Working in war zones while treating the sick and wounded, Dr. Calista St. James was used to being under siege. But now, her team had been deliberately infected with a dangerous virus--and all signs pointed to it being an inside job.
Before Calista could expose the traitor, she had to travel worlds away with black-ops agent Damian De Luna--a man she didn't trust--to find the cure. Radical steps were needed to stop this deadly outbreak--but could Calista stop the breakdown of everything she'd dedicated her life to fighting for?
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|Title of eBook: Radical Cure|
|Release Date: 02-01-2006|
|Publisher: Silhouette Bombshell|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Radical Cure|
|Devices||Samsung Tablet, Apple Ipad & Iphone, Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo eReader, Aluratek Libre, Iliad, Nokia, Blackberry, Hanlin|
|Note||ePub, short for electronic publication is one of our favorites and should be yours for a couple of reasons. ePub offers reflowable text giving you flexibility to manipulate how the digital content is presented. Moreover, lots of cool features are now being developed for the reader like advanced video and audio. ePub is now an industry standard, so all of the device manufacturers are now supporting it?. except of course those two proprietary (ie: we don't want you to have a choice) online behemoths: Apple and Amazon - who seek to chain you like a trailer park dog forever to their devices. Three years from now, we predict ePub will rule the eBook landscape.|
The downpour battering our van became a barrage.
It took me a second. Then I realized.
It wasn't a downpour anymore. It was a side-pour. A rear-pour. And it was no longer water. It was steel. Bullets.
We hadn't been quick enough.
No, no, dammit! We had been. But the damn torrential rain had washed down our smoke bombs, cleared our enemies' path.
Those who'd survived.
Made me regret we hadn't made sure no one had.
Okay, Calista St. James. Reality check here. There'd been too many of them. Dozens. And only three of us. As odds went, I should be grateful there still were three, and that we'd gotten out two of the six people we'd smashed into that mini war zone to save.
Grateful was something I rarely was. Never much to be grateful about when we were on one of our regular and too-frequent against-all-odds rescues from grisly situations. This time we were caught in the middle of a white-slavery auction turned gang turf war.
We'd lost more than we'd saved. There'd just been far more gang members than our worst projections. All we'd known, barging in to answer Juan's distress call, had been his choppy and aborted report.
And we hadn't actually saved anyone yet. We'd just reached our van, hadn't even fully secured our two casualties.
Had to change that. Like in the next twenty seconds. Who knew just how armored our van was. Sure sounded like it was getting the ultimate endurance test.
Only bright spot was, the gang filth out there were frothing mad, spewing typical and so-far ineffectual violence, shooting at our bulletproof body rather than going for the sure, fatal shot, our tires.
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