Skip to main content

Excerpt - Digitalis by Ronie Kendig

This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
Digitalis
Barbour Publishing, Inc.(January 1, 2011)
by
Ronie Kendig


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Ronie has been married since 1990 to a man who can easily be defined in classic terms as a hero. She has four beautiful children. Her eldest daughter is 16 this year, her second daughter will be 13, and her twin boys are 10. After having four children, she finally finished her degree in December 2006. She now has a B.S. in Psychology through Liberty University in Lynchburg, VA. Getting her degree is a huge triumph for both her and her family--they survived!!

This degree has also given her a fabulous perspective on her characters and how to not only make them deeper, stronger, but to make them realistic and know how they'll respond to each situation. Her debut novel, Dead Reckoning released March 2010 from Abingdon Press. And her Discarded Heroes series began in July 2010 from Barbour with the first book entitled Nightshade.

This is the second book in the series.

ABOUT THE BOOK


Step into the boots of a former Marine in this heart-pounding adventure in life and love. Colton “Cowboy” Neeley is a Marine trying to find his footing as he battles flashbacks now that he’s back home. Piper Blum is a woman in hiding—from life and the assassins bent on destroying her family. When their hearts collide, more than their lives are at stake. Will Colton find a way to forgive Piper’s lies? Can Piper find a way to rescue her father, trapped in Israel? Is there any way their love, founded on her lies, can survive?

Excerpt of chapter one:

Invitation


Invaluable skills came with bloody faces and dead objectives that left Colton Neeley wishing he could rub his eyes raw. Those same skills were the reason Uncle Sam had denied his request for an early exit from his commitment with the Marine Special Operations Command/Team. And the same reason he couldn’t muster enthusiasm for his friend who’d been granted his freedom.

“Never thought you’d get out.” Colton slumped back against the wood slats of the lawn chair, watching his four-year-old daughter, McKenna. She sat on the fifty-foot dock that stretched over the private pond. She tossed a pink lure-tipped line into the water as his dad helped.

“You and me both.” Beside him, his partner and MARSOC buddy Griffin Riddell sat with his elbows propped on his knees. “What about you? Thought you wanted out.”

“Denied.” The word felt like a weight around his gut. Colton shifted his gaze to the water rippling around Mickey’s bobber. “Eleven years wasn’t enough for Uncle Sam. Said my sniping and recon skills were too invaluable.”

Griffin whistled. “Man, after what you went through in Fallujah, I half expected them to toss you without so much as a thank-you-verymuch.” His grunted. “How you doing with that?”

Colton picked up his soda and took a swig. “S’pose I’ll be all right.” He glanced over at the grill. Probably should get up and flip the meat in a few.

“Two months as a hostage. That don’t just disappear, know what I’m saying?”

Oh he knew all right. More than knew. Though Colton didn’t want to remember, the mention of that city and what happened snapped faces into his mind like a flickering silent movie, bringing with it phantom pains in his spine and legs.

“What about the flashbacks?”

“Daddy, look!” McKenna’s mouse-like voice squeaked as she giggled. With his father next to her, she held up the end of her fishing line. “I caught a seaweed.” Another giggle.

“Save it, Mickey,” he called toward the pond, where his daughter sat between his mom and dad on the short pier. “We’ll grill it.”

She batted white-blond hair from her face as her papa took the rod. “Daddy.” The cutest scowl tugged at her fair features and blue eyes as she planted her hands on her hips and turned to him. “You can’t eat it, silly. It’s a weed.

He chuckled as she and his mother baited the line, while his father pointed out that if they’d use real worms, they’d catch something besides weeds. Naturally, Mickey and his mom ewwed out the option.

Though Colton’s attention never left his family, the patient, waiting gaze of his buddy burned through Colton’s resolve. He shook his head, knowing he wouldn’t get out of answering that question. About the flashbacks. Fallujah. The girl. . . “I see that kid’s face every day and every time I look at Mickey.” The brown eyes. The misinterpreted trust.

Clearing his throat, he sat up straighter. “Started therapy last week.” He shrugged, scrounging for hope that this would be over soon. “Like the counselor. Joined an experimental group for a new med—seems to be working.”

“Going all the way, huh?”

“I want to be whole. Get out there and play with Mickey and forget that two months of captivity almost paralyzed me, that the hum of a light isn’t my brain getting fried.” He roughed a hand over his face. “Forget it, man. This is the Fourth. We have a barbecue.”

Colton pushed out of his chair and strode to the covered patio, where plumes of heat rose from the gas grill. As he worked the steaks and burgers over the cast-iron grate, he let the tendrils of smoke carry off the depression and haunting images. As the meat finished cooking, he stood in silence, soaking up the laughter of his family and guests, Griffin and his ten-year-old nephew.

Ten minutes later, they gathered under the covered porch to munch on the cooked-to-perfection corn on the cob and meat. Once their bellies were full, they leaned back and sighed as the fans circled lazily overhead.

“Now, that was a meal,” Griffin said as he clamped a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “You need to learn to cook like that.”

Dante grinned. “Yes, sir. Grandpapa would love it.”

Gathering plates and dishes, Colton’s mother waved them off. “Y’all go on and enjoy your time. Colton, get the sparklers for McKenna and Dante while I clean up.”

The blond wonder jumped up and down, squealing. “Yes, Daddy! I love them! Please—please—please?” She threaded her hands in mock prayer.

“All right, darlin’.” He rustled her hair. “I’ll be right back.” He stepped into the dark night and headed to his truck, where he’d left the small bag of sparklers. Reaching behind the front seat, he cocked his head and groped for the fireworks. As his fingers grazed the bag, which scooted farther out of reach, he spotted his Remington 700.

Regret choked him. He paused and leaned against the seat. Hung his head. God. . .please. I just want a clear mind. With a final grunt, he snatched the bag and slammed the door shut on the truck and on his shaky thoughts. “All right, Mickey, here we go.”

Bouncing from the back porch toward him, she squealed. “Dante, look, look! Daddy got sparklers and poppers—my favorite.”

A noise screeched through the night.

His heart jack-hammered at the familiar sound.

Crack! Boom!

He dove to the side. Hearing hollowed out, he blinked. A dusty road spread before him. Shouts pervaded the Iraqi street. Men darted for cover. Colton scrambled, feeling the weight of his gear on his back.

“Take cover,” he shouted to his team as he rushed up against a building. Spine pressed to the wood, he reached for his radio. Gone. He cursed. Under attack and no backup, no airstrike. He searched the street, his mind pinging.

Movement to the side flared into his awareness. Instincts blazed. He grabbed his weapon—but it wasn’t there. Oh God, no! He patted the ground, his hearing still muffled by the first IED detonation. Where’s my rifle? Where’d it go?

"Cowboy?"

“What?” he shouted, searching for his weapon.

“What’re—”

Kaboom! Pop-pop-pop. Multi-colored flashes lit the bloody day. Colton scrambled for cover beside the Humvee. He scoured the dust and smoke for his team. Where were they? He glanced over his shoulder—then remembered the Remington.

As he rushed to the back door of the Humvee, another blast shoved him against the steel. Oof!

“Cowboy!”

Yanking open the door, he noted civilians on the other side of the Humvee and hoped they stayed clear of the violence erupting around them. He didn’t need to find another foot—or any other body part— during cleanup. He lifted his weapon and only then realized it was empty.

Sound from behind yanked him around.

A white-haired man rushed toward him.

“Get back!” Without his weapon ready, it’d be hand-to-hand. But he wasn’t letting his weapon go. No way would someone find him with his pants down. Not here. He wasn’t going to die in Iraq because he didn’t have his gun. They did that to the civilian contractors. But not to him, not to a MARSOC sniper.

“What are you doing? Don’t do this.”

When the haggard man rushed him again, Colton drove a hard right into his face. The old man flew back and slid across the hardpacked earth. Colton quickly eased a slug in and chambered the round.

Crack! Boom! Pop-pop!

He ducked, and when he came up, a girl with wide brown eyes appeared out of the dust. His heart rapid-fired. No. Couldn’t be. He’d killed her already. The villagers had used her as a suicide bomber—then captured him and nearly killed him. No way, no how was he going back there so they could drive a thousand volts through his body.

He dropped to a knee and lined up the sights.

The girl drew back and yelped. “I’m scared.”

Why was she speaking English? He shrugged. They’d trained the children to gain confidence and intelligence. He’d fallen prey once. Won’t happen again.

Maa-i-khussni, not my problem,” he said, all too familiar with the way the radicals worked the American soldiers. Soldiers who were here trying to help.

“Cowboy, it’s”—Boom! Crack-crack-pop!—“girl.”

“Don’t care, man. I’m not letting them take me again.” Sweat slid down his temple into his eye. He blinked—

Wait! Her eyes. How had they changed from brown to blue? He shook his head to dislodge the disparity. The heat. Had to be the heat. Using his upper arm, he swiped away the sweat. Realigned the sights. His heart rate ratcheted when more civilians emerged around the girl.

“Ambush!” He lowered his head and peered through the scope. Focused on nailing the shot, holding his position. Considered the elements.

“Colton! No!” a familiar voice shouted.

But they didn’t know. Hadn’t been there.

“Marine, stand down! Stand down!”

His finger slid into the trigger well.

It’s a girl. A little girl.

And they’d used her to get to him, to extract information and kill him. Never again.

Target acquired.

Why are her eyes blue? No, not blue. He was seeing things. They were brown, and he wasn’t letting this happen again. No remorse. Gently, he let his finger ease back on the trigger.

Forgive me, Father, he prayed silently, as he did with every kill.

A tremendous weight slammed into him and knocked him sideways. Crack! As the weapon’s recoil registered, so did the fact that he’d lost his gun. He went flying. Hit the ground—hard. Thud! Stars sprinkled through his eyes. The edges of his vision ghosted. His ears popped. He howled at the pain. Blinked.

Night? Why was it night?

“Colton!”

Again, he blinked. A man almost as dark as the sky behind him loomed over him. “Legend?” Aches radiated through Colton’s body, leaving him disoriented. “What. . . ?”

Screams and cries suffused the night.

Something ominous clouded Legend’s face. He straddled Colton, pinning his arms to the sides. “You with me, Cowboy? You here?”

“What are—get off!”

“Where are we?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where are we? Answer me, Marine!”

Qualms squelched by Legend’s drill sergeant voice, Colton paused. “My ranch.” A horrible, horrible feeling slithered into his gut. The events crashed in on him. The screaming. The little girl in Fallujah. Blue eyes. “No!” Everything in him went cold. For a split second, he locked gazes with Griffin, then jerked his head to the side. Strained to see.

A half-dozen feet away lay his Remington 700. Beyond, his mother and father huddled over—

“McKenna!” The pounding roar of his pulse deafened him.

The small huddle shifted. His parents parted, and Mickey sat up. Colton squirmed, but Griffin held him down. “Get off me now, or so help me God—”

His buddy shoved off and cleared the path. Scrabbling over the dirt drive, Colton pushed the weapon out of reach and dove toward his daughter. When she saw him coming, Mickey screamed—and lunged for his mother.

Her rejection punched him in the gut. He sat, stunned. “Mickey.” His voice cracked. He reached for his beautiful, precious four-year-old with a trembling hand.

Liquid blue eyes came to his as his mother let out a sob again, pushed to her feet, and rushed up the steps into the house with McKenna.

Colton dropped back, numb. I almost killed my daughter. A half moan trapped the air in his throat.

“Son?” Blood dribbled down his father’s chin.

Did I. . .punch him? Appalled at himself, Colton pushed his father away. Stumbled to his feet. Staggered to the barn. I almost killed my daughter. Arms and legs felt as heavy as cannons. He couldn’t tell between reality and the nightmare of captivity. Couldn’t tell the difference—he gasped for air—between his own daughter and an insurgent’s pawn.

He swayed. The heady scent of the barn lured him inside. How. . . how could he do that? Lose grasp on reality like that? He gripped the half wall of a stall. Gripped it tight. Wood dug into his hands. What’s wrong with me? He shook the wall. Shuffled back—and drove his heel through the wood. It splintered and swung inward.

A horse shifted aside and nickered in protest.

Colton spun around and grabbed his head. Anger burned to rage. Seeing Mickey’s stricken face. Knowing what he’d almost done. Almost put a sniper bullet through his daughter’s tiny frame. The impact alone would have ruptured every major organ in her body.

Colton wobbled. Hot tears streaked down his face. His knees grew weak, and he stumbled. Fell and dragged himself to the wall. With his back against the steel of the barn, he again held his head. A demoniclike growl clawed through his chest. Tears slid over his cheeks.

“God, where are You?” He rammed his elbows into the steel. “Why? Why. . . ?” His fingernails dug into his scalp, wishing he could gouge the memories from his mind. He growled—sobbed. Banged his head. He let out a loud, stuttering moan, still shrouded in disbelief and pure agony.

A hand clamped on his shoulder. Griffin. He’d been the voice in the flashback, ordering him to stand down.

Humiliation cloaked Colton in a suffocating fabric. “I told them. . . .” He groaned. “I told the Brass I had to get out.” He smeared the tears away, then wiped his hand down his jeans. “I need time. . . .” The memory of Mickey’s terrified expression strangled his words. His chin quivered. “To heal up.”

Shoes shuffled and crunched against the dirt and hay.

Colton rubbed his face and shuddered as he looked up. When he saw his partner crouched in front of him, he wanted to say something—anything that would explain how he’d become some monster who couldn’t tell the difference between pure innocence and a girl with a bomb strapped to her chest.

Fingers threaded, Griffin took a deep breath, then pointed his fingers at Colton. “I met a man not long ago who can get you out.”

Wariness wedged into Colton’s ability to believe his partner. “No way. I’m locked in.”

“Not only get you out but give you the time you want.”

Colton shook his head. “Stop messing with me. I can’t take jokes right now.”

“No joke.” White teeth shone against Griffin’s ebony skin as he smiled. “I tell this guy I need you, he’ll get you out.”

“Need me? For what?”

“I’ll give you all the time you need to get your mind back where it should be.” Griffin straightened and towered over him. “But then you're going to be part of a very special team.

Comments

Popular Posts

Laura’s Apricot Shell Shawl knitting pattern

I usually have a knitting project in mind when I write it into one of my books, but Laura’s apricot-colored shawl just kind of appeared upon the page as I was writing the first scene of Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 4: Betrayer , and it surprised even me. I immediately went to my yarn stash to find a yarn for it, and I searched through my antique knitting books to find some stitch patterns. I made her an elegant wool shawl she could wear at home. The shawl ended up tagging along with Laura into the next book, Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 5: Prisoner , where it imparts some comfort to her in her trying circumstances. The two stitch patterns are both from the same book, The Lady’s Assistant, volume 2 by Mrs. Jane Gaugain, published in 1842 . A couple excessively clever and creative knitters might have knit these patterns in the Regency era, but they would have only passed them around by word of mouth or scribbled “recipes” to friends or family, and it wouldn’t have been widely use

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

Narrow Escape contest for January!

I’m so excited because my January Love Inspired Suspense, Narrow Escape , is now available! Here’s the back cover blurb: KIDNAPPED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT Arissa Tiong and her three-year-old niece are snatched off the street by members of a notorious drug gang. Having lost her police officer brother to a drug bust gone bad, Arissa knows the danger she's in. But she has no idea why they want her. Desperate to protect the little girl, Arissa escapes and runs straight to Nathan Fischer. She knows the handsome, weary former narcotics cop hasn't told her everything about the night that ended her brother's life and Nathan's career. But he's all that stands between her and dangerous thugs who are after something she doesn't even know she has. This is the 4th book in my Sonoma series , but each book is stand-alone. The hero is Nathan Fischer, who had a minor role in the 3rd book, Stalker in the Shadows . To celebrate, I’m giving away 10 copies of Narrow Escape ! Her

Keriah’s Pyrennees Shawl knitting pattern w/ @knitpicks Palette

Why I knit this shawl: I wanted to knit the sunset-colored shawl Keriah was wearing in chapter 5 of my book, Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 2: Berserker , so I looked for an antique pattern that might have been used during the Regency era. This one caught my eye, even though it was published in a knitting book a few decades later than the Regency era. The Spider-Net border pattern was most definitely in use in the Regency period, but it’s also remotely possible that the Alice-Maud stitch and the lacy border stitch patterns were also in use during the Regency, being passed on from knitter to knitter via hand-written receipts, by verbal instruction, or with knitted sampler squares (like how many Shetland lace patterns and Bavarian cable patterns were shared). My/Keriah’s version of this shawl would have been lacy but warm because it is knit with fingering yarn on small needles. Since Keriah was cold, I think she would have grabbed this shawl rather than something more elegant and airy.

Phoebe’s Muffatees knitting pattern

In Lady Wynwood’s Spies, volume 4: Betrayer , Phoebe wears a pair of lace muffatees, or gauntlets/arm-warmers that hide a rather deadly surprise. :) I actually got the idea of having her wear muffatees because I saw a lace manchette pattern in Miss Watts’ Ladies’ Knitting and Netting Book , published in 1840, page 20. However, after doing some research, I found that they were called muffatees in the Regency era, and the term manchette did not arise until a few years later. They were essentially arm-warmers worn under those long sleeves on day dresses, which were usually made of muslin too thin to be very warm. I decided to knit Phoebe’s muffatees using a Leaf Pattern originally suggested for a purse in Mrs. Gaugain’s book, The Lady’s Assistant, volume 1, 5th edition published in 1842, pages 234-237. I think there was an error and row 36 in the original pattern was duplicated erroneously, so I have adjusted the pattern. The original manchette pattern called for “fine” needles a

New contest!

I haven’t had a contest since October! Here’s new one just in time for Christmas. I’m picking 3 winners to each be able to choose 10 books from my Christian book list! And yes, that list includes my books! 1) You get one entry into the contest when you sign up for my email newsletter at http://www.camytang.com/ . If you already belong to my email newsletter, let me know! 2) You get a second entry into the contest if you Like my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/CamyTangAuthor . If you already Like my Facebook page, let me know! 3) You get a third entry into the contest if you join my Goodreads group: http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/49078 . If you already belong to my Goodreads group, let me know! 4) You get a fourth entry into the contest if you follow me on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/camytang . If you already follow me on Twitter, let me know! 5) You get extra entries into the contest if you get someone else to join my email newsletter. Just email camy {at] c

Year of the Dog serial novel, chapter 13

I’m posting a Humorous Christian Romantic Suspense serial novel here on my blog! Year of the Dog is a (second) prequel to my Warubozu Spa Chronicles series. Year of the Dog serial novel by Camy Tang Mari Mutou, a professional dog trainer, is having a bad year. While renovating her new dog kenneling and training facility, she needs to move in with her disapproving family, who have always made her feel inadequate—according to them, a job requiring her to be covered in dog hair and slobber is an embarrassment to the family. She convinces her ex-boyfriend to take her dog for a few months … but discovers that his brother is the irate security expert whose car she accidentally rear-ended a few weeks earlier. Ashwin Keitou has enough problems. His aunt has just shown up on his doorstep, expecting to move in with him, and he can’t say no because he owes her everything—after his mother walked out on them, Auntie Nell took in Ashwin and his brother and raised them in a loving Chri

Year of the Dog serial novel

About Year of the Dog : A month or two ago, I remembered an old manuscript I had completed but which hadn’t sold. It was a contemporary romance meant for Zondervan, titled Year of the Dog . The book had gone into the pipeline and I even got another title ( Bad Dog ) and a cover for it, but eventually my editor at the time decided she didn’t want to publish it, for various reasons. She instead requested a romantic suspense, and so I cannibalized some of the characters from Year of the Dog and thrust them into the next book I wrote, which was Protection for Hire . Honestly, I didn’t take a lot from Year of the Dog to put in Protection for Hire , aside from character names and a few relationship ties. I was originally thinking I’d post Year of the Dog as-is on my blog as a free read, but then it occurred to me that I could revamp it into a romantic suspense and change the setting to Hawaii. It would work out perfectly as (yet another) prequel to the Warubozu series and introduc

Chinese Take-Out and Sushi for One

Captain’s Log, Supplemental My agent sent me an article from Publisher’s Weekly that discussed this incident: Chinese Take-Out Spawns Christian Controversy And here’s also a blog post that talks about it in more detail: The Fighting 44s This is Soong-Chan Rah’s blog: The PCS blog In sum: Apparently Zondervan (yes, my publisher), who has partnered with Youth Specialties, had put out a youth leaders skit that had stereotypical Asian dialogue, which offended many Christian Asian Americans. In response to the outcry, Zondervan/Youth Specialities put out a sincere apology and is not only freezing the remaining stock of the book, but also reprinting it and replacing the copies people have already bought. I am very proud of my publisher for how they have handled this situation. The skit writers have also issued a public apology . (I feel sorry for them, because they were only trying to write a funny skit, not stir up this maelstrom of internet controversy. I’ve been in youth work long enou

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