Power Game by Christine Feehan
Also in this Series: Shadow Game, Mind Game, Night Game, Conspiracy Game, Deadly Game, Predatory Game, Murder Game, Street Game, Ruthless Game, Samurai Game, Viper Game, Spider Game.
Release Date: January 24, 2017.
When members of a United Nations joint security force are taken hostage by radical terrorists in Indonesia, Captain Ezekiel Fortunes is called to lead the rescue team. Part of a classified government experiment, Zeke is a supersoldier with enhanced abilities. He can see better and run faster than the enemy, disappear when necessary and hunt along any terrain. There are those in the world willing to do anything for power like that…
A formidable spy genetically engineered to hide in plain sight, Bellisia rarely meets a man who doesn’t want to control her or kill her. But Zeke is different. His gaze, his touch—they awaken feelings inside her that she never thought possible. He’s the kind of man she could settle down with—if she can keep him alive…
Order the Book:
He was a hunter first and always. That was bred in him. Enhanced in him. He could follow a trail better than almost anyone. Some said he had the eyes of an eagle and a sense of smell equal to a polar bear’s. It was close to the truth. Once he was set on a trail, few escaped him. Here, in the Quarter with the jazz players and the mimes and the street artists fighting for a small piece of the pie, it was more difficult to separate scents and spot the enemy.
Aromas from various small cafés and restaurants assailed him. Perfumes and the sweat of the street performers. The sweet smell of weed competed for space with tobacco. The river was close, and he could smell that and the ships that ran up and down it with their loads of cargo. The fish. The cars and horses. His mind processed it all, separating and cataloguing automatically.
The wind shifted minutely just as he was about to enter the store where Nonny bought all of her Cajun spices—at least the ones she didn’t make herself. The scent stopped him in his tracks and he whirled around, for the first time in his life losing focus on his primary mission. He had to track that scent. Turning away from the spice shop, he followed the wind up toward the street opposite the Café Du Monde.
Out in the open, away from the shelter of the buildings, the wind was capricious, blowing in small eddies, stopping and starting from a different direction. One moment it seemed to be coming off the river and the next it was down from the Café Du Monde. He didn’t stop moving, filled with a purpose he didn’t understand and therefore was leery of, but he knew he had to catch the scent again.
A small restaurant right on the corner was tucked into the space between two shops. Tables were on an outside balcony on the second story as well as a few on the street and more inside. A waitress laughed softly as she served two women what appeared to be strawberry lemonade and some fluffy pastry. The waitress was small and slight. Her hair was pulled back away from her face, hidden under a rolled handkerchief. Her accent was very Cajun, as if she’d been born on the bayou and stayed there growing up. Soft. Sexy. A slow drawl that crawled inside a man and wrapped itself tight until he couldn’t ever forget that sound.
More, for him, it was the elusive scent he couldn’t quite name. She smelled—delicious. Sexy. Everything her voice promised. He didn’t know how to saunter. To be casual. He didn’t date. He didn’t show interest in women. What was the use when he was a soldier? He was gone on a moment’s notice, and his woman would never know where he was. Still, knowing that, his feet refused to move and he simply stood there, inhaling her, taking the scent of her deep. It wasn’t as if she was strikingly beautiful. She was . . . nondescript. Hard to describe other than she was small. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The more he took her in, the more he saw of her. Why hadn’t he noticed her bone structure? It was amazing and her skin flawless. Like silk or satin. More, her skin appeared dew fresh, as if the morning mist had enveloped her and left her skin looking like the petals of Nonny’s exotic flowers.
The rolled handkerchief covered most of her hair, but the sun struck her at an angle and he could see the shine, gloriously blond, so pale it appeared to be like the finest vintage of a fine white wine. He instantly had the need to touch her skin, to bury his fingers in that thick mass of hair peeking out beneath the triangle of cloth. When he found he’d taken a step toward her, he forced himself to halt, his hands curling into two tight fists against his thigh.
Posted by arrangement with Berkley, a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, A Penguin Random House Company. Copyright © Christine Feehan, 2017.
About the Author
I write every day and have done so since I was old enough to pick up a pen. (I spent a lot of time getting in trouble at school for writing instead of doing the things I was supposed to do.) Once I create my characters, I try very hard to have them react to situations as they really would. Sometimes I have preconceived ideas of what I would like them to do, but they don’t mind me, because it would be out of character for them. They take on a life of their own. Sometimes when I throw difficult situations at them in the hopes I’ll get a certain reaction and they don’t do what I want, I complain bitterly to my husband and he laughs at me. Still, it is important to me to have them be real, not perfect people, so they make mistakes we lesser mortals might make.