by Cecy Robson
Releasing
June 21st 2016
Self-Published
Self-Published
Blurb
How can you imagine forever with someone who's leaving everything behind?
How can you imagine forever with someone who's leaving everything behind?
Callahan,
a former army sniper, wants to make an escape from his past and everything he
experienced at war, but most of all, just not feel. Feeling leads to pain and
he's suffered enough. When he inherits a house on South Carolina's Kiawah
Island, he packs his bags, lured by the peace and seclusion he thinks it will
bring. But, Callahan never counted on meeting anyone like Trinity . . .
Trinity
has always been the cute, and funny one, who most guys overlook inpursuit of
her "hot" friends. She became used to being everyone's pal, until the
day the young man she was attracted to, was drawn to her in return. He became
her first great love, and first crushing heartbreak when she found him in bed
with one of her closest friends.
To
move forward, and to carry out her commitment to helping those in need, Trinity
enlists in the Peace Corps, but not before returning to Kiawah for one last
memorable summer. She just never imagined it would be so unforgettable.
Callahan
doesn't want to get close to anyone-let alone Trinity. He finds her perkiness
insufferable and her attempts to entice a smile distracting. After all, he's in
Kiawah to leave all feelings behind. But when it comes to Trinity, who feels
everything, it's hard not to feel something.
Neither
expected to fall in love. And no one could have predicted how inseverable
they'd become.
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Prologue
Callahan
Three days.
That’s all I have left until
this shit ends.
Three days shouldn’t feel
like forever, not compared to the eight years I’ve bled to the Army. Thing is,
good men have been killed in less time. In as quick as a blink, a squeeze of a
trigger, or a small breath right before a grenade blows is all the time it
takes to shove someone right out of life and well into death.
That’s what makes three days
as long as it is. Three days is plenty of time to die.
My eyes tear when the wind
picks up and shoots grime through the small hole of my lookout point. This
blown out piece of cinderblock is only big enough to allow me a view of the
street below, but not so small I don’t get smacked in the face with more filth.
The tarp flaps above me as I spit out another layer of the dirt-sand mix
spackling my teeth. Christ Almighty, I need a swig of the water resting near my
elbow. But my thirst, like everything else has to wait.
I have a job to do.
I adjust my hips against the
cracked cement of my bed, bathroom, and home all rolled into one, thankful that
the agonizing ache stretching over the lower half of my body has settled into a
now familiar numbness.
Out of all the points I’d
scouted, and all the accumulated years spent in this position, I should be used
to it. And in a strange way, it should almost be home. Yet nothing ever has
been home.
But in three days, maybe
something finally will be . . .
I shove my thoughts away and
breathe as my fellow Rangers stalk along the street. It’s then I see them, a
mother and daughter walking straight toward my team. Less than one city block
separates them from the men counting on me to keep them alive.
The hell? How did they get
past the other sniper unreported? Rogers is new on watch. But the quick paces
these two are taking should have clued him in that something’s up. I train my
scope on their faces; their expressions are blank, unreadable. ‘Cept that’s not
what keeps my attention.
The little girl can’t be more
than five. So why the fuck isn’t her mother holding her hand? I lift my radio
and bark a warning, dropping it beside me as I lock my scope dead center on the
woman’s head.
The radio crackles and
Modreski chimes in, yelling at his team to hold their positions. He asks me
what my plan is, knowing if something’s caused the short-hairs on my neck to
rise, he and the boys damn well need to listen. But I don’t hear him, with a
breath and a squeeze of the trigger, I leave a kid without a mother.
Just beneath the sleeve of
her abayah―the dress completely
covering her body―I see it, a detonator that would trigger the explosives
likely strapped to her chest. A few Rangers I know―Simons and Boreman, rush
forward. I start to mutter a curse, pissed at her for making me shoot her in
front of her kid. But the curse lodges in my throat when I see the kid isn’t
looking at her mother lying next to her dead.
She’s watching my advancing
team as she lifts the detonator clasped tight in her hand.
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Author
InfoCECY ROBSON is the New Adult and Contemporary author of the Shattered Past series, the O’Brien Family novels, and the award winning author of the Weird Girls Urban Fantasy Romance series. A self-proclaimed professional napper, Cecy counts among her talents a jaw-dropping knowledge of useless trivia, the ability to make her hair big, and a knack for breaking into song, despi4e her family’s vehement protests. A full-time writer, registered nurse, wife, and mother living in the South, Cecy enjoys spending time with her family and silencing the yappy characters in her head by telling their stories.
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