Love and Honor Series Book Blog Tour and #Giveaway #LoneStarLit

When she was just five years old, Melissa Braxton watched her father take her mother’s life and suffered the pain of separation from her sister, Lola. Melissa grew up with a strong desire to help those stuck in abusive relationships. It’s why she became a therapist and opened a domestic abuse shelter.

After losing a leg to a gunshot wound in the line of duty, Phil Osbourne has felt like a man without a purpose–until he hears Melissa’s story and decides to use his Special Forces contacts to track down her missing sister, the wife of a Colombian cartel teniente. He knows what he discovers will break Melissa’s heart. What he doesn’t realize is that helping the women reunite will bring the cartel down on them like the category 5 hurricane striking Miami..

Bruised yet not quite broken, Melissa and Phil battle the storm and the cartel, calling on strength they didn’t know they had to escape death, save the innocent, and–just maybe–find healing in each other’s arms.

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE

OF WORD OF HONOR

BOOK TWO IN THE LOVE AND HONOR SERIES

BY HALLEE BRIDGEMAN

Anchorage, Alaska

May 27

 

Even in the late-spring night with the hint of light still in the sky, the headlights did little to cut through the fog. Lynda Culter used a penlight to try to read the paper map, something she hadn’t had to do since field-training exercises at Quantico. The mobile signal had disappeared about two miles back, so the GPS offered no help.

“You turned the wrong way back there,” she said.

“Nope. Turned right like you said,” her partner, Jack, said.

“No, I said turn left. You asked left, and I confirmed.”

“With the word ‘right’!” Jack pulled over to the side of the mountain road. “Give me that,” he said as he snatched the map out of her hands.

Frustrated, she tossed the penlight at him. It hit the steering wheel and bounced, dinging him above his right eye. She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Jack!” she said on a breath. “I’m so sorry.”

He hit the overhead light, then rubbed his eyebrow and turned to glare at her. Soon, though, the glare turned to mirth, and he beckoned her with the crook of his finger. “Come here,” he said.

She slipped her seat belt off and shifted her body.

“Kiss it better.”

“Jack!” she said again, laughing, then pressed her lips to his eyebrow. She breathed in the familiar scent of his aftershave and then sat back, running her fingers through his soft brown hair. “All better?”

“For now.” He reached down and retrieved the penlight from the floorboard, then held it out to her. “I should keep this. Spoils of war and all.”

With a grin, she took it from him. She admired his profile as he studied the map. He had a thin face with a long nose, and his sharp cheekbones were offset with a thin beard. His features had helped him blend in during the five years he worked in deep cover with the Russian mafia. He came to her FBI branch in Anchorage just months after finishing his assignment. It didn’t take her long to fall head over heels for the charismatic, charming man from Philadelphia. So far, they’d kept their relationship quiet. Neither one of them wanted to be separated. Jack had convinced her to wait until after this weekend to make it official.

She glanced at her phone. She’d just put the picture on her lock screen of the two of them in a café that afternoon. In a clearly intimate pose, they leaned against each other, heads touching. Her dark auburn hair caught the lights of the restaurant, highlighting her lighter red streaks, making her brown eyes shine. His smile brought the dimples out in his cheeks. They looked happy.

“Too bad that warrant came through,” she said, thinking of the Memorial Day weekend in front of them. “Who knew a judge would sign a warrant tonight?”

She worked as an analyst, so serving warrants didn’t typically fall under her purview. However, she and Jack had been nearby, about to check in to a mountain retreat. Waiting for another agent to come from Anchorage would have taken a couple more hours out of their weekend.

“I told you to wait until Tuesday to submit it.” He set the map on the seat between them. “I’m going back,” he said, putting the car in reverse.

“Probably wise,” she replied, giving a sweet smile. “Since you made a wrong turn.”

He turned the light off, but not before she saw the clench of his jaw a split second before he smiled. After backtracking to the intersection, he made the correct turn and they continued forward about four miles before they saw the marker that indicated the turn onto the dirt road.

As Jack slowly navigated the terrain to avoid kicking up dust, she said, “I wonder if we should have arranged for backup. No signal out here.”

“These people aren’t killers,” he said. “They’re just protesting the oil pipeline. The threat they made isn’t even proven.”

“Allegedly.” She glanced at her phone again as if willing the signal to give her just one bar, enough to complete a call.

Jack slowed the car down and turned off the headlights. They came around a corner and saw the shadow of a house through the fog. Light glowed from two windows. An all-terrain vehicle sat parked next to two pickup trucks. Jack slowly came to a stop, then killed the engine. Lynda glanced at her watch. It was already ten thirty. They didn’t have a lot of daylight left.

They got out of the car and met at the trunk. The temperature had dropped into the midforties. It felt good to put on their FBI ballistic vests and jackets. Jack slipped on his cap and held hers out. She shook her head, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She hated anything on her head. Jack tossed it back into the trunk, then quietly closed it. Lynda made sure her 9mm pistol had a full magazine. She bent and secured her knife in her ankle sheath.

As they walked toward the house, Lynda mentally prepared herself for a long night ahead. After they apprehended the leader of this organization, they would have to question him. Once he was in custody, they only had twenty-four hours before they had to bring formal charges. So much for the romantic weekend. Of course, even after twenty-four hours, they could still get a day or two at the spa.

“I probably should call for backup,” Jack said, pulling out his phone.

“Wise.” She didn’t add “like I said,” because he wouldn’t find that funny. She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling.

Stepping carefully, they walked up onto the wooden porch. Lynda ducked under the window to the other side, and they both peeked through the window. She could make out two men sitting at a table—a blond man and a black-haired man. She held up two fingers, and Jack nodded. He stayed where he could see them while she knocked on the door. He lifted his chin in her direction, communicating that someone inside was approaching the door. She stepped back slightly.

The door opened, and the tall blond man who had sat at the head of the table asked, “May I help you?”

Lynda pulled her leather wallet out and flashed her gold badge and ID. “FBI. We’re looking for Damien Cisco.”

His face relaxed, and he smiled. “Ah, I figured you must be lost. This is not exactly the place where we normally have people come to the door.” He came out onto the porch, and she moved back to keep an arm’s distance away from him. “Damien lives on down the road about a quarter mile.” He took a step and lifted his arm northward. Lynda took another step back and looked in the direction he pointed. “His driveway is hard to see.”

Before she could reply, pain exploded in her left ear. Her vision closed down to a pinpoint of light, then nothing at all.

****

 

CLICK TO CONTINUE READING CHAPTER ONE

OF WORD OF HONOR