Skip to main content

Lady Wynwood #7 early release Kickstarter

I worked on my first Kickstarter and it got approved! It’s for the Special Edition Hardcover of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 1: Archer and the release of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 7: Spinster. I contacted my graphic designer about the Special Edition Hardcover of vol. 1: Archer—it’s going to be SO beautiful! The Kickstarter focuses on the Special Edition Hardcover, but it’ll also include vol. 7: Spinster so that it’ll sort of be like a launch day for vol. 7, too. A third special thing that’ll be in the Kickstarter is Special Edition Paperbacks of all the books in the series. They won’t be available in stores, just in the Kickstarter (and later, from my website, and also in my Patreon book box tiers if I decide to do them). The Kickstarter is not live yet, but you can follow it to be alerted when it has launched. (You may need to create a free Kickstarter account.) Follow Camy’s Kickstarter

Excerpt - FLEE THE NIGHT by Susan May Warren

Captain's Log, Stardate 09.07.2009

Flee the Night
by
Susan May Warren


The past could not have picked a worse time to find her.

When Lacey Montgomery boarded the train with her six-year-old daughter, she never expected to wake up hours later handcuffed to a hospital bed and under investigation by the National Security Agency. Lacey, an ex-CIA operative, is a liar, a murderer, and a fugitive. Or is she? With no idea whether her daughter is alive or dead and nowhere to turn for help, Lacey contacts the one man she believes she can trust. A man who is convinced that Lacey betrayed her country and murdered her own husband.

Now Lacey must prove to Jim Micah, an ex-Green Beret, that she is not who he thinks she is. As Micah is drawn further into Lacey’s world of aliases, covert ops, and espionage, he must face the questions and pain of his own past.

Only by trusting God and daring to trust each other can Lacey and Micah flee the secrets of the night.

Excerpt of chapter one:

THE PAST COULDN'T have picked a worse time to find her.
Trapped in seat 15A on an Amtrak Texas Eagle chugging through the Ozarks at four on a Sunday morning, Lacey ... Galloway ... Montgomery-what was her current last name?-tightened her leg lock around the computer bag at her feet. She dug her fingers through the cotton knit of her daughter's sweater as she watched the newest passenger to their car find his seat. Lanky, with olive skin and dark eyes framed in wire-rimmed glasses, it had to be Syrian assassin Ishmael Shavik who sat down, fidgeted with his leather jacket, then impaled her with a dark glance.
She couldn't stifle the shiver that rattled clear to her toes. Why hadn't she listened to divine wisdom fifteen-some years ago and stayed at home instead of running after adventure? Lacey forced breath through her constricting chest. She hadn't hoped to outrun her mistakes forever, but why today with Emily watching?
Lacey pried her fingers out of Emily's sweater and laced her hands together in her lap, cringing at her weakness. She'd been taught not to give away emotions, liabilities, secrets. But she'd die before she'd let them harm a hair on Em's head.
If only she'd possessed such an impulse seven years ago.
Tightening her jaw, she stared outthe window. The Amtrak hustled north in the murky dawn, the Missouri oak, red buckeye, and hickory trees flanking the tracks-gray, silent sentries to her ill fate.
Oh, please, not here. Not now. She and Emily were so close to finding peace. Now that the Ex-6 program had met National Security Agency (NSA) approval, the nightmare seemed to be over. After this little time-out and escape with her daughter to Chicago, Lacey would fine-tune the encryption/decryption program, then hand it over with a sigh of relief and the sense that she'd finally found a way to atone for her mistakes. Never again would the field agents be without a way to secure their communications. No more ambushes due to intercepted messages. No more corrupted information.
Lives-and national secrets-safe.
And finally, too, a safe home for Emily. Please.
She didn't know to whom she might be addressing her plea. God in heaven hadn't looked her way for over a decade-not that she blamed Him. She was wretchedly on her own.
Around her, innocents slept-families, singles, the petite bourgeoisie voyaging to Chicago or beyond. Wealthy romantics above her were in compartments, perhaps for nostalgia or novelty. Lacey didn't have a romantic bone left in her body, despite the aroma of a dining car, the charisma of faux leather seats, or even the hypnotic locomotive pulse. She didn't have the energy or time for it, even if the errant inclination to be held in a man's arms haunted her in the lonely hours of the predawn. Then again, it wasn't just any man's embrace that haunted her.
Lacey rubbed her forehead and considered her options. It hadn't been so long ago that she'd memorized the exits and the players of every room she entered, but hope had smudged her reflexes. Ishmael sat two seats away, smack-dab in the middle of the car, blocking a desperate sprint down the aisle. The forest hurtled by at breakneck speed, discouraging a flying dismount.
Lacey stuck her hand in her pocket to rifle for her switchblade and brushed against Emily's worn Beanie bear and only confidant that she named Boppy. Lacey had sent the child the Beanie Baby from Seattle-she still remembered the neon lights striping her hotel room, mocking her as she wrote a note to her toddler daughter, secreted in Aunt Janie's care.
Life wasn't fair.
She found the knife and tucked it under her thigh as she stole another glance at her killer. It sent a decade-old threat through her head: You can't run from me.
She blew out a breath and fought her climbing pulse as she clung to her training. Surprise. Focus. Determination. These things would help her flee, keep her alive.
What about Em? She longed to run her fingers across her daughter's face, over the smattering of freckles on her high cheekbones, then through the short curly blonde hair that, like John's, simply refused to obey a brush or a comb. Emily smelled of the fabric softener her aunt Janie used in the laundry and of soap from her predeparture bath. Curled into the fetal position, the six-year-old leaned her head against the dark pane, drooling on the pillow tucked under her shoulder. Her breathing seemed shallow, uneven, as if she were caught in the throes of a nightmare. But it was only the consequences of a desperate and fatal mistake-one for which Lacey could never, ever forgive herself.
Forgiveness wouldn't help her now, anyway. Not when her murderer stared at her like a slit-eyed wolf.
The air felt weighted with the slumber of passengers-some stirring, others in full collapse. The quiet pressed Lacey into her seat, made her heartbeat thunder in her ears. Fatigue played with her fear, pitting it against hope. Perhaps the man who had boarded this train wasn't the same one who had threatened to slit her throat from ear to ear. Frank Hillman's long arm of revenge.
Lacey had been careful. So careful she'd lost herself years ago in the torrent of aliases and the blur of constant movement. She often wondered if she would ever, even if the nightmare ended, find her way home.
Who was she kidding? She couldn't go home when her mistakes branded her like an ugly, festering T for traitor on her forehead. But if she somehow escaped the stigma of being an accused murderer, she might return to the family farm, a place that still held secrets and hopes. She'd start over with Emily and build a new life. A peaceful life. An absolved life.
Yeah, right. If she kept supposing, she might as well dream that she hadn't derailed her life seven years ago on a similar Sunday morning in an armpit country south of Russia ... hadn't ignored the urgings of God or whatever impulse had made her pause briefly in the hotel as John loaded his Ruger pistol.
"I want you to stay here," he'd said. "And trust no one." John Montgomery always had the bluest eyes, even in memory. Ocean blue, with flecks of pure sunshine that melted her into a senseless puddle. She'd fallen for those magnetic eyes first and his idealism second.
"No," she'd said, shaking free of the hesitation, propelled by that same naive zeal that made the couple famous in the company. John and Lacey Montgomery, dynamic duo, spies of the spectacular new era when industrial espionage reigned in the vacuum of cold-war intrigues. "I'm coming with you."
He hadn't argued; she often blamed him for that omission. It seemed easier somehow. Why didn't you stop me?
There were moments, ethereal seconds, when she imagined spinning back in time, past the mistakes in Kazakhstan, past the choices in Iraq, the years at MIT, past even the wedding of the century in Ashleyville, Kentucky. It reeled back to an October day in high school twenty-two years ago, when she'd tripped off the football bleachers, clarinet in her grip, and fell into the oh-so-ample embrace of the wide receiver for the Ashleyville Eagles.
Jim Micah.
In those seconds when her future loomed blank and glorious before her, life scrolled differently. She chose more wisely, with her heart instead of her adrenaline. In this future, she stayed in Micah's arms. She clung to his steadiness, his rock-solid emotions that seemed firm footing in the face of danger. She would learn to read the emotions in his eyes and take a chance on heartbreak. And she'd never, ever let another man woo her away with the tease of a tastier, more vivid life.
Then the nano-dreams would vanish and she'd return to whatever bus, train, or airplane she'd landed on, head bumping against the seat, wondering how long it would take for the NSA to advance her a few more bucks.
She swept her attention casually across the travelers opposite the aisle. Asians. A family of overseas tourists, judging by the way they clutched their bags to their chests and eyed the other passengers. She connected with an elderly man, his gray hair in high-and-tight spikes around his round wrinkled face. He looked at her with such disdain, she wondered if he could see through her to her ugly past and abhor her for her mistakes.
He wouldn't be the only one.
Ishmael chose that moment to clear his throat, as if hoping to arrest her attention.
Lacey stiffened and forced her gaze to the carpeted floor. Maybe she should throw her body over Emily and beg for their lives in Arabic. Or grab Ex-6-the one thing that could redeem her lost soul-tuck Emily under her arm, and bolt.
Instead, what if she left Emily in the safe hands of the gentleman sitting across from her? No one but Lacey knew that the little girl belonged to her. With the fake name on Em's ticket not even remotely similar to her real name, the six-year-old blonde could be anyone's daughter. The man appeared to care for her daughter, the way his eyes darted to her, a worried knot in his wide brow, as if he were some sort of private bodyguard. He'd even purchased Emily an ice-cream cone at the station in Little Rock. Still, with the crazies out there on the prowl for innocents like Emily, it might be safer to attempt a flying leap into the forest with the train going 50 mph. Suddenly the ice-cream-cone treat felt downright ... creepy.
What about a conductor? She could give him Emily's backpack, along with Janie's address and telephone number. Then Janie would become Mama again-a thousand times better than any mama Lacey had ever been.
Lacey winced. She was a horrible mother to be plotting her daughter's abandonment. Bitterness lined her throat at the injustice of having to relive her mistakes in a million private sacrifices. But Emily would be better off alive and in the arms of Lacey's sister than watching her mother be murdered. Or dying as a victim in the tussle. Lacey would do anything to make sure she didn't cost any more lives.
She always knew she'd lose Emily to pay penance for her foolishness. Somehow it seemed heart-wrenchingly fair.
If only Micah were here. That thought drilled a hole so deep through Lacey's chest she nearly gasped. Yeah, right. He'd be lining up behind Ishmael for kill rights.
Movement, a sigh from the nemesis in seat 13D.
Lacey's heart lodged in her throat as she fingered the six-inch blade hidden under her leg. Habit dictated its presence. The metal handle pinched the bunched flesh of her fingers.
Ishmael rose, glanced past her, as if trying to mentally distance himself from his prey, then staggered down the aisle. Lacey's other hand clenched the armrest.
Ishmael had filled out in presence, if not in girth, and added gusto to his swagger. His gaunt face betrayed more lines, his eyes harder as he stared forward, as if he didn't recognize the woman he'd framed for murder. Lacey froze, her instincts draining from her body.
He bumped down the aisle....
She eased the knife out, hid it in her palm. Held her breath.
He passed by her without even a nod.
Her breath drained, her heart crammed between her ribs. So maybe she'd been imagining-
The train shuddered, a ripple of pain along the body of steel, then a gut-twisting squeal of metal on metal. Lacey grabbed the seat rests. The passageway lights strobed and died. "What-!"
Her heart bucked as the car lurched, jumped. She reached for Emily but snared thin air as momentum yanked Lacey from her seat. Her body wrestled with gravity and a visceral scream. The computer bag walloped her on the chin. Blood filled her mouth.
"Em!" She slammed against bodies, hitting her hip hard, arms flailing. "Em!" Around her, terror-filled voices competed for significance. Explosions pummeled the compartment. Lacey instinctively covered her head. "Emily!"
Metal screeched against forest or perhaps rail. Smoke. As she pitched through the twisting carriage, Lacey groped for purchase on anything-an armrest, a seat cushion, her daughter.
She landed with a bone-jarring slap. Hot pain exploded up her arm and into her brain. She sprawled broken, breathless, cocooned in bodies. "Emily." The stench of fear filled her nose, choking her. Her breath came like fire.
Then darkness.
* * * "You have to trust me, Brian. I promise I won't drop you." If anything, Jim Micah kept his promises. They'd have to pry his rigor-mortised grip from the kid before he would let him fall, even if every muscle in his body begged for reprieve.
So maybe Micah wasn't 100 percent recovered from the scalpel and loss of a few organs. He wasn't going to let his battle with the six-letter silent killer-cancer-cause him to endanger this kid's life. Not while he still had breath in his scarred lungs.
"Hold on to my neck," he said, and Brian's scrawny arms tightened around him. Micah felt the panic-driven heartbeat of a twelve-year-old pound against his chest. "Hey, buddy, calm down. Slow your breathing. You're going to be fine."
Buried deep in the Pit-a wild, uncharted cave redolent of clammy basement and bat guano, sunk in the hills of eastern Tennessee-Micah tried to believe his own words. But Brian and his two fellow campers had been trapped here for the better part of twelve hours with nothing more than T-shirts and shorts and a fifty-five degree hypothermic slumber. As the darkness ate the flimsy light from their lithium-lit helmets and turned time into knots, Micah didn't want to guess which side might be winning.
Sarah Nation, a tall NYC paramedic, worked silently beside him, fixing the splint on Brian's leg where the fifteen-foot fall had resulted in an ugly landing. Micah cringed at Brian's scream when Sarah moved the limb to immobilize it.
On a ledge above them, Alaskan climber and helicopter pilot Andee MacLeod worked to warm the two other spelunkers. She'd layered the boy in every blanket and extra stitch of clothing she could find. Right now, she huddled in a sleeping bag and wrapped the girl in a 98.6-degree clench.
"Help me move him, Micah." Sarah grabbed the Sked litter, an inflatable cot designed for cave rescue. It wrapped around a patient's body, providing a smooth sled to maneuver through the cave's labyrinth. She'd already snapped on a C-collar, checked for a head injury, and strapped him onto a waist board.
They slid Brian onto the Sked. Sarah inflated and secured the litter while Micah affixed the Gibbs ascenders to the rope.
"I'll climb to the top, then haul him up while you follow and steady him," Micah said.
As Micah climbed, he grieved the loss these kids would have at enjoying the subterranean world. He'd wager his next meal that they would never set foot in a cave again.

Continues...


Excerpted from Flee the Night by Susan May Warren Copyright © 2005 by Susan May Warren.


Buy from Christianbook.com
Buy from Amazon

Popular Posts

No Cold Bums toilet seat cover

Captain's Log, Stardate 08.22.2008 I actually wrote out my pattern! I was getting a lot of hits on my infamous toilet seat cover , and I wanted to make a new one with “improvements,” so I paid attention and wrote things down as I made the new one. This was originally based off the Potty Mouth toilet cover , but I altered it to fit over the seat instead of the lid. Yarn: any worsted weight yarn, about 120 yards (this is a really tight number, I used exactly 118 yards. My suggestion is to make sure you have about 130 yards.) I suggest using acrylic yarn because you’re going to be washing this often. Needle: I used US 8, but you can use whatever needle size is recommended by the yarn you’re using. Gauge: Not that important. Mine was 4 sts/1 inch in garter stitch. 6 buttons (I used some leftover shell buttons I had in my stash) tapestry needle Crochet hook (optional) Cover: Using a provisional cast on, cast on 12 stitches. Work in garter st until liner measures

Toilet seat cover

Captain’s Log, Supplemental Update August 2008: I wrote up the pattern for this with "improvements"! Here's the link to my No Cold Bums toilet seat cover ! Okay, remember a few days ago I was complaining about the cold toilet seat in my bathroom? Well, I decided to knit a seat cover. Not a lid cover, but a seat cover. I went online and couldn’t find anything for the seat, just one pattern for the lid by Feminitz.com . However, I took her pattern for the inside edge of the lid cover and modified it to make a seat cover. Here it is! It’s really ugly stitch-wise because originally I made it too small and had to extend it a couple inches on each side. I figured I’d be the one staring at it, so who cared if the extension wasn’t perfectly invisible? I used acrylic yarn since, well, that’s what I had, and also because it’s easy to wash. I’ll probably have to wash this cover every week or so, but it’s easy to take off—I made ties which you can see near the back of the seat. And

Sneak peek: Camy’s Kickstarter rewards

This Kickstarter is going to be awesome! I’ve been planning rewards that’ll knock your socks off! Don’t know what Kickstarter is? Check out this blog post about my Kickstarter. I posted a description of the rewards (and pictures) on Patreon. Click here to check out the Kickstarter rewards! You can Follow my Kickstarter to be notified when it’s launched, and I’ll also announce in my newsletter when it’s live. Follow Camy’s Kickstarter here

Sneak peek: Camy’s Kickstarter Pledge Levels

I’m working hard to create exciting pledge levels for my upcoming Kickstarter! Don’t know what Kickstarter is? Check out this blog post about my Kickstarter. I posted a description of the Pledge Levels (and pictures) on Patreon. Click here to check out the Kickstarter Pledge Levels! You can Follow my Kickstarter to be notified when it’s launched, and I’ll also announce in my newsletter when it’s live. Follow Camy’s Kickstarter here

ACFW booksigning at the Mall of America

Captain's Log, Stardate 09.04.2008 What: ACFW booksigning Who: 127 Christian novelists Where: Best Buy and Sears Rotundas and connecting hallway, Mall of America, Bloomington, MN When: Saturday, September 20, 2008, 1-3 p.m. Why: To meet your favorite authors! I’ll be participating in a massive Christian author booksigning at the Mall of America in Minnesota! You can buy copies of my books there or you can bring your copies for me to sign. I’ll also have a special surprise for the people who come to get their books signed, while supplies last! Here are the other authors signing with me: Mall of America Booksigners Tamera Alexander Jennifer AlLee A.K. Arenz Diane Ashley Karen Ball Janet Lee Barton James Scott Bell Joseph Bentz Terri Blackstock Robin Caroll Patricia PacJac Carroll Jeanie Smith Cash Eleanor Clark Debra Clopton Gloria Clover Brandilyn Collins Mary Connealy Lyn Cote Kathryn Cushman Margaret Daley KM Daughters Susan Page Davis Mary Davis Janet Dean Megan DiMaria Brandt Do

「戌年」連載小説 第11章

キャミー・タング著「戌年」連載小説 プロのドッグトレーナーであるマリ・ムトウは、厄年を迎えている。 犬小屋と訓練所の改築をしながら、いつも不服そうにしている家族と同居することになった。母と姉に言わせれば、犬の毛とよだれかけにまみれる仕事は、家族にとって恥ずべきものだという。彼女は元カレを説得し、数ヶ月間犬を預かってもらうことにした。しかし、彼の兄は、数週間前に彼女が誤って車に追突した、怒り狂ったセキュリティ専門家であることが判明する。 アシュウィン・ケイトウは十分な問題を抱えている。叔母が玄関先に現れ、同居を希望している。彼は彼女にすべてを借りているので、断ることができません。母親が家を出て行った後、ネルおばさんはアシュウィンと弟を引き取り、愛のあるキリスト教の家庭で育てた。しかも、弟のダスティもアパートを追い出され、居場所を求めている。しかし、彼は犬を飼っている。そして、その犬の飼い主は誰だと思いますか? しかし、旧友でオアフ島のノースショアでデイスパを経営する私立探偵のエディサ・ゲレロから依頼を受ける。マリの施設で奇妙な破壊行為があり、3年前に失踪したエディサの妹の財布を発見する。エディサはマリが危険な目に遭っているのではと心配する。警備の専門家であるアシュウィンがすでにマリを知っていることを知ったエディサは、忙しい若い女性を密かに監視することを彼に依頼する。 アシュウィンは、活発でのんびりとしたドッグトレーナーに不本意ながら惹かれていく。彼女は、幸せそうな母親を思い出させる。その母親の裏切りによって、彼は人と距離を置くようになったのだ。マリは、アシュウィンの冷たい外見を見抜き、彼が家族に忠実な男であることを認める。彼は、彼女のキャリア選択を批判するだけの母親や姉とは違う。 マリのバラバラな家庭とアシュウィンのバラバラな家庭の中で、過去を隠そうとする人たちから、彼らの周りに危険が迫ってくるようになる。彼らは、影で動く秘密に光を当てることができるのか? 過去に発表されたパートへのリンクはこちら。 *** 第11章 - タビー猫、黒猫、灰色と茶色の縞猫 彼女の母親は何かを摂取したに違いない。何を摂取したかはわからないが、代謝が急激に上がり、まるで神経質なリスのようになった。マリには、過去数日間に母親が家全体を掃除させた理由

Lady Wynwood #7 early release Kickstarter

I worked on my first Kickstarter and it got approved! It’s for the Special Edition Hardcover of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 1: Archer and the release of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 7: Spinster. I contacted my graphic designer about the Special Edition Hardcover of vol. 1: Archer—it’s going to be SO beautiful! The Kickstarter focuses on the Special Edition Hardcover, but it’ll also include vol. 7: Spinster so that it’ll sort of be like a launch day for vol. 7, too. A third special thing that’ll be in the Kickstarter is Special Edition Paperbacks of all the books in the series. They won’t be available in stores, just in the Kickstarter (and later, from my website, and also in my Patreon book box tiers if I decide to do them). The Kickstarter is not live yet, but you can follow it to be alerted when it has launched. (You may need to create a free Kickstarter account.) Follow Camy’s Kickstarter

Grace Livingston Hill romances free on Google Books

I wanted to update my old post on Grace Livingston Hill romances because now there are tons more options for you to be able to read her books for free online! I’m a huge Grace Livingston Hill fan. Granted, not all her books resonate with me, but there are a few that I absolutely love, like The Enchanted Barn and Crimson Roses . And the best part is that she wrote over 100 books and I haven’t yet read them all! When I have time, I like to dive into a new GLH novel. I like the fact that most of them are romances, and I especially appreciate that they all have strong Christian themes. Occasionally the Christian content is a little heavy-handed for my taste, but it’s so interesting to see what the Christian faith was like in the early part of the 20th century. These books are often Cinderella-type stories or A Little Princess (Frances Hodgson Burnett) type stories, which I love. And the best part is that they’re all set in the early 1900s, so the time period is absolutely fasci

Frogs

I know I blogged about this on my Writing Diary Blog , but I don’t think I blogged about this here. I read a few writing and productivity books, and I’ve been trying to form better daily habits. The problem is that my self-discipline is very bad. As in, embarrassingly bad. One of my goals has been to form a better writing habit. Since I’m a full-time writer, I already write every day, but I think there are things I can do to tweak my schedule so that I can be able to focus better when I write. I tend to get distracted by the thought of things I need to do that day which I haven’t done yet. I don’t know why my brain is like this, but I haven’t been able to break this tendency. So for example, while I’m writing, I’ll suddenly think about the fact that today’s the day when I need to change the bathroom towels, or mop the kitchen floor, or change the bedsheets. It’ll distract me for a few moments before I tell myself I’ll do it later and I need to focus on writing now. Then a few

Tabi socks, part deux

Captain's Log, Stardate 07.25.2008 (If you're on Ravelry, friend me! I'm camytang.) I made tabi socks again! (At the bottom of the pattern is the calculation for the toe split if you're not using the same weight yarn that I did for this pattern (fingering). I also give an example from when I used worsted weight yarn with this pattern.) I used Opal yarn, Petticoat colorway. It’s a finer yarn than my last pair of tabi socks, so I altered the pattern a bit. Okay, so here’s my first foray into giving a knitting pattern. Camy’s top-down Tabi Socks I’m assuming you already know the basics of knitting socks. If you’re a beginner, here are some great tutorials: Socks 101 How to Knit Socks The Sock Knitter’s Companion A video of turning the heel Sock Knitting Tips Yarn: I have used both fingering weight and worsted weight yarn with this pattern. You just change the number of cast on stitches according to your gauge and the circumference of your ankle. Th