SNOW BLIND Read online

  SNOW BLIND

  Copyright © 2019 by Cindy Gerard

  All rights are reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, alive or dead, names, places, business establishments, events or locales and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or via any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or via any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission of the copyright holder and publisher.

  Print Edition ISBN: 9781706167136

  Electronic Edition 2019.

  Cover Design by VK Hinze

  DAUG HAUS PUBLISHING

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To the amazing authors who invited

  me to join them in this fascinating project:

  Deb, Peg, Vicki, Regan, and Rita –

  thank you so much for including me

  on this wonderful journey.

  Hugs,

  Cindy

  Contents

  SNOW BLIND

  Prologue

  CEDAR RAPIDS 9 NEWS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  CEDAR RAPIDS 9 NEWS

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  CEDAR RAPIDS 9 NEWS

  Epilogue

  Author Note

  Sneak Peek

  The STORMWATCH Series

  About the Author

  Also by Cindy Gerard

  DON’T MISS

  SNOW BLIND

  Prologue

  Rome, Italy

  June, 18 months ago

  Josh Haskins maneuvered her royal high-brow, Princess Anastasia Gerhardt – aka: Ms. Blond, beautiful and bratty – firmly behind him and away from the pack of bar lizards, fending them off as he backed toward the alley exit of the mobbed party bar.

  True to form, the princess had dragged him into the middle of the obscenely rich and spoiled Italian jet set scene, dressed like a designer slut in her lipstick red mini dress and attracting every stray dog and lone wolf with a yen to howl.

  “This is so bogus,” he muttered beneath a grinding rock beat and a full on testosterone blast. They came at her like worker drones flocking to the queen bee. No one, however, was allowed to taste her honey. Not on his watch.

  Good Lord. This was his first official, full-fledged assignment as a Rapid Response Alliance operative? Was he hunting terrorists in the middle of the Congo? Running recon on a snatch and grab op in the Middle East? Even guarding a diplomatic cadre to a top secret security meeting? Oh, hell, no.

  His first mission was to: A) keep the princess happy, B) keep the princess safe, and C) keep the princess from creating an international incident.

  At the moment, C was giving him the most trouble. That and his simmering temper.

  “You don’t want to do this,” Josh warned as an inebriated Romeo, stunning in a black, silk shirt opened to his navel, a boatload of bling hanging around his neck, and skin-tight do-you-like-my-package leather pants, separated himself from the pack and made a move toward the princess.

  The wannabe paramour took one look at the dark rage on Josh's face and thought better of his decision. Not so drunk after all, Josh was happy to report. The problem was, at least ten other contenders were circling the campfire, ready to take a crack at roasting Anastasia's marshmallows.

  “It wasn’t enough that you had to incite a riot in that almost dress,” he sputtered to her royal pain-in-the ass. “You had to hop up on the bar. Had to pour champagne down your cleavage and invite every Tom, Dick, and Horny to come and lick it off.”

  Behind him, Anastasia giggled. “A girl’s gotta have fun.”

  Josh glanced over his shoulder and glared into flirty, fiery, blue eyes. Blue like a summer sky he’d thought the first time he’d seen them. Ha. Blue like the color his balls were gonna be if he didn’t get her out of this den of dickwads and soon.

  He ducked a flying beer bottle, shoved the princess more securely behind him, and swore to God that if he got her out of this mess without creating that international incident she was bent on making, he was going to throw her over his knee and whale the tar out of her sexy little behind. PC or not.

  “So help me God, Antipasto,” he grumbled as he held back the pack crocked on vino and hell bent on tasting the Princess’s bountiful cleavage, “when I get you back to the hotel, we’re going to have us a little come to Jesus meeting.”

  “Sounds positively … spiritual,” the princess of the newly sovereign nation of Slarovia purred into his ear in perfect English as she dug red lacquered nails that matched her dress deeper into his shoulders.

  She squealed then ducked behind him when a particularly brave – read: stupid – admirer made a grab at her. A quick chop to his arm and a well-placed knee to his breadbasket dispensed with Stupid.

  Another one bites the dust.

  The floor was already littered with the guys’ ‘brothers in rut’ who’d thought they were going to worship at the altar of the ultimate one night stand.

  Another bottle flew by just as Josh made it to the exit and backed the princess through the door and into a heat drenched Italian night pungent with the scents of garlic and wine and trouble.

  Man, this sucked. Josh Haskins had never quit on anything in his life, yet five bullet-sweating, tongue-biting days into this assignment watch dogging the high-maintenance, party animal, Anastasia, and saving her blue-blooded hide from one scrape after another, and he was ready to cash in his chips.

  “Babysitter. That’s all I am. A glorified babysitter,” he grumbled as he dragged her away from the bar at a brisk clip and finally left the wannabe bad boys behind.

  Pale street lights and a rumbling rock beat leaked out of the bar, following them as he hustled her down the narrow, cobblestone strada.

  “Slow down, would you? I can’t run in these heels.”

  He ignored her sputtering protests and tried to remember why he’d agreed to this assignment. Oh, yeah. Something about saving the world.

  Well, hell, what red-blooded American patriot could resist a stab at doing just that? He'd been born for the job. Or so complained any woman who had ever gotten too close and thought she might have a chance of taking over as the number one priority in his life.

  So, no. Josh hadn’t been able to resist. When he’d finally received the invitation to join RRA and had been offered this cock-eyed assignment, he’d have said yes to latrine duty.

  “Yes, sir, I’m up for anything, sir.” Even though it meant that Josh’s rookie run as a new recruit for the elite and clandestine international organization involved playing bodyguard to a spoiled brat of a newly minted European princess.

  “I said, slow down!” The princess demanded, putting on the skids.

  Satisfied that they were well clear of the nightclub, Josh stopped, turned and glared at five feet six inches of cover girl curves and cascading blond hair. Who could blame those poor Casanovas? This woman put the sex in sex appeal. She also put the Tick in ticked off – which he was. Royally.

  “You know,” Josh said, nailing her with a look, “if you had the sense God gave a goat, I wouldn’t have to drag you out of one scrape after another.”

  “Not up to the assignment, Haskins?”

  Baiting him? She was actually baiting him? After all the crap he’d put up with
in the last five days?

  “Fine. Have your fun,” he ground out as the knot at the end of his rope finally unraveled. “Only from now you can have it without me. I’ve had it with this gig.”

  And he’d had it with the woman, who, despite her princess to peasant regard for him, somehow managed to rile both his anger and his testosterone levels to new heights. Did. Not. Compute.

  “Come on.” He latched on to her wrist and stormed off again, as angry at her as he was at himself for letting her sex-goddess looks get to him. “I’m taking you back to the hotel. Then we’re going to see about getting you a new babysitter. I’m officially turning in my nanny badge.”

  Hell. He’d thought that once he’d made the grade, cracked the RRA requirements and become an operative that he’d be knee deep in international espionage.

  So much for what he’d thought.

  Slowly, Josh became aware that she was laughing.

  Laughing.

  He stopped – and she ran smack into him. He latched on to both arms to steady her then set her none too gently away. “So happy to entertain you.”

  “Oh, you do.” Her grin widened. “I wondered how hard I was going to have to push you before you finally snapped.”

  He glared at the top of her head. She'd started tugging off her sky high stilettos.

  “Sweet heaven, that feels good.” Standing bare-foot on the cobblestones, she tossed both shoes over her shoulder into a hedge, giving them a good ride.

  He looked from the flying heels back to her face. “How hard you were going to have to push to finally make me snap?”

  “Oh, for Pete's sake, Haskins. Lighten up. You passed, okay? And none too soon for my taste. I was running out of stunts.”

  He waited three beats, watching her eyes as she dragged a tumble of hair away from her face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Okay,” she said conversationally, like he wasn’t glaring daggers and contemplating wrapping his hands around that lovely slim neck and wringing it until her tongue turned as blue as her eyes.

  “Here’s the deal, Haskins. I was a test.”

  Another three beat pause while he watched her with ever narrowing eyes. “A test.”

  “Well, Anastasia was a test. For me too, if it’s any consolation. In fact, there is no such animal – or in this case no such party animal.”

  She smiled.

  He didn’t.

  “Lieutenant Cara Graves, European base, RRA Headquarters, Barcelona. And you were my cross to bear as much as Anastasia was yours.”

  He felt his temperature rise right along with his hackles. “Cross to bear?”

  She sighed. “As you may have surmised by now, I’m not a princess. My name is not Anastasia Gehart-”

  “Got that part,” he said through his clenched jaw.

  “I’m an RRA operative who was given the assignment of testing your mettle ten ways from Sunday to make certain you were up for any task – even one as seemingly trivial and demeaning as babysitting a brat.

  “So cool your jets, Haskins,” she added, not even a tiny bit rattled when he continued to glare bullets at her. “Just settle down and congratulate yourself on a job well done.”

  She extended her hand. “You’ve passed muster. Welcome aboard.”

  Duped. He’d been duped like a UN weapons inspector.

  He ignored her hand. “This was all a set up?”

  She shrugged. “Call it an initiation. Someday, I might tell you what they did to initiate me.” She smiled again and tried for another handshake.

  “I don't give a damn what they did to you.” He spun around and headed for the hotel. “You and RRA can take your muster and your initiation and stick it where the sun don’t shine.”

  “Hmmm. Never said you were a poor sport on your application.”

  He flipped her the bird and kept walking.

  “You really want to miss your first real field assignment?” she called after him.

  Josh stopped, turned, glared at her where she stood in a pool of light cast from a street lantern. Golden hair a gorgeous, messy tangle. Blue eyes challenging and amused. The thin strap of her short, slinky red dress, sliding off her left shoulder.

  For an instant, he had to remind himself how ticked off he was. “Oh. A real assignment?” he spat sarcastically. “What? The queen of England due for a party run and needs a driver?”

  The husky sound of her laugh had something other than his anger rising again.

  “Oh, it’s waaay better than that.”

  He considered her with enough skepticism to fill the Coliseum. “It had better be.”

  She’d walked closer and in a low and deadly serious voice told him.

  Good. God. It was good all right. As good as it got.

  * * *

  Twelve hours later

  Barcelona, Spain

  Josh waited patiently in the dimly lit situation room; adrenaline mainlined directly into his blood stream; his tension peaked right along with his curiosity. His ALICE pack sat on the floor beside his M4 assault rifle. He was pumped and ready for this mission. His first real mission with RRA.

  And he was ready to meet his new CO. A fellow warrior – not a smart mouthed wasp of an agent who played the role of diva far too well.

  Initiation my ass. Damn, he was glad to be free of Anastasia … make that Cara, he corrected with a grunt. He’d had enough of both of them, thank you very much.

  He checked his watch. Less than a quarter of an hour until they deployed. The assignment was plum, as she'd promised: Infiltrate an outer island off the Malaysian coast and the hideout of the terrorist cell, Death Toll. Find the plant that produced lethal nerve gas then neutralize and destroy both the facility and the stockpile of the deadly poison. Added bonus: Capture or eliminate the terrorists responsible.

  Piece of cake, he thought with a grim look at the terrain map tacked to the wall and hoped his lawyer had finished the last minute changes to his will. If anything happened to him, he wanted his nephew taken care of.

  A door opened behind him. Josh snapped to attention without turning around. Only one other person had clearance for this room at this hour. His new CO.

  “At ease, Sergeant.”

  Josh stopped breathing. Was pretty sure his heart stopped beating, too.

  He knew that voice. What he didn’t know, was why he was hearing it now.

  “I said at ease.”

  He turned slowly as Lieutenant Cara Graves walked into the room, combat ready in jungle camos, M16 in hand, a modified ALICE pack strapped to her back.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Josh finally managed when he could get his mouth to work.

  “Wanna rephrase that, Sergeant?”

  Josh swallowed, eyes dead ahead as Lt. Graves moved to stand directly in front of him.

  “What the hell are you doing here, sir?” he repeated crisply.

  But deep in his gut, he already knew. Damn it all to hell, he knew.

  “You got a problem working with a female operative, Haskins?”

  He had a problem working with this female operative.

  “No, sir,” he gritted out, knowing that if he voiced his objections he’d be off the op faster than you could say, You blew it, buddy.

  “Got a problem with a female outranking you?”

  Lord, help him.

  “No, sir.”

  “Good answer.”

  Oh, she knew he was ticked.

  “Good.” She headed for the door. “Then grab your gear. Transport bird's waiting to take us to the Philippines. And pull the bug out of your butt, sergeant. Let’s go save the world.”

  CEDAR RAPIDS 9 NEWS

  December 22

  1:20 pm

  “Remember that you heard it here first folks.”

  Don McDowell flashed pearly white teeth to the camera and stacked his pages of copy on the desk in front of him. “KCRG TV 9 first alert weather is not afraid to predict that the Cedar Rapids viewing area is either goi
ng to dodge a major bullet or we're going to get hit with potentially the most massive winter blizzard seen in this area in almost a century.”

  Julie Paul, the evening anchor, gave Don a comical smile. “Wow, Don. Could you be any more ambiguous?”

  Don chuckled and the camera followed the weatherman as he rose from his desk and moved in front of an Iowa weather map swirling with radar simulations, snowflakes and as an added humorous touch, question marks.

  “I couldn't be more vague if I tried, Julie. Let me try to explain why the forecast is such a mystery.”

  Don manipulated the map with the touch of his finger to include several western and northern states as well as the southern part of Canada. “Many of you have been aware of Blizzard Holly, whose genesis was in Canada before she swooped down into Montana, Colorado, back up to Nebraska, then east into South Dakota.”

  He turned back to face the camera. “Holly is currently blasting Minnesota and all indications are that she has no predilection to blow herself out anytime soon. Based on the route she's taken she may – or may not,” he added with a smile of caution, “find her way down through east central Iowa.

  “Why, you might ask, can't I be more specific? Well, there are so many variables in play as of now that even the National Weather Service's state of the art computers can't pinpoint the storm's path or its full effect on Iowa. Forecast details will become clearer and more accurate as this blizzard keeps churning through Minnesota.

  “Those variables include a low pressure system here.” He used a hand-held remote to zero in on the map. “The jet stream over here, upper level winds, and how much cold air is in place when, or if, the storm arrives. Even a relatively small change in this low pressure system, for instance, can make a huge difference. A shift one way can create blizzard conditions while the other way could bring only a light dusting of snow.”