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From Publishers Weekly The spy games seldom interfere with the love games of the assorted couples in bestseller Brockmann's 14th Troubleshooters Inc. romantic thriller (after Into the Fire ). In San Diego, sassy Troubleshooters receptionist Tracy Shapiro, who's survived several romantic disasters, may have met her match in Lawrence Deck Decker, Troubleshooters' macho team leader. Deck's the former partner of Jimmy Nash, a dead TS Inc. operative, who's actually in hiding with Tess Bailey, his girlfriend and colleague. Also in jeopardy are Dave Malkoff and his fellow op, Sophia Ghaffari, whose heart now belongs to Dave, who'll do anything to protect Sophia and their unborn child. When Dave's kidnapped to smoke out Jimmy, the TS Inc. team and the FBI unite in a rescue plan. While the pillow talk at times overshadows the action, Brockmann fans will cheer as her global problem solvers work out their latest sticky dilemmas, both personal and professional. (Feb.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. From Booklist Troubleshooters Inc. operative Jimmy Nash’s death during a mission taking out a neo-Nazi cult leader changed everything. Not only does team leader David Malkoffxa0feel responsible; he feels even guiltier because now that Jimmy is gone,xa0David may finallyxa0have a chance withxa0teammate Sophia Ghaffari. Lawrence Decker is one of the few people at Troubleshooters Inc. who knows the truth about Jimmy’s “death,” untilxa0thexa0receptionist, Tracy Shapiro, figures itxa0out and complicates things. As part of the group assigned to protect Jimmy, Tess Baileyxa0finds separating herself from the job difficult given her past history and potential future with Jimmy. In the fourteenth installment of her wildly popular Troubleshooters Inc. series, award-winning and best-selling Brockmann picks up the action fromxa0Into the Fire (2008), as assorted characters work together to bring down the mastermind behind a deadly Black-Ops scheme. Once again Brockmann neatly blends high-adrenaline suspense and scorchingly sexy romance into an addictively readable mix. --John Charles Praise for Suzanne Brockmann“Brockmann strikes the perfect balance between white-knuckle suspense and richly emotional romance.”–Chicago Tribune“The reigning queen of military suspense.”–USA Today“Brockmann is an undisputed master at writing military and suspense fiction [with] action, danger and passion all rolled into one.”–Curled Up with a Good Book“Brockmann is a master of adventure, drama, passion, and suspense.”–The Tampa Tribune“Brockman . . . brilliantly combines superbly crafted, realistically complex characters with white-knuckle plotting.”–Booklist Since her explosion onto the publishing scene more than ten years ago, Suzanne Brockmann has written more than forty books, and is now widely recognized as one of the leading voices in romantic suspense. Her work has earned her repeated appearances on the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists, as well as numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America’s #1 Favorite Book of the Year (three years running), two RITA Awards, and many Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice awards. Suzanne Brockmann lives west of Boston with her husband, author Ed Gaffney. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter OneIf Dave had known, before he’d picked up the phone, how much trouble this one call would cause, he would’ve let it go directly to voice mail.But it was Sunday morning, and he was enjoying—very much—the experience of surfing the cable TV news channels from the comfort of Sophia’s bed.He loved hanging out in the bedroom of her little apartment, and notjust because most of the time he was in here of late, he was in the processof taking off Sophia’s clothes.Though she’d lived in this tiny second- floor walk- up for far fewer yearsthan he’d inhabited his spacious and still- spartan condo, she’d turned thisplace into a real home. Her furnishings were unique—quirky, mismatchedpieces she’d picked up in flea markets and painted in the vibrantcolors of the Mediterranean. Rich blues in a variety of shades mingledwith bright yellows, warm reds, and a green that brought to mind the newness of spring. Artwork—some of it her own, and quite good—hung on the walls. The open windows were covered by full, gauzy curtains that shimmered and breathed with the breeze. A ceiling fan was kept always running, moving at its lowest, laziest speed.Last week Sophia had moved the TV into the room for him—an admittednews junkie—and as the phone rang again, he pushed the remotecontrol’s mute button as he shouted to her, in the bathroom, “You wantme to get that?”Sophia had just turned on the water, and as he heard the shower doorclunk shut, she called back, “You don’t have to.”Dave should’ve ignored it and turned off the TV and gone into thebathroom to help Sophia wash herself in those hard- to- reach places, buthe was an idiot. He was still on a high from last night, when his plane hadlanded and he’d turned on his phone to find that she’d called him whilehe was in the air. Five times.She’d gotten home several days early from her own business trip toDenver and—of course, because he had purposely neglected to tell her ofhis own international trek—was wondering where he was. She was cookingdinner, although, honestly? After four days apart? They were going tobe eating late.Dave had called her immediately, headed straight to her place, whereshe’d jumped him the moment he’d walked in the door—as if she’d beenas starved for his touch as he’d been for hers.Incredibly, it wasn’t the fabulous sex they’d had right there in her living room that had made his day, week, year—no, life. It was later, after dinner, with Sophia drowsy, her head on his shoulder, as they were about to fall asleep, telling him that she’d missed him, and that she slept much better— as in, she didn’t have her usual nightmares—when she spent the night in his arms.It seemed the perfect segue for him to ask her about those nightmares—a topic they’d both shied away from, for years. And this time, hewas ready for it. This time, he knew the questions to ask.But then she’d added that, in the morning if he wanted her to, she’dclear out a drawer for him, maybe make him some space in her closet . . . ?If he wanted her to?Dave had answered by kissing her, and she’d kissed him back, andthey’d made love again—slowly this time. Sweetly. She’d breathed hisname on a sigh and she’d fallen asleep almost immediately after, leavinghim holding her in his arms, with his heart so full his chest actually hurt.But now, in the light of morning, the TV, the empty drawer, and thecloset space weren’t enough for Dave. Nuh- uh. No, sir. He had to furtherstake his claim here in Sophia’s life by answering the telephone on herbedside table at 10:37 on a sunny Sunday morning, with a voice still rustyand deep from a satisfying night made up only partially of sleep.“Hello?”There was a hesitation—an indrawn breath—as if the person on theother end were surprised to hear someone male pick up the phone. That’sright. Uh- huh. He was so the man. He was the dude with the cojonesgrande who was going to get his very own drawer here in Sophia’s prettybedroom.“May I speak to Sophia?” The voice, when it finally came, was female,older, with a hint of Great Britain in its precise enunciation.“I’m afraid she’s indisposed,” Dave said. “May I take a message?”“Please. Will you ask her to call her Aunt Maureen?” She pronouncedit ahhnt, rather than like the insect. “Maureen Miles. I’m her father’s sister. . . ?”Oh, no.“Yes,” Dave said. “Of course. Hi. Sophia’s, um, told me about you.From Boston, right? I’m Dave. Her . . .” What? Boyfriend? Lover?Bedroom- drawer guy? They’d talked about a lot of things over the pastweeks, but they’d never precisely defined what their relationship now was.Maureen Miles didn’t seem to care. There was more to her message.“Will you let her know that her father’s back in the hospital?”Shit. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Dave said. “Mass General again?”Another brief pause. “Yes. The doctors have given him only a few daysthis time, and he would like, very much, to see his daughter. I should thinkshe owes him at least that much—”“I’m sorry,” Dave cut her off. “With all due respect, ma’am, do we livein the same universe? Because in the reality- based one where I reside,Sophia owes him nothing. ”“He’s her father,” the woman said.“He may have contributed his sperm to the creative process,” Davesaid tartly, “but in my opinion he lost the right to call himself Daddy a fewdecades ago.”She was silent again for a moment, but she was just regrouping. Shehadn’t given up. “Please tell her that he’s being moved into hospice in afew days.”“I’ll give her the message,” Dave said, a but heavy in his tone, and thewoman hung up without a thank- you.He dropped the handset into the phone’s cradle and flopped backonto Sophia’s pillows, staring up at the spinning ceiling fan.From the bathroom, he heard the sound of the water shutting off, theshower door opening. Sophia’s melodic voice. “We need to get moving ifwe’re going to make it to Encinitas by noon.”What? Dave lifted his head and aimed his voice toward the bathroomdoor. “Noon? Wait a minute, why?”She appeared in the doorway, gloriously naked, drying herself with atowel, her wet hair slicked back from her face. She was one of thosewomen who were even more beautiful when not wearing makeup.Or clothes.It was hard to think or listen when Sophia was naked, and he’d obviouslynot heard her response to his question, because she gave him her I’mrepeating myself because you’re staring at me blankly smile and said, again,“The main parking lot’ll fill up by noon.”“Seriously?” Dave sat up, struggling to make sense of her words. “Are wetalking about the same thing? The parking lot’ll fill up ? For a flea market?”“Antique show,” she corrected him, heading out of sight, back to thesink, where she kept a collection of bottles and jars of lotion, each one ofthem smelling sweeter than the last. If he hurried, he could watch hersmooth some onto her arms and legs, her stomach and breasts.As he skidded to a stop in the bathroom, she met his eyes in the mirror.“You know, we don’t have to go.”“I want to.” He opened the shower door and turned on the water. “Thethrill of the hunt, the excitement of finding a treasure hidden in with thetrash, the hours tromping through the brain- meltingly hot sun with the fourmillion other people who helped us fill up the main parking lot beforenoon, who are hoping to find the exact same perfect cabinet for the kitchenbefore we do, so maybe we’ll have to win a duel or probably a spelling beein order to gain ownership . . . I’m totally there, T- H- E- R- E.”Sophia had turned around to look at him, her gaze traveling below hiswaist, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she tried not to smile—and failed. “You either really love antiques, or you’re lying through yourteeth.” She reached out and wrapped her fingers around him as she gaveup and laughed. “I’m going to go with lying through your teeth.”Dave laughed, too, as she stroked him, as she smiled up into his eyes.“Obviously I’d anticipated a different morning agenda,” he told her. “ButI’m a grown- up. I can multi- task. I can both be your antique- hunting partner and spend the day imagining all the ways I’m going to make you comeafter we get home.”“Hmm,” she said, swaying closer, the tips of her breasts brushing hischest as she pressed his erection against the softness of her stomach. “Orwe can say the heck with the main parking area, and take the PITA shuttlefrom the south lot.”“South lot,” he repeated, unable to keep himself from touching her, hisfingers sliding across her silky, clean, lotion- sweet skin. “There’s a south lot?”Sophia nodded, th... Read more
Features & Highlights
- Taking on the world’s deadliest criminals is what the elite security force Troubleshooters Incorporated does best. But now they face a new and powerful threat from their most lethal enemy yet–a shadowy government outfit known only as The Agency.For years, operative James Nash has performed ultra-covert “Black Ops” missions for The Agency, but when he decide to walk away from their dirty work, his corrupt bosses aren’t about to let him go. After Nash is nearly assassinated, Troubleshooters team leader Lawrence Decker launches a skillful deception to neutralize the threat and protect his friend. With the FBI’s help, Decker fakes Nash’s death, then brings him to a safe house with his fiancée, Tess Bailey, to recover from his injuries and strategize their next move.Only a handful of people know that Nash is still alive–and fellow Troubleshooters Dave Malkoff, Sophia Ghaffari, and receptionist Tracy Shapiro aren’t among them. Believing that Nash is dead and that Decker has begun a romantic relationship with Tess, Sophia settles for second best and begins a love affair with Dave, who has adored her for years. But Tracy puts two and two together, discovering the truth about Nash–much to Decker’s dismay. As passions flare, Decker struggles to keep his scheme afloat, and to keep Nash alive. But when he finds himself targeted for death, the game turns even more perilous, and Sophia, Tracy, and Dave are swept into the deadly play. Under fire and racing to unmask their relentless adversary, the Troubleshooters know that the closer they get, the greater the risks. But sacrifices and consequences come with the territory. Forced to choose between love and loyalty, they are no longer just solving a crime–they’re fighting for survival.
