Series:
Shadow Force International, #1
Release
Date: January 25, 2016
Format/Source:
E-ARC; Publisher
Book Summary
She’s
an investigative reporter who lives to uncover the truth.
Feisty television host,
Savanna Bunkett, exposes government coverups on her award-winning
show, The Bunk Stops Here. When she digs into a rumor about a top
secret government project that's producing “super soldiers” for the
president, she suddenly finds herself on an assassin’s hit list.
He's
the man who knows the truth.
Navy
SEAL Lieutenant Trace Hunter is the only soldier to survive Project 24. After
refusing a direct order from the president, he was branded a traitor, and his
career imploded after the sexy reporter turned him into a national headline.
He now works undercover for Shadow Force International, a secret group of
former SEALs helping those who have no where else to turn, using his enhanced
skills to fight for justice and protect the innocent. His first assignment?
Protect Savanna from the one man who wants them both dead—the president.
One
wrong move and they’ll be silenced forever.
Helping
Savanna is the last thing Trace wants to do, but her unwavering determination
to expose the president's dark truth matches his own. She's his one chance to
set the record straight and he’s her only chance at survival. When their
mutual enemy closes in, can they put the past behind them and trust each
other? Even if it means losing their hearts in the process? Or will secrets,
lies, and forbidden passions cost them everything?
* * *
Excerpt from Fatal Truth by Misty Evans
Trace climbed the stairs two at a time, the stairwell
of the fancy apartment building empty at the dinner hour. Or maybe the rich
snobs who lived here were too good to take the stairs.
He was two hours late. Not the best way to start his
first assignment for Shadow Force International. Then again, he hadn’t
planned to be working for Rock Star Security and shoved out the door and into
the world of protection services so fast it had made his head spin.
The past couple of days had been a whirlwind. He’d
struck out on his own, surviving the first Virginia night in an empty fishing
shack with no heat or running water. Reese’s cheeseburger didn’t last long,
and while the lake wasn’t frozen over and the owner had left some gear
behind, Trace hadn’t been able to catch a damn thing.
The next morning, he’d stumbled through a snowstorm
into Murder Creek, found the lone greasy spoon in town and ordered breakfast.
The coffee was mud and the eggs were runny. He didn’t care. It was better
than prison food any day.
The small 1980s TV in the corner was turned up, a
weatherman dressed in a fancy suit waving at various colored blobs on the map
and declaring the storm would intensify throughout the day and continue
overnight. By the next morning, they were expected to have six feet of snow.
As Trace had finished his toast, a sheriff’s car had
driven up. The two men who got out walked like military men, not cops. Before
the bell over the door rang, he’d left the waitress a generous tip and
disappeared out the back and into the woods.
His mother had always said he was as stubborn as the
day was long, but he wasn’t an idiot. While there’d been nothing on the news
about his escape from Witcher, he’d known the men in that car were looking
for him. A storm was moving in that would lock down the area. He had no
vehicle to get out and no supplies to hunker down and ride it out.
He needed help.
Admitting that fact had taken every last ounce of his
common sense, but now he was here. Beatrice had cleaned him up, made him
shave his beard and cut his hair.
Because of his specialized work for Command &
Control, the agency had scrubbed his past years ago. Few pictures existed of
him before his time in Iraq with SEAL Team 3, when he’d first grown his hair
long and sported a thick beard to blend in with the locals. SEALs often
needed out-of-the-Navy-box appearances on their assignments, and that was the
picture Ms. Bunkett had spread all over America.
He was a squeaky-clean Boy Scout now, with colored
contacts and new clothes—nice threads, not the usual camo gear he was used
to. The only thing he hated was the fancy dress shoes.
Petit and Reese had put him through their version of
basic protection service training, and Reese’s wife had explained all the ins
and outs of his new job.
Beatrice. He was pretty sure that hadn’t been her name
when she was in Command & Control, but it didn’t matter. She’d confirmed
that she had played a part in getting him out of Witcher and that there were
men looking for him. Nothing official on the news yet, the government wanting
to keep his “escape” a secret and hoping they could find him and put him back
before the public caught wind of the situation.
Petit and Reese hadn’t been happy when Beatrice
insisted Trace take this assignment. They’d wanted more time to work on him,
and they’d planned to send him out of the country on a Shadow Force
assignment. Beatrice had other ideas, and neither man seemed eager to argue
with her.
So here he was, playing bodyguard. A test run, Beatrice
had called it. He’d kept himself in good shape inside Witcher, had kept his
skills sharp. His enhancements from Project 24 had never faded.
Still, with a secret manhunt on for him, he had to
stay in the shadows as much as possible. Beatrice had given him a set of
rules to follow, briefed him on the client. Single female, twenty-eight, with
a potential stalker. He was to keep an eye on her but not be obvious about
it.
The stalker is high-profile, Beatrice had said. Has possibly
harmed the client’s sister, but there’s no proof and the client can’t make
public claims without evidence. We’d like you to investigate, see if you can
incapacitate the stalker and discover the sister’s whereabouts.
The woman lived in the penthouse on the top floor. He
climbed the last set of stairs and went through the fire door.
It was Beatrice’s fault he was late and she’d
supposedly called ahead to let the client know. Still, Trace felt a shot of
nervous adrenaline firing below his breastbone as he rang the doorbell. There
was a marble-topped table near the elevator with an elaborate floral
arrangement. A ficus tree sat in the corner under a skylight, and a large
painting of the sun rising over a mountain range hung on the wall left of the
door.
Seconds ticked by. He straightened his tie, smoothed
the lapels of his suit coat, fiddled with the brim of his baseball hat.
The hat didn’t go with his outfit. He’d picked it up
on his way over, feeling too exposed otherwise. Even with his change in
appearance, he feared being recognized after Savanna Bunkett had done such a
fine job of splashing his face all over the news a year and a half ago.
On the other side of the door, he heard a muffled
voice, “Coming!”
A second later, the door swung open. The woman was out
of breath, her hair swept up in a high ponytail. She was dressed in workout
attire and a fine coating of sweat glistened on her ample cleavage as she
wiped her face with a towel. The rhythmic beat of a drum, tambourine, and
finger cymbals of Middle Eastern music echoed in the background.
From behind the towel, she said, “You must be…”
And then she moved the towel to her neck and met his
gaze.
Oh, shit.
The towel stilled and the woman studied his face.
“Coldplay?”
Trace felt frozen in place. In the briefing with
Beatrice, she’d referred to the client only as Ms. Jeffries.
Ms. Jeffries, my ass.
His heart stuttered in his chest for a second. Even
without makeup and her signature red power suit, she stood out like a diamond
among glass. She was striking, her dark hair offsetting her pale skin, all of
it softened by a delicate nose and high cheekbones. Workout clothes did
nothing to dampen her natural, elegant demeanor.
Before him stood the woman who had ruined his life.
Trace took a step back. Waited…
She didn’t seem to recognize him.
One hand went to her hip. “Are you the strong, silent
type or is this one of the rules, that you can’t speak to me? I must have
missed that one in the contract.”
Why would she recognize me? She had one grainy
photograph of me from six years ago, and I was nothing but a story to her.
Trace forced his mouth to work, struggled to get sound
out. He tipped the brim of his hat down a little farther. “Sorry, I’m late.”
“Randy didn’t buzz me. How did you get in?”
Randy, the doorman. What a joke.
Trace shifted gears, forcing the anger boiling in his
gut aside. As soon as he could get hold of Beatrice, all bets were off.
“Security check of the building showed me some weak spots. I got in through a
service door entrance on the first floor. I’ll speak to the manager tomorrow
about beefing things up.”
She stepped back, using the towel on her arms. Long,
slender arms with small wrists and finely-boned hands. “Come in. I’ll grab a
shower and then we can talk about…my problem.”
Talk. Right. “I’ll stay out here at the door until
you’re ready.”
“Um, okay. Sure.” She gave him another once over.
“Have we met? You seem familiar.”
Met? Jesus God. “No, we’ve never met.” Not in
person. If we had, I would have wrung your neck.
She gave him a small smile. “Even if we had, we have
to pretend otherwise, right? Sorry, this is all new to me.”
He nodded and stepped back, grinding his teeth. She
closed the door, leaving him alone in the penthouse hallway.
Counting to a hundred to give her time to get in the
shower, he paced to the elevator doors, locked the thing down, then locked
the door to the stairwell. He withdrew the cell phone Beatrice had provided
and punched in her number.
She picked up on the first ring. “Yes?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Sorry?”
He forced himself to lower his voice. “Ms. Jeffries?
Her name isn’t Jeffries and you know exactly who she is and what she did to
me. If this is some kind of joke, I swear I’ll…I’ll…”
“Yes?”
What would he do? The woman was smarter than
smart and she was, well, a pregnant female.
A man, he would beat the shit out of for tricking him
like this. But he would never hit a woman. “…I’ll beat up your husband.”
“You can try,” Beatrice said without concern. “What’s
the problem?”
Trace nearly crushed the phone. “You know exactly what
the problem is. You lied and set me up with the woman who crucified me.”
“I didn’t lie. Her real name is Savanna
Jeffries-Bunkett, but she only goes by Savanna Bunkett for her show. Her
mother, Doris Jeffries, is from the New Hampshire Jeffries, a Daughter of the
Revolution, and a top-notch lawyer. Her father, Shawn Bunkett, is the
president of a private Catholic college. Her sister Parker works for National
Intelligence as a glorified profiler, you might say. Her job is rather vague
and ill-defined. She has a degree in cognitive therapy and a knack for
understanding how criminals work, which National Intelligence has found
helpful. For reasons I haven’t quite figured out yet, Parker pulls together
the president’s daily briefing and presents it to him. I doubt that has anything
to do with her brain research, other than to profile a terrorist here and
there. A month ago, she went missing. All I can get out of my sources is that
she’s on assignment.” Her voice emphasized assignment. “Odds are there was
something…personal…going on between her and the president, or he gave her a
black op job and she got caught.”
Linc Norman. The president sure liked to spread
himself around.
The sound of a fridge door opening came from
Beatrice’s end. “Who do you think passed your file—the bogus one—to Savanna?”
Trace took off his hat and scratched his hairline.
“The sister?”
“If my guess is accurate, and I am correct ninety-nine
percent of the time, Parker received the file outlining your rogue activities
from the president.”
A patient silence descended, as if she were waiting
for him to connect the dots. A possible scenario spilled out without too much
brainpower. “Linc Norman told Parker to make sure Savanna broke the story.”
“Parker is missing. The president is stalking Savanna.
It adds up, only we don’t know exactly why. Norman is now keeping tabs on
Savanna, no doubt fearing she’ll reveal her suspicions to the world that he’s
made Parker disappear. She doesn’t have any facts—yet—and President Norman
hopes to keep it that way.”
“What am I supposed to do about it?”
“I don’t suppose you want to tell me why the president
had you branded a traitor on national television?”
When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Well, consider
this your chance to prove to Savanna that you’re not a traitor and that her
intel from President Norman was bogus.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Find her sister. And if the president is the
one who threw your ass in prison, who better to have on your side than an
investigative reporter with a fan base of six million viewers? She can clear
your name, Coldplay. Think about it.”
He was thinking all right. Thinking his former job as
a cleaner for the president might put Savanna Jeffries Bunkett in more danger
than she was already in.
“She can also help you dig up dirt to blackmail Linc
Norman,” Beatrice went on. He heard the clink of silverware against a bowl.
“So he stops trying to kill you.”
Trace returned the hat to his head and pinched the
bridge of his nose. “You set me up.”
“I did,” Beatrice admitted freely. “In so doing, I also
gave you a way out of the mess you’re in. I don’t care about your past and
the things you’ve done, but it would solidify your job with Shadow Force
International if you’re not a hunted felon.”
His past was not something to be proud of, Navy SEAL
or not. He’d killed for his country, sure, but his job as a cleaner went
beyond that. While once he’d believed he was doing the morally right thing,
helping the president wipe out threats to America, he was no longer sure
there was such a thing as morally right. “Savanna is already suspicious. Even
with the change in my appearance, she suspects we’ve met.”
“So come clean. Tell her the truth. She needs you and
you need her. Besides, she signed a contract.”
So did I. Every employee of Shadow Force International, whether
they worked as bodyguards for Rock Star Security, performed search and rescue
missions, or assisted on kidnapping cases, were required to sign one. If he
breached his agreement, he was out in the cold again.
Petit planned to put Trace in charge of a team. If
things worked out. Even if they didn’t hold him to his contract, bailing on
his first assignment would hardly help his cause. He’d never make team leader
if they couldn’t depend on him.
Did he even care? He wasn’t a team player anymore.
Couldn’t endanger anyone else.
“Follow the procedure I gave you and think about it
overnight,” Beatrice said. “If you wish to terminate the assignment in the
morning, I’ll find someone else to guard Ms. Bunkett.”
A growl formed in his throat. Beatrice’s logic was so…so…logical.
Be the hero again. Keep someone safe. Solve all your problems.
If only it were that easy.
Didn’t matter. He couldn’t complete this assignment
without risking his freedom. Morning was nearly twelve hours away. Could he
keep Savanna Bunkett from figuring out who he was in the meantime?
The woman was a bloodhound when she picked up the
scent of a story. Sure, it had been eighteen months since she’d run his, and
she’d had plenty of stories since then, but she wasn’t one to forget a name
or a face for long, he bet. “She’ll terminate the assignment before morning.”
“You can’t hide forever,” Beatrice said. “And there’s
only so much I can do to keep you off the grid. This is your chance to clear
your name. Don’t blow it.”
The line went dead.
Trace braced one hand against the wall and sighed.
Twelve hours. He had twelve fucking hours to keep up this charade, and then
what? Bail?
He’d never quit a job in his life—except the last
order from the president—and he wasn’t about to do so now. If Savanna figured
out who he was and called the police, he’d have to, but until then, he’d lay
low and plan for the worst case scenario.
…clear your name.
Pocketing the phone, he shook the ridiculous idea from
his brain and walked back down the hall to wait.
He’d follow procedure like Beatrice had instructed him
to when she gave him the assignment. Scan Savanna’s apartment for bugs, make
sure her windows and doors were all secure. Check her personal security
system. Then he’d stand guard for the night.
By morning—if he made it that long—he’d have a plan of
escape.
Or one
that would take down the president of the United States.
My
Thoughts
Fatal Truth by Misty Evans is
the first book in the Shadow Force
International series. As is true with other books written by Evans, she
expertly set up a scandal so big that it immediately gripped my attention,
made me feel like I was in the moment, and kept me turning those pages till
the very end!
In
this first installment of the series, Evans presents Savanna, an
investigative reporter, who deals with government & corporate cover-ups. And
as you can guess, she got herself involved in a scandal without knowing the
full scope of the situation. Navy SEAL Lieutenant Trace Hunter also found himself
in a difficult situation. Trace was tasked with protecting her and finding
her sister. The plot involved taking down some pretty big fish with a lot of
connections, so as you can guess there was danger around every turn and when
least expected. I was shocked to find out who was really involved. The
scandal was so intricate that you couldn’t see the beginning or the end of
it.
Overall,
Fatal Truth had characters that I
could root for and a totally satisfying ending. I am definitely looking forward
to the next book in the series. Now if only Parker had her own story…..
I received an ARC of this book from the
publisher in exchange for an honest review.
USA
TODAY Bestselling Author Misty Evans has published over twenty novels and
writes romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and paranormal romance. As a writing
coach, she helps other authors bring their books – and their dreams of being
published – to life.
The
books in her Super Agent series have won a CataNetwork Reviewers’ Choice
Award, CAPA nominations, the New England Reader’s Choice Bean Pot Award for
Best Romantic Suspense in 2010 and the ACRA Heart of Excellence Reader’s
Choice Award for Best Romantic Suspense in 2011.
Her
Witches Anonymous series was dubbed a Fallen Angel Reviews Recommended Read.
The Super Agent Series, Witches Anonymous Series, and the Kali Sweet Series
have been on multiple Amazon Kindle bestsellers lists. Her culinary romantic
mystery, THE SECRET INGREDIENT, and the first book in her Deadly series,
DEADLY PURSUIT, are both USA TODAY bestsellers.
Misty
likes her coffee black, her conspiracy stories juicy, and her wicked characters
dressed in couture. When not reading or writing, she enjoys music, movies,
and hanging out with her husband, twin sons, and two spoiled puppies.
* * *
Giveaway Information
Tour-wide giveaway includes a $50.00 Amazon Gift Card and a Rock Star Bracelet
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