TRP Welcomes Author Kris Michaels

I met Kris online from another TRP author - Patricia A. Knight. They started talking about PAK's book and how she became a published author. Basically, their friendship started on twitter.

It turned out Kris was starting to have writing aspirations and PAK took an interest in her work. After some editing of Kris' WIP "Kings of Guardian", PAK started dropping hints about an author I might be interested in. She introduced Kris to me by way of telling me she'd found another writer with potential. After seeing Kris' MS in the raw, I agreed!

But before then I saw her name being passed around my author's email circles and replied to Kris' awesome quips and funny jokes. After an email chain of insane suggestions and a fun round of trying to write "the worst book ever" I gave her a challenge to write a story about a paranormal romance, with vampires, witches, cops, werewolves, a cowboy, involving a murder and a physic.

She came back with gold. This was NOT the worst excerpt of a book ever, this was amazing pull-out-of-her-butt fabulous writing and I'm still waiting to publish THAT book! Seriously, I've not seen a writer that can make outlandish demands fit perfectly together.

When I meet Kris face-to-face at a writer's convention, I had my contract ready to whip out and have her sign! It was actually one of my two goals to sign this author while at #RWA2014.

There was screaming, I remember screaming, and cocktails, we'd made a verbal agreement that I would read her MS after it was polished and she'd let me make the decision.

I'd asked her how would publishing this book change her life she said: "Well, duh...bucket list, dream come true...yada, yada, yada. If anyone buys my stories? Gravy. Seriously though, I have an inner voice that demands I write. Yet in a realistic world I know it takes hard work and sustained effort to make a successful career in anything. I am dedicated to become a successful writer who can retire from the day job and make a comfortable living from telling my stories."

From that I knew I wanted her under the TRP wing.

After reading the MS, I rushed her a contract hoping she didn't change her mind, realize her potential and go with a larger publisher. However TRP prevailed! And now I'm proud to present a book cover, blurb and excerpt of "Jacob: Kings of Guardian (Book 1)" by Kris Michaels!

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Jacob: Kings of Guardian
(Book 1) by Kris Michaels

Victoria Marshall didn't cooperate by dying in the Afghani hell-hole like the CIA expected. Defying all probability, a privately-funded black ops group led by a handsome, sexy-as-sin southerner pulled her out of the warlord's prison cell and brought her home. Even half out of her mind with pain Tori knew this man was special. She made a date with the commander to meet one year later at a restaurant of his choice. Keeping that date was the best thing she ever did.

Jacob King found little physically attractive about the woman he saved from the warlord’s camp, though it was hard to see what lay under the filth and suppurating wounds she suffered from countless beatings. He admired her brave humor in the face of her agonizing injuries. This kind of tough-minded woman was someone he'd like to know as a friend. He never expected the leggy, blond bomb-shell in the red dress who showed up for their date.

But then he never expected she would save his life, either. In a world of shadows, smoke, and dangerous covert missions, where people routinely vanish and living one more day was never a given, Tori and Jacob fight to build their happily ever after.

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Excerpt Warning:
Graphic torture scene ahead

Curled on the crude bench, Tori blinked and fought to keep her focus. She etched one more line into the soft plaster of her cell wall. The added line brought the total to sixty-seven white marks scratched into the dirty plaster. Her mind twisted, muddled by fragmented thoughts. The words that haunted her formed a familiar cadence. When would they come? When would the pain stop? Is it morning or evening? Will I die today?

A door slammed at the far end of the corridor and the echo lingered in the cell. A low rumble of male voices reached her. She recognized the familiar tones. The guards. They no longer cared if she overheard them.

Terror spiked through her. Please, God, let it be morning! Which guard remained? Was it Emad, the day guard, who slept at the desk at the end of the hall and moved only when someone knocked at the door, or Kassar, the night guard, evil incarnate? An uncontrollable shiver rattled Tori’s body. Just like Pavlov’s damn dogs, her body reacted to the sound of Kassar’s voice. Now, just the thought of him induced the response.

Kassar had held her head under water while another guard pressed glowing coals from a hand-rolled cigarette into the soles of her feet. The smoldering cinders seared through the ulcerated abscesses already branded deep into her arches from torture on previous nights.

Her screams pressed oxygen from her lungs. Desperate for air, her body inhaled the vile sludge that passed as water while Kassar held her head under the surface. A vicious grab of her hair pulled her up choking and vomiting. The bastard made sure she remained conscious. Kassar knew how to maximize the anguish and terror he inflicted.

“What is your mission?” His guttural English demanded an answer.

“I’m a photographer!” Her head was immediately plunged back into the putrid fluid sloshing in the bucket. Again searing agony ripped across the sole of her foot, and again the excruciating pain forced an involuntary scream and inhale. Just before she blacked out, hands grabbed her hair and pulled her to the surface.

“American whore! Tell me who sent you!”

“Photographer, freelance…nobody! Please! Let me go!” Her cries of innocence had only inflamed his anger.

The interrogations and torture had not broken her. Her captors knew only her cover story. That she maintained her cover story signed her death certificate just as certainly as admitting she worked for the CIA. No one will help. I know it. The freelance photography company would be a dead-end. Rightfully, no one there would claim knowledge of her. The CIA would never have the opportunity to confirm or deny her employment; she’d never confessed to working for them. There would be no ransom, no happy-ever-after ending to this nightmare. Death at Kassar’s hand would be the only escape.

Her abused body curled inward longing for a warmth vaguely remembered. A distant rattle of the guard’s keys being thrown on the desk indicated whoever watched over her had stirred. Had Emad provided water or food? Would this be another day of starvation and thirst?

She lifted from the bench and attempted to sit, biting her fist against the nausea movement caused. Tori panted and waited for the violent lurch of the room to stop. At some point, a crude wooden bucket had appeared inside the door of her cell. The mere thought of food or water drove her aching body into action. She put weight on her good leg, holding her useless arm close, and stood cautiously. The effort it took to cross the tiny cell had become a gauntlet of pain and determination. The sores and blisters on her feet cracked open and bloody footprints marked her progress. Yet starvation made one hell of a motivator, even for those who knew their fate.

Please, God, please let there be food. Her pitiful approach startled a rat the size of small dog away from the bucket. He squeaked his displeasure at the interruption and slid his lean body through the bars of the cell door. A small piece of bread and something that almost resembled broth lay at the bottom of the rotted wooden vessel. Thank you, sweet Jesus!

Tori pulled the container toward her. An echo of the scrape of wood on stone lingered in the silence of the cell. The putrid smell from the fetid congealed slime at the bottom rolled to her. She gagged and tried to hold in the sound of her dry heaves. No wonder the rat left without a fight.

Heavy steps echoed down the hallway toward her. The noise of the bucket or her retches must have caught the guard’s attention. Tori shoved the gelatinous hunk of bread into her mouth and chewed. The familiar pop of pellet-like substances provided indisputable proof maggots infested the bread. She pressed her hand against her mouth forcing herself not to regurgitate the only food she had consumed in days. Swallow it, Tori. It’s protein. Hysteria fought for control of her tenuous grasp on reality. The sound of footsteps grew louder. She limped away from the iron bars and pressed against the wooden bench that served as the singular piece of furniture in the cell.

Kassar, the evening guard, leered through the bars. Behind him stood Emad. Fear gripped her, freezing her muscles, numbing her mind and mentally she started to slip away. The mandatory training classes she’d attended called the phenomena dissociative mental ordering. Tori didn’t know when or how she’d first begun to do it, but sometimes when they came to question and beat her, she left…mentally. Usually the curtain of oblivion fell only for the duration of the attack, but more and more, she lingered in the blackouts that protected her tenuous grasp on reality.

“The whore is useless to us! She is not what they said.” Emad spat at her through the bars.

“If she is of no political value and no one claims her, the elders will give her to me. She begs for mercy now. By the time I’ve finished with her she will beg for death,” Kassar responded and glared at her.

Emad’s voice trailed him as he turned and walked away. “You have been warned Kassar. The Westerners value their women. Do not defile her against the Elder’s decrees. The payment will decrease.”

“The Elders are fools. She is a filthy infidel! An American—our avowed enemy!” The hatred in his eyes nailed Tori to the wall. Kassar could kill her with one hand. She almost hoped he would. Spittle flew from Kassar’s mouth as he switched languages and spoke in heavily accented English. “No pay for a whore. They give you to me soon. I have until you die. Your body food for animals.”

“Kassar, you are to obey the Elder’s commands for the woman! Do not defile her or kill her. Have your fun tonight. Be useful and make her talk. Your reward will be more than this whore.” Emad’s sharp reprimand in Kassar’s native Afghani dialect earned her a snarl and an evil glare from Kassar.

Tori understood enough of their language to know her captor’s patience neared exhaustion. The guards’ exchange left no room for doubt—or hope. Left alone, she turned, inch by excruciating inch, to face the wall, and stared at the display of white marks. Sixty-seven days existing in a hell where her only defense consisted of desperate prayers for the impossible. How would her father and sister react to her death? Oh God…would they ever know? She couldn’t afford the flood of emotion that threatened to break her. No, she had to bury it all in order to protect them and herself.

The door at the end of the hall slammed shut. Once again, footsteps echoed menacingly down the hall. So it begins…again. Tori knew she reeked of weakness and fear. Kassar opened the bars and walked towards her. He grabbed her by the neck lifting her away from the wall and backhanded her. The force bounced her head off the concrete wall. She slumped against the wooden bench, numb. He untied the string around his shalwar, the Afghani version of pants.

“No longer will you hide under the protection of weak old men, American whore. I have watched and waited. I take you tonight. They will not know about tonight or any night after this. Nobody ever returns to the stench of the cells at night.” He pulled viciously at the waistband of her garb and moved over her. She didn’t resist the blessed darkness that pulled her past the white-hot shards of pain. Her eyesight tunneled and splashes of black obscured her vision as his hand clenched the front of her tunic. At least I won’t be conscious when he rapes me. Darkness drew her down to oblivion.

Jacob palmed his Interceptor 911. The fourteen inches of sharp-as-shit blade flew silently through the air toward the Afghani guard. The man dropped the person he was assaulting. The muscles in his back convulsed and with frantic movements, the guard reached around, pawing at his back. Shit. His knife had missed the guard’s heart, but the jailor’s sudden movement to the right had merely forestalled his inevitable death. In two quick strides, Jacob corrected his rare error and eliminated the threat. Simple applied torque and force plus acceleration broke the man’s neck instantly. The guard’s body dropped to the cell floor with a muffled thud. Jacob snatched his knife from the dead body, wiped the bloody blade on the man’s clothes, then signed instructions to his men in the corridor.

The op had been planned for after the evening call to prayer. Executed with absolute precision, the team had encountered little resistance. They’d eliminated their primary targets soundlessly and efficiently. Pictures and fingerprints had been taken as proof to confirm mission completion for the agency that sanctioned the hits. While his men worked the IDs, Jacob had searched the adjacent room someone had turned into an office.

If he hadn’t looked through the paperwork, he never would’ve realized an American fought for life in the cell across the compound. Chance, happenstance, destiny or PFL, pure fucking luck—whatever the reasons—he had checked. The mission wasn’t supposed to be a rescue, but he’d be damned if he’d leave an American. Damned? He snorted at his word choice. Yeah right, in his line of work and with his past? His damnation had been signed and sealed—a first-class ticket to hell with Lucifer himself opening the door—but leaving an American prisoner? Not an option. Surprisingly, he still had standards.

While his men searched and cleared the interior of the holding facility with efficient, silent skill, Jacob moved to complete a quick visual assessment of the captive. Oh, fuck. The prisoner is a woman. Fuck! Training centered him on the task at hand. Alive. Head trauma and right eye swelling. Her left arm hung awkwardly—a break or a dislocated shoulder. One distinguishable black hematoma on her leg indicated a possible closed fracture. Deeply caked grime covered her body and probably obscured more injuries. The vivid and extensive bruises over her body told the story of continuous beatings, but visually he’d be hard pressed to distinguish the bruises from the thick layer of muck that covered her. His glance landed on her feet. The bastards! He’d seen men tortured to this degree, but never had he seen such brutality inflicted on a woman. A glance at the wall displayed the etched lines in the soft plaster. A record of her days? “A” for effort, “F” for accuracy. According to the documents he seized, there weren’t nearly enough marks.

He tried not to compound her injuries when he lifted her and silently cursed. Too damn easy to lift. Just skin and bones. Far too light for her obvious height. She probably wouldn’t survive the trip to the aircraft. Hatred for her captors pumped through his veins as certainly as the blood that kept him alive. Within three strides to the corridor, Jacob’s team closed ranks and formed a protective shield around him. When the team cleared the building, Jacob took his first deep breath since he’d walked into the holding facility less than four minutes ago. The rancid stench below had violated his senses. Outside, the team kept to the shadows and with speed born from many operations, they cleared the compound. Jacob assessed the uneven ground, jutting rock abutments and drought-stricken bushes. The rugged terrain that surrounded the camp would slow the team’s egress.

“Skipper, we got five clicks to the extraction point. You need me to carry her?”

Jacob glared at Chief, his communications specialist, as they continued to maneuver through the craggy hills using the natural valleys and shrub as cover. Jacob’s size and physical condition allowed him to carry the woman without effort even across the rocky and unforgiving terrain. His middle finger threw a ‘fuck you’ at the massive Cherokee. “Take the point and signal the bird we are en route.” The big man flashed a rare grin and sprinted forward.

His five-man team functioned better than any proverbial well-oiled machine. All parts worked as one. The squad knew the job at hand and performed it with precise calculated efficiency. Breaking down? Not an option. Each man provided essential skills. As experts in their fields, they were handpicked for the honor of being on Alpha team. Elite warriors. Honed and perfected in the art of war. The men were equal parts of the whole and each would likely burn in the same pit in hell when the grim reaper caught up with them.

Jacob’s eyes never stopped scanning the horizon, his peripheral vision alert to any movement as he pushed his team forward. The safety of his men and concentration on the extraction point focused his attention to the end of the basin.

A low moan drew his attention to the woman he gently cradled. He knew even being careful with her, his movements caused pain, a lot of pain. They had less than a quarter mile to reach the extraction point when a C-17 screamed over their heads on a low landing approach. It would wait for them no more than one minute at the far end of the deep valley.

Jacob felt her head rock towards him. He glanced down again and looked into dark blue eyes that didn’t seem to focus. He watched her pass out again. Thank God. He didn’t need a screaming or crying woman on his hands. He didn’t do female tears. Ever. That really had to be in his job description somewhere.

A cloud of debris and dirt shrouded the aircraft blacking out any visibility of the hulking airframe. The back hydraulic door dropped, forming a vacuum sucking the flying dust inside the open gut of the machine. The gaping access beckoned them into the vast cargo hold. The transport reversed engines and slowed. Before the prop wash settled, the bird began to pivot down the valley for take-off. His team waited for his signal. On his mark, the first three men sprinted for the bird. The remaining men held in over-watch. When his first three men were inside, those remaining left the safety of cover. The last of his crew scrambled into the back of the aircraft just as it started its taxi down the valley floor.

Technically, the C-17 needed just over two thousand feet to become airborne. That limit didn’t register with combat pilots receiving hostile fire. The aircraft beat the hell out of any other airframe and that two thousand foot recommendation? Yeah, it was wrong. The incredibly short take off and landings were the reason the aircraft performed as the best tactical transport in the U.S. Air Force’s inventory. This particular bird? It didn’t belong to the government. Just like his team, the bird belonged to a private entity. Guardian Security to be precise—a subsidiary of Guardian International. The empire owned by David Xavier, performed duties outside regular channels. The absolute best at what they did, no single nation or governmental agency sanctioned Guardian Security—but all used them covertly. Technically classified as private security, they worked to free Americans from desperate situations, to protect humanitarian efforts around the world, and to provide safe passage and secure environments for VIPs and dignitaries of all nations. On occasion, they were authorized to take out some nasty bastards that nobody else could touch—legally. Like today. Guardian’s Alpha team and their skill sets were a last resort.

Before the men could strap into their jump seats, the plane climbed and banked radically to the right. Jacob sat down hard while still trying to maintain a hold on the woman. He wedged his legs against the cargo wall as the aircraft once again banked in a severe tactical avoidance maneuver that pelted him with his unit’s unsecured packs. He braced for the impact of the flying equipment and unconsciously tightened his grip on the woman. Her scream of pain pierced through the roar of the turbine engines, momentarily freezing the team as they launched after the wild cascade of cargo.

He winced at her tortured response. The woman’s face contorted as she shoved her fist towards her mouth biting down. He grabbed her hand and chin. In one sharp movement, he pulled, unlocking her jaw and removing her fist. He stroked her forehead and cheek as she cried out. “Shhh…you’re going home now. You’re safe.” Jacob wanted to tell her she would be alright, but probably, she never would be right. The torture she had endured would scar her forever.

Cargo bay lights turned on as the C-17 leveled off at cruising altitude. Absentmindedly he continued to stroke her cheek and watched as his team secured the wayward equipment. The body in his arms stiffened and drew his eyes to her. She stared at him. No, make that through him. Blank and detached. Her body was on the plane, but her mind wasn’t. He’d seen it before. Unfortunately, his team had experience rescuing people who had been held and tortured. He doubted the woman would ever be the person she’d been before. The reality of her condition stifled any thought of celebration at her liberation. A miracle she made it this far.

Jacob looked over his shoulder. “Doc you need to take a look at this arm and her leg. The shoulder joint is definitely dislocated. I think the leg may be broken. And Doc, her feet…shit.”

The medic threw some equipment storage cases off a pallet and put down a blanket. “Skipper, bring her over here and lay her down.”

Jacob lifted her, careful to avoid hurting her again, and walked over to the pallet. He lowered her with a gentleness that belied his massive size. When he straightened to leave, she grabbed his forearm with a strength that could only be pure adrenaline.

He glanced at her face and saw clarity. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” Her grip did not loosen as she scanned the cargo bay with the one eye she could open fully.

Jacob put his hand over hers and moved back toward her. “Okay, honey, if you don’t want me to leave, I’ll stay.” Her gaze searched his face for a long time. He watched the tension melt out of her body as she relaxed and her eyelid closed. Yet, her hand held onto his arm. He used American Sign Language and military devised hand signals to communicate directions to his team across the cargo bay and stayed beside her until she passed out again. ASL provided a silent means of communication and all members of Guardian were fluent. The skill had saved countless lives when even a whisper meant detection and death.

Doc completed his examination and called Jacob to the foot of the pallet. “Skipper, you were right,” he whispered. “Her shoulder is dislocated. I don’t know how long it’s been out of the socket, but if we don’t reseat it more damage to the muscle is a definite. Nerve damage is almost inevitable. She is so filthy I don’t know how extensive her internal injuries are. The bruising and the filth overlap. Infection is an immediate concern because of the condition of her feet. Honestly, to properly triage her, I’d need to cut away her clothes and bathe her before I could see what I’m dealing with.”

Jacob glanced back at the woman. “Doc, she’s been victimized enough. Fix the shoulder. Wash the leg and see if you can tell if it’s broken.” They both looked at the overlapped, bloody and weeping burns that covered the soles of her feet. The men’s eyes met. Each understood the pain the woman endured. “Let her keep what little dignity she has left.”

Doc nodded and sighed. “Agreed. Damn it, Skipper. Why…how could they? I mean…a woman?”

I know.” He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “Do what you can.”

Tori felt the soft touch on her face and heard the drawl of a deep baritone. “Honey, we have to put your shoulder back in the socket.” Opening her eye, she turned toward the soothing voice and tried to focus. His eyes were almost a steel color. He had a handsome face, strong chin and cheekbones. His nose had been broken once or twice, but the irregularity added to his rugged handsomeness. She noticed his thick black hair fell long against his collar, longer than Tori knew a military man’s hair should be. Oh…okay… she was hallucinating. It had to be, because there was no other explanation if he wasn’t military. She reached out and touched his face. Her hand shook as she felt his warm skin. “Are you real?”

In an instant, his solemn face changed as he smiled at her. “Yeah honey, I’m real. You’re on your way home. Doc here needs to set your shoulder. I’m not going to lie to you. It’s going to hurt like hell.”

Her eyes never left his. “Who?”

“Consider me your guardian angel.”

She stared at him. Her voice gathered strength and again she asked, “Who are you?”

His hand touched her cheek. “My name is Jacob. Listen, if we don’t relocate your shoulder and set your leg more damage will occur. This will hurt. I’m going to hold you while Doc works. Try to stay still. Can you do that for me?”

Tori looked at him and cringed inwardly. Not again, please, please…no more. She watched as a large blond man took Jacob’s place. Her mind reacted as the fear of impending pain gripped her again when the blond touched her. She rolled her head to the side and waited.

Flashes of agony twisted through her body and as if an outside spectator, she heard moans and screams. Her shoulder burned and agony radiated through her chest. A razor sharp pain pierced her leg. Finally, the blessed veil of darkness fell over her.

Jacob held the woman down as Doc manipulated her shoulder back into its socket and lifted her for the medic to bind her arm against her chest preventing movement. The woman’s body shook and convulsed in his arms. He moved lower and pinned her hips to hold her down as Doc set the broken bone and splinted the leg. The eerie reverberation of her tormented screams echoed through the cargo hold and her frail body went slack after a final anguished cry. Jacob waited until the medic finished the splint so Jacob’s question wouldn’t distract him. “Can you give her anything for the pain?”

“I’ve already given her what I can. I don’t know the exact extent of her injuries. With the bruises covering her stomach and back, she could have extensive internal damage. I’m not going to give her anything else unless I’m forced to. The best thing is to keep her still and warm. We’ll be landing in a couple hours.”

Jacob turned and looked at the woman lying on the pallet. Obviously tall, and the one side of her face not grotesque and swollen showed the possibility of a high cheekbone. Damned if he could imagine how she would actually look clean and without the bruises and marks of the beatings. Her hair, it could be blond, but the caked mud and filth prevented him from knowing for sure. His gaze lowered to her face to see her intense observation of him. Her blue eyes did not waver as he greeted her. “Hello.”

She pulled a ragged breath. “Hello, Jacob.”

He smiled and sat on the pallet beside her. “You have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name…or perhaps you prefer honey?”

His smile spread across his face as he reached down and took her good hand in his. Why did he feel compelled to touch her? And no, he didn’t really want to answer or try to figure that one out. Thank you very much.

“I don’t mind…name is Tori.”

Remarkably, her voice seemed somewhat clear, at complete odds with the horrendous damage her body displayed. Sympathy overwhelmed him. What if this woman had been one of his sisters? His smile became forced. “Odd name for a girl.”

“Victoria.” The corner of her mouth twitched but he didn’t know if it was from the pain or an attempt at a smile.

“Well, Victoria, I have a question for you.” He felt her body stiffen and watched as a guarded mask slid over her face. Jacob leaned forward and lowered his voice. “What is the first thing you want to eat when you hit the States?”

Her head jerked as she gaped at him. His laughter erupted. He couldn’t help it. The woman’s response was priceless. He saw her lips move as she attempted another deformed smile and winced.

The joy in her breathless voice surprised him. “Steak. Baked potato…butter.” He watched as she struggled to draw a deeper breath. She grimaced and continued. “Veggies. Salad…blue cheese dress…dress…oh…” She pulled a hissing breath in followed by a few shallow pants and released a small moan but continued. “Wine, a lot of red wine.”

Well, if that didn’t seal the deal. He liked this woman. Definitely not a physical thing. No way. The woman’s appearance, stench and filth defied any attraction. Decidedly not a physical thing. But, damn it if she didn’t make him smile. A person he would like to get to know. “Tori, you just stole my favorite meal, up to and including the red wine.”

She lifted her eyebrow at him, pulled on his hand and waited until he leaned closer. Her eye twinkled as she whispered, “Bullshit.”

He threw his head back and laughed outright as he tried to feign offense. “What? You don’t believe me?” He glanced over his shoulder at his communications officer at work in a cluster of radio equipment and yelled across the bay. “Yo! Chief! What is my favorite meal?”

Chief leveled his intense black eyes on both of them and without missing a beat yelled back. “Ribeye steak…medium rare.”

Doc walked up to the foot of the pallet and chimed in, “Yeah and a baked potato with that damn foo-foo red wine. Not a real man’s drink if you ask me. And you should. Ask me, that is.”

Jacob turned back to her and plastered on his best cheesy smile. He held out both hands, palms up. “See, no bullshit.”

Tori laughed and winced. Jacob watched as she grabbed her ribs and closed her eye. He felt a twinge of guilt for eliciting the laughter. When she looked at him again, he wagged a finger as if admonishing a child. “No more laughing for you, young lady.”

Tori turned her head. Her eyelid dropped once and then again. Barely discernible over the engine noise, her voice carried to him. “I’d given up. I never thought…I’d laugh again.”

Either the pain or exhaustion pulled her under. He sat beside her as she dozed on and off. When turbulence shook the aircraft, she would jolt awake. He made sure each time she woke, he was with her. As he signed with his aviation, weapons and demolition specialists, she cleared her throat. Jacob stopped signing and looked down at her.

“Explain something for me?”

Jacob lifted an eyebrow. “If I can.”

She nodded her head towards his team. “No insignia. Military team. Good team. Equipment not DoD. Why were you there?”

Jacob liked her spunk. He knew the questions had cost her. He could see the pain she battled to ask them. Amazed the woman could be anything but a comatose heap after what she endured, his admiration for her grew. Yeah, he could like her. “Well now, you are observant and inquisitive aren’t you? How about we turn the tables? Why does a young woman with a non-distinguishable accent who would be more at home in a country club or on a college campus happen to be held in an Afghanistan warlord’s encampment?”

He could tell Tori watched him closely, but she hadn’t finished surprising him. She lifted her head a small distance off the pallet, looked around the cargo bay, and then crooked a beckoning finger at him.

He leaned in and watched her. He heard her rasping breath as she drew it in before she spoke. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Tori executed a massive stage wink and laid her head back down. The look on her face could almost be classified as mischievous. Well, two could play that game.

The audacity and the personality of the woman lying beside him struck him to the core. “Truthfully, I doubt I would enjoy that Tori…and realistically I think killing me may be just a little bit challenging for you right now.”

She drew a deeper breath. “No, no challenge. Give me a year…to heal. I’ll kill you then.”

“Okay, that’s a deal. We’ll meet for a rib-eye steak dinner, one year from today. After we eat, you can try to kill me if you think you’re up to it.”

She raised that delicate shaped brow again. “Meet? How? You don’t…ah…know me.” Her face contorted in response to the effort it took to talk.

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. Three days without sleep were starting to wear on him, but he lowered his voice. The conversation became intimate. “Oh, I’m afraid that one is far too easy my new friend. You’re a spook. It’s the only plausible reason you were in a warlord’s prison camp. You live and work in D.C. or close to it.”

A mask fell over her face. He hurried to continue the conversation. He didn’t want to threaten her privacy. God knew she’d been violated enough. “I could let you pick the restaurant, but I recommend O’Malley’s in Georgetown. The steaks are the best I’ve ever had.”

“What’s the date today?”

“October 25th.”

“October? Oh God…really?” Her eyes glazed over. Undoubtedly, her sense of reality and the truth had collided. He waited for her to process the information he had given her.

“October?”

He nodded in silent affirmation.

She closed her eye and moved her head slowly from side to side. After several minutes, she turned to him and whispered. “I tried. Tried to keep track. I missed a couple days.”

A series of expressions passed over her face. Once again, he waited to give her space. She drew a deeper breath and with effort, she smiled. “What time…at the restaurant?”

His eyes locked with her one sapphire-blue eye. “Seven-thirty. And don’t make me wait; I’m not a patient man.”

She chuckled with a wince and held her ribs. “A lady is allowed a few minutes?”

He looked at her and took in the damaged body. He couldn’t imagine the horror she had seen in the last one hundred and four days. “I think you may be entitled to be a few minutes late.”

The plane banked. The red cargo light came on and draped the bay in an eerie glow. “That means we are on final approach. We’re landing at Ramstien Air Base in Germany. A medical team has been arranged and is meeting the plane on the ramp. The crew chief is coming back here to stay with you until the plane stops. My team and I are exiting stage left, prior to anyone boarding the aircraft…if you get my drift.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I wasn’t…primary mission?”

Jacob shrugged his shoulder. “No need to thank me. I just go where I’m told and now and again, I get to rescue a lovely damsel in distress.”

A tear slipped down and streaked the muck that caked her face, but she smiled. “Lovely? No, not… anymore. Don’t recommend that place… as a spa.” The last word came out as more of a groan than a word.

The misery and distress in her voice revealed a fragile psyche that appeared to teeter on the edge of sanity. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her whispered cry for absolution uncharacteristically struck a chord deep within him.

Jacob reached his hand out and wiped the tear that hung near the corner of her eye. The caked filth smudged across her cheek. Damn it. Tears. He hated female tears. He had to find his contract.

He whispered as he leaned close to her, “Now I’m throwing the bullshit flag. I know that under all this dirt is a nice person and that is all that matters. And FYI…the entire staff at your spa has been served their termination notice. It seems other people had lodged serious complaints.” He lifted the back of her hand to his mouth and kissed it before he stood.

He noticed Tori watched him turn to his team and gear up. The men shouldered backpacks full of equipment and strapped on enough firepower to start a small war.

“Is being a giant mandatory?”

Jacob looked at his men and then himself and started to laugh. His men were all massive, but he stood taller than all of them. “Yeah, good ole, home-grown, American boys.” Her head turned towards him. He held her eye with his. “One year from today, seven thirty at O’Malley’s. Don’t be late.”

She lifted her hand and waved in his general direction and panted shallowly in between her words. “I’ll…knock you…on your ass.”

“I look forward to it, Victoria.”

He moved to the cargo ramp and waited while his team checked each other’s gear. As the hydraulics activated, Jacob looked back at her and smiled. He pointed at her and mouthed the words, “Don’t be late” before he dropped onto the tarmac while the plane taxied toward the arrivals hangar.

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Kris Michaels is the alter ego of a happily married wife and mother who loves to write erotic romance with a twist of military flavor.

A chance meeting and immediate friendship with an established author propelled Kris into a world where her lifelong fantasy of publishing romance novels came true! Her vivid imagination and erotic fantasies evolved into the Kings of Guardian Series now under contract to be published with Troll River Publishing.

Kris believes in meeting life head on…as long as there is an ample supply of coffee, whiskey and wine!  She believes love makes this crazy life worthwhile.  When she isn’t writing Kris enjoys a busy life with her husband, the cop, and her two wonderful sons.

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