Sabre (eBook, ePUB)
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Sam Breeden is a highly skilled operative known as SABRE. Genetically engineered, Sam is very good at what he does, but his propensity to act on the truth, and not his orders, continually lands him on the bad side of his handlers. When he's instructed to find, and eliminate, a mythical assassin known only as Absinthe, Sam quickly becomes aware all is not as it seems. He suspects the evidence against Absinthe was planted and goes against his orders.The man called Absinthe holds the key to Sam's past. He inserts himself into Sam's orbit and bed with the intent to lead Sam to the truth. He's not ...
Sam Breeden is a highly skilled operative known as SABRE. Genetically engineered, Sam is very good at what he does, but his propensity to act on the truth, and not his orders, continually lands him on the bad side of his handlers. When he's instructed to find, and eliminate, a mythical assassin known only as Absinthe, Sam quickly becomes aware all is not as it seems. He suspects the evidence against Absinthe was planted and goes against his orders.
The man called Absinthe holds the key to Sam's past. He inserts himself into Sam's orbit and bed with the intent to lead Sam to the truth. He's not guilty of the crime, but he's far from innocent. He knows Sam's been played by his agency and the path to their survival means walking a crooked line.
Finding the truth isn't easy, and believing it is even harder. Sam and Absinthe make a desperate play for freedom, because if they can't get free, they can never be together.
* * *
"What is your name, anyway?"
"You can call me 'Darling'."
I snorted. "Well, 'Darling', I'm very interested in where you're getting your information."
"I just bet you are, SABRE."
We stared at each other, and not with lustful longing or budding friendship. But maybe there was a bit of grudging respect floating between us.
"Look, 'Darling'. I know you can't tip your hand too far. I want to know why and how a middle-aged banker, a do-gooder, ends up dead in the middle of what might be a mob hit."
That got his attention. "Mob hit? How do you figure?"
"You said look into Hawkes. I did. He's got Chicago political connections and that could indicate organized crime. If you can believe anything on the Internet, that is."
He scratched his chin. "The only dot that connects here is Hawkes is the one who wants Milan's death investigated. He called McCune and invited the NSCA to become involved, being Milan is an American citizen, and all."
I stretched, arching my back and wiggling my toes. "Darling" was correct, but I sensed something more sinister at work. I beat my pillow to fluff it. "And Hawkes is part of Sinope, something the Internet doesn't know. He'd have the clout to have Milan silenced and to make any evidence implicating himself vanish. So why would he call the NSCA if he's implicated in anything? That's a hanging dot for me. It doesn't connect based on what little we know."
"So we really need to know what Milan was doing."
I stared at him again. "We? We? Who's 'we'?"
"Darling" looked out the window, a heavy drape strategically held in front of his body.
"London's nice, but I like Paris. City of Light and all that."
I stepped out of my jeans and draped them over a chair. I either had to avail myself of the laundry service or have some new clothes delivered.
"Darling, I'm not fond of Paris. I killed man there."
I was surprised by the compassion in his blue eyes. "I know it was self-defense."
How much about me did he know? Did he know I still had nightmares about what had happened in Paris? I shook my head.
"It doesn't matter that he pulled a gun and got off a shot at me. There was a truth to learn and I failed. He couldn't tell me after I put him down."
"You won't fail this time. You've got me on your side."
The man called Absinthe holds the key to Sam's past. He inserts himself into Sam's orbit and bed with the intent to lead Sam to the truth. He's not guilty of the crime, but he's far from innocent. He knows Sam's been played by his agency and the path to their survival means walking a crooked line.
Finding the truth isn't easy, and believing it is even harder. Sam and Absinthe make a desperate play for freedom, because if they can't get free, they can never be together.
* * *
"What is your name, anyway?"
"You can call me 'Darling'."
I snorted. "Well, 'Darling', I'm very interested in where you're getting your information."
"I just bet you are, SABRE."
We stared at each other, and not with lustful longing or budding friendship. But maybe there was a bit of grudging respect floating between us.
"Look, 'Darling'. I know you can't tip your hand too far. I want to know why and how a middle-aged banker, a do-gooder, ends up dead in the middle of what might be a mob hit."
That got his attention. "Mob hit? How do you figure?"
"You said look into Hawkes. I did. He's got Chicago political connections and that could indicate organized crime. If you can believe anything on the Internet, that is."
He scratched his chin. "The only dot that connects here is Hawkes is the one who wants Milan's death investigated. He called McCune and invited the NSCA to become involved, being Milan is an American citizen, and all."
I stretched, arching my back and wiggling my toes. "Darling" was correct, but I sensed something more sinister at work. I beat my pillow to fluff it. "And Hawkes is part of Sinope, something the Internet doesn't know. He'd have the clout to have Milan silenced and to make any evidence implicating himself vanish. So why would he call the NSCA if he's implicated in anything? That's a hanging dot for me. It doesn't connect based on what little we know."
"So we really need to know what Milan was doing."
I stared at him again. "We? We? Who's 'we'?"
"Darling" looked out the window, a heavy drape strategically held in front of his body.
"London's nice, but I like Paris. City of Light and all that."
I stepped out of my jeans and draped them over a chair. I either had to avail myself of the laundry service or have some new clothes delivered.
"Darling, I'm not fond of Paris. I killed man there."
I was surprised by the compassion in his blue eyes. "I know it was self-defense."
How much about me did he know? Did he know I still had nightmares about what had happened in Paris? I shook my head.
"It doesn't matter that he pulled a gun and got off a shot at me. There was a truth to learn and I failed. He couldn't tell me after I put him down."
"You won't fail this time. You've got me on your side."
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