{"product_id":"dark-of-night-isbn-9780345501561","title":"Dark of Night","description":"Only a handful of people in the world know that James Nash is alive.\u003cbr\u003eFor years, Nash performed ultra-covert “Black Ops” missions for a shadowy government agency. But when he walked away from their dirty work, his ruthless bosses weren’t about to let him go. After their attempt to assassinate him nearly succeeds, his former partner Lawrence Decker, with the FBI’s help, fakes Nash’s death to protect him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith Nash secreted away in a safe house, Decker will risk everything–including his heart–as he races to solve the mystery of who wanted Nash dead. Passions will flare as everyone close to the deception finds themselves fighting for survival.“Brockmann brilliantly combines superbly crafted, realistically complex characters with white-knuckle plotting.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Brockmann is a master of adventure, drama, passion and suspense.”—\u003ci\u003eTampa Tribune\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“[Suzanne Brockmann is] the reigning queen of military suspense.”—\u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eAfter childhood plans to become the captain of a starship didn’t pan out, \u003cb\u003eSuzanne Brockmann\u003c\/b\u003e took her fascination with military history, her respect for the men and women who serve, her reverence for diversity, and her love of storytelling and explored brave new worlds as a \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling romance author. Over the past twenty years, she has written 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, Suzanne Brockmann has co-produced a feature-length movie, 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. She has also co-written a YA novel, set in the world of her paranormal Fighting Destiny series, with her daughter, Melanie. Find Suzanne Brockmann on Facebook, follow her on Twitter, and visit her website to find out more about upcoming releases and appearances.Chapter One\u003cbr\u003eIf Dave had known, before he’d picked up the phone, how much trouble this one call would cause, he would’ve let it go directly to voice mail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut it was Sunday morning, and he was enjoying—very much—the experience of surfing the cable TV news channels from the comfort of Sophia’s bed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe loved hanging out in the bedroom of her little apartment, and not\u003cbr\u003ejust because most of the time he was in here of late, he was in the process\u003cbr\u003eof taking off Sophia’s clothes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThough she’d lived in this tiny second- floor walk- up for far fewer years\u003cbr\u003ethan he’d inhabited his spacious and still- spartan condo, she’d turned this\u003cbr\u003eplace into a real home. Her furnishings were unique—quirky, mismatched\u003cbr\u003epieces she’d picked up in flea markets and painted in the vibrant\u003cbr\u003ecolors of the Mediterranean. Rich blues in a variety of shades mingled\u003cbr\u003ewith bright yellows, warm reds, and a green that brought to mind the newness of spring. Artwork—some of it her own, and quite good—hung on the walls. The open windows were covered by full, gauzy curtains that shimmered and breathed with the breeze. A ceiling fan was kept always running, moving at its lowest, laziest speed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLast week Sophia had moved the TV into the room for him—an admitted\u003cbr\u003enews junkie—and as the phone rang again, he pushed the remote\u003cbr\u003econtrol’s mute button as he shouted to her, in the bathroom, “You want\u003cbr\u003eme to get that?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophia had just turned on the water, and as he heard the shower door\u003cbr\u003eclunk shut, she called back, “You don’t have to.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDave should’ve ignored it and turned off the TV and gone into the\u003cbr\u003ebathroom to help Sophia wash herself in those hard- to- reach places, but\u003cbr\u003ehe was an idiot. He was still on a high from last night, when his plane had\u003cbr\u003elanded and he’d turned on his phone to find that she’d called him while\u003cbr\u003ehe was in the air. Five times.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe’d gotten home several days early from her own business trip to\u003cbr\u003eDenver and—of course, because he had purposely neglected to tell her of\u003cbr\u003ehis own international trek—was wondering where he was. She was cooking\u003cbr\u003edinner, although, honestly? After four days apart? They were going to\u003cbr\u003ebe eating late.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDave had called her immediately, headed straight to her place, where\u003cbr\u003eshe’d jumped him the moment he’d walked in the door—as if she’d been\u003cbr\u003eas starved for his touch as he’d been for hers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIncredibly, it wasn’t the fabulous sex they’d had right there in her living room that had made his day, week, year—no, \u003ci\u003elife. \u003c\/i\u003eIt was later, after dinner, with Sophia drowsy, her head on his shoulder, as they were about to fall asleep, telling him that she’d missed him, and that she slept much better— as in, she didn’t have her usual nightmares—when she spent the night in his arms.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt seemed the perfect segue for him to ask her about those nightmares—\u003cbr\u003ea topic they’d both shied away from, for years. And this time, he\u003cbr\u003ewas ready for it. This time, he knew the questions to ask.\u003cbr\u003eBut then she’d added that, in the morning if he wanted her to, she’d\u003cbr\u003eclear out a drawer for him, maybe make him some space in her closet . . . ?\u003cbr\u003eIf he \u003ci\u003ewanted \u003c\/i\u003eher to?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDave had answered by kissing her, and she’d kissed him back, and\u003cbr\u003ethey’d made love again—slowly this time. Sweetly. She’d breathed his\u003cbr\u003ename on a sigh and she’d fallen asleep almost immediately after, leaving\u003cbr\u003ehim holding her in his arms, with his heart so full his chest actually hurt.\u003cbr\u003eBut now, in the light of morning, the TV, the empty drawer, and the\u003cbr\u003ecloset space weren’t enough for Dave. Nuh- uh. No, sir. He had to further\u003cbr\u003estake his claim here in Sophia’s life by answering the telephone on her\u003cbr\u003ebedside table at 10:37 on a sunny Sunday morning, with a voice still rusty\u003cbr\u003eand deep from a satisfying night made up only partially of sleep.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hello?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was a hesitation—an indrawn breath—as if the person on the\u003cbr\u003eother end were surprised to hear someone male pick up the phone. That’s\u003cbr\u003eright. Uh- huh. He was so the man. He was the dude with the cojones\u003cbr\u003egrande who was going to get his very own drawer here in Sophia’s pretty\u003cbr\u003ebedroom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“May I speak to Sophia?” The voice, when it finally came, was female,\u003cbr\u003eolder, with a hint of Great Britain in its precise enunciation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m afraid she’s indisposed,” Dave said. “May I take a message?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Please. Will you ask her to call her Aunt Maureen?” She pronounced\u003cbr\u003eit \u003ci\u003eahhnt, \u003c\/i\u003erather than like the insect. “Maureen Miles. I’m her father’s sister\u003cbr\u003e. . . ?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOh, no.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yes,” Dave said. “Of course. Hi. Sophia’s, um, told me about you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom Boston, right? I’m Dave. Her . . .” What? Boyfriend? Lover?\u003cbr\u003eBedroom- drawer guy? They’d talked about a lot of things over the past\u003cbr\u003eweeks, but they’d never precisely defined what their relationship now was.\u003cbr\u003eMaureen Miles didn’t seem to care. There was more to her message.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Will you let her know that her father’s back in the hospital?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShit. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Dave said. “Mass General again?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother brief pause. “Yes. The doctors have given him only a few days\u003cbr\u003ethis time, and he would like, very much, to see his daughter. I should think\u003cbr\u003eshe owes him at least that much—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m sorry,” Dave cut her off. “With all due respect, ma’am, do we live\u003cbr\u003ein the same universe? Because in the reality- based one where I reside,\u003cbr\u003eSophia owes him \u003ci\u003enothing.\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He’s her father,” the woman said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“He may have contributed his sperm to the creative process,” Dave\u003cbr\u003esaid tartly, “but in my opinion he lost the right to call himself \u003ci\u003eDaddy \u003c\/i\u003ea few\u003cbr\u003edecades ago.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe was silent again for a moment, but she was just regrouping. She\u003cbr\u003ehadn’t given up. “Please tell her that he’s being moved into hospice in a\u003cbr\u003efew days.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’ll give her the message,” Dave said, a \u003ci\u003ebut \u003c\/i\u003eheavy in his tone, and the\u003cbr\u003ewoman hung up without a thank- you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe dropped the handset into the phone’s cradle and flopped back\u003cbr\u003eonto Sophia’s pillows, staring up at the spinning ceiling fan.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the bathroom, he heard the sound of the water shutting off, the\u003cbr\u003eshower door opening. Sophia’s melodic voice. “We need to get moving if\u003cbr\u003ewe’re going to make it to Encinitas by noon.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat? Dave lifted his head and aimed his voice toward the bathroom\u003cbr\u003edoor. “Noon? Wait a minute, why?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe appeared in the doorway, gloriously naked, drying herself with a\u003cbr\u003etowel, her wet hair slicked back from her face. She was one of those\u003cbr\u003ewomen who were even more beautiful when not wearing makeup.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOr clothes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was hard to think or listen when Sophia was naked, and he’d obviously\u003cbr\u003enot heard her response to his question, because she gave him her \u003ci\u003eI’m\u003cbr\u003erepeating myself because you’re staring at me blankly \u003c\/i\u003esmile and said, again,\u003cbr\u003e“The main parking lot’ll fill up by noon.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Seriously?” Dave sat up, struggling to make sense of her words. “Are we\u003cbr\u003etalking about the same thing? The parking lot’ll \u003ci\u003efill up\u003c\/i\u003e? For a \u003ci\u003eflea \u003c\/i\u003emarket?”\u003cbr\u003e“Antique show,” she corrected him, heading out of sight, back to the\u003cbr\u003esink, where she kept a collection of bottles and jars of lotion, each one of\u003cbr\u003ethem smelling sweeter than the last. If he hurried, he could watch her\u003cbr\u003esmooth some onto her arms and legs, her stomach and breasts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs he skidded to a stop in the bathroom, she met his eyes in the mirror.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You know, we don’t have to go.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I want to.” He opened the shower door and turned on the water. “The\u003cbr\u003ethrill of the hunt, the excitement of finding a treasure hidden in with the\u003cbr\u003etrash, the hours tromping through the brain- meltingly hot sun with the four\u003cbr\u003emillion other people who helped us fill up the main parking lot before\u003cbr\u003enoon, who are hoping to find the exact same perfect cabinet for the kitchen\u003cbr\u003ebefore we do, so maybe we’ll have to win a duel or probably a spelling bee\u003cbr\u003ein order to gain ownership . . . I’m totally there, T- H- E- R- E.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophia had turned around to look at him, her gaze traveling below his\u003cbr\u003ewaist, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she tried not to smile—\u003cbr\u003eand failed. “You either \u003ci\u003ereally \u003c\/i\u003elove antiques, or you’re lying through your\u003cbr\u003eteeth.” She reached out and wrapped her fingers around him as she gave\u003cbr\u003eup and laughed. “I’m going to go with lying through your teeth.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDave laughed, too, as she stroked him, as she smiled up into his eyes.\u003cbr\u003e“Obviously I’d anticipated a different morning agenda,” he told her. “But\u003cbr\u003eI’m a grown- up. I can multi- task. I can both be your antique- hunting partner\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eand \u003c\/i\u003espend the day imagining all the ways I’m going to make you come\u003cbr\u003eafter we get home.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hmm,” she said, swaying closer, the tips of her breasts brushing his\u003cbr\u003echest as she pressed his erection against the softness of her stomach. “Or\u003cbr\u003ewe can say the heck with the main parking area, and take the PITA shuttle\u003cbr\u003efrom the south lot.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“South lot,” he repeated, unable to keep himself from touching her, his\u003cbr\u003efingers sliding across her silky, clean, lotion- sweet skin. “There’s a south lot?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophia nodded, then jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck,\u003cbr\u003eher legs around his waist, like a piggyback ride in reverse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I love the south lot,” Dave told her as he grabbed her to keep her\u003cbr\u003efrom slipping off him, her perfect derriere filling his hands. And God, this\u003cbr\u003ewas unlike any other piggyback ride he’d ever given anyone, because she\u003cbr\u003eshifted and pushed him hard and deep inside of her. “Holy \u003ci\u003eshit.\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe pulled back to look at him, laughter lighting her face and making\u003cbr\u003eher eyes sparkle and dance. “New one, huh?” she asked as she began to\u003cbr\u003emove against him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe nodded. “Oh, yeah.” His experience with sex, pre- Sophia, was\u003cbr\u003eridiculously limited, and she knew it because, well, he’d told her the truth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey’d talked about a lot of things in those first few days A.S.—after\u003cbr\u003eSacramento—and while he hadn’t been ready to go into full, gory detail\u003cbr\u003eabout his farce of a relationship with Kathy- slash- Anise, he \u003ci\u003ehad \u003c\/i\u003econfessed\u003cbr\u003eto Sophia that his full sexual oeuvre was limited to five interactions with\u003cbr\u003eone woman who didn’t particularly like him, even though she’d pretended\u003cbr\u003eotherwise.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophia hadn’t fainted at that news, no doubt because her own baggage\u003cbr\u003ewas also quite cumbersome when it came to sex.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat first morning they’d woken up in each other’s arms, they’d made\u003cbr\u003ea promise to be honest in regard to their intimacy—since it was a potential\u003cbr\u003eminefield for both of them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo, yes. Having sex standing up in the middle of the bathroom \u003ci\u003ewas \u003c\/i\u003ea\u003cbr\u003enew one for him. Although there really wasn’t much he could do but stand\u003cbr\u003ethere holding her, the muscles in his arms and shoulders getting quite the\u003cbr\u003eworkout.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhich maybe meant he was a wimp, because she was petite and\u003cbr\u003edidn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. But Dave was discovering that\u003cbr\u003eholding on to a hundred- pound woman was a very different experience\u003cbr\u003ethan holding on to a hundred- pound woman while having sex with her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ah, God,” he said. “Soph . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Thumbs up or down?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, up,” he told her. “Big up.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Me too,” she gasped, her breath warm against his ear. “But feel free\u003cbr\u003eto, you know, set me on the counter, by the sink, if you need to—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Not a chance.” Dave loved where his hands were, loved the sensation\u003cbr\u003eof her legs and buttocks straining to push him more fully inside of her, but\u003cbr\u003ewhen he shifted slightly to get a better grip, he discovered—eureka!—\u003cbr\u003ethere \u003ci\u003ewas \u003c\/i\u003esomething he could do besides simply stand there and not drop\u003cbr\u003eher. He shifted again to hold most of her weight with his left arm, freeing\u003cbr\u003eup his right hand to touch her again, with slightly better aim.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe sighed his name, and that, combined with the increased speed of\u003cbr\u003eher rocking motion, was enough to bring him teetering to the edge of his\u003cbr\u003erelease, so he touched her harder, deeper, and she came with a moan and\u003cbr\u003ea shudder that he loved as much as he loved his new drawer and closet\u003cbr\u003espace. And in that fraction of a heartbeat, in the brief instant of time between\u003cbr\u003ehis knowing that he, too, was going to orgasm\u003ci\u003e—now—\u003c\/i\u003eand the deep\u003cbr\u003erush of mind- blowing pleasure that was already starting to surge through\u003cbr\u003ehis body, he remembered the phone call.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe’d yet to tell Sophia that her father was in the hospital.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDave came with a crash, with a shout—“God, I love you!”—pulling\u003cbr\u003eher warm, pliant body more tightly against his, as she kept coming around\u003cbr\u003ehim, urging him, as always, to give her more, \u003ci\u003emore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eIt should have diminished his pleasure—his remembering the unhappy\u003cbr\u003emessage he’d promised to deliver. It should have made him\u003cbr\u003eashamed for forgetting something so important in the first place.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt should have, but it didn’t.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophia’s father was a rat- bastard and few besides his sister Maureen\u003cbr\u003ewould miss him when he was gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eSweet \u003c\/i\u003eJesus,” Dave said when he got his vocal cords working again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSophia just laughed, still clinging to him, nuzzling his neck, ankles\u003cbr\u003elocked just beneath his butt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eArms shaking, knees wobbly, he carried her out of the bathroom and\u003cbr\u003edumped her onto the bed, collapsing beside her. “That was a solid thirty\u003cbr\u003eon the fun scale.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe laughed again. “When is it ever \u003ci\u003enot \u003c\/i\u003ea thirty?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn an effort to lighten things up—mostly for his own sake, since the\u003cbr\u003esimple fact that he was in a relationship with the woman of his dreams was\u003cbr\u003eoften enough to get him choked up—Dave had suggested a rating system,\u003cbr\u003eone to ten, for each new- to- him sexual position, of which there were many.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd yes, in all honesty, it was a way, too, for him to acknowledge his lack\u003cbr\u003eof experience—by addressing it straight on, with humor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sweetheart”—he opened his eyes to do his best Bogart—“for me, just\u003cbr\u003ebeing in a room with you is a twenty.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe had her head propped up on one elbow so that she could look\u003cbr\u003edown at him, her eyes wide and serious as her smile slowly faded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You know that I love you, too, right?” she finally murmured.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe gazed back at her for several long moments before he responded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe waited until he knew for sure that his voice wouldn’t vibrate with emotion.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You don’t have to say that.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s true,” Sophia insisted. “These past few months have been . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe shook her head. “Sad, because of Nash dying, but . . . Also . . . I don’t\u003cbr\u003eknow if I’ve . . .” She looked down toward the jumble of bright blue sheets\u003cbr\u003ebeneath them and started again. “I can’t remember ever being this . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe searched for the right word as Dave waited, his heart in his throat. She\u003cbr\u003emet his gaze again, her eyes guileless and nearly as blue as the sheets.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Content.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot \u003ci\u003equite \u003c\/i\u003ethe word he was hoping for. Still, he smiled because he was\u003cbr\u003eokay with it. Fact was, he’d be okay with a wide variety of \u003ci\u003eless than \u003c\/i\u003ewords.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuch as satisfied. Comfortable. At ease.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt peace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDave knew he was Sophia’s second choice. He’d accepted that weeks\u003cbr\u003eago, the very first night they’d made love. It \u003ci\u003ewould \u003c\/i\u003ebe enough. It \u003ci\u003ewas\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eenough.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m glad,” he told her now, reaching up to push her hair back behind\u003cbr\u003eher ear, and it wasn’t a lie. He let her look long and hard into his eyes so\u003cbr\u003eshe would know that he meant it, that he accepted her words for what they\u003cbr\u003ewere—something good, if not fairy- tale perfect.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer mouth quirked up into a smile. “You have no idea how hot you\u003cbr\u003eare, do you?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What?” Dave laughed as he realized what she’d said, and then rolled\u003cbr\u003ehis eyes. “Yeah, actually,” he said, “I’m pretty sure I do. I fall somewhere\u003cbr\u003ebetween pickled and poached. Maybe, right after I get a haircut, for about\u003cbr\u003etwo minutes, I can pass for steamed and . . . As fascinating as this discussion\u003cbr\u003eis, can we save it for tonight? Because—and I should have told you\u003cbr\u003ethis before, but you stupefied me with your nakedness. . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m still naked,” she pointed out, that lip again between her teeth as she played with the hair on his chest, and dear God, Dave could see a whole lot of \u003ci\u003eas long as we’re going to park in the south lot dot dot dot \u003c\/i\u003ein her eyes. “Right,” he said, as his body stirred at the thought of staying in bed with this woman—his woman—for the rest of the morning, “so I better talk fast. That was your Aunt Maureen on the phone, Soph. Your father’s back in the hospital.”","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46300925559013,"sku":"NP9780345501561","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345501561.jpg?v=1742922092","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/dark-of-night-isbn-9780345501561","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}