I was unsure whether I should release Wind Storm because having a new release seems somewhat shallow when measure against a global pandemic. Then I realized that all I have to offer is escapism, and if ever there was a time to escape reality, it’s now.
So, today I’m releasing Wind Storm at a special price 99¢. This price will remain in effect until Monday 27th April. You can also read Wind Storm Free through KindleUnlimited.
A woman who fights to protect the vulnerable
A genius white hat hacker
A group of billionaires, intent on chaos
And an FBI agent trying to make sense of it all
When Sinclair Quinn is jumped in a back alley, her assailants only want to know one thing, the whereabouts of Native American, Michael Papin, the man she’s been in love with since they were street kids together.
Nine months ago, Michael was hit by a car while trying to prevent a group of billionaires, known as the Syndicate, from framing Sinclair’s brother. Now they are back, and they want him dead. When the Syndicate attacks his family, Michael will do anything to ensure their safety, including hiding out with Sinclair.
Sinclair has devoted her life to rescuing stolen children and saving the victims of human trafficking. She knows who she is and is comfortable with the woman she’s become, although she’s never forgotten the man who broke her heart when she was eighteen. Going underground with Michael and his family is not part of her plan. She trusts him with her life, but can she trust him with her heart?
Sinclair Quinn twisted her hips to the side, trying to absorb the punch with her pelvic bone instead of taking a blow to the stomach. She groaned, doubling over as pain ricocheted through her right hip and down her leg. It hurt, but it wasn’t debilitating.
The initial hit to her face had stunned her and allowed the two men to drag her into a nearby alley. The smell of stale urine burned her nostrils. A chewing gum wrapper lay on the ground at her feet. Her heartbeat hard in her ears, and she gasped for breath. Blood dripped from her cut lip; big drops landed on the ground and splattered. She concentrated on them, using them to focus her thoughts and slow her mind. She had her collapsible baton in her jeans pocket. Don’t overthink. Create an opportunity to escape.
“Tell us where the Indian is.” Her assailant grabbed her ponytail and yanked on it, pulling her up and forcing her head back so her throat was exposed.
Michael? What did they want with him?
The thugs had attacked her after she’d left the grocery store. Foolishly, she’d felt secure once she was home in Granite City in northwestern Montana. That was her first mistake. Her Glock 19 handgun was in the glove compartment of her car where it did her no good at all. Mistake number two. Her final error was not noticing she was being tailed. By the time she’d become aware of them following her, it was too late.
The shorter of the two, a man who wore a cheap suit, stood behind her attacker. His hand rested on the pistol in his shoulder holster. “Tell her it’ll only get worse for her the longer this goes on. We need to know where she hid Papin.”
“She’s got ears. She can hear,” the larger one snapped. He had the broken nose and muscle-bound physique of a fighter. He let go of her hair and turned to his partner. “You should do some of the work instead of standing back there, yapping. I hit bone with that last punch and hurt my hand.”
Sinclair grabbed her telescopic baton and flicked it open. She whacked the big guy’s knee, throwing him off balance. Then she struck Cheap Suit’s hand so he couldn’t go for his weapon.
Big Guy regained his equilibrium and pulled his arm back, ready to punch her.
She took advantage of his wide stance and smashed his ribs. He doubled over. Cheap Suit backed up, holding his injured appendage to his chest, protecting it.
She ran. Her groceries—eggs, flour, sugar, and milk—were scattered over the sidewalk at the entrance to the alley. She jumped over them. She’d just returned from a hellacious trip to Ukraine and had been looking forward to a couple of weeks downtime, starting with a day of baking. That wasn’t going to happen now.