Doranna Durgin - Comeback

The gun muzzles pointed at Selena, and her partner, Dobry, trapped her gaze and didn’t let her look to the people beyond. Inside she raged for freedom, wanting to strike and fight and even lose rather than stand here unresisting.

Dobry’s next words shocked her. “This woman is one who knows your people. She saved your homes in the past.”

The pause was excruciating. The magistrate, an older man with a full, gray beard, walked deliberately around Dobry to examine Selena. She knew this man would not hesitate to order their deaths if he truly thought they were a threat. “I was here this past winter,” she said. “I called for help when the Kemeni rebels attacked.”

“There was a woman here,” he agreed. “We know she was Selena Jones, of the American FBI. That she worked against terrorism.” Then he smiled. “What we don’t know,” he said, “is who you are.”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Eyed Dobry and found him eyeing her back.

Because of course, they didn’t have any papers on them to prove their identities.

Dear Reader,

Offered the chance to go back and revisit Selena’s world, is there anyone here who thinks I so much as blinked before leaping to my feet and wildly waving my hand— “Me! Me! Oh, pick me!” (The muse has no shame, really.) For while I had an extensive chance to explore Selena’s character in Checkmate and to learn a little about Cole, I didn’t really have the opportunity to see how they were together. How would they work as a team, at home and in the field? And given more “air time,” what sort of fellow would Cole turn out to be?

Along with all that, I wondered, what would it be like to be Selena, trying to cope with the events of Checkmate as she went on with her life? The answers made for a delightful writing experience, and I hope they make for good reading, as well. Enjoy!

Doranna Durgin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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DORANNA DURGIN

spent her childhood filling notebooks first with stories and art, and then with novels. After obtaining a degree in wildlife illustration and environmental education, she spent a number of years deep in the Appalachian Mountains. When she emerged, it was as a writer who found herself irrevocably tied to the natural world and its creatures—and with a new touchstone to the rugged spirit that helped settle the area and which she instills in her characters.

Doranna’s first fantasy novel received the 1995 Compton Crook/Stephen Tall Award for the best first book in the fantasy, science fiction and horror genres; she now has fifteen novels of eclectic genres on the shelves. Most recently she’s leaped gleefully into the world of action romance. When she’s not writing, Doranna builds Web pages, wanders around outside with a camera and works with horses and dogs. There’s a Lipizzan in her backyard, a mountain looming outside her office window, a pack of agility dogs romping in the house and a laptop sitting on her desk—and that’s just the way she likes it. You can find a complete list of titles at www.doranna.net along with scoops about new projects, lots of silly photos and a link to her SFF Net newsgroup.

Dedicated to my own teammates:

Duncan, Belle, Jean-Luc Picardigan and ConneryB.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Someone’s following me.

Selena’s heart rate skyrocketed higher than expected, surprising her with reactions left over from months ago. Reactions that came from two intense days inside the Berzhaan capitol during which she outwitted, outran and outlived the terrorists who’d taken everyone else in the building hostage. Now that familiar tension zinged through her body—a body she somehow kept walking at a normal pace. Outwardly oblivious, inwardly on high alert.

Except this was the modest little Virginia town closest to the CIA training facility called the Farm, and if the description sleepy didn’t quite do it justice, bustling went too far. On a crisp early fall evening, headed from the family-owned pharmacy along the main street to the sports shop, Selena was in no danger from terrorists. Down the sidewalk, a teenage girl walked her dog. Across the street, a middle-aged couple shared an ice-cream cone. A man in running shorts headed down the sidewalk away from Selena; a woman in more sensible sweats jogged in place, waiting out one of the town’s few signal lights. Vehicle traffic was sporadic, heavily populated with the practical rather than the luxurious.

And still, someone followed her.

Selena Shaw Jones didn’t waste time doubting herself. Never did. Doubt hadn’t gotten her out of Berzhaan alive. She’d done that on her own, using her wits and her grit…and trusting her instincts. So now, without changing her stride, she headed past the big brick structure of the sporting goods store, ducking down the alley beside it. Choke point. Anyone following her would stand out clearly if he so much as hesitated at the intersection, while the alley itself was dark enough to hide Selena from a casual glance.

Except she quickly realized she could go one better. The old brick building’s deeply inset windows, half a story above her, offered plenty of ledge for a woman quick and nimble. The darkened panes meant an unoccupied room and no one likely to notice her or give her away. Up she went, scraping knuckles and ignoring the stinging pain as she caught her balance, crouching with her back to the brick and her eyes on the alley entrance. Her left hand crept beneath her black leather duster to her back pocket and pulled out the knife clipped there, thumbing the short tanto blade open. A blade meant for close work, with wicked angles of hard steel.

And yeah. Here they came. One at first, hesitating on the decision to enter the dark area. And then a second, meeting up with quick whispers and a few restrained gestures. One male, one female, features deliberately obscured by deep jacket hoods.

Selena wiped a trembling hand along the thigh of her navy cargo pants. Tailored enough for casual chic, they nonetheless had the flexible pocket capacity she wanted. She’d become quite fond of the style since it had served her so well in Berzhaan, holding a plethora of small improvised weapons for her private guerrilla war against the Kemeni rebels. She wasn’t so fond of the trembling. Not fear, that trembling. Just awareness. Readiness. A need to act.

Come a little closer.

And oh, they did. They tried to cover it, as the man playfully backed the woman into the darkness, nuzzling at her ear and murmuring something to make her laugh. But Selena saw the surreptitious glances, even from within their hoods. They were looking for her. They wondered if she was hidden in some dark corner or if she’d found a hidden exit. She pushed her back against the brick, waiting…