I'm thrilled to announce my romantic suspense special ops short story, TAG TEAM, is now available on Amazon & Smashwords.
Here's a snippet:
The woman had balls.
Big, brass cojones according to rumour circulating the ADF, though the technical terms in Coralee Keaton’s Australian Defence Force file read “brave, brilliant, resourceful.”
Garcia Diaz—Fox to anyone who wanted to walk out of his office without a permanent limp—had witnessed her demonstrate those admirable qualities first hand.
Now she was back.
To muscle in on his operation.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing the pads of his thumbs into them, wishing he could obliterate the memory of this woman and what he knew about her.
It didn’t work.
Her file was embedded in his brain: Coralee Keaton—Lee if you didn’t want a Remington 870 shotgun aimed at your head—thirty-four, joined the 4th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (Commando) after six years Army service, and became part of the embedded Tactical Assault Group (TAG) after 9/11.
An integral part of TAG if her results were anything to go by. This, on top of her leadership in 4 RAR (Special Forces Commandos).
Was there anything the ball-breaking wonder woman couldn’t do?
A brief pounding on the door had his eyes snapping open in time to see her stride into his office, her expression a study in polite professionalism, her eyes eerily blank, as if she didn’t know him.
“You cut your hair,” he said, throwing his pen on the stack of monotonous paperwork in front of him, pissed at her intrusion yet glad for the distraction.
Coralee Keaton might be a pain in the ass to work with but her taut body, long legs and impressive D cup more than compensated for the grief.
“You cut your surveillance on the Ebola job.”
She slammed her palms on his desk, loomed over him. “It nearly botched the whole operation.”
“But it didn’t.”
Leaning back in his chair, he locked hands behind his head, thrust his chin up, his smug smile guaranteed to grate.
She reared back, her blue eyes frigid as the Yarra River on a winter’s day as she stared him down.
“You better not make the same mistake on the ricin job.”
He’d had enough of this crap. Balling his hands into fists, he stood so fast his chair slammed into the filing cabinet behind him.
“I don’t make mistakes, Coralee.”
He deliberately used her full first name, hoping to get a rise.
“Then what the hell am I doing here?”
“Wasting tax payers’ money?”
Stalking around the desk, he stopped a foot in front of her, invading her personal space, daring her to make an issue of it.
With a toss of her glorious shoulder-length black bob, she met his taunting gaze head on.
“I’m the best there is.”
Jabbing his chest for good measure, she smirked. “And don’t you forget it.”
Like he ever could.
He’d tried to forget, dammit, tried with every rebellious cell in his body, but the memory of the last time they’d hooked up on a job was burned into his brain.
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