Smokescreen (38 page)

Recently, Associate Senior Editor Natashya Wilson gave us the scoop on the Silhouette Bombshell series that features empowered heroines, like the heroines in SMOKESCREEN, who take charge and save the day.

What are people saying about Silhouette Bombshell?

USA TODAY
calls them “strong, sexy heroines who save the day and then pick their own man.” The
Chicago Sun-Times
says, “when the pedal hits the metal, these ladies are at the wheel.” The
Austin Chronicle
calls it “the first-ever fully realized line of action-adventure books for women.” Get ready for the time of your life….

What is Silhouette Bombshell?

You’re about to enter the high-stakes world of Silhouette Bombshell, where the heroine takes charge and never gives up—whether she’s
standing up for herself, saving her friends and colleagues from grave danger or daring to go where no woman has gone before. Every Silhouette Bombshell story is a high-voltage, high-stakes suspense adventure in which the heroine saves the day—guaranteed.

If you like what you read here, we’ve got just the books for you. These three stories are shorter than a full-length Silhouette Bombshell novel, but they pack just as much punch! Every month, Silhouette Bombshell stands and delivers four fascinating, fast-paced reads about women you’ll want to know, caught up in adventures you’ll never forget. Multilayered, compelling and unpredictable…that’s Silhouette Bombshell!

Who is the Bombshell heroine?

She may be a secret agent, a mother protecting her child, a military officer who stumbles into a hornet’s nest. She could be any woman, seeking to bring some justice to the world. She’s the bombshell of the new millennium: smart, savvy, sexy and strong. She’s as comfortable in a cocktail dress as she is brandishing blue steel. She’s everywhere in the media—on the big screen and the small—in movies such as
Kill Bill, Tomb Raider
and
Charlie’s Angels
and TV shows such as
Alias, Crossing Jordan
and
CSI.

She isn’t perfect. She isn’t immune to harm. But a Silhouette Bombshell heroine has smarts, persistence and an indomitable spirit, qualities that will get her into trouble and out again in an exciting adventure that will also bring her a man worth having…if she wants him!

Who are the Silhouette Bombshell authors?

They’re writers from all walks of life—military, rescue workers, professors, psychologists, homemakers, pilots and much, much more. They’re
USA TODAY
bestselling authors, award-winning novelists, veteran action-adventure writers and fresh new voices who create compelling stories featuring women you’ll want to read about.

Look for Silhouette Bombshell books, available at your favorite retail outlet. Silhouette Bombshell…for the strong, sexy, savvy reader in you!

CHECKMATE
by
Doranna Durgin

On sale June 2005 from
Silhouette Bombshell

Every month Silhouette Bombshell has four fresh, unique, satisfying reads to temp you into something new…

Here’s an exclusive excerpt from one of this month’s thrilling releases, the final Athena Force adventure, CHECKMATE by Doranna Durgin.

“A
mbassador—” Selena Shaw Jones rubbed the bridge of her nose, right above the little bump Cole liked so much.
Don’t think about Cole just now.
Fatigue washed over her in a startling rush. She closed her mouth on indiscreet words, a warning from the supersecret Oracle database—the alarming intel from the CIA, along with other military and agency listening posts with which an FBI legate such as Selena should have no direct connection. Word that the Kemeni rebels of Berzhaan were desperate in the wake of what they thought was U.S. support—that they had to grab power
now,
or concede it forever.

“Selena?” Ambassador Allori set his teacup in the saucer, brows drawing together. “Are you quite all right?”

And just like that, she wasn’t. Her stomach spasmed beyond even her iron control, and she blurted, “Excuse me!” and bolted from the room, briefcase clutched in her hand. She remembered the bathroom as a barely marked door down the embassy
hall and only hoped she was right as she slammed it open.
Thank God.
Most of the room was a blur but she honed in on an open stall door, grateful for the lavish, updated fixture—

Better than a hole in the floor.
Been there, done that.

And when she leaned back against the marbleized stall wall, marveling at the sudden violence her system had wreaked upon her, the thought flashed unbidden and unexpected through her mind:
We were trying to start a family.

No. Not here, not
now.
Not with Cole half a world away and an even bigger emotional gap between them. She knew he hid things from her; she thought she could live with that.
Maybe not.
Selena clenched down on her thoughts the same way she’d tried to clench down on her stomach, and stumbled out to the pristine sink to crank the cold water on full and splash her face and rinse her mouth. When she dared to look at her image, she found that it reflected what she felt: she looked stronger, less green. This particular storm, whatever the cause, was over.

What if she were pregnant in a strife-torn Berzhaan, her estranged husband not even knowing he was estranged? Theoretically he was still deeply undercover in wherever it was that he’d gone, unable to do more than send a sporadic e-mail or two.
Theoretically.

Except she’d seen him in D.C.

Kissing someone else.

If she were pregnant…she’d have to stay here long enough to stabilize this new legate’s office, in spite of the unrest. And then she’d have to go home…she’d have to tell Cole. To decide if she trusted him, or if she’d merely contribute to the long line of broken branches in her family tree.

And if this is any taste of things to come, I’ll have to carry around a barf bag wherever I go.

The water still trickled; she scooped another handful into her mouth, held it and spit it out. Her eyes stung, sympathetic to her throat. It wasn’t until she coughed, short and sharp, that she stiffened—and realized that the uncomfortable tang didn’t come from her abused throat, but from the air she breathed.

Tear gas.

Trickling in from the street outside? From somewhere in the building?

Damn. Damn, damn, DAMN.

Listening at the bathroom door revealed only silence, and she went so far as to peek out. The smoke hung thickly in the abandoned hallway. Selena ducked back inside, took another deep breath—this one to hold—and eased out into the hallway, running silently to the waiting room she’d left the Berzhaani ambassador so precipitously only moments before.

Empty. Allori’s teacup lay broken on the floor, tea soaking the priceless carpet.

Son of a bitch.

The door leading to the prime minister’s office stood slightly ajar, and Selena made for it, her chest
starting to ache for air. But breathing meant coughing, and coughing meant being found.

She didn’t intend to be found until she understood the situation. If then.

Razidae’s office proved to be empty, as well, the luxurious rolling office chair askew at the desk, papers on the floor, the private phone out of its sleek-lined cradle—and the air relatively clear. Selena closed the door, grateful for the old, inefficient heating system, and inhaled as slowly as she could, muffling the single cough she couldn’t avoid.

All right, then. The building was full of tear gas, and the dignitaries were gone, and Selena had somehow missed it all.

They could have blown the building out from under you while you were throwing up, and you wouldn’t have noticed.

Think, Selena.
She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and calmed the chaotic mess of her mind. She could call for help from here—Razidae’s private line might have an in-use indicator at his secretary’s desk, but it wouldn’t show up on any of the other phone systems, so she wouldn’t give her presence away by picking it up.

But there was no point in calling until she understood the situation. No doubt the authorities were already alerted.

You still don’t know what’s going on.

Well, then,
she told herself.
Let’s find out.

Selena laid her briefcase on the desk, thumbed the
token combination lock and flipped the leather flap open. She’d left her laptop behind in favor of her tablet PC, and the briefcase looked a little forlorn…a little empty.

Not much to work with. No Beretta, no extra clip, no knives…

Maybe she wouldn’t need them. Maybe by the time she discovered what had happened, it would actually be over.

Nonetheless, she took a quick survey: cell phone, battery iffy; she turned it off and left it behind. A handful of pens, mostly fine point. She tucked several into her back pocket. A new pad of sticky notes. A nail file, also worthy of pocket space. Her Buck pocketknife, three blades of discreet mayhem, yet not big enough to alarm the security guards. It earned a grim smile and a spot in her front pocket. A spare AC unit for her laptop, which garnered a thoughtful look and ended up stuffed into the big side pocket of her leather duster. A small roll of black electrician’s tape. A package of cheese crackers—

Selena closed her eyes, aiming willpower at her rebellious stomach.
I don’t have time for you,
she told it. Without looking, she set the crinkly package aside. And then she looked at the remaining contents of the briefcase. A legal pad and a folder full of confidential documents. She supposed she could inflict some pretty powerful paper cuts. A few mints and some emergency personal supplies she wasn’t likely to need if she was actually pregnant.

No flak vest, no Rambo knife, not even a convenient flare pistol.

Then again, there was no telling what she might find with a good look around the capitol. Almost anything was a weapon if you used it right.

Selena jammed the rejected items back in her briefcase, automatically locking it; she tucked it inside the foot well of Razidae’s desk and checked to see that she’d left no sign of her presence, except there were those
crackers
—

She made a dive for the spiffy executive waste-basket beside the desk, hunched over with dry heaves. Mercifully they didn’t last long. And afterward, as she rose on once-again shaky legs and poured herself a glass of the ice water tucked away on a marble-topped stand in the corner, she tried to convince herself that it was over. That she could go out and assess the situation without facing the heaves during an inopportune moment.

She dumped the rest of the water into a lush potted plant that probably didn’t need the attention, wiped out the glass and returned it to its spot. She very much hoped that she’d creep out to find an embarrassed guard and an accidentally discharged tear gas gun.

A stutter of muted automatic gunfire broke the silence.

So much for that idea.
Selena’s heart, already pounding from her illness, kicked into a brief stutter of overtime that matched the rhythm of the gunfire.
“All right, baby,” she said to her potential little passenger, pulling her fine wool scarf from her coat pocket and soaking it in the pitcher. “Get ready to rock and roll.”

But as she reached for the doorknob, she hesitated. She could be risking more than her own life if she ran out into the thick of things now. As far as she knew, whoever had pulled the trigger of that rifle didn’t even know she existed. She could ride things out here with her lint-filled water and her cheese crackers.

Or she could be found and killed, or the building could indeed blow up around her, or whoever’d fired those shots could succeed in their disruptive goal, and Selena and her theoretical little one could be trapped in a rioting, war-torn Berzhaan. Her mind filled with images of frightened students and dead capitol workers and a dead Allori. She closed her eyes hard.

It really wasn’t any choice at all.

…NOT THE END…

Look for CHECKMATE by Doranna Durgin, on sale June 2005 at your favorite outlet.