Archive for the ‘Delos Series’ Category

EXCERPT #3 DANGEROUS by Lindsay McKenna

May 13, 2018

DANGEROUS by Lindsay McKenna EXCERPT #3

Sloan Kennedy is a badass and she makes no apologies for it.

Sometimes it is more dangerous to try and love someone who walked away from you than facing a firefight….

DANGEROUS by Lindsay McKenna
Book 10, Delos Series
Release: 5.14.18
Pre-order now!!!!

EXCERPT 3, Chapter 1

Sloan…
Dan missed her so damned much he couldn’t put it into words. He’d met her at Bagram, at a canteen. She was an 18 Delta combat medic attached to a Special Forces A team, one of the few women in that role. But damn, that woman knocked him off his feet, grabbed his heart, and never let it go.

Closing his eyes, he finished off the last of his beer. Just thinking about her again, about their torrid affair with one another, made him feel hope. But the crash changed everything. Stretching out on the old couch, he pushed his legs to the other end of it, settling his head against the arm of the sofa. He closed his eyes.

Sloan…

Even as he was coming out of the worst of his nightmare, he remembered their love affair. He pictured her oval face, those kind, understanding gray eyes. He could still feel her long fingers sliding across his body. She had poured all her nurturing care into him, and it made the dirtiness, the terror, and shame he carried over the helo crash, dissolve. And she’d been his until he’d been a jerk and walked out of her life without an explanation. He had no one to blame but himself. Like everything else in his life, he destroyed the good.

Dragging in a ragged breath, he felt sleep taking hold of him again. Sloan…I miss you so damned much. I wish I hadn’t been such a coward…I’m sorry I hurt you. You saved my life that night. You and your team. And I repaid you by walking out of your life and never telling you why.

Grief slid through him, wrapping around his slowly beating heart—grief over losing Sloan. She had been so damned special, and cool and calm in a firefight. He could still remember her whispering words of hope in his ear as she’d leaned over him, trying to stop the bleeding from his shattered right arm that night. Dan knew he was bleeding out from that bullet wound he’d sustained in the cockpit. They could have all died that night, but the captain of the A team got them out of there and into one of the thousands of limestone caves that peppered the Hindu Kush, hiding them from the Taliban.

Dan remembered everything from the days in those darkened caves. The Taliban were crawling around the mountains, hunting them. If the Army tried to send another helo in to rescue their sorry asses, it would have been destroyed.

Through it all, Sloan had tended him. They had been lovers for a year and a half before that, still going together when Dan crashed and got wounded.

The last thing Dan thought as he drifted off into an exhausted sleep was that the joke was on him. It was all his fault that he’d lost the only woman he’d ever, truly cared about, and he ended up living to remember it all—every last detail of that night whether he wanted to or not.

BACK COVER COPY:

Sloan Kennedy and Dan Malloy met at Bagram and shared a passionate month-long affair. Their relationship was supposed to be no strings, but Sloan fell hard for the Night Stalker pilot. Things changed after the two were involved in a rescue mission that ended in the death of Dan’s co-pilot. Riddled with guilt over the accident and the loss of his friend, Dan walked away from Sloan and his military career.

Four years later, Dan is a pilot for Delos, flying team members to their various charities in Sudan. When chatter starts up that terrorists are targeting one of them, Dan is assigned a security escort from Artemis on his next mission. He is shocked when his bodyguard turns out to be the woman who has haunted his dreams for years — Sloan Kennedy.

Thrown together again, old feelings bubble to the surface, but danger is lurking nearby. Sloan and Dan will be lucky to walk away from this mission with their lives-and hearts-intact.


Sloan Kennedy was a badass and made no apologies for it.

LINKS:

Apple/iBooks
https://linkmaker.itunes.apple.com/en-us/details/1360421515?country=us&mediaType=books&term=Dangerous+by+Lindsay+McKenna&type=ebook

KOBO.com
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dangerous-66

BN.com
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dangerous-lindsay-mckenna/1128209201?ean=2940159028648
Come visit me at: http://www.lindsaymckenna.comStay tuned for the next excerpt!

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DANGEROUS by Lindsay McKenna EXCERPT #2

May 9, 2018

DANGEROUS by Lindsay McKenna EXCERPT #2

Sometimes it is more dangerous to try and love someone who walked away from you than facing a firefight….

DANGEROUS by Lindsay McKenna
Book 10, Delos Series
Release: 5.14.18
Pre-order now!!!!

EXCERPT 2, Chapter 1

One moment, Dan was conscious in the flailing helicopter. The next, his helmet was struck hard, snapping back his head against the seat, the force of it stunning him into semi-consciousness.

He heard the A-team leader screaming at him to egress. Groggy, he barely lifted his eyelids, his NVGs still in place. He saw several members of the team sprinting toward the wounded helicopter now on the ground. They were screwed. This bird wasn’t going to ever get off the ground again. More noise, screams, and orders, filtered through his semi-conscious state. Trying to unsnap the harness, he found his wounded right arm wouldn’t work. Pain raced up the limb as he fumbled with the clip, trying to get it to release. The smell of fuel was everywhere. The blades were slowing down, the engines off. But he hadn’t been able to reach the fuel bladders to shut off the fuel to the engines. Kerosene was leaking into the helicopter now, the smell making him nauseated. One bullet…one bullet could blow this thing up, and they’d become an instant fireball.

Dan tried weakly to escape, but couldn’t. He felt more than saw two A-team members squeezing into the cockpit area. His brain wouldn’t work. He tried to tell them Andy was wounded, but all that came out was a grunt. The pain was so bad that he felt faint from it. Someone leaned over him, instantly releasing the buckle, the harness opening. Whoever it was, quickly helped him get rid of the nylon straps and he was being hauled out of his seat and into the area behind the cockpit.

He heard things. A woman’s voice? He knew that voice! It was Sloan Kennedy. What the hell? And then, someone jerked the cord from his helmet out of the ICS, and he heard nothing more. Bullets were snapping and flying all around them. The helmet protected Dan’s ears up to a point; all sounds were muffled. He couldn’t make out what was being said by the two soldiers who were dragging his sorry ass out of that helo, trying to save his life. And then, Dan lost consciousness because his wounded arm slammed into the opened door, the agony arcing upward, swallowing him whole.

Jerking into an upright position on his soaked bed, his breathing came in ragged, harsh gasps. He pushed his shaking fingers through his short black hair. Moonlight filtered through his second-story apartment. A commercial jet was taking off from the airport nearby, the sound of the engines vibrating through the thin glass of the open window near his bed.

Damn!

He got up and gripped the dresser nearby, hanging his head. All of the emotions he felt the night of the crash coming back, gutting him once again. He needed a cold beer. Dan glared at the clock on the dresser. It was three a.m. He forced himself out of the tiny bedroom and down the narrow hall to the bathroom. He stunk of fear, sweat still rolling down his chest, the adrenaline making him feel like someone had ripped the skin off his body, leaving him vulnerable to everything about that crash years earlier.

Would the crash ever stop replaying in his dreams? Dan fumbled for the light switch. The bathroom was small, like everything else about this apartment. A cockroach raced up the yellowed wall opposite the plastic-enclosed shower stall. He slammed his palm against it, killing it. The little bastard. The apartment swam with cockroaches. They infested everything, no matter what he did. Never mind the landlord piled garbage outside the building half a story high, and the garbage truck never came around once a week, as it should. He hated Sudan for its lack of basic cleanliness. But it was better than the alternative. People lived in grass huts with dirt floors around them in most places. Here, at the port on the Red Sea, there were stucco homes, but only the rich could afford them. Everywhere else it was squalor, and tents made from pieces of corrugated aluminum. He’d seen this in Afghanistan. Now here.

Dan wanted that beer—he craved it—but he needed a shower first. He felt hot, sweaty, and fevered, turning on the tap for cold water. In October, the heat in Sudan still climbed into the eighties during the day and hovered near seventy-five at night. His air conditioner, if it could be called that, was barely working.

The tap water was tepid but felt damned good as it poured over him. He tipped his head up, eyes closed, his hands on either side of the stall to stop himself from falling because his knees were still shaking. Dan appreciated the water like it was life itself—and in Sudan water was life in this mostly desert country.

He opened his eyes because when they were closed, it dragged him back into the crash—the smells, the sounds, the icy coldness biting into his flight suit covered body. He shook with tension, his breath slowing, but still uneven as he oriented himself to the here and now.
This friggin’ nightmare always hit at full moon time, at least once, sometimes twice in a seven-day period. Those nights were raw, and he bled from his soul. Hot tears jammed into his eyes, and he pressed his brow against the shower stall, closing them, their salty trails spilling into the corners of his opened mouth. He never cried. Not ever. But every time the nightmare happened, he cried no matter how hard he fought against it.

Because of him, Andy had died in that crash when an AK-47 bullet struck his chest. Both A-team medics tried to save his life as the firefight blazed around them, but it was no use.

He was passed out as two of the Special Forces team members carried him out of that helo. He’d awakened minutes later, one medic working over him, the other, working over Andy. Dan could still hear Andy’s gasps and cries. He would never forget that night or the pleading from Andy. That crash was his fault.

His wife Sable was without husband now and their two little girls, Olivia and Karen, without a father. His two crewmen in the rear had also been injured, but not half as bad as Andy and Dan. Andy died an hour later. The rest of them survived to remember it.

God, if only I’d hammered that bird to the ground. Why didn’t I?

Dan felt destroyed by that one question. If he’d stuck the bird, the Taliban wouldn’t have had the target they acquired. Their bullets would have hit the rear side of the helo. Everyone would have been protected to a degree. Andy would still be alive.
He was such a screw-up.

Stay tuned for the next excerpt!

BACK COVER COPY:
Sloan Kennedy and Dan Malloy met at Bagram and shared a passionate month-long affair. Their relationship was supposed to be no strings, but Sloan fell hard for the Night Stalker pilot. Things changed after the two were involved in a rescue mission that ended in the death of Dan’s co-pilot. Riddled with guilt over the accident and the loss of his friend, Dan walked away from Sloan and his military career.

Four years later, Dan is a pilot for Delos, flying team members to their various charities in Sudan. When chatter starts up that terrorists are targeting one of them, Dan is assigned a security escort from Artemis on his next mission. He is shocked when his bodyguard turns out to be the woman who has haunted his dreams for years — Sloan Kennedy.

Thrown together again, old feelings bubble to the surface, but danger is lurking nearby. Sloan and Dan will be lucky to walk away from this mission with their lives-and hearts-intact.


Sloan Kennedy was a badass and made no apologies for it.

LINKS:

Apple/iBooks
https://linkmaker.itunes.apple.com/en-us/details/1360421515?country=us&mediaType=books&term=Dangerous+by+Lindsay+McKenna&type=ebook

KOBO.com
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dangerous-66

BN.com
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dangerous-lindsay-mckenna/1128209201?ean=2940159028648
Come visit me at: http://www.lindsaymckenna.comStay tuned for the next excerpt!

DANGEROUS by Lindsay McKenna EXCERPT #1

May 1, 2018

Sometimes it is more dangerous to try and love someone who walked away from you than facing a firefight….

DANGEROUS by Lindsay McKenna
Book 10, Delos Series
Release: 5.14.18
Pre-order now!!!!

EXCERPT 1, Chapter 1

What the hell! Dan Malloy groaned in his sleep, his body covered in perspiration, the bedsheets twisted and caught between his lower legs. His breath came hard and fast. It felt as if his heart was going to rip out of his chest, the pounding so loud that it sounded like kettle drums pulsing in his ears. He heard the blades of the MH-47 Night Stalker he was flying. Heard the calm voice of his copilot, Lieutenant Andy Gantry, talking to the Special Forces A team hidden nearby in the inky darkness on a rocky slope in the Hindu Kush mountains. They had been out for nearly three weeks hunting HVTs, high-value targets.

The winds were erratic, trying to toss the bird around. His Nomex gloves were soaked as he gripped the cyclic and collective, his booted feet playing lightly on the rudders, trying to bring the helo in and not crash it.

His teeth ached, he was clenching them so tightly, his entire focus oriented to the green dials in front of him, trying to land safely to pick up the twelve-member team. The weather was stormy and quixotic, trying to throw Dan off course. Below, through his NVGs, he saw the chem lights tossed out by the A team to show him where to land. Sweat trickled down his temples. His nostrils flared as he smelled the kerosene used to power the MH-47. His only focus was landing this damned thing. Lightning flashed, blinding him momentarily.

Shit! Blinking, Dan halted his descent, trying to give his eyes time to adjust.

He knew that Taliban often camped for the night in nearby wadis that ran vertically up and down the rugged slopes of these mountains—and there was one within a thousand feet from where he needed to land. Dan wished for an Apache escort and an overhead drone right about now, but none had been available. A drone had infrared capability and would have been able to pick up the heat signature of anyone hiding nearby. The MH-47 had that same capability, but that instrument went belly up halfway to their assigned LZ, landing zone. Now, they were blind, and it bothered the hell out of him.

Dan mentally cursed, knowing that the inclement weather conditions would have torn the drone apart with the sixty-mile-an-hour wind gusts pummeling his helo, throwing it off course from landing, again and again. The storm was racing directly down at them—and it was a violent son-of-a-bitch. But Night Stalker pilots, the cream of Army aviation, were expected to fly through all weather conditions to pick up a black-ops group. These were brave men and women who got the job done, despite the challenges and potential life-and-death of their assigned mission.

His eyesight came back, and he began to breathe again, nudging his helo forward toward the landing zone once more. In the back of his mind, he knew if Taliban were camped in that nearby wadi that they could throw an RPG and AK-47 bullets at his bird. They would aim for the rotor assembly to stop the blades from turning. The MH-47 had two rotors, and one sat up near the pilot’s cabin, the other was near the rear of the helicopter. If either were hit by a bullet, they’d crash–and they’d all die.

Son-of-a-bitch. He’d been on hellacious missions before, but this one took the cake in his many years of experience. Thunderstorms would pop up at the most unexpected times simply because these dragon-toothed mountains made their own weather. Right now, he was at nine-thousand feet on a steep scree slope. The A team had found the levelest spot for them to land, but it was not level at all. They’d done the best they could, being hotly pursued by Taliban. Landing on a slope was perilous. It was possible, but with a thunderstorm looming over them, and the possibility of tangos in that nearby wadi, Dan knew they were trapped between a rock and a hard place. His chief gunner had the ramp down and was sitting behind the fifty-caliber machine gun, looking for the enemy.

Andy’s calm voice continued to give him directions and elevation. There was so much that could go wrong. His body was so tense Dan thought he might snap in half. His fingers ached, the perspiration making them slippery.

Come on…come on…

He focused again on the chem lights, tiny green dots on the black skin of the mountain slope. The wind gusts were powerful, and the bird shuddered violently. The engines changed and deepened, Andy played with the throttles between their seats, trying to give Dan the power he needed to neutralize the gusts.

Everything slowed down to movie frames for Dan as he eased his reluctant helo forward. Closer and closer, he inched the thumping, vibrating beast toward the LZ. Just let me get to it. Let me land without incident. His ears were keyed to the sound of the engines. The adrenaline raced through his bloodstream, heightening his clarity, making him aware of all sounds, smells, and sensations until his whole world became his senses. It gave him an edge. It allowed his hands to make the subtle moves on the instruments to get the bird on hard ground.

“Over LZ,” Andy reported calmly. “Ten feet…nine feet…eight feet…”

He couldn’t just swiftly plop the helicopter down. No, it had to go carefully, or he’d get into hover-out-of-ground effect, which meant the invisible cushion of air that the helo rode on, was suddenly gone. If that happened, the MH-47 would drop like a rock out of the sky.

“…seven feet…”

God, let me get this bird down. Let me get it down safely.

His hands ached, feeling like a raptor’s claws frozen around the instruments as he prayed to keep that cushion of air between them and the uneven, rugged ground. Sweat stung his eyes, and he blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision.

“…six feet…”

“…five feet…”

“…three feet…”

Dan felt the tires touch the slope.

At the same moment the bird touched down, a seventy-mile-an-hour gust slammed into the helicopter. Instantly, Dan felt the cant to his right, getting knocked over. His feet and hands acted in a blurred dance as he lifted the bird into the air, leaping skyward, trying to stop the blades from churning into the slope, shattering them into hundreds of razor-like pieces. He had no choice but to turn the helo, so the cockpit faced that wadi as he tried to grab ascending air coming up the slope to give him a lift instead of crashing.

Suddenly, the Plexiglas across the cockpit exploded inward. Thousands of small fragments rained down around Dan. He heard Andy give a squawk of surprise.

They were being attacked!

More bullets poured into the cockpit, singing past his helmet. He heard Andy scream. Heard sudden orders being roared to him by the A team on the ground.

And then, the fifty-caliber machine gun blasted through the darkened interior of the bird, hammering like pulses against Dan.

He took a huge risk, dropping the bird six feet. The helo slammed into the ground.

Dan groaned, the harness biting deeply into his shoulders as it hit the rocks. He saw the A team hidden nearby, firing their rifles in the direction of the wadi where the Taliban were attacking. He wanted to curse. There was no time!

The bird bounced up into the air. Dan used every skill he had to control the helicopter’s wobbling hop off the slope. Somehow—God only knew how—he got it back down on the earth, but it wasn’t where he was supposed to land.

More bullets snapped furiously through the cockpit.

Dan felt his right arm, the one holding the cyclic between his legs, go numb. When he tried to move it, there was no response. He felt warm blood pouring down his arm. Tried to force his limb to work. The helo was being brutally hammered with AK-47 fire.

Dan yelled at his two crewmen to egress. He swiftly shut down the engines, seeing Andy slumped to his left, his helmeted head resting on his chest, the harness still holding him in the seat. He needed to escape with Andy.

Suddenly, the whole night lit up with an RPG being fired. It missed the MH-47 by six feet, but the wall of fire raced toward the opened cockpit. Rocks sailed like missiles through the broken Plexiglas, striking Dan.

One moment, he was conscious. The next, his helmet was struck hard, snapping back his head against the seat, the force of it stunning him into semi-consciousness.

Stay tuned for the next excerpt!

BACK COVER COPY:
Sloan Kennedy and Dan Malloy met at Bagram and shared a passionate month-long affair. Their relationship was supposed to be no strings, but Sloan fell hard for the Night Stalker pilot. Things changed after the two were involved in a rescue mission that ended in the death of Dan’s co-pilot. Riddled with guilt over the accident and the loss of his friend, Dan walked away from Sloan and his military career.

Four years later, Dan is a pilot for Delos, flying team members to their various charities in Sudan. When chatter starts up that terrorists are targeting one of them, Dan is assigned a security escort from Artemis on his next mission. He is shocked when his bodyguard turns out to be the woman who has haunted his dreams for years — Sloan Kennedy.

Thrown together again, old feelings bubble to the surface, but danger is lurking nearby. Sloan and Dan will be lucky to walk away from this mission with their lives-and hearts-intact.


Sloan Kennedy was a badass and made no apologies for it.

LINKS:

Apple/iBooks
https://linkmaker.itunes.apple.com/en-us/details/1360421515?country=us&mediaType=books&term=Dangerous+by+Lindsay+McKenna&type=ebook

KOBO.com
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dangerous-66

BN.com
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dangerous-lindsay-mckenna/1128209201?ean=2940159028648

RELEASE DAY! Sanctuary by Lindsay McKenna

February 1, 2018

RELEASE DAY! Sanctuary by Lindsay McKenna
Book 8, Delos Series
Romantic Suspense

Excerpt #1
https://wp.me/pBmdA-DpR
1.28.18
Exceprt #2
https://wp.me/pBmdA-DpV
Excerpt #3
https://wp.me/pBmdA-DpZ

Chapter 1 from Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/Sanctuary-Delos-Book-Lindsay-McKenna-ebook/dp/B0774RG6S1/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1517494725&sr=8-1&keywords=Sanctuary+by+Lindsay+Lindsay McKenna

CONGRATULATIONS to all my readers who have impatiently waited for this ‘edge of your seat’ book!!! Happy reading!

#3 EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT from Sanctuary by Lindsay McKenna!

January 31, 2018

Sanctuary by Lindsay McKenna
Delos Series, Book 8
Release Date: 2.1.18

Pre-order now!
Paperback, ebook and audio

Tucking her phone into the white straw purse hanging over her right shoulder, Teren nodded. Again, women here never led the way; rather, they followed the men. She was curious about Nolan having been in Sudan before. He walked like he owned the place, but it wasn’t arrogance. It was utter male confidence of the finest kind. She’d seen that same type of confidence in Captain Taban, the man who had won her deepest respect. It was quiet authority that no one dared breach or challenge. And yet, when Nolan barely turned his head, she saw his profile, felt his protectiveness envelop her even though she was a few feet behind and to the left of him.

Farida, Kitra’s director, had been urging her to leave and go stateside, back to her family home in Somerset, Kentucky, but to do that, Teren would have to revisit her past. She’d grown up in the small town, mostly full of devout Christians, and their set of morals and values were strong and unwavering.

She’d honestly tried to live up to that impossibly high bar of expectations but had failed. Not only had she paid for it personally, she’d also lost the baby she’d been carrying. Teren had been profoundly shamed by her family, who had lived in that area for over a century. The generations before her had been hardworking farmers, plowing the land, raising cattle, and keeping their large families fed. To go home was to resurrect a past between her and her parents and the townspeople who lived there. None of them ever forgot-or forgave her for-the sin she’d committed.

Teren had tried to go home once, but after a few days, she felt the shame, the guilt, the horrible grief of loss, and she’d had to leave. And all the friends she’d grown up with were now married and had housefuls of children.

And here she was: single and alone-and lonely. But not lonely in all ways, because Kitra soothed her wounded heart and scarred soul. Her family loved her. They had tried their very best to move beyond their intractable beliefs to forgive her. Some days, Teren believed they had done it. Other days, it was painfully clear that the people in the community had not forgiven her for her actions. She was the town’s “bad girl” and her reputation was forever ruined. It was a sin that kept on giving, and kept resurrecting itself every time she was home. It was just too much for her to deal with.

As she passively followed Nolan, her mind lingered painfully on the past. Could it be that this crazy feeling had taken over because she hadn’t been home for the last three years? Talk about confusing! Teren had her life all sorted out, organized, every hour accounted for. She was needed, respected, and loved at Kitra. In fact, the village would plunge into chaos if she weren’t there with the magic of her computer skills, her knowledge of electronics, and the world at large, far outside the country of Sudan. Here, she had a sense of purpose and knew she made a positive difference, and that meant everything to her. She worked closely with women who had been badly abused, raped, or kidnapped and forced into sex slavery or marriage. Teren felt lucky in comparison to them. All she’d received was abuse and the loss of her baby. These Sudanese women, with fear embedded beyond their eyes, had fled to Kitra to heal, to be protected from abusive husbands and families, to learn a trade and then be able to confidently start their lives all over again.

Their children would not starve. The women would not be beaten again, or end up with a nose or ear cut off, or have acid thrown into their faces because they were “bad wives” to their husbands, or worse, stoned to death.

The village of Kitra was Teren’s life preserver, just as it was for the Safe House Foundation, whose entire reason for being here was to act as a protective haven for such women, no matter what tribe, skin color, or nationality they were. If they came to the gates of Kitra, small children or babies in arms, Farida’s team took the young mothers in. Then they were fed and received medical care, as did their children. Each woman was given a hut of her own, clean and with rugs on the hard-packed clay floor, and mats, mosquito netting, and sleeping bags for all. She was then taken to Samar, the female psychologist, who was thirty-five years old, but seemed like she was a thousand years old to Teren. Samar had even helped her sort out much of her own guilt and shame.

Her mind moved forward as they left the escalator, and she saw Nolan read the overhead sign written in Sudanese Arabic, telling him which carousel would be dumping out his luggage.

Teren again noted how few women were here at the airport. She disliked certain Sudanese traditions and longed for the freedom not to wear a tob or other concealing garments. Instead, she longed to throw her leg over a horse and wear her beloved jeans and sleeveless tees. She could do that at Kitra, but not outside the walls of the village, where she again adopted the bearing of a meek, subservient woman. It was the only part of working in Sudan that she rebelled against. On most days Teren could handle it, but on other days, not so much.

At least she had the freedom of American clothes and she could move freely about the huge, enclosed, thriving village. It felt wonderful. Right now, she longed to be back within the embracing walls of Kitra, wanted to tear this tob off her body, and toss it aside. But to do something that stupid would land her in Sharia court, and more than likely she would be publicly whipped or stoned to death for her insult to Islam.

There was just something about Nolan Steele that made her feel rebellious and want to throw off the trappings of her soiled past so she could feel free once more.

Nolan turned and eased the handle of his laptop bag into her hand. “Hold this for me for a moment? I see my luggage.”

Her fingers curved, closing around the canvas and leather handle. “Sure.”

He smiled at her then, that same deep warmth gleaming in the depths of his eyes, nurturing the spark of hope he seemed to bring her. Hope for what, Teren wasn’t sure, but there it was. Nolan walked toward the baggage carousel where she saw two green canvas bags. Vaguely, she remembered Ayman’s having had one too. They were called duffel bags by the U.S. military, if she remembered correctly. She watched as Nolan easily pulled them off the carousel, one in each hand.

“You okay carrying my laptop if I carry these?” he asked, halting in front of her.

She smiled faintly. “If I can wrestle a hundred-pound sheep to the floor of the shearing shed, I think I can handle a ten-pound laptop. Let’s go out those doors to your right. The parking lot is just across the roadway, and my hafla is nearby.”

“Sounds good. I’ll lead the way.”

Teren realized Nolan knew what a hafla was: a minibus that had a flatbed component, the most prevalent vehicle in and around Khartoum. She hadn’t been looking forward to teaching her security contractor about Sudanese customs after he arrived, and it was a pleasant surprise to know that he knew Sudan and its conventions.

Often, she had to drive into Khartoum to pick up items that required a flatbed truck. Kitra had no fancy cars, and her hafla had no air-conditioning in this ninety-five-degree Fahrenheit heat.

Teren breathed another sigh of relief as Nolan moved out of the cool air-conditioned terminal and into the dry, scorching sun overhead. She wondered what else he knew. How often had he been in Sudan? And why? Teren had lots of questions for him.

The corners of her mouth curved as she held the lightweight, floaty hijab to her head. It would be a sin in this country to have it slide off, revealing her hair.

http://delos.lindsaymckenna.com/book/sanctuary/

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT #2 Sanctuary by Lindsay McKenna

January 30, 2018

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT#2

Sanctuary by Lindsay McKenna
Delos Series, Book 8
Paperback, ebook and audio

Teren wasn’t prepared when she spotted him at the exit doors of customs, along with several other Sudanese businessmen dressed in their robes. He was moderately built, wearing a tan T-shirt beneath a loose-fitting khaki jacket and trousers. Their eyes briefly locked upon one another, and Teren’s heart began to accelerate. He was here! Why did it feel like a homecoming instead of a first meeting? Her lips moved and then tightened, and instead, she lifted her hand.

He gave her a bare nod, his eyes narrowing, and every nerve in her body reacted to that swift, intense perusal he gave her.

And then, just as quickly, he lifted his chin, his gaze sweeping around the noisy, busy airport. She had the distinct impression he was actually a lordly leopard in disguise, calmly surveying his kingdom, not a stranger coming to a strange country. He walked like a hunter, light on his feet, avoiding any living animal in the immediate vicinity.

She watched in amazement as he threaded his way through the crowd. He moved like water flowing around rocks, disturbing nothing, gaining no one’s attention. Teren’s respect for him as a security contractor rocketed.

His shoulders were broad, squared with pride, his hand on a single bag that appeared to hold a laptop. His right hand was free. And as his gaze swept to her once again and briefly halted, Teren felt in that one, scorching moment, he had memorized her from head to toe.

It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t lust. It was something indefinable, but just the power of it stirred up the heat simmering in her lower body. Once he was clear of the bustling crowd, his gaze locked on hers once more, and Teren felt as if she were being surrounded by such intense protectiveness, it stole her breath away.

Protection! It had been so long since she’d felt safe. So long…and he seemed to be invisibly embracing her, the sense of safety he radiated even stronger the closer he drew to her.

For once in her life, Teren found herself speechless. Their gazes clung to one another, and something passed between them that made her throat tighten. She fought back old, wounded emotions as she absorbed the look in his eyes, feeling his quiet authority and power. Now she lifted her chin and realized that, on some level, she didn’t want him to step away from her. It was the craziest, most out-of-this-world sensation she’d ever felt!

Almost dizzied by his palpable masculinity as he drew to a halt about four feet away from her, she stared up at Steele-gawked was more like it. Teren suddenly felt like an innocent eighteen-year-old who held all the hopes of the world in her heart.

Steele was a stranger. Ex-military. Black ops. So different from the world she lived in that what he was bringing with him was alien to her culture. Then his eyes warmed as he smiled down on her, and she felt heat sheeting through her, arousing her dormant body, ripping away all her fear, the sense of danger that always hovered around her. She felt a fire sparking to full life deep within her body, as if on some unknown plane of existence, she was meeting him after a long absence.

“Ms. Lambert?”

His voice was low and quiet. The vibration, though subtle, tingled through every cell within her. Teren barely nodded. “Yes.” The word came out smoky and soft, so unlike her. Nolan Steele brought out her female quality with just his mere presence.

Looking deeper into his eyes, Teren didn’t see arousal or lust. What she saw, however, was even more powerful: gentle understanding and yes, compassion burned in his eyes, aimed directly at her. How could that be?

She felt tongue-tied, scrambling inwardly to snap out of that magical cocoon he’d just woven around her. The feeling left Teren unsure of herself-normally, she exuded a quiet confidence wherever she went. Whatever magic he possessed made her feel excruciatingly female, and she gratefully absorbed it.

Steele gave her a wry smile, his eyes crinkling, the lines in the corners deepening. “Are you all right? You look a little dazed.”

Teren felt heat burnishing her cheeks. She never blushed, but she was now. She managed an apologetic, “I’m sorry…long day.” Well, that wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth. “The heat, too.” She lifted her hand gracefully toward the automatic doors.

“Understandable,” he agreed with a nod. Holding out his hand, he said, “Nolan Steele. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Lambert.”

His large hand engulfed her thin, narrow one, and the touch of his callused palm sliding against hers sent wild electric sensations up her lower arm. His fingers were long, strong, yet gentle, as he lightly squeezed her hand in return. Teren felt his latent strength, reminding her once more of that proud leopard who, while in repose, looked tame and nonthreatening-but he wasn’t. Skin against skin she sensed much more and couldn’t hold off images that had nothing to do with a simple “hello.”

Unsteadily, Teren pulled her hand free, her skin vibrating with his energy. “Do you have luggage?” she asked, trying to restore the impression of competence she’d brought with her.

“Yes.” He broke contact with her flawless gray eyes, which brought to mind the color of the sky just before dawn. “I’ve been here before, and baggage is that way.” He pointed in the direction of the highly polished hall that led to the right.

She blinked, her mind slowly returning online. “You have? I mean, you’ve been in Sudan before?” The way his lips parted in a grin, part boyish, part secretive, told her that Nolan wasn’t wearing his game face. He was being genuine.

Wyatt had warned her that she probably wouldn’t be able to read him or know what he was thinking or feeling. But that wasn’t true, at least not here and now. It was as if they were both standing before each other, exposing themselves boldly and fearlessly. She could almost feel his essence, and it swept her away in a glorious cloud of heat, light, and promise.

“Yes, ma’am. In fact, I’ve been here too many times,” he assured her. Nolan knew better than to cup her elbow and guide her down the massive, gleaming hallway leading to the escalator down to baggage. This was a conservative country, and a strange man could not touch a woman. Only family could touch family, and even then, it mattered which person in the family it was. Earlier, when they shook hands, any passerby would automatically think they were related and from the same family. They would think nothing of the greeting. Nolan gestured and said, “This way.”

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Release Date: 2.1.18!
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EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT from Sanctuary by Lindsay McKenna!

January 28, 2018

Sanctuary by Lindsay McKenna
Delos Series, Book 8
Paperback, ebook and audio
Release date: February 1, 2019

Back Story:
Shy country girl Teren Lambert is used to being in the background…and she likes it that way. After losing her innocence-Teren lives with the guilt of that fateful day. She only feels whole helping the women and children at the Delos Charity’s Kitra Safe House in Sudan. But her new bodyguard brings to life feelings within her thought long dead. He is her sanctuary.

Ex-Delta Force operator Nolan Steele knows the agony of losing someone he loves. And it’s something he never wants to relive, so he guards his heart as strongly as he guards lives. But though he fights against it, he can’t help but be drawn to Teren’s quiet beauty. While on a mission to protect her and the women at the safe house, Nolan sees a familiar pain in her soulful eyes. Can he find the strength to love again?

EXCERPT:
Teren waited patiently outside the customs area at the Khartoum, Sudan, airport. She had her cell phone in hand, scrolling through messages from her two office assistants. Her mouth tugged at the corners as she looked up at the double doors, expecting Nolan Steele to come through them at any moment.

His color photo flashed on her screen. He had an oval face and large, hawkish marine-blue eyes that reminded her of the ocean’s depths. His mouth was something else-sensual, yet firm. He was almost painfully good-looking-far too handsome for his own good! He probably had an ego the size of Jupiter. She hoped not, because the moment the email from Wyatt Lockwood had appeared on her laptop, her whole body reacted to the stranger’s photograph. Those eyes…so full of secrets and, Teren sensed, pain. It didn’t appear on his unlined thirty-year-old face, but it was there.

She was just a year younger than him. She thought back to when she’d been an idealistic eighteen-year-old, filled with hope and the belief that the world was essentially a good place. She found out differently later that year and after her own traumatic experience, Teren had quickly revised her views about men. From that time on, they had been creatures she couldn’t understand or relate to. She’d become gun-shy around them, and now, over a decade later, she still felt that way.

But as she studied Nolan’s face, Teren felt her heart slowly begin to open, like petals on a lotus. Not wanting to feel like this, fighting it, she clicked her phone’s screen off but left the phone on, because he had her phone number in case they missed each other here at the busy, crowded airport.
A potpourri of spicy scents filled the air. Men wore either light-colored silk business suits or the traditional jalabiya, a loose-fitting garment, collarless, ankle-length, and long-sleeved. Some wore caps, others turbans. Because it was August, a season of dry, blistering heat, the jalabiyas were either white, cream, or tan, made of cotton-linen or silk, to deflect the burning rays of the sun outside this air-conditioned facility.
She nervously smoothed her tob, a head-to-toe gown of white cotton topped by a white silk hijab, the traditional scarf Muslim women wore over their heads when in public. She wasn’t Muslim, but Teren tried to fit in, not stand out. Knowing how dangerous it was to be a white, American woman in this third-world country, she didn’t want to draw attention to herself any more than necessary.

Normally, she wouldn’t have been here waiting for someone at the airport. She liked the red clay walls that surrounded Kitra, the sense of safety that was always there because Captain Ayman Taban ran his security force like the military man he’d been for twenty years.

So, where was this Steele guy, and was that even his real name or a cover one? After talking with Wyatt by sat phone, she knew he was going to be her personal bodyguard, and that he was ex-military, but Wyatt hadn’t said anything more than that. Tapping her slippered foot, Teren began to feel restless. She didn’t like being out in such a huge, bustling area with so many men and so few women. She knew she’d stand out because of her lighter skin.
In Khartoum, she dressed conservatively, the niqab, over her brow and nose, only a slit for her eyes, trying to hide her skin color. Here at the airport, her face was fully visible, the scarf draped around her head, neck, and shoulders. Steele had to be able to identify her once he came through the doors of customs. Sudan wasn’t a safe place in many areas and it was especially dangerous to a woman who stood alone without a male escort in tow. Too many terrorists were lurking around, and it always made her tense. Her nervousness this afternoon was heightened because she felt inexplicably drawn to Nolan Steele.

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Apple/iTunes/iBooks
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BOXCAR CHRISTMAS by Lindsay McKenna blog and contest!

January 5, 2018

BOXCAR CHRISTMAS by Lindsay McKenna
a deep, incisive blog on why I wrote this book. And there’s a giveaway contest as well!

http://harlequinjunkie.com/spotlight-giveaway-boxcar-christmas-by-lindsay-mckenna/

http://www.lindsaymckenna.com

CONTEST from Lindsay McKenna, January 1-6.2018!

January 1, 2018

Happy New Year to all my readers!!

Welcome to my contest page! I will be hosting giveaways monthly—plus on all the major holidays! Check back often. Contest open to readers worldwide.

PRIZE:
2 AUDIO BOOKS!
FORGED IN FIRE
And
It’s sequel
NEVER ENOUGH

FORGED IN FIRE, Book 3, Delos Series
Pediatrician Dara McKinley loves her job. So how could she say no when her sister asks her to come to Kabul for a few weeks to offer medical assistance at a local orphanage? Terrified of the dangers surrounding her, Dara finds unexpected solace in the protective arms of Sergeant Matt Culver. Transfixed by the warrior with the exotic gold eyes, can Dara overcome her fears? Sergeant Matt Culver has always listened to his instincts, and they have yet to steer him wrong. So when he sees the alluring blond belly dancer at Bagram’s annual holiday show, he knows without a doubt that she’s “the one.” Now he just has to convince her to take a chance on him…and love. If they survive…

And NEVER ENOUGH, sequel to Forged in Fire, 3B1, Delos Series

Novella: When stunning Dara McKinley, a visiting pediatric physician, arrived in Afghanistan to help needy children, she had no idea that Delta Force Sergeant Matt Culver would not only win her heart–he would also save her life during an attack by the Taliban. Now, the couple is ready for a much-needed vacation in Hawaii, eager for days and nights of passion and relaxation. But once again danger stalks them. Dara knows she’s in good hands with Matt beside her, but her fears rise again that she and Matt can lose each other as they face an unpredictable new enemy..

January 01 – January 06, 2018
Winner will be announced on January 07, 2018 on the Lindsay McKenna Facebook page. If you aren’t subscribed to me on this page, you will NOT miss being the winner because I’ll be emailing you as well!

http://lindsaymckenna.com/contest/

Good luck!!

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT #3 OF CHAPTER 1 BOXCAR CHRISTMAS by Lindsay McKenna

December 18, 2017

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT #3 OF CHAPTER 1 BOXCAR CHRISTMAS by Lindsay McKenna

Exclusive excerpt #3

12.18.17

Travis Ramsey was behind the counter of Ramsey Fishing Guides when the bell above the door tinkled, telling him he had an early morning visitor. His fishing guide business was mostly dormant during this time of the year and he had little to do over the coming winter months. Next April when the snows left the Bitterroot Valley where Hamilton sat, fishermen from around the world would stream in to take advantage of the world-class trout in the creeks and river. Looking up, he saw a young woman, her short black hair emphasizing the paleness of her features. Straightening, he saw her look around the large, two story building. As her blue gaze met his, he frowned. She was wearing an Army jacket. A real one, with patches that he quickly recognized. Had she bought it at an Army-Navy store or was she the real deal? She was tall, her shoulders thrown back, wearing a heavy Army rucksack on her back. His gaze dropped to her long legs wrapped in denim to her boots. Those were Army boots. There was something about her, a sense that she was probably ex-military. So was he.

“Can I help you?” he called, walking toward the end of the maple counter that had been in his family since the late 1800’s. He saw her blue eyes narrow upon him, silently evaluating him. There was a glittering intelligence in them, something he rarely saw outside the military. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her rucksack curved across her shoulder. He’d been a Delta Force operator and missed nothing. If she was ex-Army, she didn’t act like office personnel at all. No, she was carefully assessing him on every potential level as he was her. There had been women in Delta Force for over a decade. She certainly behaved like an operator and his respect for her was already amping up. He halted at the end of the counter. “I’m Travis Ramsey. How may I help you?”

The woman looked disheveled, but clean, her clothes showing wear and tear. Something pinged his intuition as she headed toward him, her lips set in a line that suggested she was afraid of his response to whatever she wanted or needed from him. Travis couldn’t prove it, but he never dismissed an intuitive hit. It had saved his life way too many times.

“I’m Jesse Myers. I was walking in the woods along the Bitterroot River when I saw a red caboose in the nearby meadow. I went to the county Recorder’s office here in Hamilton to find the owner and they said it belonged to you.” She hesitated and then said, “I’m looking for a place to rent. I have a part time job at Katie’s Koffee Bean down the street. I can’t afford much, but I would take good care of that boxcar if you’re open to renting it to me.”

Stunned by her request, he nodded, watching fear and hope alternate in her eyes. “You did your homework.”

Jesse managed a weak smile. “It’s my nature. I fell in love with the caboose and thought it would be a great place to stay. I’m not making enough money to rent something in town, yet. I could clean it up, maybe paint it and repair some of the things inside and make it livable once more. I’m pretty good with mechanical and electrical stuff.”

Travis liked her low, husky voice. She might be fearful that he’d say no, but she stood her ground and kept good eye contact with him. “You have family around here?” Hamilton was a town of four-thousand plus people and he knew all of them because his family was one of the first to settle in this town.

Shaking her head, she said, “No, sir, I don’t. I was born and raised in Billings, Montana, and that’s where my folks live.”

Things didn’t add up. “And you’ve come to Hamilton to get a job?” Travis knew there were no jobs after tourist season, which ended in late September and didn’t begin again until the first of April. Everyone who worked here was seasonal. What was her story?

“Yes, sir, I have. Growing up, my parents favorite place to go for a weekend or a vacation was Hamilton. I’ve always loved this small town, the people, and how it’s surrounded by nature.” She gave a slight shrug. “I’m not a city person even though I was born in Billings. I need the outdoors, the woods, the water and the quiet.”

She appealed to him on so many levels that Travis felt momentarily rocked by that unexpected awareness. Jesse’s short hair was mannish in cut and that triggered something in him that he hoped to explore with her. “Listen, I’ve got an espresso machine at the rear of the store. Why don’t we go back there, have a cup of coffee and we can talk?” He gestured toward the front door. “There isn’t going to be anyone coming in today. I just bought a half-dozen fresh pastries from the Las Palomas Bakery next door. Let’s talk further in my office?” He wasn’t looking for a woman, but damned if Jesse Myers didn’t call strongly to him, man-to-woman. She was clearly mature for her age, had morals and values because she went to the county office to find out who owned that caboose and then asked to rent it. He’d seen some vets who passed through the area in the summer who squatted and used the caboose, never asking if they could stay there or not. He liked her honesty.

“Well…”

He gestured toward the other end of the store. “Come on. It’s early and I don’t know about you, but hot coffee is something we can all use this time of morning.” Military people were coffee hounds of the first order. He saw her eyes widen momentarily, those thick dark lashes emphasizing them. Pleased, he saw the offer appealed to her.

“Sounds good, Mr. Ramsey.”

“Call me Travis and you can put the ‘sir’ away, too. I’m ex-Army. Are you?” he asked, walking down the length of the counter. He met her at the other end and opened the door to the tourist area of the shop. The waiting room was large, lots of wooden chairs with cushions spaced neatly around the perimeter. At one end was a long table filled with paper coffee cups, boxes of assorted teas, sugar, cream, and spoons, and a very expensive espresso machine. “Put your rucksack on a chair and have a seat,” he invited. Partly shutting the door, he went and turned the machine on. “Coffee? Espresso? What’s your poison?” He grinned a little, wanting the tension she carried to dissolve. He saw her gently set the fifty-pound pack on the floor next to the chair where she sat down.

“Just plain coffee is fine. Black. Thank you.”

Her manners were all military and Travis nodded, getting busy making her that coffee. “Reach over and grab yourself a donut or two,” he said, pointing to a box near where she was seated. “Help yourself. Alex Delgado, the daughter of Hector and Maria, now runs the bakery and she’s known as the queen of pastries around Hamilton. They all taste great.” Jesse was a tall, big boned woman and he noticed how the wrinkled Army jacket hung on her frame. He saw her look wistfully at the pastries and lick her full lower lip. Her hands were taut against the thighs of her jeans. She was hungry. The realization hit him hard. In black ops, it was the little things, jigsaw puzzle pieces that alone, didn’t tell much. But as an operator in Afghanistan for far too long, it was all these tidbits that came together to paint a fuller picture of a situation. Or in the case of Jesse, that she was definitely an Army vet. There was no question in his mind about that.

Further, she had hesitated momentarily at the door to the coffee room to thoroughly evaluate it. This told him she was clearly an operator, not some office assistant. Maybe she was an Intelligence officer or maybe an operator out in the field like himself? When she came into the room after sweeping it thoroughly in a moment with her gaze, she deliberately sat down in one corner, at the end of the table, her back up against a wall, facing the only exit door. An operator always did that. As he put the coffee into the machine, placing a white paper cup beneath the spout, he began to cobble more of her story together in his head. If she’d been in combat, more than likely she had PTSD. The fact that she wasn’t at home after leaving the Army told him that. He had many friends, ex-Delta operators, who had their marriages go bust after coming off a deployment because of the years of accumulated PTSD and being unable to adjust to civilian life again. They couldn’t go home to their parents, either, because they wouldn’t understand the flashbacks, the nightmares, and the ongoing anxiety they carried in them 24/7/365, either.

His mouth flexed in sympathy as he watched her from the corner of his eye. She rose in one fluid motion and picked up a paper napkin, her long, elegant looking fingers hovering over the mouth-watering array of pastries. When she leaned over, her jacket opened and he saw she was wearing a desert tan shirt he was very familiar with. It was an operator’s shirt, with camouflage print on both long sleeves and a tan torso core of one color. Yeah, she was black ops, no question.

“Where were you stationed in Afghanistan?” he asked, turning and placing the steaming brew on the table next to where she’d sat down.

Jesse froze for a second, transfixed by the man’s large, slightly narrowed gray eyes as he buttonholed her with that question. His dark brown hair was cut military short, his beard clipped close, showing off his square face and giving him an air of dangerousness. Trying to slough off her shock that he knew what she was in the Army, she replied, “Nangarhar Province.” Tensing, she saw several emotions flit across his face. How the hell would he know that about her? She hadn’t answered his question earlier about being in the Army. The chocolate éclair teased her wide-open senses. Her mouth watered. The scent of the sugar, vanilla pudding and chocolate was too much to resist and she bit slowly into it, savoring it as if her life depended upon it. Closing her eyes, she made a humming sound in the back of her throat. The world stopped in that moment as she tasted the luscious, thick chocolate coating. He finally swallowed, feeling it hit her hungry stomach, the urgent amount of strength that it created within her as the glucose shot into her system.

Slowly, her senses moved outward once more and she heard Travis tinkering with the espresso machine, the fragrance of chocolate surrounding her as the machine hissed and steamed. Opening her eyes, she saw he was making a large mocha latte. He was a tall man, at least six-foot-tall and broad shouldered. The blue plaid flannel cowboy shirt he wore stretched against his powerful chest, with a black leather vest worn over the shirt. He was someone who was in top shape, probably in his late twenties, she would guess. There were a lot of crinkles at the corners of his gray eyes, telling her he was outside a lot. She liked his short dark brown hair that sported reddish strands among them.

She decided to take a closer inspection of him because no one was a mind reader. His hands were large, square and calloused. When he made a gesture, she saw that he sported a thick callous on the inside of his right index finger, his trigger finger. Black ops all had that telltale sign. She had it on hers, as well. And he might have spotted it on her hand after she’d removed her gloves. When she’d come into the store, she’d seen him suddenly shift almost invisibly, into a heightened space of alertness aimed at her. It was nothing obvious, but her senses were far too honed not to pick it up and now, she was beginning to put together that this man standing in a cowboy shirt, jeans and scarred, well-worn leather boots, was black ops himself, not regular Army–otherwise he wouldn’t have recognized who she was. Questions came, but she sat on them. Right now, she needed a place to rent. Besides, he’d probably find her personal questions rude.

END OF INSTALLMENT #3!

Stay tuned for next Monday’s installment #4 BOXCAR CHRISTMAS on 12.25.17!!

Have you missed the 1st Exclusive Excerpt?
Go here: https://wp.me/pBmdA-Dpt

Have you missed the 2nd Exclusive Exerpt?
https://wp.me/pBmdA-DpC

If you missed Lindsay’s Blog on the “Story behind the story” of BOXCAR CHRISTMAS?
Go here: https://wp.me/pBmdA-Dpp

Happy Holidays!

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