I’m very excited to be featuring the release of Night Hush, from my good friend and writing bud, Leslie Jones. It sounds great and I can’t wait to read it.
In this gripping and action-packed debut, an Army Intelligence officer and a Delta Force soldier must race against the clock to stop a catastrophic terrorist attack…
When Army Intelligence Officer Heather Langstrom’s military convoy is ambushed and she’s taken prisoner, she knows she’ll need all her strength and courage to survive, escape her captors, and report the whispers of unrest brewing in the Middle East.
Delta Force Captain Jace Reed isn’t one to throw caution to the wind, but when his team stumbles upon beaten and weak Heather fleeing the terrorist training camp they’ve been dispatched to destroy, he’ll risk everything to get her to safety.
Once back on base, they learn her convoy’s ambush was no accident…she’d been targeted. As the evidence of an impending attack mounts, Jace and Heather uncover a deadly terrorist plot that could kill hundreds of civilians.
But Jace’s protective instincts and Heather’s fierce independence put them at constant odds. And as they close in on the extremists, they must learn to trust one another in order to save innocent lives…even if it means sacrificing their own.
Date: Unknown. Location: Unknown.
The uncertainty was the hardest. The waiting. He would come again, that was a given. He enjoyed her pain, her fear. Her panic. When he tramped into the room, loudly, deliberately, already laughing at her, Heather felt almost relieved to be done with the suspense. Almost.
“Filthy American whore.”
She tried to remain strong, she really did.
She rose on shaking legs, lifting her chin with what bravery she could muster. Standing made her feel less vulnerable, but she couldn’t stop herself from shrinking back against the coarse mudbrick wall. Her shoulders, numb from being pulled behind her for so many hours, screamed in agony as she tried to use them.
He fell silent, the twisted bastard. Stalking her in the small space. Tacitly urging her to run, to try to escape. She strained to hear what her blindfolded eyes couldn’t see. Any inhalation. Any noise.
He gave her a clue. A scrape of a heel. An expelled breath.
When she’d first been captured, she’d been defiant, aiming solid kicks where she thought he stood. When she missed, he laughed. When she connected, he beat her. Now, days later, she merely stumbled away from him, keeping her back to the wall, trying to avoid his fists.
The stink of sour sweat was her only warning before he rushed her, crowded her, pressing his body to hers. His odor penetrated the stench of urine and rotting food that permeated her prison cell. She twisted away from the wall to avoid being pinned. He grabbed her hair, which had long since fallen out of its French braid, then allowed her to wrench away, scalp stinging, dread pulsing with each thud of her heart. Disoriented, hampered by the ropes digging into her wrists and the tight blindfold, she tried to find the wall.
He went soundless again. Circling her. Stalking. Playing with her until she screamed her fear and frustration. Her impotent fury. Her screams were no longer the battle cries of a soldier, an officer in the United States Army. Instead, she sounded desperate, pitiful.
He came for her, his scraggly beard and traditional wool headdress rough against her face as his hard hands bit into her shoulders.
Heather didn’t know how much longer she could hold on. She was nearing the limits of her endurance; she could feel it.
How long had it been since she’d been captured? Days and nights of little sleep, little food, little water. No sanitary facilities.
And him. Always him.