Carol Ericson - Top Gun Guardian

The mood had certainly shifted in here, as if the cold air from outside had seeped in through the window. It suited her. Guilt piled upon guilt didn’t engender lustful thoughts.

But the slabs of hard muscle across Buzz’s chest did.

“You want to join me tonight?” He patted the bed beside him.

She needed more seduction than a stark question. She’d already been feeling as if they’d been punished for their attention to each other.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea, Buzz—for a lot of reasons.”

He shrugged. “We may have different reasons, but I agree with you.” He squeezed her hand as she rose from the bed. “Get a good night’s sleep.”

Raven clicked the bedroom door behind her and leaned her forehead against it. A good night’s sleep with peril on both sides of her?

That wasn’t going to happen.

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For Randy, my top gun neighbor.

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

Raven Pierre —Raven is a big-city girl. When the young daughter of an imperiled African president lands in her lap and her ex-fiancé jumps in to protect them, her big-city veneer begins to crack and her heart shows signs of melting.

Bryan “Buzz” Richardson —A former member of the covert ops team Prospero, Buzz swoops in to guard a girl targeted by terrorists, hoping his protection of her gets him closer to finding missing Prospero member Jack Coburn. The fact that his assignment also gets him closer to his ex-fiancée is icing on the cake.

Malika Okeke —She forms a bond with Raven after Raven saves her life, but now the girl’s attachment to her savior might just get them both killed.

President Okeke —The newly elected president of a fledgling African country, the president has ties in his past to terrorists.

Rodeo Clown —Clowns are supposed to be funny, but Raven isn’t laughing at the mysterious rodeo clown who shows up again and again.

Lance Cooper —He blames Buzz for his brother’s death in a plane crash.

Jeb Russell —A CIA agent who wants Malika, and may be willing to take her by force.

Farouk —Prospero’s former nemesis has expanded his business model and taken his terror worldwide.

Colonel Scripps —Prospero’s coordinator, the Colonel knows he can summon all of the former team members with one call.

Jack Coburn —The former leader of Prospero and current hostage negotiator has run into a little trouble.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

He stared into the boy’s face, searching for artifice…or danger. The boy blinked several times and hunched his shoulders.

He loosened his grip on the youth, but kept his muscles coiled and ready in case the kid ran off. He couldn’t allow him to escape.

This scruffy street urchin just might hold the key to his identity.

He leaned close to the boy’s ear and whispered, “Do you know me?”

A big grin split the urchin’s brown face and then melted away as he gazed into the eyes of his captor. “Of course I know you, Mr. Jack. It is me, Yasir.”

“Yasir?” Despite the chill in the morning air, he wiped a bead of sweat from beneath his headdress. “And my name is Jack?”

The boy nodded, his black brows meeting over his nose. “You do not know your name? What happened to you, Mr. Jack? I do not see you for a week.”

Jack jerked his thumb over his left shoulder. “See that mountain range back there? I woke up on a rock this morning with no memory.”

Yasir’s mouth dropped open, his missing teeth giving him the look of a jack-o’-lantern. He jabbed a finger into Jack’s ribs where a splotch of blood stained his grubby shirt. “Did they get you, Mr. Jack?”

A tingle of fear climbed its way up Jack’s back and he clenched his muscles to ward it off. “Who are they, Yasir? What am I? What am I doing here? Where’s here?”

The kid held up his callused hands. “Okey-dokey, Mr. Jack. We go to your place. I bring you food.”

Jack tensed. Could this be a trap? Did he really have a home in this teeming village of goat herders and traders and farmers?

He looked into the boy’s earnest brown eyes. Did he have a choice right now?

“Okey-dokey, Yasir. I’ll follow you.”

Keeping his head bowed, Jack trailed after Yasir, weaving his way through the press of people. Except for a few nods directed at Yasir, nobody halted their progress through the streets of the village. Nobody attacked him.

Glancing both ways, Yasir darted into an alley and Jack slipped in behind him. A few doorways into the pungent, narrow space, Yasir ducked into a small room, pulling Jack in behind him.

Jack blinked, adjusting his eyes to the gloom. An old man dozed in a chair, and Yasir tiptoed past him. He flicked aside a coarse blanket hanging from the ceiling and waved Jack through with one hand.

Licking his dry lips, Jack sidled through the opening and crept into a room even smaller than the adjoining one. His gaze flicked across the cot in the corner, a low table with a guttered candle on top of it and a few makeshift shelves holding books—lots of books.

A flicker of recognition flitted across his brain, and he dropped to his knees on the dirt floor to squint at the titles. Yasir nudged him in the back, and Jack spun around with his hands clenched.

“Jumpy, Mr. Jack.” With two steps, Yasir crossed the small space and kicked a black duffel bag at the foot of the cot. “This is yours. You take everywhere.”

Crawling to the cot, Jack snagged the strap of the duffel bag and dragged it between his legs as he perched on the edge of the crude bed. He yanked at the zipper and the sides of the bag gaped open.

Yasir scraped a match against the earthen wall of the room. Jack’s nostrils twitched at the smell of sulfur. Yasir lit the candle on the table and a soft yellow glow illuminated the small, dank space.

Grabbing the edges of the bag, Jack peeled it open. His brows shot up as his fingers traced the bundles of cash neatly stashed in the bag. Dozens of passports littered the top of the money stacks, and a gun was tucked in the corner of the bag.