Terrorist Force Logistical Assault Command was conceived on a very long, very smoky return flight from Italy many years ago. Eight T-FLAC, and six T-FLAC/Psi books, and two new series later, I’m back in the world of terrorists and hot sexy espionage. I had SO much fun writing this book, it was like being back with old (incredibly sexy lol) friends.
If you haven’t read any of my books – let me sum them up quickly for you. Running-chasing-shooting-wild monkey sex-action-adventure. A little over the top-a lot sexy.
Ice Cold is no exception. You’ll find some familiar faces in this adventure, as cyber-geek Honey Winston and seasoned operative Rafael Navarro confront an ice cold tango determined to bring T-FLAC to its knees.
Here’s a little taste to whet your appetite. . .
T-FLAC operative Rafael Navarro will never allow another woman to suffer the consequences of his dangerous life. But in a world where a terrorist can do more damage with a keyboard than a bomb, he needs the expert help of a cyber-geek. And fast.
Fellow operative, and cybercrimes specialist Honey Winston prefers computers to people. But when a serial bomber threatens the world’s financial infrastructure, she’s forced to work closely with Navarro, whose notorious skill in the bedroom is as legendary as his dexterity defusing bombs.
Honey and Rafael must fight sparks hot enough to melt their resolve, and push beyond fear itself, as they join forces in a bid to race the clock before a sinister and lethal bomber proves just how much they both have to lose.
T-FLAC is back, and the timer is counting down in the most pulse-pounding explosive op yet—
EXCERPT:
Montana
January 8th
Her assailant came out of the darkness hard and fast. T-FLAC operative Honey Winston hadn’t heard a damn thing. She let out a hiss of indignation as the man got his shoulder into her belly and tackled her full force before she even realized she wasn’t alone with the corpse. The Mag light went flying one way, her Sig. the other. The light winked out.
Darkness.
Pain.
Damn it to hell.
Twisting to counter the attack, her booted foot slipped on slick, bloody flagstone. Off balance she hit the unyielding floor with a thump. The intruder straddled her, pinning her in place.
Honey shot out both hands, grabbed her attacker’s muscled forearms and tried to wrestle him off her hips. Son of a bitch was immovable. She bucked, trying to wedge a leg between their bodies for leverage. No go.
She didn’t need the smell of death, just feet away, to remind her this guy meant business. She’d barely discovered Jack’s body before the killer returned. Why had he come back? Do to her what he’d done to her boss. A gruesome, violent stabbing that spoke volumes of vengeance, not to mention sloppy workmanship.
If she shifted a few feet she could – maybe- reach out and grab the Ka-Bar sticking out of Jack’s chest. Maybe. But the body was six or seven feet away to her left, and right now- out of reach.
The guy was heavier and a lot stronger than she was, to level the playing field, she had to get a weapon. Surging her hips upward, she managed to shift his weight to her chest. Hard to drag in a decent breath with him compressing her lungs, but it gave Honey the mobility to jackknife her legs up and twist her ankles around his neck.
Slamming her feet, crossed at the ankles, into his face elicited a low grunt, but she didn’t hear the crunch of bone she’d hoped to at least break is nose. If she could get the right leverage, and the right angle, she could stab him in the chest with her five inch heel. Using every bit of strength in her legs, torqueing her body, Honey tried to roll him over so she could have the upper hand, if not the upper foot.
Son of a bitch didn’t budge.
She tightened her ankles around his neck, using the strength of her thigh muscles to maintain the hold as she tried to pull him off backwards. Her lethal heels were tantalizing inches from his throat, but crossed, she didn’t have the power to twist her feet for the right angle to be useful. She’d been trained to kill an opponent this way, but this guy knew the same tricks. That told her a lot. His hand shot out, fingers closing around her windpipe. Pain exploded in her throat and silver stars swam in her vision.
Ignoring the pain and the ability to drag in a much needed breath, Honey dug her short nails into his inner wrist, using her free hand to grab his thumb. Twisting it gave her a few seconds to drag in a breath.
His elbows pressed down on her forearms, forcing her hands harmlessly away and bringing back the sparkling Galaxy of stars.
He was strong, dangerously strong. Even with her ankles wrapped around his throat he managed to stagger upright and lurch to his feet. She swung-head down- between his spread legs, then dropped and rolled before he could grab her again.
Using the momentum, she shot to her feet and rammed her elbow into his jaw. Heard his teeth snap. He countered by twisting her arm over her head, his fingers manacling her wrist as he jerked her body up with him.
Honey kneed him in the balls. Or almost kneed him in the balls, her knee slammed into his upper thigh.
“Coño!”
In a lightning fast move he
grabbed her knee and flipped her back to the floor. From the time he’d entered the dark house to the moment he had her pinned- for the second damned time- to the floor was mere moments.
She was good, damn good. He was marginally better. Pissed her off. She dismissed the bone-jarring, silver star inducing slam to the unyielding floor and fought gravity to regain her footing. Tricky in stiletto-heeled boots. She was like a damned turtle on its back, with him crouched over her, restricting her movement.
Something hard pressed into her left butt cheek. Could it be. . .? Like the fabled Princess and the Pea, she’d landed on her gun.
Now we’re talking!
Standing over her, he twisted her arm until she hissed in a breath of pain. Then, still crouched beside her, he jammed a weapon against her throat. “Up. Slow and easy,” he said. “Hands on your head,” his voice came velvety soft and lethal in the darkness.
It occurred to Honey that the garbage detail would be there any minute in response to her call. But unless she got the upper hand
right now, by the time they arrived there might be
two bodies to clean up.She never asked, or waited for, help. Tonight would not be an exception.
“No more fun and games.” Strong fingers manacled her upper arm and he hauled her to her feet like a bag of horse feed. “
Up.”
Honey’s cheeks burned with anger and- hell yes-
embarrassment. She was a trained operative, for god’s sake, yet he’d managed to get the drop on her. Several times. “Don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, pitching her voice higher and thinner so she sounded frail and girlie. His hesitation was slight. Most men didn’t like hurting woman. It was yet another tool in her skillset. The son of a bitch underestimated her, and she used his hesitation to her advantage.
By the time she was vertical Honey had her weapon digging into the underside of
his chin.
Standoff.
“Wanna see who can pull their trigger faster?” she asked coolly, not flinching as the muzzle of his weapon dug into the flesh beneath her ear. He shifted, and like Siamese twins they moved together, neither letting up on the pressure of muzzle to carotid. He had the advantage of height and weight, but she was a lot more determined to stay alive.
The manacle of his fingers on her arm suddenly withdrew, but before she could act on it, the overhead chandelier blazed to brilliant life.
Honey blinked up at him. Although they’d never met, she instantly knew who he was.
The Spanish Stallion. “Navarro
.”
He looked like he owned the damned planet as he glanced from her face, to Jack’s corpse, then returned to her. A shudder of awareness shimmied through her body.
She disliked Rafael Navarro on sight.
For a moment she remained where she was, muzzle pressed to his jaw. Then dropped her hand as he did the same.
They stared at each other, their breathing slightly elevated by the exertion. His black eyes ate the light, and were completely unreadable.
His lean face was tanned, indicating he’d just returned from sunnier climes. The three inch scar, running from the corner of his left eye and slashed across his cheek, didn’t distract from his rugged good looks, in fact, Honey was sure, the scars only enhanced his sex appeal. He looked like what he was. A warrior. Nose aristocratic, dark eyes deeply set. Glossy, almost stick-straight, black hair brushed his broad shoulders. He wore dark-washed jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up his muscled forearms. He was all about dark and foreboding and looked as though he’d never smiled in his life.
He was a hotshot. A breaker of rules. A maverick.
She was methodical, by the book, and liked order. And men who bothered to shave. At least at the start of an op.
“Winston?” The Spanish in his voice was there only because she expected it. His black eyes flickered again from her to Jack’s body sprawled nearby in a pool of congealed blood.
Thirty-seven knife wounds, and only the last the killing blow, made for a great deal of blood. A male of Jack’s size would have approximately ten to twelve pints of blood in his body. It looked like ten
gallons of blood on the floor. She looked away. And damn it, the only other place to look was at Navarro.
Honey took a step back mirroring his movements as they both holstered their weapons and paused to assess the other. Tucking a probably imaginary, stray strand of pale blonde hair back into her elegant ponytail, she was annoyed to find her heart beating a little fast as his obsidian gaze skimmed over her. “Obviously
I didn’t kill him,” she told him coolly. “Given the eight inch disparity in our heights I would’ve had to use a stepstool.”
“I’m sure there’s one around,” he said dryly. “Question is; who
did?”
Since it was clearly a rhetorical question, Honey didn’t bother responding. She’d track down Jack’s killer personally. She had some free time due. . .None of Rafael Navarro business. “We all have enemies.” Not Mr. Stallion.
He was admired and fawned on and fated and treated like the prodigal son when he deigned to come into HQ. Herself excluded,
everyone wanted to team up with Navarro.
“Enemies don’t stroll into our homes twenty minutes from T-FLAC HQ and stab us multiple times. Unless you didn’t share something in the dossier?”
Honey’s dislike of the man went down two more notches.
She supposed some women would think his height and broad shoulders attractive. Certainly the clerical staff at HQ gave him second and tenth looks on the rare occasions that he came to Montana. Ha! He’d eat them for breakfast then spit their hearts out between his strong white teeth.
Navarro had a reputation that had nothing to do with his- admittedly sterling- rep as a bomb disposal expert. No matter how hard Honey tried not to listen to gossip and the oos and ahhs of it all, it was hard to miss hearing what a great kisser/lover/stallion the Spaniard was.
Catherine Seymour, her mentor and trainer, had once confided in Honey that Navarro had made her come just by kissing her.
Honey gave a mental snort.
As if. Narrow-eyed Navarro was observing the body, giving Honey a moment to look at
him. The bump on the bridge of his otherwise straight nose indicated it had been broken a time or two. The razor-thin, three-inch-long scar, starting at the outer corner of his left eye, and slightly indenting his cheekbone gleamed white in the bright light.
“Sloppy. Rushed. Personal.” Honey observed out loud. “House is empty.” She avoided looking too long at Jack’s body. Her supervisor lay dead on the slate entry hall floor at her booted feet, perforated by dozens of knife wounds. Overkill. The Ka-Bar, eight inches of carbon steel still embedded in heart. “I did a thorough sweep.”
“How long have you been here?”
The left sleeve of his white shirt had come unrolled. Honey itched to tidy him up. Not that she wanted to touch him. She most certainly did not. She liked order. He was anything but. She shoved her fingertips into the front pockets of her tailored black wool pants. “Seven minutes. I was taking him to the airport to meet you. He was dead when I arrived.”
“Yeah. I see that. Did you call it in? Yeah. I’m sure you did.” Navarro cocked a brow giving her time to jump in and let him know if she’d had time to do so.
“Yes, I-” Honey swallowed hard, the only indication that she was in any way moved by the violent death of the man she’d work with for five years. She’d seen plenty of dead people. Plenty of bloody, gory deaths. She’d caused some of those deaths herself in the line of duty. She’d never been affected this deeply. Not that Rafael Navarro would get even a hint how deeply she was affected now. She did her job, didn’t fraternize with anyone she worked with, and minded her own business.
“Recognize the weapon?”
“I gave him that knife for his birthday last year- “ Too personal. None of his business. “What are
you doing here?”
“Control notified me that Jack’s wife called in to say he had the flu and couldn’t meet me.”
“He’s divorced.”
“Yeah,” he agreed dryly. “I know. It sent up a red flag. That’s why I’m here. What do we know?”
“I counted thirty seven stab wounds but I’m sure there’re more,” she told him. “The one to the heart killed him. The others were for show. The alarms were disabled.” He’d known the killer and opened the front door to him. He’d been expecting her. . .
Grabbing a slouchy black leather tote from a nearby table, she removed hand sanitizer and wipes and proceeded to methodically clean the blood from her hands. The adrenaline rush was starting to fade and Honey was annoyed to find her hands shaking. She didn’t want Navarro knowing how freaked out she was over Jack’s violent death.
She turned to find him watching her. Before she thought it through in her usual methodical way, Honey reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him down to eye level. His eyes were almost black, even illuminated by the overhead chandelier.
“Kiss me,” she demanded twisting her fingers into the soft cotton to yank him closer. He angled his head, and obediently pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were firm and cool. He tasted of something dark and unknown.
She did not climax.
ISBN# 9781937774516
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BIO:
New York Times bestselling author Cherry Adair has carved a niche for herself with her sexy, sassy, fast-paced, action adventure novels which have appeared on numerous bestsellers lists, won dozens of awards and garnered praise from reviewers and fans alike. She hates first drafts, has a passion for mentoring unpublished writers, loves Facebook, is crazy about Pinterest and loves to hear from readers.
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