In FIRESTORM, we truly meet Freya (and learn that’s her real name).
CIA covert operator Savannah James is after intel on a potential coup in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, but she needs a partner to infiltrate the organization. Sergeant First Class Cassius Callahan is the perfect choice, except he doesn’t like or trust her, despite the sparks that flare between them. Still, he accepts the assignment, knowing Savannah will pose as his mistress.
Named to Kirkus Reviews' Best Books of 2018
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If you enjoy gritty thrillers with a hint of romance, check out THE BURIED HOURS, my first novel writing as R.S. Grant
What she remembers is horrifying. What she’s forgotten is worse.
A crime reporter embarks on a harrowing journey into Yosemite’s backwoods to find the truth about her missing hours. With no one to trust—least of all her hiking guide—she doesn’t know if she’s following a path of redemption or an enemy’s revenge. A twisting novel of lies, betrayals, and killer secrets.
One-click THE BURIED HOURS Now Author’s Note
As I write this, my husband is once again teaching a team of SEALs about awareness of cultural and historical resources and how to avoid harming cultural heritage sites when they train in my home state. His teaching these kinds of classes inspired the opening scenes of this novel and gave me the perfect setup for Kira and Rand’s reunion. The archaeologist and history lover in me will always be thankful SEALs and other US servicemen and women take care with the cultural and natural environment in their work both at home and abroad.
The setting for this novel was decided by my son, who expressed an interest in visiting Malta after we attended the RARE book signing in London in the summer of 2023. The five days we spent in Malta last July weren’t nearly enough—like Kira, I never got to see the megalithic site on Gozo—and I hope to return. But maybe not in summer… I don’t know if I mentioned enough in the story that it was hot? I probably need a few more references to heat to really convey how hot it was. Also, who knew Malta is such a haven for Russian oligarchs? I didn’t until I started writing, so I need to thank my son for helping me to stumble on the absolutely perfect setting for Kira’s story.
If you want to see photos from my trip—many of which show places Kira and Rand visited in Malta—be sure to check my social media feeds or sign up for my newsletter.
Firestorm Excerpt
Chapter One
Camp Citron, Djibouti
Late May
Savannah James didn’t bother to look up from her computer screen to see who’d entered her office without knocking. A tingling in her neck told her Sergeant First Class Cassius Callahan had arrived. The physical reaction was triggered by something subliminal and unknown. His scent? The sound of his footsteps?
Whatever the cause, the reaction irritated. “I take it you’ve spoken with your XO, Sergeant. For the record, you weren’t my first choice, so don’t whine at me.”
He pulled back the visitor’s chair and dropped into it, then propped his feet upon her desk in a clear demonstration of disrespect.
Lovely. He was going to be a joy to work with.
She closed the lid of her laptop and finally met his gaze, and there was that small, maddening flutter in her belly that always followed the tingle in her neck. He was the most achingly handsome man she’d ever met. He had the deep, dark brown skin of his Congolese mother combined with the tall, thick build of his Irish American father. Heavy brows capped warm brown eyes. His broad nose and square jaw could give several Hollywood heartthrobs a run for their money.
“You spooks just can’t help lying, can you?” He held her gaze. “According to my XO, you only asked for me.”
She smiled. She was a professional liar for Uncle Sam and would never apologize for that. He couldn’t goad her by calling her what she was. But in this instance, she’d spoken the truth. A CIA operator would be easier to work with than the handsome sergeant who was congenial and charming to every person on this damn base but her.
“I asked the CIA to send a Special Activities Division paramilitary officer, but SAD can’t send someone right away, and timing is crucial, so I was forced to go shopping in Camp Citron’s Special Operations Command catalogue.”
“Am I to take that to mean I’m the right color and gender?” His voice held a hard edge.
“Exactly. Plus you speak French and Lingala.”
His eyes narrowed, lowering those thick brows. His head was shaved bare, and he sported a trim beard. He effortlessly exuded masculine energy that triggered a hunger she couldn’t bury deep enough, no matter how hard she tried. He was her only option. He was here, spoke Lingala, and SOCOM said she could have him as long as he agreed to the mission.
“I’m not the only one at Camp Citron fluent in Lingala. I can think of two other guys who speak it, and one of them also speaks Swahili, which you also might need in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, assuming that’s where your mission is headed.”
Lord, she hoped they wouldn’t have to go into DRC. “But they’re both intelligence officers. Glorified translators. I need an operator.”
His full bottom lip caught her attention. He signaled he noticed her stare by flashing perfect white teeth. “You saying you need a real man, Savvy?”
She rolled her eyes even as her belly fluttered at his use of the nickname. She ignored the ridiculous reaction. It wasn’t as if Savannah was her real name, so the nickname shouldn’t feel intimate. “I need an operator with native fluency.”
He dropped his boots to the floor, grin firmly in place. He obviously knew how handsome he was and that even she, coldhearted spook that she was, wasn’t immune. But then, he’d never lacked ego.
She stared at his perfect smile, her confidence in her plan fading. He’d never pass. His teeth would give him away. Too much orthodontia, too little khat. “You need to grow a longer beard. You need to look less like a broodingly handsome Luke Cage and more like an unkempt, hostile drug lord looking to enter the diamond trade.”
“Seems like my body armor—not my beard—will give me away.”
