The
first thing you’ll notice if you get a copy of my new release, DEFECTOR, is an
author note. It reads: DEFECTOR
is set in the 90’s, when the biggest enemy the US faced was a potential nuclear
war with the Soviet Union. This particular story is about the machinations of
vying factions to gain the loyalty and support of a US weapons designer, using
any means possible.
For those who don’t know, I used to write thrillers and
suspense stories that won minor awards. Occasionally there was a romantic
element, but for the most part, these stories were focused on political
tensions, and just straight out espionage gone wrong in some cases. And, most
of these stories took place in the late 80s and early 90s, when the political
situation was ripe for intrigues that would affect entire nations.
A few months ago, Midnight Frost Books, a new company in
Western Canada, held a pitch session for their non-romance line. It got me
thinking about those old stories, and how much fun they were to write. So, I
pulled one out and had a look. The first one out of the folder was Defector, so
I submitted the pitch, and they liked it. Enough to contract it once they’d
read it. Edits went smooth, the cover is bloody wonderful, and to my great
shock, 12 hours after it was released this week, it made the OmniLit/ARe
best-seller shelf. As I write this, it is currently sitting at #25 overall in
that category–and I am sitting here in absolute shock. But yes, I am also
thrilled and smiling.
My editor on this project asked if there were more stories
with the irritable and hard-assed Andrew Dahle, and yes, there are at least two
others. Plus a slew of unconnected stories of this style. I may have to drag
them out and revise them, I’m thinking. The whole departure from the steamy
romances has been like a breath of fresh air for me, and I quite enjoyed this
whole adventure into the writing past. In this book/short novella, there is one
female–and she dies on page one or two, if memory serves...
So, if you’d like to, please leave me a comment with your
thoughts on things, and whether or not you’d like to see more non-romance
titles from my catalogue. Thanks for stopping by!! Here’s a look at Defector
and where you can find your copy.
DEFECTOR
Suspense/Thriller
(non-romance)
Blurb:
Andrew Dahle is a career spook, with no messy
emotional ties to complicate his life. He’s worked with the best, and despite
himself, he’s about to discover that he’s got friends he really didn’t know he
wanted.
A straight-forward operation to grab a defector
before he can leave the country with a top secret project goes wildly awry, and
forces Andrew to choose between saving the life of a colleague’s son or nailing
his target. To his great surprise, he saves the young man’s life, and wakes up
in a hospital.
Grateful, Richard MacAvoy, a retired agent with
his own elite contacts and players, steps in when Dahle is injured saving his
son. Desperate to complete his mission, Andrew reluctantly accepts the help
MacAvoy offers, and in the process just might learn that alone isn’t always the
best way to work, and friends might be worth the vulnerability he’s always
shunned.
Excerpt:
“What
have you managed to pull out of your files regarding Yasmine Akhtar’s recent
activities?”
Control
leaned back in his chair with a vaguely amused smile then beckoned Richard into
his office. MacAvoy gave Miriam a broad smile and closed the door as he went
inside.
“Michael’s
not very happy about you involving yourself in the Firm’s business,” Control
admonished, the smile still solidly in place.
Richard
gave the reproach mock consideration, then shrugged expansively.
“Yes,
I don’t suppose he’s overly eager for word to leak that he’s lost the ‘Phantom’
project.”
“Richard.”
This time the disapproval was genuine.
“All
right, Control. Tell me what your computers have turned up about Miss Akhtar.”
“She’s
currently with the Bulgarian Secret Police,” Control told him, a genuine note
of mild curiosity and surprise in the words.
Richard’s
eyebrows rose, his expression echoing Control’s tone. “She’s from the Middle
East, and after the last squabbles her family was involved in, she was left
with only her father.”
“And
where is he located nowadays?”
Control
laughed with ironic humor. “You haven’t forgotten much, have you, Richard? He’s back in Libya.”
“Do
you think the ‘Phantom’ might have been destined for Quaddafi’s arsenal?”
Control
shrugged, his entire manner non-committal.
“There’s
just no way of knowing until Hunter is located. I’m sure the Bulgarians have a
vested interest in this now that one of their better agents has been
eliminated. They probably have Dahle targeted already.”
MacAvoy
felt a distinct jolt as he realized the truth in Control’s words. His
expression must have registered his emotion as Control’s entire posture became
alert and wary.
“Get
someone over to the hospital,” Richard directed as he headed for the door.
“Richard!”
Control’s shout fell into empty air, and he rose, grabbed his jacket and headed
after MacAvoy.
* * *
Andrew
felt the shadows releasing him, the sensation an abrupt, disturbing awareness
that he knew he shouldn’t be experiencing. He trusted the instinctive
alertness, though, and waited for the sound to give him a clear indication of
where the danger was coming from. It only took a few minutes to locate the
source, and Dahle’s eyes flew open just as the needle was being inserted into
the I.V. tube that ran into his arm.
Andrew
pulled the intravenous out as he forced his body into motion that it clearly
objected to. The man hovering over his bed jumped back, his surprise giving
Dahle his only chance to make a useful move.
Andrew
threw himself off the bed and into the man next to it, taking them both down to
the floor with a solid thud. He recovered quickly and landed a jarring blow to
the man’s jaw. In the few seconds it took for the attacker to shake himself
free of the pain, Dahle located the gun inside the other man’s coat. He pulled
it free of the holster and pressed the barrel snugly between the man’s
terrified eyes.
“Who
sent you?” he demanded, the words little more than a rasp. He could feel the
pulses of pain building with each breath, and he knew he’d probably torn apart
whatever stitching the doctors had done earlier.
Dahle
saw the refusal to answer before his assailant tried to offer him a response.
He shifted his hold on the gun, then brought it down against the side of the
man’s head, the action little more than a blur of smooth, practiced motion.
Andrew
staggered to his feet and glanced around the room, suddenly expecting menace
from every angle. He went to the locker and yanked his bloodstained clothes
from the hangers. He dressed quickly, the gun within easy reach as he kept one
eye on the door, then he slipped into position and waited. Instinct and
experience told him there’d be more than one man sent for this kind of job.
This one would have needed a lookout to warn him of possible interruptions by
hospital staff.
He
didn’t have to wait long for confirmation of his assessment. The door inched
inward and Andrew banged the heavy metal panel back on the intruder, causing
him to stumble. With a swiftness that stirred to life all the pain that he’d
been fighting, Andrew reached for the wobbling figure and hauled him into the
room. As the door swung shut on virtually silent hinges, Dahle slammed his
captive against the wall and glared into the dazed features of the startled
man.
He
recovered a little more quickly than his partner and before Andrew could
prevent it, he was struck soundly in the stomach. Gasping, Dahle almost passed
out completely when the man’s fist came down hard on his injured shoulder, and
he lost his grip on the gun he had been holding. He wheeled back and barely
managed to dodge another punch aimed at his vulnerable shoulder. He spun on his
heel, used the momentum, and landed a surprisingly solid kick to the second
attacker’s midsection. He went down on his knees in front of Andrew and Dahle
grabbed a handful of hair, then yanked back with all his strength. He heard the
distinct crack of bones, then released the man to fall into a lifeless heap at
his feet.
Glancing
around him, Andrew knew the room would be crawling with people before too much
longer. He needed to get out of the hospital, and quickly. Picking up the
weapon he’d dropped minutes earlier, he ducked his head around the door. When
he saw no one coming in the direction of his room, he slipped into the corridor
and headed for the elevator.
He
didn’t get to the end of the hall before he heard the sounds of commotion
behind him. The bodies in his room must have been discovered a little more
quickly than he was anticipating. He looked automatically toward the elevator
and realized he wasn’t going to reach it, or the stairs, without being spotted.
His entire body was alive with pain and he could feel the knots in his stomach
twisting tighter as he fought down the agony-induced nausea. He stumbled into a
wall as another wash of dizziness blurred his vision and threw off his balance.
With an effort of sheer determination, Andrew reached for the door knob and
almost fell into the room...
