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In the long anticipated sequel to Red Hot & Blue, the true blue men of Task Force Zeta are back…and they’re hotter than ever!
Bull: Bull didn’t earn his nickname because he has a reputation for being stubborn; he’s just a very big boy. But beneath that hard as granite and big as a mountain exterior beats the heart of a caring man. Can a pretty little thing barely five feet tall capture it?
Matt: Technical genius and communications specialist Matt Coleman is sick and tired of watching his friends ’get the girl’ while the only thing he’s had his hands on lately is a computer console. But perhaps Matt has been looking for love in all the wrong places. Could it be that what he’s looking for has been right in front of him the entire time?
The Commander: The men in his unit refer to him as simply ’the commander’. Hank Miller may have fears, feelings, and desires, but as a leader he refuses to let them show. On more than one occasion Hank has been accused of possessing a heart of stone. When he meets the sexy and smart Lois Gordon, will the normally stoic Hank find himself tempted to break his one rule? Editorial Reviews:
From Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies
"The men of Task Force Zeta...I’ve fallen a little in love with each one."
Excerpt:
The Commander
Hank leaned against the van and watched the Gordon family reunion happening as Trey and Carly parked their truck and joined them.
Trey stretched his arms above his head. “Ugh. That was a long drive. I for one am looking forward to a slice of Mrs. Gordon’s pie. I’m starved.”
Carly shook her head, sending her chestnut ponytail swinging. “You would eat all day if you could.”
Matt laughed at her very true comment. “You got that right!” He looked past Hank at the Gordons. “But Mama Gordon’s pies are worth eating, believe me. Can you believe that woman is old enough to be Jimmy and Jack’s mother?”
“I know. She must have been a teenager when she had them,” Trey agreed.
The rest of the group turned to look at the woman who was now in Jack’s arms.
“That’s Mama?” Hank sputtered. The tempting female in the flip-flops, blue jeans and well-filled t-shirt? The one he’d been staring at and drooling over for the past few minutes?
Matt and Trey both nodded.
“No way,” Bull shook his head. “I pictured her looking like Betty Crocker. You know, short, plump and covered in flour with a pie in her hand.”
That was exactly how Hank had visualized her, too. He certainly hadn’t thought he’d be imagining rolling around sweaty with her, which is exactly what he had been doing since he first laid eyes on the woman.
“Are you sure that’s Mama?” Hank was having trouble wrapping his mind around this new turn of events.
Bull
“Go, go, go!” Bull Ford heard the order through the communications implant in his ear and took off running. Acutely aware of the location of his backup, the members of his team, he headed for the shelter of a natural rock formation. He flung himself flat on his belly, hidden from view of the bad guys by both the night and the black clothing and greasepaint he wore. From his position Bull could see the goal, a bomb duct-taped to a live hostage. His task, to disarm the bomb and get the hostage out alive, preferably without getting himself killed in the process.
“What info do we have about the bomb?” he hissed.
Matt Coleman, who manned the communication console, answered him. “Nothing. You’re on your own.”
“Shit,” Bull swore softly.
“Shit is right, Bull,” Jack Gordon’s cocky southern drawl invaded his ear.
“What’re you plannin’, Bull?” Jimmy Gordon asked.
“Where are the tangos?” he asked in return, wanting to know the location of the bad guys who represented the targets or ‘tangos’.
“I see two by the hostage. Two more walking the perimeter,” BB Dalton supplied from his vantage point on the ridge.
A plan formed in Bull’s mind. He opened the black duffle he carried and pulled out what he needed, running over his plan aloud for the team at the same time. “We need a diversion. I’m going to put together a bomb for a phony explosion. It will look and sound like a real one, but without the kick, just lots of noise and smoke. Trey. Do you have a bead on the hostage?”
“Affirmative.”
“Good. When I say three, you fire as close to the hostage as you can without hitting him. While the two tangos by the hostage are shooting back at the source of the incoming fire, meaning you, I’ll lob my fake bomb near the hostage.”
“And the tangos will think the hostage was hit and their bomb blew. They’ll run like hell and you can grab the hostage, bring him to safety and diffuse the real bomb,” Jimmy finished for him. “Good plan, Bull.”
“What’s your ETA on the fake bomb?” Trey asked.
“Thirty seconds.” Bull estimated, his fingers working quickly but surely. “Correction. I’m done. Ready, Trey?”
“Affirmative.”
“One, two, three.” On three the dirt around the hostage jumped and flew with dozens of tiny percussions. The hostage jumped also and Bull heard him scream as the bomb flew to within a few feet of him and detonated in an explosion of noise and thick black smoke. He felt bad scaring the hostage, but there was no way to communicate the plan to him safely.
As anticipated, the tangos took off running away from the explosion. Bull ran in low, grabbed the hostage’s arm and dragged him to safety.
Bull held the pen flashlight in his teeth and shined the beam on the bomb. He whipped out a knife to cut the duct tape so he could remove it from the man.
The hostage’s eyes went wide. “Don’t! There’s a trip wire under the tape. You’ll set it off.”
Bull sighed. He hated duct tape. He despised homemade bombs even more. This one looked like the typical homegrown version, the kind you get when the how-to instructions came off the internet, which meant it was unstable and could blow at any moment.
He evaluated what he could see of the bomb and the wires attached to it. With hands as steady as a brain surgeon’s, he selected one wire, held his breath and snipped. When he didn’t blow up, he let out the breath. “Bomb disarmed,” he said for the benefit of the team and the hostage.
“Get yourself and that hostage back to home base and we’ll call this mission complete. Good job, Bull,” he heard Jimmy’s voice say.
“Thank you, sir.” It was taking some getting used to, calling his teammate ‘sir’. Since Hank Miller had very recently retired as commander, Jimmy had been put in place as probationary commander pending approval. The success of this mission would go a long way in convincing Central Command Jimmy could effectively lead this team.
Bull rose on one knee and said to the hostage, “Come on. We’re outta here.” Then he felt the hit strike his flack jacket directly over his heart. The force knocked him off balance. He found himself flat on his back staring up in the darkness into the face—and the gun—of a grinning black-clad figure. “Not so fast, dog face.”
Bull helplessly watched the gun swing to the side and take out the hostage with a single shot. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the ground. “Shit.”
Matt
He’d barely walked in the door when a food tray arrived at his room, served by a girl dressed like the star of “I Dream of Jeannie”, bare belly, flowing pants, sheer scarves covering her face and all. He’d have to snap a picture with his camera phone for the guys. If this was what waitresses looked like here in Dubai, it blew away those in the States. The guys would never frigging believe this.
She didn’t leave after setting down the tray. Nor did she make a move to after laying out the utensils and napkin and the plate of food on the small table set up in front of a window in the room.
Training and habit had Matt scooting his chair so his back was against the wall rather than the window.
Matt said thank you, wondering if she understood him. He wasn’t the language expert like Trey. He had enough Farsi to get by and not starve if he had to, but not much more.
The woman inclined her head in a near bow and spoke, surprising him with her careful English. “I am here to serve you.”
He glanced at the table she had laid out so nicely for him. “Yes, and you did it very well. Thank you.”
Still she didn’t leave. Maybe she was trained like the butlers in old movies and would stand there in case he needed more water or fresh ground pepper or something. Fine. She could stand and watch him eat if that was her job. He didn’t want her to get in trouble.
Feeling more than a bit self-conscious, he attempted some small talk about the weather and the beauty of the compound, then ran out of things to say and finished his meal in silence.
When he had, she cleared the table, loaded everything back onto the tray and with another nod, headed for the door. Matt called another thank you at her back and sighed with relief. Now he could finally go play with the computers. But that was not to be.
She handed the tray off to another waiting servant in the hall and came back to him with big brown downcast eyes that occasionally darted up to peer at his face.
Now what should he do? “The meal was really excellent. Thank you and please give my compliments to the chef. But I am so full, I don’t think I’ll be needing any more to eat tonight. Thank you.”
She inclined her head again and didn’t move. She did, however say, “I am here to serve you.”
Okay. He got that, but dinner was over. Was she going to hang around until his breakfast tray arrived?
He saw her finally raise her eyes and hold his, the boldest move she’d made all night. “Serve you in there.”
She pointed toward the bedroom door.
Matt’s heart skipped a beat. Holy shit.
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