When Kendi Morgan witnesses an attempted murder near her home one stormy November night, she makes the only choice her heart will allow: she has to help the victim. But bringing the handsome stranger into her home traps her in the middle of a deadly drug war.
Wounded DEA agent Jackson Taylor is a man with nothing to lose and nothing to fear—until he falls for the beautiful woman who risks everything to save his life.
With his cover blown, Jackson knows he’s all that stands between Kendi and Benito Sanchez, a powerful drug cartel lord. Sanchez swears his vengeance, vowing to see Jackson and Kendi both dead.
Love comes fast when there may be only hours left…can it survive? Or will Jackson sacrifice his partner’s life—along with his own—in exchange for Kendi’s safety? Does a future exist for them BEYOND THE FIRE…
I'm so thrilled to have BEYOND THE FIRE "out there"--again. Yes, this is a re-release, but it's also been retitled. Published a few years back with another company as TEMPTATION'S TOUCH, it's now got a brand new title, cover, and edit--and it's ready to go! This story officially kicks off our MEN IN UNIFORM line with a sizzlin' hot undercover DEA agent and a beautiful divorcee who just happens to save his life!
Y'all know how I love my wounded heroes? Here's an excerpt to whet your appetite! What would you do if you found a strange man being murdered on your property? Leave a comment to be entered in the drawing for a FREE DIGITAL COPY OF BEYOND THE FIRE!
Kendi Morgan thinks she's witnessed a murder, but when she comes closer, she sees the "victim" still lives...barely! Can she get him back to her house? Well, let's see...
FROM BEYOND THE FIRE:
“Think you can make it?”
He nodded, putting his hand out to her. “I’ll make it.” There was no doubt in his tone. Kendi let him hold on to her as he stood up, then slipped under his shoulder. He was taller by a good six inches, and had to lean down for support. He favored his side, his fingers absently going to his ribs on the left. Kendi wondered if they were broken.
“This way,” she murmured, taking a step. She felt his solid weight pull at her with each step, knowing he was doing his best to keep up and not lag behind. They had made it up the slippery creek bank and across the small clearing, when she felt his steps flagging even more. She slowed to accommodate him. His breath was harsh and labored in her ear.
“I don’t even know your name,” she said. The least of my worries. She felt it was important, but didn’t know why. Come morning, she was going to see he got to the hospital—one way or another. He needed more care than she could give him.
“Jackson...Taylor.” He stopped, reaching out to support himself against the trunk of a nearby oak tree. He stood for a few moments, leaning heavily against it, trying to catch his breath. “You wonderin’ what to—to put on the tombstone?”
“No,” she responded, moving close as he reached to put an arm across her shoulders once more. “Wondering who to tell the ambulance driver they’re taking to the hospital—”
“Kendi, no.” He stopped, trying to look into her face. She was immediately sorry she’d said anything. “Don’t call...911.”
“Promise me, Kendi.”
He was so adamant, so fierce in his demand, Kendi immediately nodded. “Okay. I won’t. I promise. If you’ll—”
As if he’d read her mind, he interrupted her quickly. “I will. I-I’ll explain—” He broke off, cursing under his breath, but Kendi knew it wasn’t aimed at her. His tone was raspy with pain.
“Just a little farther, Jackson.”
He smiled, and when he spoke, she heard the amusement in his tone, though she couldn’t see his face. “Call me Jack. And don’t be so scared.” After a moment, he added, “You’re actin’ like...a girl.”
“I am a girl, in case you hadn’t noticed,” she answered sharply, but there was a hint of mirth in her voice.
“Yeah...I noticed all right.”
Kendi wanted to remark she didn’t know how, seeing as how she was dressed—in a man’s flannel shirt and blue jeans. But she closed her mouth before she said anything, remembering once more that she didn’t have a bra on. The rain had soaked the cotton flannel, plastering it to every curve of her body.
The laughter in his voice was overridden by the pain, but it was there. Kendi was certain that, even as wounded and battered as he was, nothing escaped Jackson Taylor.
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