Desert Knights: An Anthology - Softcover

Bestseller Linda Conrad first published in 2002. Her more than thirty novels have been translated into over sixteen languages and sold in twenty countries! Winner of the Romantic Times Reviewers Choice and National Readers' Choice, Linda has numerous other awards. Linda has written for Silhouette Desire, Silhouette Intimate Moments, and Silhouette Romantic Suspense Visit: LindaConrad.com for more info.
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Loreth Anne White is a multi-published author of award-winning romantic suspense and mystery. Loreth is a double RITA nominee. She has won the Romantic Times Reviewers' choice award for Romantic Suspense, is a double Romantic Times Reviewers' choice award finalist, a double Daphne Du Maurier finalist, and a multiple CataRomance Reviewers' choice winner.

She hails from southern Africa, but now lives in a ski resort in the moody Coast Mountain range. It's a place of vast, wild and often dangerous mountains, larger-than-life characters, epic adventure, and romance -- the perfect place to escape reality. And the perfect inspiration for her Snowy Creek series!

It's no wonder it was here she was inspired to abandon a 16-year newspaper career to escape into a world of romantic fiction filled with dangerous men and adventurous women. When she's not writing you will find her skiing, biking or hiking the trails with her Black Dog, and generally trying to avoid the bears - albeit not very successfully. She calls this work, because it's when the best ideas come.
The first in her Snowy Creek small town Romantic Suspense series - PIECES OF YOU - is out now!

lorethannewhite.com

Death, in all its facets, troubled Morgan Bell's mind as she rode to her destiny in the back of a Sikorsky helicopter.

For over half her adult life she'd concentrated her talents on killing. She was good at what she did. An expert, they said.

But what kind of life did that make? It hadn't been enough for her to train as an expert marksman, one of the best in the world. No, sir, not good enough for rough and tough Morgan Bell. Her record 725-yard rifle shots no longer won awards in contests. She hadn't competed in nearly a decade. Over the last ten years, all her carefully contrived shots took out killers and madmen, not paper targets.

When said in a forthright tone of voice, even in her head, those words sounded almost righteous. Pure at heart.

In her mind and soul, though, Morgan knew she was no better than the butchers and murderers that her superiors sent her to dispatch. And that wasn't who she wanted to be anymore.

Running without lights no more than twenty feet off the desert sands, the copter pilot darted his craft in and out of blind canyons, staying in the moon's shadows. Morgan's fingers clung to her rifle case with a viselike grip as she studied the expert flyer through her NVGs, glowing eerily green against the black, night sky.

Suddenly struck with a bout of depression, caused by both the stark landscape out the open door at her side and by the thought of why she'd volunteered to be on this mission in the first place, Morgan trained her gaze on the men riding in the seats next to hers. Dark, brooding men, all of them. She'd spent the last three weeks in training with them. But now, the mere sight of the deadly determination in their postures was enough to give her a start.

She felt determined, too. The situation demanded it. But she couldn't help wondering how she had allowed her life to deteriorate into nothing more than a series of determined and dire situations like this one.

Morgan was almost finished with this kind of life. She'd recently taken early retirement from the CIA, and was ready to head back to her family's Wyoming ranch to find a new life. A different life. A decent life with people who cared, like the one she'd had as a girl.

Yet, as a favor to an old friend, here she was, taking a detour and flying to one last mission. A last mission with deadly consequences and grim implications.

Her headset clicked on. "Get set," the pilot informed the team. "Our target zone is about to be hit by a weather event. I won't be able to set it down. You'll have to unload on the fly."

Morgan didn't like unplanned events on a mission. A sniper must plan every last detail, right down to the wind direction. Nothing could ever be left to chance. Too tricky to go barging right into enemy territory without working out the thousands of calculations necessary for a successful shot. Any number of things could go wrong without flawless plans.

She turned her gaze to the open doorway beside her seat and drew in a harsh breath. Where there had been moonlight and rock cliffs zooming past only moments ago, now a ground-to-sky, dense fog loomed in its place. Slinging the straps for her pack and rifle case over her head, she tensed in her seat, ready to abort the mission.

"What...?" Morgan didn't manage to get the question out of her mouth.

"Sandstorm! Go!" The pilot fought to steady his copter, hovering it over a tiny stretch of clear ground.

From the seat behind her, one of the team members reached out and grabbed her arm. "I'll go first. You're next. I'll act as your descent partner."

Petrified, she said nothing. Just stared at him as though he were speaking a foreign language.

"Never mind," he yelled, trying to be heard over the sound of the rotors.

He tightened his grip on her arm with one hand and snaked the other around her waist. "We go together."

The next thing she knew, Morgan was flying. Out the copter door, heading toward the dark ground somewhere in the hazy distance below.

"Bend your knees and roll!"

The quick rush of adrenaline as he hit the ground nearly caused Karim Kadir to forget his assignment. His one, clear and all-encompassing responsibility on this, his first, mission: the sniper's welfare.

But forgetting could never happen. Not with this woman. She was unforgettable.

Scrambling around on all fours, he swallowed down the exhilaration of the jump and located her in the swirling dust kicked up by the rotors' wash. The sniper was lying flat on the ground but still breathing heavily.

Despite the whining engine noise and the blasting winds, Karim thought he heard words coming through his headset. "Abort! Abort!"

Though he pushed at the earpiece, trying to make the transmission clearer, the copter pilot's voice grew faint in the static. Every sound, every word, broke up and Karim could see nothing through the sudden tornado of winds and dust surrounding them.

It didn't matter. His duty was clear. He found Morgan's inert body again and quickly checked over her arms and legs for any breaks.

"Take your hands off me, you muscle-bound fathead," she shouted through gritted teeth. "What the hell is the matter with you?" Batting at his arms, she scooted back out of reach.

"We need to move. Find cover from the sandstorm."

"Bite me. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm waiting right here until the pilot comes back for us. Didn't you hear him abort?"

At least she was uninjured. But Karim did not have time to argue.

He grabbed her up and got in her face. "Retrieve your equipment." Without waiting for her move, he bent and pulled her rifle case up with his free hand. "The copter won't be back until the storm lets up. We need to take cover now."

She squirmed a little, but as he dragged her across the sand she kept silent and at last started moving with him instead of against him. Probably she'd closed her mouth to avoid having sand fill it. The sandstorm had hit in earnest.

Karim didn't care why she was cooperating. He was just glad he didn't have to carry her, her forty-pound pack and her rifle case, in addition to his own sixty-pound pack, in what must be thirty-miles-an-hour winds.

He backed them up to an uneven rock formation. This was as good of a shelter as he was likely to find, considering he couldn't see two feet in front of his face.

"Remember your training," he urged, whispering loudly in her ear as he released her.

She shot him an anger-filled glance. Then, ripping her rifle case from his hands, she cradled the case in the crook of her arm and turned her back. Inching her nose as close to the rough limestone wall of rock as she possibly could, she covered her face with her hands. Karim stepped in behind her back. Finding he was unable to totally cover her body with his own, he reached out and pulled the backpack straps down her shoulders.

"Hey!"

"Take the pack off."

She complied with a small grimace and then swung back into position as she had been instructed in class. Karim snugged his chest against her back and braced his hands flat on the wall at either side of her body. He prayed his own pack would offer some protection for both of them from the driving sand. Already the backs of his hands were stinging and he'd had to bow his head to keep taking breaths of air.

A hell of a way to begin his first mission.

The roar of the storm still rang in her ears, but Morgan was fairly certain the worst had passed them by. She wasn't having to brace her body against the pounding winds anymore.

At that moment, Karim relaxed his body, too, and stomped away, pulling his feet out of ten inches of built-up sand as he went. She jerked her feet up as well and then swung around to give him a piece of her mind. Before she could say anything, he scrubbed his hands across his eyes, trying to remove the grit. Seeing him work so hard to focus on her face made her hold her tongue. The skin on his chin looked raw, and the beet-red color of the backs of his hands stopped her cold.

For three weeks they'd been training side by side, but they didn't know much about each other. There had been no time for relationship-building while learning desert survival and memorizing the topography of the area. But she'd had plenty of time to notice his strong jawline. The way his black-as-midnight hair curled just so against his neck. How his strong, masculine hands could suddenly turn gentle as he taught her rope-tying.

Swallowing past her parched throat, she blinked away the inappropriate thoughts.

The entire rescue team had dressed in bedouin male attire for the mission, complete with heavy scarves as head coverings. Without them, she was sure Karim's scalp would've been sandblasted and bleeding by now.

"Are you okay?" It wasn't what she'd planned for the last hour to say to him, but seeing his condition changed all that.

As he managed to clear his eyes, he grumbled, "That's my question for you. I'm still the bodyguard on this mission."

A flare of anger at both his impulsive actions and those controlling words competed in her mind with the sympathy she thought she'd been feeling for his pain. And both of those emotions, the anger and the sympathy, did nothing to cover a far deeper, more sensual shudder she'd been feeling low in the belly every time he'd glanced in her direction.

Not like her. Such distractions were not her style.

"This mission is aborted," she ground out. How many times would she be required to say it? "You must've heard the pilot."

He grinned at her, using the same careless grin that made her stomach do somersaults. "I believe I heard the pilot say the landing was aborted. Not the mission."

She waved her hand at his face, trying to make him see the truth. "A sandstorm is too huge a change in plans. We cannot continue from here."

Remembering her rifle, she stopped arguing long enough to dust off the cover and check it out. Her rifle was her life, her third arm. Nothing could happen to harm it.

"T...