Cover Me - By Catherine Mann Page 0,110
Barbara Collins Rosenberg, my longtime agent and trusted champion, I appreciate all you do to keep me focused, steady—and under contract. Sending a huge shout-out of gratitude to my author peeps, Joanne Rock and Stephanie Newton. I don’t know what I would do without your brilliant critiques, genius brainstorming, and amazing taste in junk food.
Technical advisors rock! And I have been truly blessed to hear the daring PJ tales shared by former air force pararescueman Dr. Ronald Marshall, DC. And as always, I would be lost without my own air force aviator husband, Robert, who is always ever ready with brainstorming help and fact-checking reads. Thank you both for your brave and selfless service to our country! Much gratitude goes to Karen Tucker, RN, who so generously offered her medical knowledge and eagle eye for detail. Thanks also to my go-to pals for insider tips on Alaska living, Leah Marie Brown and Patricia Marshall Brow.
Most of all, thank you to my precious children, Brice, Haley, Robbie, and Maggie, for your love and patient restocking of my Diet Cokes during deadlines. And as always, all my love to my hero husband, Rob.
About the Author
USA Today bestseller Catherine Mann has won both the prestigious RITA Award and Booksellers’ Best Award. With over two million books in print, her work has been released in more than twenty countries. Catherine resides on the Florida coast with her aviator husband, their four children, and an ever-growing menagerie of pets. For more information: http://www.catherinemann.com
Read on for an excerpt from
Hot Zone
Book 2 in the Elite Force series
Coming December 2011
From Sourcebooks Casablanca
Chapter 1
The world had caved in on Amelia Bailey. Literally.
Aftershocks from the earthquake still rumbled the gritty earth under her cheek, jarring her out of her hazy micronap. Dust and rocks showered around her. Her skin, her eyes, everything itched and ached after hours—she’d lost track of how many—beneath the rubble.
The quake had to have hit at least seven on the Richter Scale. Although when you ended up with a building on top of you, somehow a Richter scale didn’t seem all that pertinent.
She squeezed her lids closed. Inhaling. Exhaling. Inhaling, she drew in slow, even breaths of the dank air filled with dirt. Was this what it was like to be buried alive? She pushed back the panic as forcefully as she’d clawed out a tiny cavern for herself.
This wasn’t how she’d envisioned her trip to the Bahamas when she’d offered to help her brother and sister-in-law with the legalities of international adoption.
Muffled sounds penetrated of jackhammers and tractors. Life scurried above her, none of whom seemed to have heard her shouts. She’d screamed her throat raw until she could only manage a hoarse croak now.
Time fused in her pitch black cubby, the air thick with sand. Or disintegrated concrete. She didn’t want to think what else. She remembered the first tremor, the dawning realization that her third floor hotel room in the seaside Bahamas resort was slowly giving way beneath her feet. But after that?
Her mind blanked.
How long had she been trapped? Forever, it seemed, but probably more along the lines of half a day while she drifted in and out of consciousness. She wriggled her fingers and toes to keep the circulation moving after being immobile so long. Every inch of her body screamed in agony from scrapes and bruises and heaven only knew what else since she couldn’t move enough to check. Still, she welcomed the pain that reassured her she was alive.
Her body was intact.
Forget trying to sit up. Her head still throbbed from trying that. The ceiling was now maybe six inches above where she lay flat on her belly. Again, she willed back hysteria. The fog of claustrophobia hovered, waiting to swallow her whole.
More dust sifted around her. The sound of the jackhammers rattled her teeth. They seemed closer, louder with even a hint of a voice. Was that a dog barking?
Hope hurt after so many disappointments. Even if her ears heard right, there had to be so many people in need of rescuing after the earthquake. All those efforts could easily be for someone else a few feet away. They might not find her for hours. Days.
Ever.
Still, she couldn’t give up. She had to fight to the end. If not for herself, then for the little life beside her, her precious new nephew. She threaded her arm through the tiny hole between them to rub his back, even though he’d long ago given up crying, sinking into a frighteningly