{"product_id":"troubleshootersisbn-9780345456939","title":"Troubleshooters","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn a novel of action, intrigue, and romance, a U.S. Navy SEAL and an FBI agent race to unravel a mystery–while confronting their own unresolved feelings for each other.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In his career as one of America’s elite warriors, Lt. Sam Starrett  can do no wrong. In his private life, Sam–the king of one night stands–has done little  right. Now, he’s waiting for a divorce and determined to stay active in his young  daughter’s life. But when Sam shows up at the door of his ex-wife’s home in Sarasota,  Florida, he makes a grisly discovery. His daughter is gone and the body of a woman  lies brutally murdered on the floor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e FBI agent Alyssa Locke’s relationship with  Sam has been overwhelmingly intense and nearly catastrophic, yet it refuses to end.  The last time she saw Sam was six months earlier, when they worked together to stop  terrorists from assassinating the U.S. President. Much to her dismay, Alyssa is assigned  to lead the murder investigation and once again the two are face to face. When explosive  information surfaces linking Sam to the still unsolved assassination plot, the stakes  are raised. With her reputation hanging in the balance, and her loyalties in question,  Alyssa is faced with an impossible dilemma:arrest a man she believes to be innocent,  or risk her career.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e While Alyssa tries to fight their intense attraction, Sam is  determined to heat things up between them once again. And the complex case pushes  them both to the wrong side of the law–and on the run to discover the truth. As more  agents step into the chase, and with Sam’s daughter still unaccounted for, neither  Alyssa nor Sam can predict just how deadly hot this situation is about to become.  . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A thrilling novel that ranges back into the days of World War II, into friendships,  families, liaisons, betrayals, and the code of honor that binds the U.S. Navy SEALs,  \u003ci\u003eGone Too Far\u003c\/i\u003e is an electrifying experience in suspense–and a brilliant tale of lives  lived on the edge.Praise for Suzanne Brockman and \u003cb\u003eGone Too Far\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“At last! Sam and Alyssa’s book! \u003cb\u003eGone Too Far \u003c\/b\u003eis Suzanne Brockmann’s best book to date. There’s everything anyone could want: action, danger, suspense, passion, and tears. This is one I’ll read again.” –LINDA HOWARD\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sizzling with military intrigue and sexual tension, with characters so vivid they leap right off the page, \u003cb\u003eGone Too Far\u003c\/b\u003e is a bold, brassy read with a momentum that just doesn’t quit.\" –TESS GERRITSEN\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Suzanne Brockmann always delivers kick-ass heroes, unforgettable heroines and nail-biting tales of suspense.” –LISA GARDNER\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eSuzanne Brockmann\u003c\/b\u003e is the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of more than fifty novels, including her award-winning Troubleshooters series, about Navy SEAL heroes and the women—and sometimes men—who win their hearts. In addition to writing books, Brockmann has co-produced several feature-length movies: the award-winning romantic comedy \u003ci\u003eThe Perfect Wedding,\u003c\/i\u003e which she co-wrote with her husband, Ed Gaffney, and their son, Jason, and the upcoming thriller \u003ci\u003eRussian Doll\u003c\/i\u003e. She has also co-written two YA novels with her daughter, Melanie.\u003cb\u003eCHAPTER ONE \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sarasota, Florida \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Monday, June 16, 2003 \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Roger “Sam” Starrett’s  cell phone vibrated, but he was wedged into the rental car so tightly that there  was no way he could get the damn thing out of the front pocket of his jeans.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At  least not without causing a twelve-car pileup on Route 75.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He had the air-conditioning  cranked—welcome to summer in Florida—and the gas pedal floored, but the subcompact  piece of shit that had been one of the last cars in the rental company’s lot was  neither cool nor fast.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was barely a car.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Feeling trapped in an uncomfortable  place had been pretty much SOP for Sam ever since he rushed into marriage with Mary  Lou nearly two years ago, and he waited for the familiar waves of irritation and  anger to wash over him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Instead, he felt something strangely similar to relief.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Because Sarasota was only another few minutes down the road. And the end was finally  in sight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sam knew the town well enough—he’d hitched down here from his parents  house in Fort Worth, Texas, four summers in a row, starting when he turned fifteen.  It had changed a lot since then, but he had to believe that the circus school was  still over by Ringling Boulevard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Which wasn’t too far from Mary Lou’s street address.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Maybe he should make a quick stop, pick up a few more Bozos, turn this thing into  a bona fide clown car.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e On the other hand, one was probably enough to qualify for  clown car status.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His phone finally stopped shaking.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What were the chances that  it had been Mary Lou, finally calling him back?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nah, that would be too damn easy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Although, in theory, this should have been an easy trip. Pop over to Sarasota. Pick  up the divorce papers that Mary Lou was supposed to have sent back to him three weeks  ago. Put an end to the giant-ass mistake that was their marriage, and maybe even  try to start something new. Like a real relationship with his baby daughter, Haley,  who after six months probably wouldn’t even recognize him. Then pop back home to  San Diego.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Fucking easy as pie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Except this was Mary Lou he was dealing with. Yes,  she was the one who’d filed for this divorce. Yes, she’d been compliant right up  to this point. But Sam wouldn’t put it past her to change her mind at the zero hour.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And it was, indeed, the zero hour.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And, true to form, Mary Lou was surely messing  with him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Had to be.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Why else would she not have sent the papers back to the attorney  after receiving them four weeks ago? Why else would she not return Sam’s phone calls?  Why else would she not pick up the phone even when he called at oh dark hundred,  when he knew she had to be there because the baby was surely sleeping?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sam reached  for the stick to downshift as he took the exit ramp for Bee Ridge Road, and came  into contact with the stupidass automatic transmission.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Six months ago, this entire  suckfest scenario would have made him bullshit. Everything sucked. This car sucked,  the fact that he had to come all this way for something that should have cost the  price of a first-class postage stamp sucked, and knowing that Haley was going to  look at him as if he were some stranger really sucked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But along with his weird  feeling of relief came a sense of readiness. Maybe this wasn’t going to be easy,  but that was okay. He was ready for it. He was ready for anything.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Like, Haley was  probably going to cry when he tried to hold her. So he wouldn’t hold her at first.  He’d take it slow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And Mary Lou, well, she was probably going to ask him to get  back together. He was ready for that, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Honey, you know as well as I do that  it just wasn’t working.” He tried the words aloud, glancing at himself in the rearview  mirror, checking to see if he looked apologetic enough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But, shit, he looked like  roadkill. His eyes were bloodshot behind his sunglasses, and the flight out of Atlanta  had been weather delayed for so damn long that he desperately needed a shower.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And  he definitely shouldn’t start out by calling her honey. She had a name, and it was  Mary Lou. Honey—and every other term of endearment he’d ever used, like sugar, darling,  sweetheart, sweet thing—was demeaning.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He could practically hear Alyssa Locke’s  voice telling him so. And God knows Alyssa Locke was the Queen of Right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She’d hated  it something fierce when he’d called her sweet thing. So he’d called her Alyssa,  drawing the S’s out as he whispered her name in her perfect ear as they’d had sex  that should’ve been listed in the world record books. Best Sex of All Time—Sam Starrett  and Alyssa Locke, Champions of the Simultaneous Orgasm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Ah, God.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What was Alyssa  going to think when she heard about his divorce?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sooner or later the news was going  to get out. Up to this point, his commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Tom Paoletti,  and the SEAL team’s XO, Lieutenant Jazz Jacquette, were the only ones who knew that  Sam and Mary Lou were finally calling it quits. He hadn’t told Nils and WildCard  yet—his best friends in Team Sixteen. Shit, he hadn’t told his sister, Elaine. Or  even Noah and Claire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And he sure as hell hadn’t told Alyssa Locke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Who was probably  going to think, Thank God I’m in a committed relationship with Max so Roger Starrett  doesn’t come sniffing around my door, looking for some play. Max. The fucker. Even  after all this time, Sam was still insanely jealous of Max Bhagat. Despite his new  sense of relief and hope, he was feeling neither when it came to thoughts of Alyssa  and Max.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “How could you fuck your boss?” Sam asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alyssa, because she wasn’t  in the car, didn’t answer him, of course.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It wasn’t too tough of a question. Sam  could come up with plenty of answers without Alyssa’s help. Because Max was handsome,  powerful, brilliant, and, yes, probably great in bed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yeah, and who was he kidding  with that probably? Max was no doubt definitely great in bed. Sam knew Alyssa, and  she wasn’t about to spend more than a year of her life with someone who couldn’t  keep up with her sexually.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And as far as the fact that the man was her boss . .  .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She and Max were incredibly discreet. In fact, they were so discreet, there were  some people in the Spec Ops community who refused to believe that they actually had  an intimate relationship.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But Sam knew better. He’d gone knocking on Alyssa’s hotel  room door about six months ago. And, yeah, it was a stupidass thing to do. He and  Mary Lou hadn’t even separated back then. He had no business knocking on anyone’s  door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But an FBI agent matching Alyssa’s description—a woman of color, in her late  twenties—had been killed that day, and until the news came down that Alyssa wasn’ t on the casualty list, Sam kind of lost it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Except who had opened that hotel room  door that he’d knocked on? Well, gee, hiya, Max. Sorry I woke you, man.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And that  was it. Game over. It was looking into Max’s eyes that did it. The fucker cared deeply  about Alyssa—that was more than clear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And every day since then, Sam tried—he really  honestly tried—to be happy for her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And as for his own elusive happiness . . .\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Well, he was done feeling sorry for himself. And he was done letting this divorce  take place on Mary Lou’s timetable, with Mary Lou running this freak show.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sam and  his expensive new lawyer had worked out a schedule of visits—dates and times that  he could see Haley. He wasn’t looking for joint custody—that would be crazy. As a  SEAL he went out of the country at the drop of a hat, sometimes for weeks or even  months at a time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He just wanted to be able to see his kid a couple of times a week  whenever he was Stateside. Surely Mary Lou would agree to that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e To make it a no-brainer  for her, Sam was prepared to give her the deed to their house back in San Diego,  free and clear. He’d take care of the mortgage and continue to pay the taxes. Now  that Mary Lou’s sister, Janine, had split up with her husband, Sam’s plan was to  talk all three of them—Mary Lou, Janine, and Haley—into moving back to California.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Where he would be able to see Haley every other weekend and once a week on Wednesday  nights—instead of some pathetic twice a year bullshit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Surely the idea of a free  place to live would appeal to Mary Lou, who, in one of the bigger surprises of a  marriage filled with complete surprises, was a total miser when it came to saving  money.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e So, yeah, Sam was hopeful that he and Mary Lou were going to be able to work  this out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And who knows? Once he did that, the rest of his life could start to turn  around, too. Maybe perfect Max had a perfect sister who was beautiful, brilliant  and great in bed, too. And maybe Sam and the sister and Max and Alyssa could all  double-date.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yeah, right. Just as Max wasn’t his favorite person, Sam wasn’t Max’ s. The chances of them ever socializing—by choice—were in negative numbers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Traffic  in the city was light at this time of the morning. He was literally four minutes  from Mary Lou’s door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Please be home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sam had tried calling his soon-to-be ex-wife  from a pay phone at the airport, right after his flight had gotten in. It had occurred  to him that she was screening her calls and that maybe she’d pick up if her caller  ID gave her a number other than that of his cell phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Not a chance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He didn’t  leave a message on her machine. He was just going to head over to the house and wait.  Sooner or later Mary Lou or Janine would scoop up Haley from day care and come home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And then he’d do whatever he had to do to get Mary Lou to sign those papers and  move back to San Diego.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hell, if she didn’t want to live in that same house they’ d once shared, they could sell it and she could buy another. It didn’t matter to  him as long as she lived in the San Diego area. He was going to move into the BOQ  on base either way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sure, the bachelor officers quarters were tiny, and there was  no pri- vacy to speak of. But since it was highly unlikely that he was ever going  to have sex again, privacy wasn’t something that he needed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sam laughed at himself.  That sounded really pathetic—never having sex again—like he was such a loser that  no woman would want him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Truth was, women went for him in a major way. In fact,  the girl at the car rental counter couldn’t have been more obvious about her interest  if she’d used semaphore flags.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Where are you staying?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Are you in town alone?” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “If you’re looking for a good hangout, you might want to try Barnaby’s, down by  the dock. I go there all the time after work.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Hint, hint.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She was hot, too. A  strawberry blonde with a lithe, athletic body and a cute little ass. But hot wasn’ t enough for him anymore. No, thank you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sam was finished with casual sex. He was  keeping his pants zipped, which actually wasn’t as hard as it seemed, even after  he’d gone for well over nine months without getting laid.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It sounded like a really  pansy thing to say, but he wanted more from life than a fast fuck with an empty-headed  stranger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Because, shit, he’d been there and done that—and ended up married to an  empty-headed stranger who was pregnant with his child. And hadn’t that been a fun  two and a half years of his life?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He wanted sex to mean something. He wanted to  be fucked for more than his blue eyes and his muscles and the fact that he was a  lieutenant with the U.S. Navy SEALs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Unless, of course, Alyssa Locke called him  up and begged him to come over, get naked, and light her world on fire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e If that  ever happened, all bets were off.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Alyssa was neither empty-headed nor a stranger,  but during the few nights they’d spent together, way back before Sam married Mary  Lou, she’d definitely thought of him as only a temporary plaything, which still stung.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sam leaned over to look at the numbers on the houses as he turned on to Mary Lou’ s street: 458, 460, 462.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bingo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Number 462 Camilia Street was a tiny little single-story  Florida-style house with a carport that sat empty. There wasn’t a car in the driveway  either, nor one parked out in front.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sam pulled up and sat, air-conditioning blasting,  just looking at the house. With flaking paint and shutters that hung in crooked disrepair,  it was about half the size of their place in San Diego. The yard was dry, the grass  and plants brown, courtesy of the drought that was turning Florida into a desert.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A tired-looking palm tree provided the only shade out front. The door was shut behind  the torn screen, and the dark shades on the windows were pulled all the way down  and—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e What the fuck . . . ?","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305238188261,"sku":"NP9780345456939","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345456939.jpg?v=1730759829","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/troubleshootersisbn-9780345456939","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}