Sabrina Hightower hears an intruder in her house, but when she attempts to flee, she forgets her glasses and hurts herself when she bumps into a lamp. Then a man grabs her. Fearing for her life, Sabrina wonders if her cousin Brian is behind this. There have been a few deaths recently, Sabrina's beloved grandfather has vanished, and she's doing all she can to find him, otherwise Brian will get his grubby hands on the elder Hightower's billions. Tall-Dark-and-Deadly, as Sabrina calls the man who abducted her, is Mason Hunt of EXIT, a covert group that rid the world of those whom the lawful channels can't capture. Mason has always been confident in the integrity of EXIT, but as events unfurl and upon getting to know Sabrina a bit better, Mason now harbours serious doubts as to whether some innocents were executed, as would have been the case with Sabrina.
How could I resist a hero who shoots a crossbow! EXIT STRATEGY has one of the finest opening chapters in recent memory, and it never lets off. Ms. Diaz goes all out, she doesn't waste a moment, and conveys in spectacular fashion Sabrina's panic and fear. Far from being helpless, Sabrina is feisty but reasonable and Mason is redoubtable but gentle at the same time; they make a great team. The chemistry between Sabrina and Mason sizzles, but they act on it at the right place, and the right time. There is a mad car race as vivid as any movie's, and Sabrina's lesson on how to shoot a crossbow will remain etched in my memory for a long, long time.
EXIT STRATEGY is so well-written that the author completely disappears behind a rock-solid, captivating, and very fast-paced story, fascinating characters, and brilliant dialogue. EXIT STRATEGY is a fabulously entertaining story to which Lena Diaz holds the secret!
Lena Diaz launches her thrilling new series featuring the
undercover vigilantes of EXIT Inc. with a skilled
operative
putting his lifeβand his heartβon the line for a woman in
trouble
When Sabrina Hightower awakens to the sound of an
intruder,
she figures he's there to rob her, murder herβ or worse.
She
doesn't expect to be carried off by a muscle-bound stud
with
male-model good looks . . . or that he came to rescue
her.
Mason Hunt became an enforcer with EXIT Inc. to eliminate
the bad guysβterrorists, militia groups, all those who
would
do America harm. But his latest target is innocent. If
EXIT
could lie about sultry, strong-willed Sabrina, what
darker
truths might they be concealing?
Going rogue in the rugged North Carolina mountains, Mason
risks everything to keep Sabrina close, especially now
that
EXIT's lethal assassins are chasing them down. The heat
is
on . . . but it's nothing compared to the slow burn of
seduction.
Sabrina crept into her moonlit living room and grabbed
the arm of the couch for support. Her right hand,
slippery with blood, slid across the cloth and she fell
to her knees on the hardwood floor. A gasp of pain
escaped between her clenched teeth before she could stop
it.
She froze, searching the dark recesses of the room,
squinting to try to bring everything into focus. If the
intruder was within ten feet of her, no problem, she
could make out every little detail. But any farther than
that and he might as well be a fuzzy blob on the
wallpaper.
Had he heard her? She listened intently for the echo of
footsteps in the hall outside, or the squeak of a shoe,
the rasp of cloth against cloth. But all she heard was
silence. In a fair world, that might mean the stranger
had given up and left the house. But in her world,
especially the nightmarish last six months, it probably
meant he was lying in wait around the next corner, ready
to attack.
The throbbing burn in her right bicep had her angling her
arm toward the moonlight filtering through the plantation
shutters to see if the damage was as bad as it felt.
Nope. It was worse. Blood ran down her arm from a jagged,
two-inch gash and dripped to the floor.
She clasped her left hand over the cut, applying pressure
and clenching her mouth shut to keep from hissing at the
white-hot flash of pain. She had to stop the bleeding.
But there wasnβt any point in looking for something here
in the living room to bind the wound. Only the couch and
a wing chair remained of the antiques that sheβd brought
with her halfway across the country from Boulder,
Colorado to Asheville, North Carolina. Sheβd sold the
other furniture, and even some of her sketches, to pay
the exorbitant fees of the private investigators
searching for her grandfather and the even more
exorbitant fees of the lawyers.
She supposed the Carolina Panthers nightshirt that she
was wearing might be useful as a tourniquet. But she
didnβt relish the possibility of facing an intruder in
nothing but her panties. The nightshirt was definitely
staying on.
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