Cowboy's Texas Rescue. Beth Cornelison

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      For Paul, who loves me just the way I am.

      Thanks to Rita^® winner and author extraodinaire Darynda Jones for lending her name to Chelsea’s neighbor and for sharing her dog Dooley for the story. Thanks, Darynda, for supporting the NOLA STARs!

      Thanks to Jodi Israel, who won the chance to be a secondary character through the Brenda Novak Diabetes Auction for the Cure in May 2012!

      Thanks also to Aida Alberto for allowing me to feature her cat Nela in the story.

      Thank you to Carmen Parks, who won the chance to have her dog Sadie featured through the PAWS of Northeast Louisiana online auction.

       Prologue

      Jake Connelly crept down the corridor of the underground bunker, his senses on full alert and his Colt M4A1 assault rifle at the ready. When his black ops team reached the reinforced steel door at the end of the dim passageway, they moved silently into position—or as silently as they could while wearing CBRN suits. The military issue, head-to-toe protective clothing, designed to protect a soldier from chemical, biological, radiological or nuclear contamination, was cumbersome but critical for this op.

      His team leader signaled for the men up front to work their magic and get them past the relatively low-tech security on the door. Or low-tech for a U.S. black ops team. Not so low-tech for a developing nation, even if that nation’s government had the means to kidnap a nuclear scientist and consign him to work in this hidden bunker developing a dirty bomb.

      With the door breached, the team leader led the charge into the underground lab, barking in Farsi, “Everyone down! On the floor!”

      “Now!” Jake shouted when the lab workers hesitated. “Hands on your head!”

      One of the protective suit–clad workers tried to run, and one of Jake’s teammates stepped from the corridor to block the man’s escape. Jake tackled the fleeing worker, landing with a knee-jolting crash on the floor.

      The team leader aimed his assault rifle at another man’s head. “On the floor!”

      Jake quickly frisked the worker beneath him for weapons and, finding none, jerked the man to his feet. He bound the man’s hands behind him and led the lab tech into the corridor with a rifle muzzle between the man’s shoulder blades.

      “Clear the room! Let’s get ’em to the helo.” The team leader whipped out a riot cuff and bound the wrists of the lab worker he had pinned to the floor. “All right, guys, set the fireworks.”

      “Move!” Jake shouted in Farsi when his captive resisted. Grabbing the man’s arm, he ran, hauling the combative lab tech behind him. The rest of the team was on Jake’s heels as he sprinted back down the tunnel they’d just cleared of guards and out into the predawn darkness.

      Their driver was waiting in an armored SUV, and the team piled into the vehicle, shoving their captives in first, then crowding onto the bench seats, even as their driver hit the gas. They tore away from the nondescript brick building that hid the entrance to the underground bunker, leaving the last two team members to follow in a second vehicle once the C4 and detonators were set.

      Their SUV sped through the night-darkened desert the short distance to the helicopter that would get them all out of Dodge. Jake’s copilot, Bruster, had the helo’s turbines whirring, the rotor blade spinning. The bird was ready to take off.

      The doors of the SUV popped open as their driver skidded СКАЧАТЬ