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Ben Forsythe was having a crappy day.
He'd been in meetings virtually all day and now, when he finally had a free moment to dial Tory Patton's number, he got her voice mail. He rubbed the back of his neck and almost hung up without leaving a message. He couldn't tell her where he was, didn't know when he could call again. But he needed to hear her voice. Needed for just a second to remember who was waiting for him at home.
"Babe," he said, just to needle her, "it's me. Don't know when I'll be able to call again. Be good."
He hung up. He had e-mail available but seldom used it because his team was always on the move and he didn't want to leave an electronic trail of where they'd been.
It was dry and blazing hot in late June in the desert of Berzhaan and he was sick to death of sand. He shaded his eyes and wished for a minute that he was a different man. The kind who could walk away and never look back. The kind who could blithely go about his everyday life and never know that there were men and women who were risking their lives to enable that.
But he wasn't.
Ben's father had been an undercover CIA agent, a man wh ... read full excerpt from: Exclusive ebook
