"Edgy, erotic, and breathtaking." Maya Banks, New York Times bestselling author
Secrets Never Die
Alex Aaro has spent most of his life on the run from his ruthless, toxic family. But when he learns that crazy Aunt Tonya, the only relative who ever gave a damn about him, is dying, he risks returning home to say goodbye. He's prepared for anything except the call from his friend, Bruno Ranieri, that sends him on a wild and dangerous ride with a mysterious woman who holds a deadly secret and a white hot passion tht binds them together.
Social worker Nina Christie has no idea how much trouble she's in when her Aunt Helga shows up bleeding at her shelter, babbling in Ukrainianand with one inexplicable act thrusts Nina into the heart of a nightmare. Now a ruthless crime syndicate will stop at nothing to make Nina disappear, and only Alex Aaro, that inscrutable six-foot-four rock hard slab of lean muscle, stands between her and certain death. Now Nina and Alex are in a race against time, death, and their desire for one another. . .
Praise for the Novels of Shannon McKenna. . .
"McKenna blasts readers with a highly charged, action-adventure romance." Booklist
"An erotic romance in a suspense vehicle on overdrive...sizzles!" Romantic Times
"McKenna expertly stokes the fires of romantic tension." Publishers Weekly
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
One Wrong Move
By SHANNON McKENNA
KENSINGTON BOOKSCopyright © 2012 Shannon McKenna
All right reserved.
Chapter OneSheepshead Bay, Brooklyn, NYC 5:41 A.M. Thursday morning
Nina looked back. Her heart jolted up into her throat. That car was following her. It wasn't nerves, or paranoia. She'd slipped into the all-night supermarket for a few minutes to talk herself down, sip some weak coffee from the deli counter, get over the crawling sense of being stalked. It didn't seem possible. It was so very obvious that she had nothing worthwhile to steal. She made a point of that. She dressed down to the point of vanishing. She'd made it into a high art.
And yet, that car had parked somewhere and waited for her while she dawdled in the supermarket. And now, it was crawling steadily along behind her once again. A Lincoln Town Car, nondescript beige color. She noted the plate number as her nervous, fast walk quickened into a trot. She wished she hadn't drunk the nasty coffee. It roiled in her chilled guts like acid slush. She punched 911 into her cell with the useless, scolding rant blaring through her head, how she should have trusted her instincts, stayed in the store, called the police from there, yada yada. No running back to the supermarket now. The car was between her and it, and all the businesses on the street were deserted this early in the morning. Across the street were apartment complexes, lots of shadowy lawn and shrubbery to sprint through. She'd never get anyone's attention in time. She couldn't have picked a worse spot to be at this hour if she tried. Shit. Brain-dead idiot, thinking she could walk to work at this hour. Idiot, for agreeing to man the hotline this early in the morning, for not getting the car fixed in time, for not calling a cab.
The engine revved. The car was gaining on her. A squirt of raw panic jolted her even faster, rubber-soled sandaled feet thudding as the 911 operator squawked into her ear. "I'm being followed by a beige Lincoln Town Car," she panted back into the phone, and gabbled out the plate number. "I'm on Lamson, just turned off Avenue Y—"
The car screeched to a stop right behind her, and a door popped open. "Nina? Nina!"
What the hell? It was a woman's voice, thin and shaking. Nina teetered as she twisted to look. Her breath rasped in her chest. She thumbed the speakerphone button on. As if that could help.
A wraith stumbled out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk. A woman, older, graying. Skeletal. Bloodshot eyes, sunken into sallow, shadowy pits. Blood dripped from her nose, and from a cut lip. Her clothes hung on her, and her hair was a snarled black-and-gray mess.
The woman lurched closer. "Nina?" Her voice sounded beseeching.
Nina skittered back, her hackles rising. A feeling was growing, almost like recognition, but not quite. More like dread.
"Excuse me?" she asked cautiously. "Do I know you?"
Tears streamed down over the woman's sallow, caved-in cheeks. Words burst out of her, in a language Nina did not recognize. And she was coming forward way too fast.
Nina backed up. "How do you know my name?"
Another impassioned outburst, and Nina did not understand a goddamn word of it. She continued backing up. "Look, I don't know who you are or what you want, but stay away from me," she said. "Just keep your distance."
Thud. Her back hit the newsstand. The woman came on with unnerving swiftness. Her gibberish had a pleading tone. She grabbed Nina's phone out of her hand, and clicked at it, still babbling.
"Hey! Give me that!" Nina lunged to get her phone back. The phone dropped to the ground, spinning, as the woman grabbed her arm, snake-fast. Nina twisted, squirming to get free, but the woman's icy hand was horribly strong. Her other hand flashed out.
Nina screamed as a hypodermic needle stabbed into her forearm. It burned like a wasp's sting.
The woman let go. The syringe dropped, rolled into the gutter.
Nina's back hit the newsstand again, with a jarring thud. She stared into the other woman's haggard face. Gasping for air, but she had no place to put it. Her lungs were clenched in a huge, cold fist.
Recognition finally kicked in, with a shuddering prickle over her entire body. "Helga," she croaked. "Oh, God. Helga?"
The woman raised her hands, flapping them in mute apology. She bent down, and scooped up Nina's phone.
"What was—wha—why did you do that?" Nina's voice no longer felt like it came from her own body. It floated, small and tinny and disembodied. "Wha—what the fuck was in that needle?" She tried to sound tough. Hard to do while sliding down a wall, flat onto one's ass.
Helga's face hung over her, grotesque with its mask of smeared and dripping blood. She was still talking desperately. A man's face joined her. Chubby, stubbled, anxious, smelling of cigarettes and beer. The driver of the car. Nina did not recognize him. He was yelling at Helga, in that same unknown language. His raspy voice shook, like he was afraid. Helga was weeping, yelling. Tears mixed with blood.
They slapped her face, yelled her name, but she no longer felt particularly attached to her face, or her name.
Her limp body twisted, flopped. She was being hoisted, dragged. Bundled into the car. Shoved over the slippery leather seat. She smelled cigarettes. Helga slid in beside her, babbling. Still clutching her phone.
Helga hung over her, pleading. She could not hear, did not care.
She just kept falling.
Alex Aaro strode through the churning mass of humanity on the JFK concourse. Everyone in his path who glimpsed his face scuttled out of his way. The end result was like the parting of the Red Sea.
"No, I don't have time. No, it's not convenient," Aaro growled into his cell phone. "I can't do what you're asking of me. I'm busy."
"What would it cost you?" Bruno's voice had lost its coaxing tone a while back, and had moved on to righteously pissed-off. "You're in New York already. The plane has landed. You're right there. What's so hard about a short delay in your personal agenda for the day? Just translate that recording from Nina's phone. They think it's in Ukrainian, but nobody there has gotten around to translating it yet. So you're up, dude. You're the one."
Aaro ground his teeth. "I can't do it now."
"I'm looking at a Google map right now. Twenty-five minutes gets you to the hospital. You translate the recording of whatever the needle-stabbing hag said, hang out with Lily's bestest bud for an hour or so, just keep her company until we can get a guy we trust in place to watch her. When the new guard takes over, you're out of there. Piece of cake."
Cake, his hairy ass. Any sort of involvement in the affairs of the McClouds or their associates inevitably turned into a monster goatfuck. It never failed. He'd experienced the phenomenon on several occasions in the past. Davy McCloud had roped him into helping out some years ago, on the basis of their old Army Ranger connection. That crazy adventure had involved a ring of ruthless organ pirates.
And it had been straight downhill from there. One of the latest episodes had resulted in the total firebombed destruction of Aaro's residence, and all of his motor vehicles. But the worst one had happened about six months before. Bruno was jerking him around because he could. All because of Aaro's massive fuckup, the one that had practically cost Bruno's and Lily's lives. Bruno was flailing him with the lash of guilt. Whoosh, smack.
It worked, too. Aaro hated guilt. It made his guts twitch. And even so, he couldn't comply, not this time. "I'm busy," Aaro muttered.
"Busy with what? With fucking work, Aaro? Haven't scored enough cash yet with your cyber-counterattack service? Miles told me you guys were raking it in. Push the lunch meeting with the fat cats up a couple hours! You can stop at the goddamn hospital to help out Lily's friend! Your balls are big enough, man. You have the clout."
"I'm not having lunch. I'm—"
"I don't care, Aaro. Seriously, Nina's terrified. She got zapped by a drug that knocked her out, and the crazy bitch that did it is in a coma now, so nobody can say what the junk is. She's scared. She needs support. Preferably armed support. It would make us all feel better."
"You think someone might attack her?"
"Who knows? We don't know what that woman said to her! This situation needs you, Alex Aaro, personally and specifically! Come on, Lily's beside herself. It's not good for her to be upset right now."
"Don't start," Aaro snarled. "I wasn't the one who got your lady friend pregnant. Her delicate hormonal condition is not my problem."
"Dude. You're biting my ass. With big yellow fangs."
"I'm not good at holding hands, Bruno. This is me. You know me. This chick needs a trauma therapist, or a social worker, or—"
"Nina is a social worker, bonehead!"
Aaro winced. Worse and worse. Social worker. Christ on a crutch.
"Look at it this way." Bruno's voice was a nail gun, punching the words in deep. "It's a babysitting job. You don't have to be sensitive or touchy-feely. You don't even have to be polite. Be your own assholic self. Grunt, fart, scratch your balls, I don't care. Just translate the recording, and stay in the same room with her. Davy's got a guy in Philly who's on his way. Old army buddy. An hour and twenty, and you're free. Last favor I'll ever ask of you, I swear to God."
Aaro hesitated. I'm racing to the Mercer Street Hospice to say goodbye before my dying aunt croaks.
Nope. He couldn't say it, even though it was true. Playing the pity card just wasn't his style. "No," he said. "Can't."
"You asshole. What the hell is so important ..."
Aaro turned the squawking down to white noise and focused on keeping the guilt-twitches to a minimum. Deep breathing. Clenched belly. Helped a little. He picked up speed as he neared the baggage claim, anxious to have his bag in his possession. He hated checking weapons into cargo. Being separated from his guns made him more than usually bad-tempered. Knowing that Aunt Tonya was lingering at death's door made him feel sick. And the thought of facing his family of origin ratcheted his stress level up to the stratosphere.
Fielding Bruno and Lily's batshit request was the final ass-kick.
"Aaro, it's not that big of a deal." Bruno's voice came back into focus. He'd stopped bellowing, was trying sweet reason again. The guy was like a pit bull.
"There are tens of thousands of people in New York City who could translate that recording for her," Aaro said. "Find one."
"They're not six foot four and armed to the teeth and meaner than a rattlesnake with PMS. Yeah, Lil, that's right. He's too busy." Bruno's voice was muffled now, directed toward his soon-to-be wife, Lily, who was evidently in the room with him. There was a shrill response. "Lily wants to talk to you now." Bruno's voice took on a sly edge. "Soon as she's off the phone with Nina. Brace yourself, man."
"Do not put me on the phone with her," Aaro said curtly.
"I swear, I will," Bruno threatened. "Nina needs somebody there. She hasn't got family, and there's no husband or boyfriend to—"
"Are you trying to fix me up?" The irritated nerve from Aaro's teeth-grinding problem throbbed, nastily. "Don't even think about it, man."
"No way," Bruno assured him hastily. "We wouldn't wish you on our worst enemy. Just translate the recording, then stand around with her looking intimidating until somebody spells you. You're good at that."
Aaro yanked his bag off the carousel. He couldn't even count all the things there were to hate about this scenario. A terrified woman on the streets of Brooklyn, babbling Ukrainian, torn blouse, bleeding face, needle full of junk. Why even ask? Another hard-luck story. Violence, rape, betrayal. It drove the woman to drugs, insanity, and finally into a fucking coma. And they wanted him to translate all the gory details for them. Great. Just great.
He did his Red Sea routine again, in the direction of the rental car counters. He didn't want to translate this pathetic tale of woe. It was going to suck ass, and there was nothing he could do to help. He needed to stay far away from women like Lily's unlucky pal Nina. Bleeding heart do-gooder at her battered women's shelter. She tried to help the huddled masses and the wretched refuse, and this was the thanks she got. What a total clusterfuck.
No, he would drive hundreds of miles out of his way to avoid Lily's friend, and her big-ass problems. Let someone else hoist up that cross.
"Lily's giving Nina your cell, right now," Bruno informed him. "I'm sending you the audio file. Be looking for it."
Aaro's breath hissed through his teeth. "Goddamnit, Bruno—"
"Then Nina will call you. Tell her to her face you don't give a shit. That you just can't be bothered. Go ahead, say that to the scared, traumatized, crying girl. I wish I could be there to watch the show."
Aaro hung up on him, and got in line at the rental car counter, rubbing his thumb over the hot, sickening red throb in his forehead.
He would be worse than useless to this woman, standing around in a hospital room with his guns, taking up air and space. Helpless and stupid, like a big dumb rock. What good would that do her? He'd just make her uncomfortable. Like she didn't have enough problems.
God, he hated flying. His guts hurt like fingernails were poking into them. And he hadn't slept since he'd heard about Aunt Tonya.
Weird, this reaction. Hadn't seen his aunt in decades. Hadn't spoken to her since he broke contact with his family. There was no way to maintain contact with Tonya and stay clear of the rest of them, so he'd cut ties. Snip, snip. Ruthless bastard with the bolt cutters, that was him. He hadn't thought of Tonya in so long. He'd put an insulating mental fuzz between him and his past, disturbed only by the biannual reports he got from the P.I. who kept the Arbatov clan under surveillance. He paid the guy well for that service. Watching Arbatovs was dangerous work.
It was from the latest report, received three days ago, that he'd heard about Tonya being in the hospice. He'd hacked into the hospice computer for details. Feeding tube. Respirator. Dialysis. Morphine.
Tonya was dying. And with that realization, the memories amassed behind the retaining wall burst through.
It had wiped him out. Oh, man. Tonya.
Tonya was the youngest sister of Aaro's father, Oleg Arbatov. Like Aaro himself, she did not belong in the Arbatov family. Dreamy, absent, never learned English worth a damn. Never married, despite being beautiful in her youth and having many suitors. Aaro's mother had died of cancer when Aaro was five and his sister, Julie, only two. Tonya had come to live with them to take care of the children. That arrangement had lasted five years, until Oleg got married to the poisonous hell-bitch Rita, who was barely nine years older than Alex himself.
Rita had run Tonya out. Things had gone pretty much to hell, from then on.
Tonya was ... well, different. She'd spent more than half of her adult life in the nuthouse. She saw things no one else saw, talked to people no one could see. She made people nervous. It had comforted them to label her crazy. But she'd never seemed crazy to Aaro. He'd loved hearing her dreams, her stories, her visions. Aunt Tonya had read his palm, his face, his eyes. Said he was destined for great things. Fame, fortune, travel, true love. Huh. So much for her precognitive abilities, but he appreciated the thought. Julie had loved her, too.
When Aaro was thirteen, Oleg had gotten violently frustrated with his son, as had often happened. He'd broken Aaro's arm, ribs. Bruises, contusions, ripped cartilage. Tonya had rebelled, surprising everyone. She stole Rita's jewelry to pawn, snatched Alex and Julie, and ran with them. That took guts. He hadn't appreciated how much at the time.
They'd taken a bus to the Jersey Shore, and spent almost a month there before they'd been dragged back. His arm and ribs healed slowly and itchily, while he and Tonya and Julie took long, shivering walks on the beach, picnicked on sodden sand under the deserted boardwalk as if it were high summer, watching seagulls squawk over garbage washed up by the surf. They giggled over dumb TV programs on the grainy old set in their motel room, ate greasy food in the diner, went to the movies, played cards. Tonya had told them stories. Fables, from the Ukraine.
None of them had ever been so happy.
It couldn't last. All of them had known that. The pawned jewelry had eventually betrayed them. Tonya had been sent back to the nuthouse, and he and Julie—well. No point even thinking about that.
That brief taste of freedom had stuck in his mind ever since. It hung there in his head. Like a star. Always out of reach.
He batted the unhelpful thought away. It pissed him off, this nagging, sucking feeling, of something slipping away from him. Like he'd ever really had Tonya, after not seeing her for almost twenty years. What was he losing that he hadn't already lost, decades ago?
Excerpted from One Wrong Move by SHANNON McKENNA Copyright © 2012 by Shannon McKenna. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON BOOKS. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Hello, B&N blog readers. Thanks so much for having me on your blog; I'm thrilled to be here!
I was invited to blog about how living in Italy influences my writing and my sensual heroes and I could go so many different ways with this one! Truth is, the character in my books that Italy most directly inspired would not be my super Alpha dudes, but rather Bruno's Aunt Zia Rosa, first introduced in FADE TO MIDNIGHT, and largely featured in BLOOD AND FIRE. Zia Rosa is a composite of women I see every day and so is her awesome culinary ability. Forget your hoity-toity haute cuisine—I'll take a big old cheap crockery plate of Zia's parmigiana with a fragrant round of fluffy, crunchy, golden focaccia and a bottle of homemade red wine. People often ask why I don't set stories in Italy—ULTIMATE WEAPON actually had a pretty long sequence set in Italy which was great fun to write, with lots of delicious food involved (God, I love that)—but generally I avoid Italy as a setting because I know it too well after living here all these years. Italy has a powerful personality and it does not stand passively back to be a graceful, sexy background setting. It gets in your face, makes itself loud and ridiculous and charmingly obnoxious. It's like another character in the book; an important one.
But tutto fa brood, as they say here; everything goes into the broth. Italy has made its way into my work in wonderful and insidious ways. In fact, Italy made it possible for me to write, period! When I moved here to be with Nicola I was lost. No language, no friends, no job, no clue. Nothing to do all day long while Nicola was at work, just hours of silence and solitude. I said to myself, self? . . . if you don't write that romance novel you've been diddling around with for years now, then you are a total loser.
So I took up the challenge, and did it. Thanks, Italy! I owe you a debt of gratitude bigger than I can say.
And speaking of Nicola, I cannot talk about sensual heroes without holding forth about my own sexy Italian guy. Almost twenty year ago, one of his buddies persuaded him to take a summer off from studying classical guitar eight hours a day (I love music nerds!) and come to New York, to crash in his buddy's girlfriend's closet-sized windowless apartment on Avenue B (Hells Angels on the left, crack house on the right) and play his lute at the New York Renaissance Faire in Tuxedo, NY. I was a folk/madrigal singer there, and every weekend he'd be strutting around in his Renaissance outfit (I love men in tights!) playing medieval music. His plan was to party and pick up chicks. Let's just say, he got more than he bargained for. Ahem.
So he didn't speak a word of English, but that didn't stop me (or about a dozen other predatory girls dressed in lace-up corsets and farthingales, either)! Everybody was after either the green-eyed one who played the lute (mine!) or the dark-eyed one who played flutes and vielle (Nicola's buddy). Both eye candy, each a good foil for the other. Aside from all that, he could cook too! He traveled all the way from Italy with his own five liter can of olive oil as his carry-on baggage! Seriously! Oil made from olives harvested from his family's own orchard! I cannot even tell you how sexy that was to me. What twenty-six year old American guy has ever pondered the comparative merits of cooking oils, or even made a nodding acquaintance with an artichoke, or an eggplant? I'm a helpless foodie, I can't help myself.
Now, my heroes love food, and all of them can cook because that really turns me on, as you might have noticed. But when it comes to McCloud heroes and their studly Alpha pals, you are more likely to catch them pondering the relative merits of a folding stock Saiga shotgun or a Benelli…or a Gerber knife vs. a Kershaw…or whether he should load his mags with a sintered metal breaching round before alternating slugs and buckshot. As opposed to olive oil, or guitar strings. That's romantic suspense for you. What can you do?!
Back to reality and to Nicola: delicious food, gorgeous music, green eyes, and flashing fingers. That was the honeymoon period. Then I went to Italy and started to get to know the place for real. Let's be clear, if you go to a beach in Southern Italy, those buff, tanned Italian guys in their Speedos will blow your mind with their total hotness. But if they aren't married, then they live at home with their mothers. Always. It was a big attitude adjustment for me, since I left home at 18 and considered the ramen-eating, minimum-wage-earning, squalid-group-house-living, pizza-choffing period of desperate post-college self searching to be a normal and necessary rite of passage.
Not here! When an unmarried Southern Italian guy wakes up in the morning, Mamma brings him his caffe latte in bed, and then lays out his perfectly ironed clothes for him…including the underwear…ironed underwear. Picture my bug-eyed stare if you will, because it's the same look I had on my face when my future mother-in-law came to my apartment right after I moved in with Nicola (living in sin!) and inflicted a three hour tutorial upon me on how to properly clean my toilets, my kitchen, my windows, my walls (ever steam cleaned a wall? It disinfects them from dangerous wall bacteria! Who knew?). She cooked extra food every day and begged Nicola to drive by and pick it up so she could be sure her darling boy was properly nourished, since God knows what that strange American girl had mistaken for food.
Forgive me. I hit a nerve, all by myself, and started ranting. The upshot of it all is, I've relaxed with Italy in the years that I've lived here, and it leaves me well enough alone now too. The trick is, don't create too much resistance. And I'm still super enthusiastic about my wonderful guy, who has made his peace with the fact that for the rest of his life that nobody is ever going to iron his underwear unless he does it himself. But he loves me anyway. And that is really sexy.
So yay for romance heroes, real or fictional…and viva l'Italia!
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Warning: this is previously published but with a different publisher. Barnes and Noble does not tell you the book is already in your library if you go to buy it again
Well, this is one of Mckenna's best. The previous one, Bruno's story, was not as good as all the McCloud's books so I hesitated to read this one. I was also concerned that a love story involving a character as tough and raw as Alex was not going to be beliavable. I was wrong. The female character, Nina, is tough as nails and the relationship between the two is amazing. The suspense is good and the paranormal theme is actually quite believable. Loved it and can't wait for the next one to get complete resolution on this story.
One Wrong Move is an edge of your seat suspense that will have you frantically turning the pages trying to find out what happens next. From the very beginning, the book dives right in to the action, setting up a thrilling ride. As the characters work against the clock, they develop an intense relationship, creating the perfect scenario for love. And while some of the plot is a tad bit unrealistic, the author takes these elements and makes them believable and exciting. All of the characters in the book are very well written and developed. The two main characters that the story is centered around, Nina and Alex, are complex and flawed. But it’s their quirky flaws that make their intense relationship work. From the beginning, they’re both closed off emotionally, but as they fight to keep Nina alive, they open up beautifully, allowing themselves to be swept off of their feet, per se. The secondary characters in the book are equally as important, as they add drama and excitement to the story. If you’re like me, and you love a great suspense with a little romance thrown in, this book is perfect. The author has penned a wonderful thriller that will have me coming back to her books time and time again. Reviewed by Marie for Cocktails and Books
This is the first book I've read by Shannon McKenna and it did NOT disappoint! The love was fantastic, the attraction H-O-T, the suspense good (though not the strongest point of the book). The author deftly wove in back story and supporting characters that added to One Wrong Move rather than took the reader out of the story. LOVED IT! I'm now going to go back and read all of the McCloud family books.
I CANNOT believe I waited for what seems like forever for this book to finally be released.... then I devoured it in a matter of hours. The only reason I am only giving 4stars is because I reserve 5 for emotional outbursts. This was a VERY good book and I was thoroughly caught up in it. I am desperately waiting for the next in the series. LOVED it. ...F...
What a wonderful book! I knew Ms. McKenna wouldn't let any if her readers down! The great thing about her writing is that the characters all compliment one another, the attraction and sex is convincing and hot, and there's plenty of mystery and action to keep you glued to the book until you've devoured every single page! I love reading about the McClouds and their friends and am anxiously looking forward to reading Miles story....poor guy can't catch a break! With that being said, Aaro's character was completely alpha, he was so rude but in a charming way. I loved it! As well as Nina's character, Ms. McKenna's female leads are always strong willed, stubborn, courageous women who always protect, love and stand by their men...doesn't get better than that. Plenty of action, very detailed, it didn't feel rushed at all...overall a very great book! SR
Great characters, fantastic suspense, believable villains and great romance. What more could you want?
Completely outside my genre, this book had enough intrique and suspense to keep me reading. The paranormal is not too much to deter from the story and the extra romance certainly dosen't hurt either. I may or may not have been at a disadvantage not reading the previous books, but felt that I could keep up, may go back and look for the first books.
First time reading Shannon McKenna and WOW. I only bought it because of the cover (-: but loved the story.
I wish there was more. It is a book just read the words. It is not based on anything other than entertainment. And it was and is GREAT. I kust ordered the new one in the series about Lara and Miles. Which I am sure will be great suspenseful sexy.
I REALLY liked this book. Aaro, aka Shasha and Nina are great together. The book sucked me in quick and kept me reading making me finish the book in 2 days. It has romance, psi, mystery and lots of adventure. There are also steamy sex scenes that were nice, but didn't get my all hot and bothered like other books have. Even though this is like the 9th book in the McCloud and Friends series, it can be read as a stand alone. BUT... by the end, I was ready to read the next book because I got to know the character it is based on and I really felt compassion for him and a need to know his story. There are couples in the book who "help out" and you just know that they have back stories that were obviously previous books. I'm definitely curious now to know what their stories are as well... guess I just started myself another series that I'll be obsessed with until I read them all. Shannon McKenna is a great writer and I will be reading more of her creations soon.
This book is like a car accident you can tear your attention from. You wamt to look away (stop reading), but can't. Admittedly, I do not read this genre normally. I got this book on discount for less than two dollars. I am glad I did not pay more. Where do I begin? Why are they Ukrainian anyway? They could have been any ethnicity? Nothing made Aaro or Helga Ukrainian. Sure the author said they spoke in the language, but nothing in the actual language was ever used to make this choice real or authentic. The writing reminds me of an undergraduate creative writing class. The plot is over the top. Oleg showing up in the end was so predictable. Wow, I feel guilty for reading this.
I loved this book, I could not put it down I finished it in 2 days.
Very good book
Shannon McKenna’s “One Wrong Move” is a heart-pounding race against time and a group of assassins led by a power hungry leader out to get his hands on a substance guaranteed to make him invincible that will keep the pages turning long into the night. Mixed with the action inspired adrenaline rush is a sexy and sensual altercation no one is looking for, especially the formidable Alex Arano. Bodyguard (read: babysitter) was definitely not is his job description, running his own cyber protection security service was…but the phone rang. Alex Arano knew he should not have answered the call, experience told him so, military loyalties aside. In his opinion the promise that a few minutes of his time was all it would take to do a favor for the one person he still held a spot of guilt toward was a few minutes too much, for Alex had his own agenda and nothing was going to keep him from seeing it through. That is what he thought at least, he really should have known better. Nina Christy listened to the voice on the other side of the phone she held with blood pressure raising anger, how dare this self centered creep talk to her like this. She did not need his help, alone for as long as she could remember, the only person Nina depended on was herself, in fact she made depending on only herself into a science…”no body there..no body sees me”. As a social worker, out to lend her skills and expertise to help those who have been abused cope, Nina knows how to be invisible. Unfortunately, for Nina somebody does see her and it is going to take more than just her strong will to live to keep her safe. As an unsuspecting recipient of a mysterious serum, which puts Nina’s, life in jeopardy, she feels her only hopes of survival are in the hands of a man too pre-occupied to care. An explosive read, which, guarantees you will not be able to put down!