To those of you who are familiar with my first Eagle Squadron series, you might remember the mahem of SEVEN DAYS TO FOREVER. It was one of my favorite books to write, since I absolutely love doing "wrong place, wrong time" plots. In that story, an innocent school teacher became mixed up in an international kidnapping plot when she mistakenly picked up a backpack full of ransom money. Well, I couldn't resist unleashing the mahem again.

In ACCIDENTAL COMMANDO, Emily Wright wants nothing more than peace and quiet to heal her broken heart. Of course, things don't quite work out that way. The morning after what should have been her wedding night, her hotel room becomes the scene of a running gun battle between a mysterious international assassin and the devastatingly handsome commando who is chasing him. Before she can say "I don't," Emily is pressed into service in Eagle Squadron's latest mission... and swept into Tyler Matheson's arms.

I hope you enjoy their story. Let me know if it leaves you with a smile!
 
 

Eagle Squadron: Countdown
 

HER BABY'S BODYGUARD
April 2010
ISBN 978-0-373-27674-5

Sergeant Jack Norton is the character whose story has been requested most often by readers. Jack's a risk-taker and a gambler who thrives on the challenge of his work as Eagle Squadron’s medic. In HER BABY'S BODYGUARD, Jack is sent with the team to extricate a defecting scientist from a secret bio-weapon research complex in the heart of the Caucasus Mountains, only to have his heart ambushed by the beautiful Eva Petrova and her infant daughter. With mother and baby in tow, Jack and the commandos fight their way to safety, where they learn the real danger is just beginning....
 

ACCIDENTAL COMMANDO
June 2010
ISBN 978-0-373-27684-4

As Eagle Squadron’s most recent recruit, Master Sergeant Tyler Matheson accepts the endless new-guy razzing from his teammates with his typical, strong, silent stoicism. An expert marksman and a munitions specialist, Tyler attributes his aptitude with firearms to his cowboy heritage. In ACCIDENTAL COMMANDO, Tyler and the team are on the small Carribean island nation of Rocama, where they have five days  to prevent an assassination. But their low profile stake-out is accidentally stumbled upon by runaway bride, reporter Emily Wright. Emily has left her cheating fiancé at the altar and intends to enjoy her honeymoon alone...even if it kills her.
 

ARMY OF TWO
August 2010
ISBN 978-0-373-27691-2

The commanding officer of Eagle Squadron, Major Mitch Redinger, is a widower who believes love only happens once in a lifetime. In ARMY OF TWO, Mitch is attending a top secret meeting at a resort on the rugged Maine coast when the place is taken over by terrorists. While everyone else is rounded up and held hostage, Mitch remains undetected, along with the resort’s owner, Chantal Leduc. As a teenager, Chantal had been desperately in love with Mitch, then a dashing young captain, only to be left heartbroken when he married another woman. Past hurts as well as passions are stirred as Mitch and Chantal work together to survive.
 
 
 
 

Emily pressed her fingers to her mouth and fought to keep down the contents of her stomach as she staggered out of the shower. Magnums of champagne weren't meant to be consumed by one person. She winced when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Even soaking wet, her hair was starting to corkscrew. And she'd known she shouldn't have eaten the strawberries. The rash she got whenever she indulged was already mottling her chest and throat. But she'd wanted the chocolate, and besides, no one was here to see the rash. No one would see the black teddy she'd bought for her wedding night, or the red garter belt, either.

"Enough," she muttered, scowling at her reflection. "Pity party's over. Today is the first day of the rest of..."

Her voice broke before she could finish the trite phrase. Yet it was true. Her life stretched out in front of her, as full of possibilities - and as daunting - as a blank page. The only thing for certain was that Christopher wouldn't be part of it.

Fine. Good. So there was no reason to waste any more time mooning over what might have been, or the dreams that wouldn't come true. She was going to enjoy herself. She really was. She had paid for a full ten days before she had to return to reality.

A solitary reality.

"And that's good," she said, snatching up a towel. "Love is for fairy tales. And men are overrated." She was about rub her hair dry when she thought better of it and gingerly blotted the water drops from the ends. "You don't need a man," she muttered. "You're tall enough to reach the top shelves in the cupboards. So aside from opening jars and scratching itches you can't reach, what are they good for? Besides totally screwing up your life?"

Buoyed by her pep talk, she walked to the bedroom. The sky glowed conch-shell pink through the glass above the louvered balcony doors. The overhead fan didn't do much to cut the mugginess - as first days went, this one promised to be a hot one. The sounds of dogs and seagulls, plus snatches of Spanish drifted from the plaza below. It was market day, she remembered. The brochure from the travel agency had featured pictures of it, but she wasn't sure she would be venturing outside until she felt more human. She dropped her towel beside the empty champagne bottle and rummaged through her suitcase for her underwear.

The first item she encountered was the red lace bra that went with the red garter belt. Why hadn't she re-packed her luggage before she'd left?

For the same reason she hadn't cancelled the honeymoon, she reminded herself, defiantly picking up the matching, fire-engine red panties. Because she'd wanted to prove she wasn't hurt. She might have indulged in pity for herself, but she'd be damned if she'd accept it from anyone else. Ten days would be plenty of time for her to lay the ghosts of all those happily-ever-after fantasies to rest. She would go back to Packenham Junction refreshed and tanned. That would show her family she was going to be just fine. Her co-workers at the paper would see that she was too tough to fall apart.

Only, they weren't her co-workers anymore. She'd worry about getting her job back once she got home. Actually, she would have to find a home first. She'd couldn't imagine going back to the apartment she'd shared with Christopher, but her options were limited. Her bank account was down to double digits, and she'd maxed out her credit cards to pay for this trip.

And all because she'd believed in a man. Put her faith in love. Opened her heart enough to buy into the whole, pathetic fairy tale...

Emily crumpled the red lace in her hands and refused to acknowledge the moisture in her eyes. Damn. She wasn't going to cry. Not over him. She intended to enjoy this vacation, even if it killed her.

Something thumped on her balcony. She turned toward it just as a shadow moved across the louvers. An instant later the doors burst inward and crashed to the floor. A short, dark-haired man ran into the room. He was dressed like one of the construction workers in the square she'd noticed when she'd arrived yesterday, but even her alcohol-fogged brain didn't believe he'd entered her room by mistake. Construction workers didn't normally carry guns.

This couldn't really be happening, could it? Except for the gun, he looked as harmless as the guy who drove the milk truck to her parents' farm. Same round face and full lips, except there was a fine white scar across his chin and his eyes weren't a merry brown, they were black, and as dead as a snake's.

Emily's paralysis lasted no more than a heartbeat. A survival instinct she hadn't known she possessed took over and she reacted without thinking. "Get out!" she yelled, snapping her underwear at the intruder. "Out!" Her action appeared to startle him long enough to allow her to snatch the empty champagne bottle from the floor and swing it at his head.

He ducked, muttered something in Spanish and gave her a left jab that knocked her to the bed.

Both her stomach and the room wavered. She rolled to her feet on the other side of the mattress and was lifting the bottle to throw it at him when it shattered in her hand. Shards of glass whizzed past her face and bounced on the sheets.

"Get down!" someone yelled from behind her.

Emily half-turned in time to see another man lunge toward her from the balcony. He wrapped his arms around her legs and tackled her to the floor. She kicked and jabbed backward with her elbows. He quickly immobilized her by sliding up her body and folding one leg around hers.

There was a series of sharp pops. The lamp beside the bed exploded in a cloud of porcelain. The painting of the seascape on the wall crashed onto the platter on the room service cart, spraying leftover cream and strawberry hulls. Chunks of wood and plaster rained to the floor around her but none of it hit her. She couldn't move. She could hardly breathe. The second man was lying completely on top of her with his chin pressing down on her head. It felt as if he were built like a tree trunk.

As suddenly as they had started, the popping sounds halted. The door to the corridor banged open.
The weight on her back disappeared instantly. A pair of worn, black cowboy boots moved into her vision. "Stay put," their owner ordered, vaulting over the bed. Footsteps pounded out of the room and down the corridor.

Emily hadn't meant to obey his command. Out of principle, she had vowed never to go along with what any man told her ever again.

But she was shaking so badly, she couldn't make her limbs work for a full minute. She lifted her head, gasping for breath. Her lungs filled with plaster dust. Coughing, she managed to get to her knees.

Through her straggling hair she saw the doors to the balcony were in splinters, their louvered slats strewn in ripples like broken fans. Pieces of dark green glass lay scattered over her bed, the clothes in her suitcase and even the towel she'd dropped on the floor. A line of small, round holes had appeared in the wall behind her...

Her brain struggled to process what she saw. Were those bullet holes? What on earth had happened here? Who were those men?

Belatedly, she thought of screaming but that might bring those men back...

She pushed herself to her feet, wobbled her way clear of the broken glass, and dashed for the room's door. She turned the lock, attached the chain, then leaned back against the panels and hugged her arms across her chest.

Only then did she realize that she was completely naked.

ACCIDENTAL COMMANDO
by Ingrid Weaver
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
June 2010
ISBN  978-0-373-27684-4