Forbidden River (The Legionnaires #2.5)(37)
She breathed in the fresh cologne that had become achingly familiar. He was right. Time to take a risk, challenge her instincts. She stepped back, smiled at him and walked to the bungee guide, who was sorting harnesses.
“Can I use his jump?” she asked. “He’s too chicken.”
The guy shrugged. “Yeah, sweet. You’ll have to do the safety briefing, but we can fit you in.” He raised his voice. “That okay with you, mate?”
“Sure,” said Cody, crossing his arms, looking baffled.
Hell, she was a little baffled.
Half an hour later, she stood on the platform, trying not to look at anything. Definitely not down. But straight ahead at the plunging cliffs wasn’t much better. Or the packed viewing platform to her left. Who were those people? What the hell was she doing?
“Ready to fly?” asked the guide.
“I don’t know,” she said, looking at Cody, who was standing in the spot where she should have been. The safe spot. The sensible spot. Now, he was a view she could look at all day. “Am I?”
“Only you can make that choice.” Cody gave a half smile. “But you can do anything. You’re increíble.”
Oh yeah, he was good for her.
“Time to leave the safe harbor,” she called. “See if that bungee cord stops me.”
His smile dropped. “Does that mean you’re coming?”
Wind buffeted her jacket. Her throat felt like it was closing. Her stomach ping-ponged. Nervous about the jump, or what lay beyond? The guy counted down, Cody joining in.
Screw it. She jumped, her body clenching in cold panic. She shouted, channeling all the stress and elation of the last three weeks into one word: “Yeeeeeesssss!”
Over the rush of air, over the spectators’ cheers, she heard the voice she was in love with, along with everything else about Caparol Cody Castillo.
“Estupendo!”
Indeed.
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from EDGE OF TRUTH by Brynn Kelly.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AFTER SETTING BOOKS in Asia, Africa, Europe and the UK, with American, European, Scottish, Australian and Ethiopian heroes and heroines, I’ve loved coming home with a New Zealand setting and a Māori heroine.
Thank you to my insightful editor, Allison Carroll, who always gets my stories and knows just what tweaks they need, and the talented team at HQN Books. And to my agent, Nalini Akolekar, for your calm and steady presence.
And a huge thank-you to all the generous and enthusiastic critique partners, beta readers, technical advisors and cheerleaders who helped bring this novella to life, including Brad McEvoy, Mia Kay, C. A. Speakman, Rosalind Martin, Christine Sheehy, Priscilla Oliveras, Griffin Jenkins and Leah Fitzpatrick.
Me te aroha nui ki a koutou katoa.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After an award-winning twenty-year career as a journalist, Brynn Kelly has abandoned fact in favor of her first love, fiction.
She’s delighted that she gets to spend her days in a bubble of delicious words and fiendish plots, turning all those stranger-than-fiction news reports into larger-than-life romantic thrillers.
Brynn has a journalism and communications degree and has won several prestigious writing awards, including the Valerie Parv Award and Pacific Hearts Award. Her acclaimed debut novel, Deception Island, was nominated for a Golden Heart? Award by Romance Writers of America. She’s also the bestselling author of four nonfiction books in her native New Zealand.
www.BrynnKelly.com
Edge of Truth
by Brynn Kelly
CHAPTER 1
Tess clutched the bare mattress and gulped a lungful of stale air, her heart jackhammering against her ribs. A nightmare? No—men were shouting, outside. She widened her eyes, then squinted. Open, closed, open, closed, it made no difference. Black was black was black.
She sat up with a lurch and shuffled back against the damp stone wall to at least get a fix on which way was up. Not a sliver of gray slid between the floorboards above. Had to be night. She’d been asleep? For how long? She laid her palm over her face and blinked, the lashes tickling her skin. Definitely open. This wasn’t the kind of nightmare you got to wake from. As further proof, her big toes throbbed in unison where Hamid’s men had ripped out the nails.
A door squealed, and something solid was dragged across the floor overhead. From their nest in the corner of her cell, the mice scratched and squeaked—even they knew something was up. She shakily exhaled. Six days she’d been here, and each night had been heavy with silence until the distant song of a muezzin’s call to prayer. What was different about tonight?
A flashlight beam flickered through the cracks. More voices—instructions, perhaps. A series of clinks, a heavy scrape—they were opening the bunker hatch. Was she to be freed? She swallowed. Or executed?
Fresh air puffed over her face as the hatch lifted. She drew up her knees and hugged them. The flashlight beam tracked around the cell, pausing on a food tray the mice had finished up, and a scattering of empty plastic water bottles. The light flicked to her, scorching her eyes and drilling pain into her brain. She shut them tight and sealed her palms over top. Even then her vision pulsed bloodred.
If they were planning to make another video, or if Hamid was coming to ask again if she was ready for death, the next sound would be the rasp and bump of the rope ladder being lowered. But this early? This felt more like the hour of...