Monthly Archives: February 2015
Sloan drove through downtown Minneapolis, weaving from one interstate to the next until they reached Abbey’s favorite restaurant. The moment they stepped inside they were shown to a private room. Filled glasses of champagne perched next to the most perfect table setting of ivory white dishes. Candles softly flickered giving the tiny room an intimate glow. Sloan pulled her chair out for her to sit in then circled the table to his seat. Once he was settled, he took her hand and caressed it. “You look exquisite, Luv.”
“Thank you. You look pretty sexy yourself,” she breathed in response.
“Not nearly as incredible as you. You look good enough to eat. And I plan on taking a bite later on tonight.”
Abbey shuddered at his playful threat. She was distracted by the waiter delivering their salads. Sloan stabbed the greens with his fork and took a healthy bite. Abbey just stared at hers. The thought of sex with Sloan sent delicious shivers up her spine. She was ready to skip dinner and head right for dessert.
Sloan put his fork down. “Is everything all right, Abigail?”
“It’s just fine.” She sent him a weak smile. “How is everything at work?”
“Everything is how it should be. Don’t fret your beautiful head. You’ll be back next week and I’ll catch you up on everything.”
Abbey watched him eat in silence for several moments before she spoke again. “Have you heard from Agent Dunham recently?”
Sloan frowned at her. “Why would I hear from him?”
“To give you an update on Torelli.”
“Abigail, we’re done with the CIA and Torelli. Let it rest.”
“You might be done. I’m not.”
Sloan’s ice blue eyes were full of fire as they locked on her. “Yes, you are.”
“Who are you to tell me that I’m done?”
“Your husband,” Sloan snorted.
“Not good enough.”
“All right. I am your husband, your lover, your master, your god, your father, your very soul. Good enough now?”
Hey everyone! Welcome to Tuesday Tales! This week’s word prompt is “ring”. I am stepping away from Gideon and Emma this week. Instead, I am offering a sneak peek of the Fifth Book in the Black Irish Series, The Assassin.
Sloan’s eyes scanned the hills for where the shot had come from. His heart thundered in his chest. Pink paintball paint? Could it be?
He caught sight of a hooded figure in crème robes struggling up the crags in retreat, a sniper rifle firmly in their grip. Without thinking, he started in a sprint after the figure, leaping onto the rocky terrain without slowing down. The faint voices of Bartholomew and Robert echoed behind him as he ran. It was evident the shooter was extremely familiar with the terrain but it didn’t stop Sloan from gaining ground. He was stronger, his stride was longer and he was on a mission. He had to know where the pink paint came from.
When he reached the first ridge he was only yards from the shooter. He pushed himself a little harder to catch up. Once he was a little over an arm’s length away he grabbed the attacker’s robe and flung them to the ground. The rifle scuttled away from them.
The hooded figure slowly rose their hands in surrender. In the brilliant sunlight something glinted on a thin, delicate finger. Abbey’s wedding ring. The voice that came from beneath the cloak made Sloan’s heart slam in his chest. It was soft, barely audible and oh so feminine. “I know you’re going to kill me for what I’ve done. Go ahead. I don’t regret it and I’m not ashamed. But please grant me one act of mercy. I’m American and I know you can contact the United States. Please contact my husband. He is Sloan O’Riley, a billionaire. He lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. He owns Sloan Enterprises. Don’t ask for ransom. Please, just tell him that I love him. I love him more than my life. And tell him I am so sorry for hurting him. I was so stupid. Please tell him I am so sor…” Abbey’s words were cut off by a sob.
Sloan started to shake as tears welled in his eyes. Kneeling before him was his precious wife. He thought she was dead. He mourned her. Now she was on her knees preparing to die at an insurgent’s hand and her last thought?
Sloan couldn’t wait any longer. He gripped Abbey’s hood and tore it back. She blinked against the blinding sunlight. Her face was gaunt and darkened from hours living in the sun. “S-s-sloan?”
He turned to find Bartholomew and Robert peaking the ridge breathlessly. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you realize some terrorist could just shoot you dead up here?” Robert scolded between pants.
“It’s Abbey!” Sloan near shouted. “I found her. She was the one…”
He turned back to Abbey so he could pull her to her feet and into his arms. Instead he found her lying on the ground unconscious.