Acceptable Risk (Danger Never Sleeps Book #2)

Lynette Eason

Description

Sarah Denning is a military journalist with the Army in the Middle East when her convoy is attacked and she's taken hostage. When former Army Ranger Gavin Black is asked by his old unit commander--Sarah's imposing father--to plan an extremely risky rescue, he reluctantly agrees and successfully executes it.Back in the US, Sarah is livid when she's discharged on a false psychiatric evaluation and vows to return to the Army. Until she learns of her brother's suicide. Unable to believe her brother would do such a thing, she puts her plans on hold and enlists Gavin to help her discover the truth. What they uncover may be the biggest story of Sarah's career--if she can survive long enough to write it.Strap in for another breakneck nail-biter from bestselling romantic suspense author Lynette Eason that will have you up turning pages long into the night.

Sujets

• Romance
• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 04 août 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781493423101
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Cover
Praise for Collateral Damage
“Eason remains a force in action-packed inspirational fiction with this excellently paced, heartening tale.”
Publishers Weekly
“Readers who enjoy the combination of faith and romantic suspense will be thrilled with Eason’s latest, the first in the Danger Never Sleeps series, which introduces a fascinating cast of characters who will surely populate forthcoming sequels.”
Booklist
“Lynette Eason is absolutely amazing at getting a reader’s heart racing with her masterful way of writing intense scenes, but also calming down the reader during the sweet and slow moments.”
Interviews & Reviews
“Lynette Eason keeps getting better with each new novel, and fans of her work will absolutely love the start to this new series. . . . I am falling more and more in love with her writing as she releases each new book.”
Write-Read-Life
“ Collateral Damage proves to be both a fascinating and mildly complicated suspense; displaying the author’s ability to position the past and present, the near and far, the known and unknown just outside the reach of her readers and characters; using every page to inch toward a climax that no one could have possibly foreseen.”
More Than a Review
“ Collateral Damage by Lynette Eason is full of danger, suspense, and risks. . . . Every page had me sitting on the edge of my seat.”
Urban Lit Magazine
“I believe it is one of the best books that Eason has written in a long time . . . and I love her books! It had a gripping mystery and was so suspenseful that she had me on the edge of my seat. If you want a roller-coaster ride with a thrilling ending, you’ll want to read this award-winning author. . . . High praise for this new series.”
Relz Reviewz
Half Title Page
Books by Lynette Eason
W OMEN O F J U S T I C E
Too Close to Home
Don’t Look Back
A Killer Among Us
D E A D L Y R E U N I O N S
When the Smoke Clears
When a Heart Stops
When a Secret Kills
H I D D E N I D E N T I T Y
No One to Trust
Nowhere to Turn
No Place to Hide
E L I T E G U A R D I A N S
Always Watching
Without Warning
Moving Target
Chasing Secrets
B L U E J U S T I C E
Oath of Honor
Called to Protect
Code of Valor
Vow of Justice
Protecting Tanner Hollow
D ANGER N EVER S LEEPS
Collateral Damage
Acceptable Risk
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2020 by Lynette Eason
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2020
Ebook corrections 03.04.2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-2310-1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Contents
Cover
Praise for Collateral Damage
Half Title Page
Books by Lynette Eason
Title Page
Copyright Page
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
An Excerpt from Book 3 in the Series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
CHAPTER ONE
A UGUST G REENVILLE , SC
The pain compelled her—
No . . . propelled her.
It had to end.
Living this way wasn’t living. She would be doing everyone a favor if she just ended it. She couldn’t believe the burden she’d become to the people she loved most.
Dr. Helen Craft approached the window, tears tracking down her cheeks to drip off her chin. She touched them in wonder. When was the last time she’d cried? The day her father died? No, it was the day the Taliban had driven the van loaded with explosives into the playground at the orphanage.
She was working in the small medical clinic across the street and felt the blast like she was standing beside it. Only she hadn’t suffered a scratch. Not like the children.
“The children,” she whispered. Forty-five killed instantly. Thirty-three injured.
A sob escaped her and she unlocked the window.
The images clicked on an endless loop with no stop button. She couldn’t even pause it without alcohol or some drug.
Operating on a child who’d lost a leg.
Digging through the rubble to find more children with more injuries than she could help at once.
A missing hand.
A missing face . . .
One operation after another.
One child dying, then the next and the next, until she’d lost count. Later, she’d learned sixteen of the thirty-three surviving had succumbed to their injuries.
“I couldn’t save them,” she whispered. “Why couldn’t I save them?” What good was she when they all died in spite of her best efforts?
And the workers. Her friends—
She grabbed her head, the screams continuing to echo. “Stop, please stop. I just want it to stop.”
She threw open the window and looked down. Down represented peace. If she went back, the torture would continue.
“Helen! What are you doing?”
She didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her sister’s terrified cry, just stepped out onto the ledge . . .
“Helen, no!”
. . . and launched herself into the air.
Free-falling.
Until the pain was finally gone.
CHAPTER TWO
S EPTEMBER H ELMED P ROVINCE , A FGHANISTAN
Sarah Denning sat on the dirt floor of the Afghani prison cell and shivered in the ninety-degree heat, fighting the fear that had been her constant companion since the Taliban had attacked the school yesterday. One minute she’d been a guest teacher at the request of her friend, Talia Davenport, the next, a prisoner of cruel men who would use her and kill her without blinking.
She tugged the piece of cloth covering her head lower and patted the bottom section that concealed her mouth and nose, while praying she could stay anonymous until they were rescued. If rescue was even on the way. If their captors found out she was an American . . . or worse, who her father was—
The guard gave the barred door a violent tug and she jumped, her heart stumbling into overdrive. The door held fast. She doubted he was worried it wouldn’t. He let out a satisfied grunt and turned to walk down the hallway, his boots pounding the dirt floor before he disappeared from sight. Sarah’s pulse slowed a fraction. The longer he was gone, the better their chances of rescue. However, how long before he returned?
“Sarah?”
The whisper reached her from the corner of the cell. “Fatima?”
“I’m coming over there.” The teenager crawled on all fours, dodging her classmates, to curl against Sarah’s side with a shiver. “What’s going to happen to us?”
Sarah wrapped an arm around the fifteen-year-old. During her weekly guest teaching spots, she’d come to recognize Fatima as a bright, highly motivated young woman with the desire to be a pioneer in bringing change to her country. Sarah had treasured those days at the school and building relationships with the girls. “I don’t know.”
But she did. They all did.
“They’re going to sell us,” Samia said from the other side. “We’re to be brides to the Taliban, aren’t we?”
Brides? More like sex slaves. Punching bags. Assigned to a life of abuse and misery. And terror.
She, Talia, and the twelve students had been taken from the school and loaded into the back of a waiting van. No one tried to stop them and she didn’t dare resist. Approximately twelve hours later, they’d arrived here.
Wherever here was.
“I’m so sorry, Sarah,” Talia whispered, her voice cracking, her fear tangible. “I’ve been there for three years, and while we’ve had a few minor scares, there’s been nothing like this.”
“It’s not your fault, Talia, you couldn’t know.”
“I don’t want to be a Taliban bride.” Nahal, the youngest of the girls at thirteen years old, scooted closer to Sarah, as though Sarah could keep that from happening.
Sarah had been afraid before, but the images filtering through her mind sent the horror clawing inside her to a whole new level. She pulled in a steadying breath, desperate to find a way to remain calm and be strong for the other girls in the ten-by-twelve cell, because while she wanted to fight back, any sign of defiance would only get her—or one of the teens—killed.
She shuddered and let her gaze roam their prison. It consisted of four cement walls with a door on the one opposite from where she lay. From a small barred window above her head streamed a thin ray of light, cigarette smoke, and low voices that sounded like they were arguing, although she couldn’t make out the words.
Except for a brief stop at the outhouses lined up along the south wall that included lewd looks and a few comments she pretended not to hear, she and the other girls had been left alone by their captors.
Which was confusing, but welcome. However, she didn’t expect that would last much longer. The one thing allowing her to keep her fear under control was the fact that they hadn’t been searched. Knowing it would happen at some point, she’d seized the opportunity during a chaotic moment at the school to snag the satellite phone from the pocket of her burqa. Using the bodies crammed against her as a shield, she’d pressed the SOS button and sent out her distress signal.
Minutes passed, the only sounds being the hushed whispers and terrified weeping of her cellmates mixed with the low voices of the guards outside the window. Sarah leaned her head against the wall and watched the hallway while her hand searched through the folds of the cloth. Fatima looked up at her as Sarah’s fingers closed around the sat phone. Did she dare take a chance to see if anyone had called? If there was a message? If help was on the way? All she had to do was sneak a peek.
“Don’t ask