by Alex Ander
After giving her a sharp look, “Oh,” he rolled his eyes and his head at the same time, “come on. I said it was a little tummy bulge.”
Having achieved her goal of lightening his mood, she snickered.
He glimpsed her midsection. “You can’t even see it, Devlin. Honest.”
“I’m just busting your chops.”
He nodded. “I know. And I know what you’re trying to do too. Thank you.”
She smiled.
Randall ogled the funeral-goers who had fanned out and were climbing into vehicles.
For the next few seconds, she joined him in watching those who had paid their respects, her eyes finally settling on her husband sitting behind the wheel of her truck.
“Listen, Devlin, I also came here to give you my answer about the job offer. I wanted to do so in person.”
Turning her head, she half closed an eye at him. “I can’t tell. Is that a good thing...or a bad thing?”
“Well, that depends.” He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and wiggled the remaining digits. “I have three conditions.”
“Okay.” Devlin folded arms below her breasts, turned a pointed, high-heeled toe outward, and shifted weight to her other foot. “I’m listening.”
His forefinger went skyward. “One...I want to carry whatever gun I choose to carry...” he motioned toward her, “just like you and your forty-five.”
“Done.”
Randall’s middle finger joined his index finger. “Two...I’ll follow your lead when we’re in the States, but if we find ourselves in another country, especially a hostile country, you have to let me call the shots.”
Drawing a breath, she bobbled her head left and right. “I’m willing to discuss that.”
He squinted. “That doesn’t sound like a ‘yes’ to me.”
She nodded. “You’re right. But it’s also not a ‘no’ either.”
Staring at her, he rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand. “We’ll table that one for now.”
“Sounds good to me.” She stabbed her chin at him. “And number three?”
“Whenever we go somewhere...together,” he tapped the gold bar keeping his tie in place, “I do the driving.”
“That’s pretty male chauvinistic of you, isn’t it?”
“I prefer to think of it...” Randall made a show of adjusting his tie knot while rotating his head right and left one time, “as being a traditional male.”
Devlin snickered. “All right...I guess I can yield the driving privileges.”
For the next few seconds, the new partners eyeballed each other, Randall barely nodding his head, Devlin showing the trace of a grin; both of them privately speculating on what new adventures the future held.
Randall smiled. “I’m glad to be working with you, Jessica.”
Devlin mimicked his jovial appearance. “And I’m glad to be working with you, Noah.”
“I hope,” curling his fingers, “I’m not overstepping my bounds by...” Randall let his words hang in the air while he extended his balled hand and regarded her. “Take one for you.”
She observed the familiar gesture, her mind showing her an image of Hawkins. Her chest swelled, and her lips disappeared inside her mouth. A heartbeat later, she met Randall’s gaze. “Blake would be honored.” She bumped Randall’s fist with hers. “Not if I take one for you first.”
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Click the above image to pre-order No Good Options (Jessica Devlin – U.S. Marshal Action & Adventure Book #2). Then turn the page for a sneak peek at Jessica’s upcoming adventure.
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Chapter 1
Easy, Tiger
7 may—9:21 p.m.
seattle, washington
Although beat from sitting in front of a computer and crunching numbers for the last twelve hours—her company’s year-end reports were due by the close of the day tomorrow, and her boss had been hassling her to finish them today—Belinda had compelled herself to take the stairs instead of the elevator. Huffing, Any exercise is good exercise, she tugged open the third floor stairwell door and shuffled into the hallway outside her apartment, her two-inch high heels scuffing over the carpeting.
Fumbling with a key ring, while listing to one side to keep a brief bag slung over her shoulder, she sighed. Dinner, she pinched her home’s entry key, or straight to the wine? Either way...if I don’t get some sort of release, she clenched her jaw, I’m going to—
Approaching her apartment door, she glanced at a couple down the hall, groping and kissing each other. The fifty-five-year-old accountant shook her head. These days they can’t even wait to get behind closed doors.
Belinda turned a deadbolt and shoved open the door. This generation is so sexed-up. Pushing the bag’s strap further up her shoulder, When I was younger, we showed restraint, she ambled into her abode. We controlled our passions.
She dropped the leather carrier, shed the top half of her red pantsuit, and pushed on the metal barrier, sneaking another peek at the indiscreet couple. “Carl,” her voice rising, her heart thumping a bit faster, she drew in her lower lip, “are you busy right now?” and shut the door.
*******
With the collar of her half-unbuttoned blouse down to her elbow, her back to her apartment door...
“Carl, are you busy right now?”
...her lips commingling with another’s, Faith glanced to her left, toward the sound of a closing door and her neighbor’s high-pitched voice. Strong hands fondled her while she fed a key into a slot and twisted a brass-colored knob. A beat later, she and a man stumbled into the darkened dwelling, their mouths never parting.
He kicked the door shut, yanked her white shirt from her body, and pushed her against the wall.
Faith’s left butt cheek rammed into a small table, knocking over a picture. A short lamp wobbled, but stayed upright. She pushed him away. “Easy,” she faltered, Steve? Stan? “tiger...we have plenty of time for the rough stuff.”
Tiger pulled his t-shirt over his head.
Kicking off her flats—bringing her to her five-ten height—Faith ogled his hairless torso, bulging and rippling in the right places. What is it with men shaving their chests?
Tiger resumed his oral assault, focusing his attention on her neck.
I mean they’re supposed to have—ooh, she cocked her head to one side, right there, big man. She pulled on the back of his head while removing her gun and holster from her belt and tucking them into the short table’s drawer.
Tiger undid a button and lowered a zipper, and sixteen rounds of 45 ACP in a dual magazine pouch dragged her pants to the floor with a thud.
Faith stepped out of the slacks, grabbed his belt buckle, spun him around, and slammed him into the wall. After clutching his neck and suckling his lips for a few seconds, On second thought... she led him across the living room, fingers tugging on the waistband of his jeans, eyes fixed on the bedroom door, “I changed my mind. I don’t want to wait.”
*******
one hour later
10:19 p.m.
One foot on a mat, the other on the edge of the bathtub, Faith ran a towel over long, athletic legs before patting slender, toned arms with the white cotton cloth, her mind replaying the last hour’s activities with the college-aged kid. She smiled. ‘A-plus’ for stamina...he gave his all. She recalled the time she had spent at the gym earlier in the day. What do you know? I got two workouts in today.
Chuckling, the twenty-eight-year-old draped the towel over the shower rod, took a position in front of the bathroom mirror, and leaned forward. Her pubic bone touching a pedestal sink, she screwed up her face, recoiled, and put a hand to her private area. Maybe I should stick to only ONE per day.
Dipping her chin, she examined her damp, long blonde hair in the reflective surface. Looks like it’s time for... she toyed with the dark strip down the middle of her scalp, some touch-up. Her
hair naturally coal black, she had dyed her mane several years ago to distinguish herself from her older sister. Growing up, both siblings had fooled many people into thinking the two were identical twins.
Faith stepped into baggy shorts before stretching a skin-tight t-shirt over full breasts and a flat stomach. Envisioning escorting Tiger out of her apartment, she grabbed the doorknob, stopped, and scowled at the scale on the floor. “What in the world is his name, anyway?” After a few moments of speculation, she shook her head. This wouldn’t happen if you didn’t bring them back here.
Exiting the bathroom, Faith heard a gurgling sound and pivoted her head to greet the noise. Her skin crawled. Perspiration beads formed on her forehead.
Near the front door, one man stood while a second was down on one knee. Both wore black suits, white shirts, and black ties. Standing to join his partner, the latter male gripped a shiny knife.
Her eyes darted from the blade—glistening red—to the dark-skinned man who held the weapon. Slapping at her right hip and coming up with nothing but her shorts, she glimpsed the table just inside the door, the table that housed her engraved Colt 1911. Son-of-a—
The man with the blade sidestepped the still form at his feet and headed toward her.
Faith ran into her bedroom, slammed the door, and turned the flimsy lock. She put her back to the door and bobbed her eyebrows, That’ll buy me all of ten seconds, before scanning the room for weapons. Two men...one with a knife...both probably have guns. She saw Tiger holding his throat, blood seeping between his fingers. Why would they kill him? They’re both—she shut her eyes and pressed fingers to her temple. You can’t worry about that now, Faith. You need to find something to defend yourself—
A thump came from the other side of the door.
The shock wave reverberated throughout her body. She flinched, inwardly screamed, and gave the room another look before grabbing a floor lamp and yanking the power cord from the outlet. Backing away from the door, she shattered the light’s glass globe against a dresser and aimed the makeshift weapon at the entry point. I’m not going out quietly.
Images of her father, her deceased mother, her sister flashed before her eyes. I love you guys. Make sure you find the S.O.B.’s that did this to me, Jessica. Make them pay for—Faith stood taller. Jess.
The door banged.
She dropped the lamp and darted to the dresser. Scattering items around the surface, she found a scrap of paper. After opening and closing drawers, she ran to her nightstand, plucked a ballpoint pen from the drawer, and scribbled on the white fragment.
Two successive bangs filled the room.
Cringing, she shot a look over her shoulder before finishing her work and folding the paper several times.
A loud crack followed the next blow to the hollow door.
One more solid boot and that thing’s... Faith dropped to her knees, lifted the bedframe, slipped the one-inch square under one of the four posts, and leaped to her feet.
The door burst inward.
She scooped up the floor lamp.
Guns drawn, two men poured into her sanctuary.
Backpedaling, thrusting the lamp at the intruders, she eyeballed their pistols, Of course...Glock 22’s, waiting for the first shot.
The men fanned out.
Faith gaped at them. The one to her left, the one who had held the blade from earlier, was tall and lean. The one on her two o’clock, creeping up to her bedside, Blade’s linebacker-of-a-partner stared at her with black eyes under bushy eyebrows.
Okay, why am I not dead yet? What do they want? She glanced at the mattress and saw herself there from an hour ago. They’re NOT getting that. She swung the lamp toward Linebacker’s head.
He hunched a shoulder, and the bulb shattered on his upper arm.
Blade lunged.
She whipped the lamp around, and the bulb’s jagged glass and sharp metal base opened up a two-inch gash under Blade’s left eye.
Howling, he grabbed his cheek and pivoted toward the dresser.
Faith reversed course with her brass ‘sword.’
Linebacker parried the strike with his right forearm, clenched the lamp’s stem with his free hand, and jerked while sweeping her foot with his.
Faith tumbled and rolled. Landing on her backside, she drew knees to her chest and drove out her legs.
Linebacker redirected the attack upward, spread her feet apart, and fell on top of her, his stomach slapping onto hers, his groin grinding against hers.
The air left her lungs, and she rolled her head to the side, her mouth opening and closing as she gasped for oxygen.
Linebacker pinned her arms to the floor above her shoulders.
Blade ransacked a dresser drawer, retrieved a t-shirt, and held the garment to his injured face, as he made his way to the subdued woman.
Not having taken her first full breath, Faith looked up at the man, pressure building behind her forehead.
He holstered the Glock, flicked open his knife, sat on his haunches, and touched the blade’s tip to her throat.
She sucked in a scant amount of air and swallowed, feeling the cutting tool’s sharp edge pierce the skin under her jawline.
Blade smirked at the growing line of blood on her neck before meeting her gaze. “Be a good girl, Ms. Mahoney, and make this easier on all of us.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Thank You
Trust Fall was a pleasure to create. Jessica Devlin is such a deep, multi-dimensional character with strengths and weaknesses. Her passion for her family is paramount, driving her to be the best at what she does...putting away criminals. Her character turned out better than I could have imagined. I’m anxious to see where her new job takes her.
And Noah Randall is a perfect partner, bringing skills to the team that will make Team Devlin and Randall a force for good in the world. I especially enjoyed Trust Fall’s ending, a ‘passing of the torch’ if you will with Devlin giving Randall permission to use her and Blake’s mantra. I loved that last exchange, last two paragraphs.
Hopefully, you enjoyed reading this novel too. If so, please post a review at your favorite bookseller. I’d be most grateful. And, if you’d like to send me note, then email me at [email protected].
Thank you for purchasing and reading Trust Fall. Without people like you, I wouldn’t be able to do what I do...write clean, positive, fast-paced action stories. Until the next adventure...
Best Wishes,
Alex J. Ander
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Also by Alex Ander
Action & Adventure - Special Agent Cruz
Vengeance is Mine
Defense of Innocents
Plea For Justice
Jacob St. Christopher Action & Adventure
Protect & Defend
Word of Honor
A Vow to the Innocent
Above & Beyond
Jessica Devlin - U.S. Marshal Action & Adventure
Trust Fall
No Good Options (Coming Soon)
Let the Hunt Begin (Coming Soon)
Patriotic Action & Adventure - Aaron Hardy
The Unsanctioned Patriot
American Influence
Deadly Assignment
Patriot Assassin
The Nemesis Protocol
Necessary Means
Foreign Soil
Of Patriots and Tyrants
Act of Justice
The Last Kill
Standalone
The President's Man
The President's Man 2
Special Agent Cruz Crime Series
&nbs
p; Against All Enemies
Watch for more at Alex Ander’s site.
About the Author
Living in the middle of Michigan, Alex Ander writes Action & Adventure/Thriller novels. He has four series in production, focusing on the exploits of the protagonists Aaron Hardy, Jacob St. Christopher, FBI Special Agent Raychel DelaCruz (Cruz to those who know her), and Jessica Devlin.
His writing style mixes fast-paced action scenes with suspense, humor and sharp dialogue. Each book is wrapped up at the end with NO cliffhangers. Characters and relationships do develop and evolve over the course of the series, so it is best to read the books in order.
Mission Statement:
Write fast-paced action thrillers with characters you'll love and clean language.
From the Author:
My goal is to craft stories that entertain and leave a positive, lasting impression on you. I seek to create protagonists with good character, and surround them with allies you’ll want to read about as much as you do the main character.
You won’t find any vulgarity in my work (F-bombs and the like). Yes, an occasional mild, cuss word is used; however, even those are kept to a bare minimum.
And what about graphic sex scenes that leave nothing to the imagination? Nope. Not in my books.
So if you enjoy clean, fast-paced action & adventure stories with humor, crisp dialogue and camaraderie among the characters, then pick up a copy of one of my books today.
Best Wishes,
Alex
Read more at Alex Ander’s site.
