French Kiss (Navy Seals of Valor 3)
released March 27, 2015
Karl Patterson and seven other SEAL Team Six men are deployed to Paris to raid a Le Marais duplex believed to be a terrorist hideout. Finding it abandoned and rigged with explosives, the sailors barely escape. After they return to their hotel anticipating a night of rest and awake to an explosion and raging inferno, Karl and his teammates realize they are one step behind the Red Queen. Not only is she still alive; she’s also hell-bent on vengeance and plans to unleash terror the city won’t soon forget.
Journalist Jamie Phillips awakes to the sound of an explosion and rushes to her hotel window in time to see the perpetrators fleeing from the blackened skeleton of their van. Rushing to escape engulfing flames, she nearly succumbs to the overpowering smoke and falling debris, but is suddenly rescued by a drop-dead gorgeous man she suspects is Special Forces.
Attraction between Karl and Jamie burns hotter than the flames consuming du Luxembourg area hotel. Karl struggles to wipe Jamie from his mind and refocus on the Team’s mission. But heading to the hospital and forgetting Karl aren’t part of Jamie’s plan. Thanks to her keen journalist observational skills, she picked up on key information that just might help SEAL Team Six stop the terrorists.
A woman wearing night vision goggles swept the heavy dark curtains aside and peered out the window of her Le Marais apartment. Manic laughter escaped her lips. Several uniformed men carrying bulky weapons crept around the perimeter of a two-story apartment across the street.
The American government must have deemed the Red Queen’s followers to be a major threat to send DEVGRU.
The best of the best of the SEALs or not—the men didn’t stand a chance. They had erroneously concluded that the Red Queen was dead and the leaderless insurgents had lost their edge.
The people who will scrape up what remains of their bodies will soon learn that I’m very much alive.
The SEAL team would raid the apartment to find it empty—well, almost empty, actually. She had planted a little gift for the American sailors that would blow them into a million bloody pieces.
She made a mock explosion sound and then laughed, thinking about her upcoming attacks that would make headlines in the next twenty-four hours.
She tugged down the hem of her tight black velvet dress, which clung to her stockings. Her blood-red stilettos clicked across the tile floor as she walked toward the marble-topped bar. She pulled a glass from a shelf above the counter, uncapped the bottles of gin and vermouth and stirred herself a strong martini, topping off the cocktail with an olive she had plucked from a jar in the small refrigerator.
She raised the glass in the air and extended her arm as if preparing to make a toast with an invisible person.
“To death,” she said in a Russian accent before tipping the clear crystal glass toward her lips. The first swallow rocketed through her bloodstream, making her feel pleasantly light-headed.
“Ahhh.” She gazed into the rectangle of mirrored glass that decorated the back of the bar, admiring her reflection. Flawless white skin scrubbed smooth every morning, long dark hair that gleamed with healthy radiance from hourly daily brushing and blood red lipstick that had become her new trademark once she had started impersonating her sister. Confusing people about their two identities had played a major role in her plan’s success.
They’ll be so shocked tomorrow when the body count soars.
She took another deep swallow of the potent drink, relishing the way the prisms hanging from the crystal chandelier and the oil paintings in gold leaf frames appeared to bob like floating objects on the sea as she walked back to the window.
Strong drinks are so invigorating. Almost as much as blood and death. She raised her glass in the air for another toast.
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