Edge of Light by Cynthia Justlin | NOOK Book (eBook) | Barnes & Noble
Edge of Light

Edge of Light

4.4 5
by Cynthia Justlin
     
 

Taken prisoner by a ruthless group of anarchists deep in the Cambodian jungle, anthropologist Jocelyn Hewitt is isolated in a dark prison cell. Without chance of rescue. Or hope. Until the man in the next cell reaches out to let her know she's not as alone as she thinks.

CIA agent Oliver Shaw has been held prisoner for over two years. Forced to witness the

Overview

Taken prisoner by a ruthless group of anarchists deep in the Cambodian jungle, anthropologist Jocelyn Hewitt is isolated in a dark prison cell. Without chance of rescue. Or hope. Until the man in the next cell reaches out to let her know she's not as alone as she thinks.

CIA agent Oliver Shaw has been held prisoner for over two years. Forced to witness the brutal torture and slow murder of his entire team, his spirit is not just broken, it's crushed. He no longer believes in hope. Until he hears Jocelyn through the wall, and suddenly feels like a glimpse of light is trying to reach in...

Jocelyn's heart aches for the tortured man whose presence and voice give her the courage to risk their escape. But first she'll have to remind Oliver who he once was, what he once loved, and bring him back to life. Only then will they have a chance for freedom—and the kind of love neither ever thought possible.

89,000 words

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781426893766
Publisher:
Carina Press
Publication date:
05/14/2012
Sold by:
HARLEQUIN
Format:
NOOK Book
File size:
854 KB

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt


You're still alive.

The taunt hissed across Oliver Shaw's foggy brain, bringing with it an unwanted sense of awareness. Cold concrete pressed against his cheek. A bead of moisture leaked out from under his eyelids, loosening the dried blood that had crusted there. His stomach heaved. He sucked in a breath and choked on bile and the stench of excrement and putrid food.

Open your eyes, you gutless coward.

He gritted his teeth and dragged his eyelids open. A sliver of light speared into his retina, blinding him with a sharp ache to the back of his skull.

The light bulb.

That single fucking bulb. Always on. Always grounding him in its glaring reality. He couldn't take anotherday in this hellhole.

He shifted, biting down on his lip and letting the metallic taste of his blood fill his mouth. Cement scraped his bruised stomach. The movement set fire to the hundreds of cuts across his back. He stiffened and pulled a hiss through his teeth, concentrating on the tracks of dirt and dried blood covering his arms while he waited for the burning to dial down to an acute throb.

His kidneys throbbed from dehydration and repeated kicks to his lower back. A chunk of his long, matted black hair fell into his eyes. He tried to brush it aside, but his tingling hands refused to work properly. He flexed his fingers against the tattered fabric of his cast-aside shirt until the digits cooperated in an awkward dance that pulled at his joints. Sliding his palms against the pitted concrete, he combed the crevices hoping for a sharp piece of metal, a rusty nail, anything he could use to pierce the thick artery pulsing in his neck.

His fingers closed around a jagged rock. Relief spilled into his gut and diluted the gnawing hunger there. He inched over onto his back. Fresh blood oozed down his arm. He blinked the nasty laceration into focus, and a new clarity edged into his vision.

This wasn't his cell.

The wall was rough cement where it should have been scarred metal, the floor more heavily pitted. Memories assaulted him, of his last caning, more brutal than the others, the ropes that had dug into his raw wrists and ankles, angry voices that jarred his skull—then nothing. How long had he lain here, unconscious?

Irrational fear squeezed at his heart, making it race. He dug his knuckles into his coarse, tangled beard. How many days since his capture? They'd made him lose track. How could he—if he didn't know—oh, Jesus, he'd been holding onto his sanity by a thin thread and now those bastards had cut his only life line.

How many days? Five hundred? More? Less?

His breath choked past his lips, the garbled sound knocking some sense into him. Who cared? One day was the same as any other. His reasons for counting the days were long gone. He didn't exist. Not to the Central Intelligence Agency which would deny his very existence, nor to his family, of whom he had none. And Catrina—

His throat tightened. Flashes exploded in his head, voices and faces of those he'd failed. He was the only one left. His captors delighted in reminding him of that fact, rubbing his nose in his own judgmental stupidity. He had nothing but his own self-righteous integrity to blame for his predicament. If he'd only broken, like his teammates were willing to do, and let himself be used as propaganda against his own government, maybe they'd have allowed his friends a respectful death without suffering.

Meet the Author

Cynthia’s love of the written word began at a very young age, when a trip to the library meant packing a lunch & heading out on her bicycle for a day of fictional adventures. Now, Cynthia writes gritty, action-packed romantic suspense and thrillers for Carina Press. Cynthia lives in Arizona with her husband and two sons. She is also a Stage IV cancer survivor, and living proof that hope and faith can work miracles.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Write a Review

and post it to your social network

     

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews >