as ever this Saturday morning. The constant noise of aircraft engines and other vehicles formed a background noise she’d become accustomed to within a few days of arriving at base for her third tour in Afghanistan.
As she walked, a different sound carried over the relatively warm early March air. Faint strains of music. A piano. Passing the end of a long supply warehouse, she noticed a crowd had gathered over by where they’d set up the stage for the USO show happening the following night. She paid it only passing interest, looking forward to that shower and some rack time before she went out on patrol again tonight.
Then she heard the voice.
A man’s voice. Deep and smooth, singing an old Dean Martin song.
She stopped abruptly, a prickle of awareness flashing across her skin. Something about that voice was familiar, made her heart beat faster.
It can’t be him.
Pulled by some sick sense of morbid curiosity, she pivoted and strolled toward it. The stage came into sight. Whoever the performer was, he was both playing and singing. Already the crowd was growing. Maya approached the edge of the sizeable audience, staring toward the stage. Whistles and cheers rose up to mingle with that incredible voice.
She stayed back from the throng of onlookers, only partially aware that she was holding her breath. Someone pushed their way through the horde of admirers, clearing a path, and Maya got her first good look at the singer. Her hand tightened around the plastic water bottle until it crunched in her grip.
Shit, it
was
him. That PJ, Staff Sergeant Jackson something-or-other she’d tangled with after Ace was rescued. For a moment her mind went blank in surprise, then flashed back to when he’d confronted her in the hospital hallway that day the CSAR crew had brought Ace back. When she’d had enough of his flippant attitude, she’d lost her temper. She’d muttered unflattering things about him in Spanish, and the normally silent and taciturn—and apparently Spanish-speaking—pararescueman had whirled on her, caging her against the wall with his arms on either side of her head. In that instant, she’d realized how badly she’d misread him. His long, powerful body had been only inches away from her, close enough that she could smell the wintergreen mint on his breath and feel the heat coming off him.
She might not remember his last name, but for damn sure she’d never forget his first one. Not after he’d permanently burned it into her brain with six words that had woken every feminine atom in her body and still did every time she thought about them.
My name is Jackson
, he’d growled, his dark eyes daring her to defy him
.
Say it.
And oh, yeah, she’d said it. In a slightly breathless whisper that was completely unlike her. That surprising display of dominance and authority he’d shown still had the power to make her shiver.
Those deep brown eyes had blazed with a potent mixture of anger and arousal as he’d pinned her to the hospital exam room wall. The memory sent a tremor of feminine need rolling through her. That day she’d caught an intriguing glimpse of the warrior beneath that polite, Southern boy image. She was woman enough to admit she wanted to see a lot more of it, though she’d die before ever letting him know.
Watching him on stage now, she still didn’t know how to read him. It was hard to reconcile the man in front of her with what she knew about his job. Being a Pararescue Jumper was one of the toughest jobs in the military. The training was so ridiculously hard that very few candidates ever graduated from the Pipeline in the first place. At just over three hundred active duty members, their tiny number said it all.
God, the man could sing. Since he hadn’t noticed her, she stayed, eyeing his T-shirt clad broad shoulders and muscled back as he played. Until that day in the hospital, she hadn’t been able to envision him doing any of the dangerous things PJs did. She could now. That confrontation had been one hell of a wake-up call.
Maya was startled to realize she was smiling. His voice was incredible. Smooth and deep, with no hint of his usual Texas drawl. She’d never have guessed he had a talent like this. The man always surprised her, and it was captivating as hell.
He kept his gaze on the piano rather than the audience, hands gliding across the surface of the keys, that hypnotic voice striking a chord deep inside her. The timbre of his voice was intimate, warming her from the inside out. When the song faded away to the mad applause and screams from the female members of the audience, he looked over his shoulder at someone off stage.
Facing away from the mike, his voice barely carried enough for her to catch the words, “Get enough for sound check?”
His new fans wouldn’t have it. “Encore, encore!” they chanted, even some of the men, clapping and whistling in unison until it seemed like everyone but Maya joined in.
Jackson faced the audience and offered a boyish grin, a little shy, as if he wasn’t used to the attention. Hot. “One more?”
“More, more!” they chanted.
“All right, one more,” he said in that gorgeous Texas drawl that made her think of long, hot summer nights spent relaxing on screen porches with pitchers of sweet tea and ceiling fans revolving overhead.
But mostly it made her think of long, lazy sex. The kind that would last all night and leave them both sweaty and too sated to move.
She shoved the thought from her head to halt the wave of arousal flooding her veins and refocused on him at the piano. A slight breeze ruffled his short, nearly black hair.
He launched into another ballad, and this time Maya recognized “Danny Boy.” The sad, poignant lyrics drifted into the air, his clear, mellow voice raising goose bumps all over her skin. He had everyone there riveted, including her.
As though he sensed the weight of her stare, partway through the chorus he glanced up from the keyboard. When his bottomless brown eyes locked on hers, he faltered for the barest of moments, a single heartbeat. He recovered fast, and continued gazing right at her as he sang. It felt personal, as though he was singing to her alone. Then he smiled a little. A sexy, secret smile aimed right at her, and her heart fluttered. In that instant, she knew they were both thinking about him pinning her to that wall. About what might have happened if they’d had more privacy and he’d acted on the sexual energy arcing between them.
Damn.
Her stomach did a tiny somersault. Held by the quiet intensity burning in that hot gaze, she was trapped. Couldn’t look away.
A powerful current of sensual heat swept throughout her body, making her tingle all over. The crowd dissolved away as her vision tunneled on him. He was singing to
her
as his long, strong fingers caressed the keys. Watching those lean, strong hands move, she wanted to feel them drifting over her bare skin just as smoothly, for her body to be the center of that focus. He was both protective healer and lethal warrior. Which would he be in bed? Gentle as his hands were on those keys? Or fierce and demanding, giving over to the unquenched fire she’d seen burning in his eyes that day?
The tantalizing prospect started a curious melting sensation low in her belly.
Jerking herself from her wayward thoughts, she raised one eyebrow at him and gave an impressed nod. His grin widened a fraction before he finally looked away. A strange sense of disappointment hit her and she felt colder all of a sudden, as if the temperature had just dropped.
When the song finished, she was sad to see his performance end. This time he stood and waved at the crowd, that charming smile in place as he shook his head to politely decline their demand for more. Someone else came on stage with an acoustic guitar and set up to play. Jackson hopped down from the stage with an easy, athletic grace she appreciated, and headed right for her. She stood her ground, surprised that her heart was pounding. He made his way through the crowd, pausing only to smile and say a word or two to the people who spoke to him. Thanking them for their enthusiastic compliments, no doubt. Someone had sure taught him nice manners.