I’m great at conspiracy theories and can weave a credible theory from a monarch butterfly swirling around a flower. Since there are so many conspiracies, or conspiracy theories in the world – all at the same time, I figured it was time to start weaving. I think I got them all, all in fiction, of course <cough>.
Now I’m retired and can work on all the novels I’ve started. I live next door to a ranch, so I see a possible story in that one too. Yes, I need help. Psychiatric help. Besides my obvious psychopathy, I am a voracious reader and writer. I write mostly police procedurals, go figure, right?
I have a very slight addiction to social media. I have an author page where I only post author stuff, and a main page where my comments often occasionally land me in Facebook jail time out <cough>.
RULES OF ENGAGEMENT
Army Ranger Scott Walker believes missions have been compromised. He believes someone or ‘someones’ are leaking vital military information to the Taliban. When he is tasked to protect an unpredictable scientist and find out where the plague is coming from, it is the worst case scenario. With no time to talk to her rationally, there is only one option: kidnapping. His biggest problem isn’t seemingly gaining her trust, it’s protection from her abilities. And temptation. He’s not great at winning friends and influencing people as a protection detail. Not the Army’s way. Not his way.
A wealthy family and politically motivated family decides to bring the world to its knees and make a killing. Both literally and figuratively. An airborne strain of Ebola has taken hold. The DoD suspects it’s terrorist funded. No one suspects a governor of multiple murders.
When she becomes infected with a spliced Ebola virus, she is certain the deathblow is imminent and works feverishly with her Israeli mentor to find a cure.
Scott returns to the field, and one after another, he finds his team endangered by leaks to enemy combatants. He must overcome his doubts in his leadership to find the leak.
Cheyenne must overcome her mistrust of the Army Ranger who said he was trying to save her life. It’s a pandemic, and Keyes, as she lays dying, wonders what might have been had she trusted Scott.
Scott must stop the family bent on deconstructing the country with a bioweapon and find a way back to Cheyenne before she dies.
Cheyenne grabbed her pepper spray and found her phone. Shallow breaths. Now deep breaths. No black zone. She raised her head. The taxi driver now began to swing his gun around.
Another crack! from outside the taxi. The cabby flew back into the driver’s side window as Cheyenne dialed 911.
The phone rang. Then again. And once again. Nothing but dead air.
Her gut clenched. She opened the back driver’s side handle. Locked.
The man with the hoodie opened the driver’s seat door and pushed the cabby’s body into the passenger side, and yanked Cheyenne by her coat to the passenger side of the car, pushing her back. He trained his gun on her.
“Phone. Hand me the phone.”
She swallowed and held onto it.
He pushed the barrel to her forehead. “I said, phone.”
Cheyenne slammed his wrist into the passenger window with one hand and pepper-sprayed him in the face. She dropped the spray into her lap and grabbed the back of his neck with the other, repeatedly banging it into the front of the headrest.
She yelled through gritted teeth, “You picked the wrong scientist.”
He grasped her by the throat. She grabbed his pinkie finger and pulled it backwards, then bit into the fleshy part of his palm. She drove her open hand into his face.
Scott lunged forward, freeing her surprisingly powerful grip from his gun hand and head butted her, knocking her backwards.
Cheyenne clapped a hand to her head and slung vile words at him.
“I did not want to do that.”
She yelled, “Oh yeah, you were forced.” More odious words.
He swept up her phone, tossed it into the ditch, and left the front seat.
Opening the passenger door, he said, “If I have to knock you unconscious, I will, but if you keep your mouth shut, this will go a lot smoother.” He slid his Glock into its concealed holster, pulled her up to the rear seat, and duct-taped her hands and mouth.
Her eyes seeped fury. Eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, she directed a withering glare at him.
He yanked Cheyenne from the back seat, crooking his arm around her neck. He popped the hood of the trunk, and said, “Sit on the edge and I’ll help you in.”
She shook her head. “Mmmph-mmmph! Mmmph… oooh!”
“Fine, have it your way.” He picked her up, but even with hands and feet secured, she fought against him, attempting to kick, and still swearing through the duct tape. Scott lifted her and dumped her into the back without ceremony.
“I’ll explain everything when you cool down,” he said.
“Cooo daw? Cooo daw?”
“Yes. Cool down.” He slammed the trunk lid, slid into the driver’s seat of the cab, and wiped the blood from his lip. He pulled the taxi back onto the street and headed towards home her safe house for now. With only one way in or out: through him. Oh, she’ll love that, all right.
BIO: CLAIRE O'SULLIVAN
You can find and subscribe to my website/newsletters at claireosullivan1.com, my Twitter: (21) Claire O'Sullivan (@authorclaire1) / Twitter; Facebook: (my non-PC page) - (20+) Claire O'Sullivan | Facebook and author page: (20+) Author Claire O'Sullivan | Facebook.
Since I am very unoriginal, you can find me on Instagram; http://authorclaireosullivan1.com/ and on MeWe (99+)MeWe - The Next-Gen Social Network due to FB infractions vacations.
And my least visited and very lonely blog, Claire O'Sullivan – Suspense … Romance (claire-osullivan-author.com) primarily because I haven’t spent the money to get high traffic from Google. So visit it! It also has links.