by Ross, JoAnn
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
Praise for the Novels of JoAnn Ross
Crossfire
“The plot is riveting, the characters sizzle, and the ending will blow you away. Not only do the pages singe with passion, but they detonate with heart-stopping action. Trust me, you do not want to miss Crossfire. But keep in mind, once you pick it up, it’s impossible to put down.”
—Fresh Fiction
“[A]can’t-put-down-forget-the-housework-cereal-for-dinner book. The chemistry between Quinn and Cait screams off the page and practically singes your fingers. . . . Make room on your keeper shelf for this one.”
—Romance Junkies
Freefall
“A page-turning mix of danger, suspense, and passion.”
—New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen.
“JoAnn Ross weaves a tapestry of terror like no other author does. You can feel hearts beating in overdrive. . . . You can taste the terror in this seaside village. No author can put words together and tell a story like Ms. Ross. Freefall is a romantic thriller that sizzles with passion and danger. The story is a page-turner leading up to an ending you must read to believe. What an incredible story!”
—Fresh Fiction
“An intense thriller . . . the perfect edge-of-your-seat mystery. JoAnn Ross is one author who delivers and will most definitely blow you away.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“Ross kicks off a searing new trilogy by delving deep into the damaged souls of her two protagonists. Not only does this story follow the trail of a dangerous killer—it also focuses on the strength of purpose required to rebuild shattered lives. All the patented Ross sizzle and drama make [reading] this time well spent!”
—Romantic Times
No Safe Place
“Sizzles with the sensuality and danger fans of her romantic thrillers have come to expect.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A page-turner that plunks the reader down in post-Katrina New Orleans and makes the changes real and immediate. . . . Hop on the Ross Express for a lightning ride.”
—New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard
“A spellbinding read. . . . I was blown away.An amazing author and this latest story proves it, once again.”
—Fresh Fiction
Impulse
“[A] great love story with all the thrills and chills that will have the readers coming back for more.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“Spine-chilling . . . a good mix of suspense and romance.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“[A] suspense thriller with richly drawn characters, a powerful story and a heart-stopping ending.”
—Fresh Fiction
Blaze
“Seamlessly plotted. . . . Ross keeps the heat on right to the last page.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Singes the pages . . . a strong story, rich in characterization.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Dynamic . . . fast-paced, utterly engrossing.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Out of the Storm
“Out of the Storm sizzles! A captivating and entertaining blend of romance, mystery, and suspense.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Out of the Blue
“[An] adventurous, exhilarating story. Danger and intrigue are a constant presence. Highly passionate . . . outstanding.”
—Romance Junkies
“The best kind of romantic suspense: heart-stopping terror and a heart-tugging romance.”
—Romance Reviews Today
River Road
“Skillful and satisfying.... With its emotional depth, Ross’s tale will appeal to Nora Roberts fans.”
—Booklist
“The romance... crackles and the verbal sparring keeps the narrative moving along at an energetic clip . . . delightful.”
—Publishers Weekly
Confessions
“[A] hot, steamy . . . page-turner.”
—A Little Romance
“[T]ouches of humor nicely relieve the suspenseful nature of the intriguing and intricately plotted tale. Bravo!”
—The Paperback Forum
Also by JoAnn Ross
Available from Signet
Freefall
Crossfire
Shattered
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, July 2009
Copyright © The Ross Family Trust, 2009
All rights reserved
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To our military men and women who put themselves in harm’s way around the world so the rest of us don’t have to. Especially MA3 Keith Danalewich, PFC Jason Burk, and from our own family, Specialist Kyle Elliott, and Sergeant Patrick Flory—who, as I write this, is serving his second tour of duty in Iraq. Also to all the families awaiting their loved ones’ safe return home.
In memory of David Elijah Steele, another American hero who tragically died too young in the deadliest helicopter crash involving working forest firefighters in U.S. history.
And, as always, to Jay.
Acknowledgments
Another heartfelt thanks to the fabulous team at NAL, who make writing such a joy, especially my extraordinary editor, Laura Cifelli, who went above and beyond the call of duty for this book.
Thanks also to all the military men and women who were kind enough to answer my questions on various blogs, message boards, and e-mails, particularly submarine Lieutenant Commander Kevin Schultz, who proved a wealth of information about Naval Station Pearl Harbor. And his dad, who generously took the time to weigh in on Tiger Cruise details. Any mistakes or creative liberties I’ve taken are entirely my responsibility.
1
Somewhere in Afghanistan
The Afghan mountains had never been Tech Sergeant Dallas O’Halloran’s favorite part of the world, even before he’d had the bad luck to be on a Chinook shot down by an insurgent RPG not far from here.
But he’d survived that experience, and it wasn’t like he got to choose the missions. Nor did he have any control over the torrential rain that was pounding down like bullets, causing rivers to overflow their banks, creating mudslides, and turning the ground he was slogging through into a quagmire.
An Air Force combat controller, he was accustomed to operating at the sharpest point of the spear. The CCT motto was, “First in, last out,” and since Hollywood didn’t make movies about them, like they did those showboat SEAL frogboys or Delta Force hotshots, very few civilians knew they existed.
Which was just the way Dallas liked it.
A self-professed adrenaline junkie, he’d cleared minefields to allow copters to land, and had even kicked a boat out of a helo over the ocean in the dead of night, free-fallen into the water, inflated the boat, then continued on his mission, occasionally pulling out his M4A1 carbine to help clear the area of bad guys, while still managing to juggle aircraft overhead to keep them from flying into one another.
More than one of his commanders had sworn he could think in four dimensions, and although he never boasted about his exploits, neither did Dallas argue the fact. Not wanting fellow SEAL and Delta Force team members, who could break spines with their bare hands, thinking of him as some geeky brainiac, he also never volunteered that he liked to relax by playing three-dimensional chess.
While programming his laptop opponent, he’d added codes for a few illogical, off-the-wall moves—the kinds Captain Kirk or Dr. McCoy might’ve used to occasionally defeat Spock on the Enterprise—in order to present more of a challenge. Still, over the past six years, he’d acquired a winning record of 96.753 percent.
Tonight his mission was to scope out a village where a downed pilot and Aussie photojournalist were reportedly being held captive by members of the Taliban.
As soon as he and the two SEALs accompanying him ensured that the intel from a captured terrorist—in whose home the pilot’s dog tags were found—was correct, he’d radio in the coordinates and set up his ISLiD, which was military-speak for image stabilization and light distribution unit.
Finally, with the site lighted, he’d use the roll of detonator cord he carried in his rucksack to blow the grove of trees at the edge of the village so that one of the three hovering copters, configured for medical evacuation, could land.
Normally, the SEALs and D-boys carrying out the door-busting part of the operation would fast-rope down to the ground, then, after liberating the captives, would carry them back up to the hovering bird.
But both the journalist’s legs were reported to have been broken in the crash, so HQ had tossed in some Rangers and Marines to help pull the mission off. They weren’t planning to take the village; the purpose of extreme force was to provide distraction—actually scare the freaking daylights out of anyone who might be foolish enough to try to get in the way—and security while the SEALs did their search-and-rescue thing.
Meanwhile, an Air Force Predator would monitor the area, providing a real-time sensor feed.
It had been slow going as they plodded, stumbled, and crawled across mountains once traveled by Alexan der the Great, Genghis Khan, and Marco Polo.
The SEALs’ faces were not just covered in their usual camouflage, but also streaked with mud. Covered from head to toe in the stuff himself, Dallas figured he probably looked just as bad.
The good thing about the lousy weather was that the clouds had blocked out the moon and since the towns-people, driven inside by the storm, lacked military night-vision goggles, it was unlikely anyone would spot them.
Also in their favor was that the enemy wouldn’t expect anyone to be out in such a duck-strangler of a rain.
Anyone other than a freaking madman.
Or a Spec Ops guy.
“It should work,” Lucas Chaffee, a SEAL medic who’d been on that copter with Dallas when it had crashed, said.
“We’ll make it work,” Dallas said.
Although a decade as a CCT had taught him that the best-laid plans tended to collapse upon the first encounter with the enemy, failure was never an option.
The town consisted of maybe fifty mud-brick houses that climbed the hillside, house nearly on top of house. Smoke from woodstoves rose through vents in the roofs, and even through the rain Dallas could smell the odor of dung from the goats baaing in the distance.
They were met at the perimeter of the town by a barefoot, toothless scarecrow of a man sporting the traditional long beard, who claimed that the prisoners were no longer where the intel had placed them. They’d been moved just this morning.
Dallas and the SEALs exchanged an “it figures” look.
After more conversation with Chaffee, whose Farsi was as good as Dallas had ever heard—even better than his own, and he’d always considered himself fluent—the old guy took a stick and drew a rough map in the mud of where they could supposedly find the prisoners.
“Could be a trap,” the other SEAL, who hadn’t said a word for the past hour, warned.
Apparently sensing their distrust, the man assured them, in broken English, that he was “not Taliban!”
Which could be true.
Or not.
He could also be one of about a gazillion other militia groups pledged to one of the more radical mujahideen—local warlords who believed the only good American was a dead American.
“Any guy who’d turn tr
aitor against his own people wouldn’t have any compunction about lying to U.S. forces,” Dallas said.
“If we go in there and meet armed resistance, civilians are going to die,” Chaffee pointed out.
“In which case our collective asses would be grass,” the second SEAL warned.
And couldn’t Dallas identify with that? After dodging an Air Force military court-martial of his own, he’d been required to testify against Chaffee and three other SEALs, who’d made the decision to break the rules of engagement by crossing the border into Pakistan to save a helo pilot’s life.
Although the prosecuting Navy JAG officer had been a hard-ass black-and-white-thinking attorney, Dallas couldn’t help noticing that beneath those tailored white uniform trousers, Lieutenant Julianne Decatur had, hands down, the best ass he’d ever seen on any female, in or out of the military. Since he’d always considered himself a connoisseur of the opposite sex, that was really saying something.
In fact, if she hadn’t been like a damned pit bull while trying to put his best friends behind bars, he might have enjoyed the challenge of melting some of that ice the blond lieutenant had encased herself in.
Bygones, he reminded himself, dragging his uncharacteristically wandering mind back to the mission at hand: how to exfil the hostages without any collateral damage.
The reason they’d brought in the superior force of Rangers and Marines tonight was to ensure that this would remain an NEO, a noncombatant evacuation operation.
