Acceptable Risk Read online

  Praise for Collateral Damage

  “Eason remains a force in action-packed inspirational fiction with this excellently paced, heartening tale.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “Readers who enjoy the combination of faith and romantic suspense will be thrilled with Eason’s latest, the first in the Danger Never Sleeps series, which introduces a fascinating cast of characters who will surely populate forthcoming sequels.”

  Booklist

  “Lynette Eason is absolutely amazing at getting a reader’s heart racing with her masterful way of writing intense scenes, but also calming down the reader during the sweet and slow moments.”

  Interviews & Reviews

  “Lynette Eason keeps getting better with each new novel, and fans of her work will absolutely love the start to this new series. . . . I am falling more and more in love with her writing as she releases each new book.”

  Write-Read-Life

  “Collateral Damage proves to be both a fascinating and mildly complicated suspense; displaying the author’s ability to position the past and present, the near and far, the known and unknown just outside the reach of her readers and characters; using every page to inch toward a climax that no one could have possibly foreseen.”

  More Than a Review

  “Collateral Damage by Lynette Eason is full of danger, suspense, and risks. . . . Every page had me sitting on the edge of my seat.”

  Urban Lit Magazine

  “I believe it is one of the best books that Eason has written in a long time . . . and I love her books! It had a gripping mystery and was so suspenseful that she had me on the edge of my seat. If you want a roller-coaster ride with a thrilling ending, you’ll want to read this award-winning author. . . . High praise for this new series.”

  Relz Reviewz

  Books by Lynette Eason

  WOMEN OF JUSTICE

  Too Close to Home

  Don’t Look Back

  A Killer Among Us

  DEADLY REUNIONS

  When the Smoke Clears

  When a Heart Stops

  When a Secret Kills

  HIDDEN IDENTITY

  No One to Trust

  Nowhere to Turn

  Nothing to Lose

  ELITE GUARDIANS

  Always Watching

  Without Warning

  Moving Target

  Chasing Secrets

  BLUE JUSTICE

  Oath of Honor

  Called to Protect

  Code of Valor

  Vow of Justice

  Protecting Tanner Hollow

  DANGER NEVER SLEEPS

  Collateral Damage

  Acceptable Risk

  © 2020 by Lynette Eason

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-2310-1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for Collateral Damage

  Half Title Page

  Books by Lynette Eason

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  An Excerpt from Book 3 in the Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  AUGUST

  GREENVILLE, SC

  The pain compelled her—

  No . . . propelled her.

  It had to end.

  Living this way wasn’t living. She would be doing everyone a favor if she just ended it. She couldn’t believe the burden she’d become to the people she loved most.

  Dr. Helen Craft approached the window, tears tracking down her cheeks to drip off her chin. She touched them in wonder. When was the last time she’d cried? The day her father died? No, it was the day the Taliban had driven the van loaded with explosives into the playground at the orphanage.

  She was working in the small medical clinic across the street and felt the blast like she was standing beside it. Only she hadn’t suffered a scratch. Not like the children.

  “The children,” she whispered. Forty-five killed instantly. Thirty-three injured.

  A sob escaped her and she unlocked the window.

  The images clicked on an endless loop with no stop button. She couldn’t even pause it without alcohol or some drug.

  Operating on a child who’d lost a leg.

  Digging through the rubble to find more children with more injuries than she could help at once.

  A missing hand.

  A missing face . . .

  One operation after another.

  One child dying, then the next and the next, until she’d lost count. Later, she’d learned sixteen of the thirty-three surviving had succumbed to their injuries.

  “I couldn’t save them,” she whispered. “Why couldn’t I save them?” What good was she when they all died in spite of her best efforts?

  And the workers. Her friends—

  She grabbed her head, the screams continuing to echo. “Stop, please stop. I just want it to stop.”

  She threw open the window and looked down. Down represented peace. If she went back, the torture would continue.

  “Helen! What are you doing?”

  She didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her sister’s terrified cry, just stepped out onto the ledge . . .

  “Helen, no!”

  . . . and launched herself into the air.

  Free-falling.

  Until the pain was finally gone.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  SEPTEMBER

  HELMED PROVINCE, AFGHANISTAN

  Sarah Denning sat on the dirt floor of the Afghani prison cell and shivered in the ninety-degree heat, fighting the fear that had been her constant companion since the Taliban had attacked the school yesterday. One minute she’d been a guest teacher at the request of her friend, Talia Davenport, the next, a prisoner of cruel men who would use her and kill her without blinking.

  She tugged the piece of cloth covering her head lower and patted the bottom section that concealed her mouth and nose, while praying she could stay anonymous until they were rescued. If rescue was even on the way. If their captors found out she was an American . . . or worse, who her father was—

  The guard gave the barred door a violent tug and she jumped, her heart stumbling into overdrive. The door held fast. She doubted he was worried it wouldn’t. He let out a satisfied grunt and turned to walk down the hallway, his boots pounding the dir
t floor before he disappeared from sight. Sarah’s pulse slowed a fraction. The longer he was gone, the better their chances of rescue. However, how long before he returned?

  “Sarah?”

  The whisper reached her from the corner of the cell. “Fatima?”

  “I’m coming over there.” The teenager crawled on all fours, dodging her classmates, to curl against Sarah’s side with a shiver. “What’s going to happen to us?”

  Sarah wrapped an arm around the fifteen-year-old. During her weekly guest teaching spots, she’d come to recognize Fatima as a bright, highly motivated young woman with the desire to be a pioneer in bringing change to her country. Sarah had treasured those days at the school and building relationships with the girls. “I don’t know.”

  But she did. They all did.

  “They’re going to sell us,” Samia said from the other side. “We’re to be brides to the Taliban, aren’t we?”

  Brides? More like sex slaves. Punching bags. Assigned to a life of abuse and misery. And terror.

  She, Talia, and the twelve students had been taken from the school and loaded into the back of a waiting van. No one tried to stop them and she didn’t dare resist. Approximately twelve hours later, they’d arrived here.

  Wherever here was.

  “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” Talia whispered, her voice cracking, her fear tangible. “I’ve been there for three years, and while we’ve had a few minor scares, there’s been nothing like this.”

  “It’s not your fault, Talia, you couldn’t know.”

  “I don’t want to be a Taliban bride.” Nahal, the youngest of the girls at thirteen years old, scooted closer to Sarah, as though Sarah could keep that from happening.

  Sarah had been afraid before, but the images filtering through her mind sent the horror clawing inside her to a whole new level. She pulled in a steadying breath, desperate to find a way to remain calm and be strong for the other girls in the ten-by-twelve cell, because while she wanted to fight back, any sign of defiance would only get her—or one of the teens—killed.

  She shuddered and let her gaze roam their prison. It consisted of four cement walls with a door on the one opposite from where she lay. From a small barred window above her head streamed a thin ray of light, cigarette smoke, and low voices that sounded like they were arguing, although she couldn’t make out the words.

  Except for a brief stop at the outhouses lined up along the south wall that included lewd looks and a few comments she pretended not to hear, she and the other girls had been left alone by their captors.

  Which was confusing, but welcome. However, she didn’t expect that would last much longer. The one thing allowing her to keep her fear under control was the fact that they hadn’t been searched. Knowing it would happen at some point, she’d seized the opportunity during a chaotic moment at the school to snag the satellite phone from the pocket of her burqa. Using the bodies crammed against her as a shield, she’d pressed the SOS button and sent out her distress signal.

  Minutes passed, the only sounds being the hushed whispers and terrified weeping of her cellmates mixed with the low voices of the guards outside the window. Sarah leaned her head against the wall and watched the hallway while her hand searched through the folds of the cloth. Fatima looked up at her as Sarah’s fingers closed around the sat phone. Did she dare take a chance to see if anyone had called? If there was a message? If help was on the way? All she had to do was sneak a peek.

  “Don’t ask why,” she whispered to Fatima, “but can you sit slightly in front of me?”

  “Yes.” The girl moved enough to shield her from the guard’s gaze should he return.

  With shaky fingers, she pulled the phone from her pocket.

  Talia’s eyes widened at the sight of the phone. “What are you doing? If they know you have that, it won’t be good.”

  “I know. I need to find a place to hide it.”

  She glanced at the screen. Nothing. No response that her plea for help had been seen. Cold dread sent a wave of nausea through her. The SOS should have gone out to her brother, FBI Special Agent Caden Denning, and to their father, Lieutenant General Lewis Denning. Even if her father had ignored the message, Caden should have been able to track the phone and have help on the way before these monsters could blink. Caden might be in the United States, but he had a long reach. As did their father. She’d thought carefully about adding him to the SOS list, but had decided to do so “just in case.”

  This situation was about as “just in case” as one could get, and for once, she was glad her father was who he was—although she’d bite her tongue in half before admitting it. Then again, if admitting it would get them out of here, she’d shout it from the rooftops.

  Surely, the message had gone through. She pressed the SOS button once more and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Caden would do something. Her father? The last time she’d talked to him had been when he told her he disinherited her for going into the Army. She’d laughed. “I don’t need or want your money.” She needed and wanted his love, but that had never been within her grasp.

  Because of her ongoing conflict with her father, Sarah had kept a low profile, never acknowledging her relationship to the powerful man. Just before she joined the Army, she’d dyed her blonde hair a dark brown and decided to go by a different first name, insisting her family get used to calling her by it. The only feature that might draw attention to her was her green eyes. Otherwise, with her flawless Pashto, she should be able to pass as a native. At least, that’s what she told herself.

  The guard’s heavy footfalls sounded in the hallway once more and her adrenaline spiked. Another guard joined him. They stood at the door, grinning and pointing, talking openly about the girls’ futures. Bile rose in the back of her throat, even as the comforting presence of the phone pressed into her hip.

  Please, Lord, send help.

  Gavin Black spoke into the radio. Though he was no longer an official Army Ranger, his skills were still as sharp as the day he’d left the unit. From his position just outside the compound, protected only by a hill of sand, he could hear the faint hum of the plane’s engine fifteen thousand feet above him. “It’s a go,” Gavin said into the headset. “Once you’re down, wait for my signal. Over.” He’d gone ahead, on the ground and at great risk to himself, to make sure the others could breach the compound in a way that would catch the occupants off guard—and give him and his team the advantage. Mere seconds would make the difference between life and death.

  When the lieutenant general had called Gavin and requested his services, he hadn’t been able to refuse—and not just because of the man’s rank.

  “My daughter’s been kidnapped,” he’d said, “taken by the Taliban from a school where she was a guest instructor. She, another teacher, and twelve female students are being held at a compound in the middle of the Registan Desert. The only way in without detection is to drop in at night.”

  Registan Desert? There was more than one compound in that suffocating place. “Which compound, sir?”

  “Hibatullah Omar’s. And they’re saying he’s behind the kidnapping.”

  Gavin stilled. Of course it would be his. “That’s not possible. Omar’s dead.” Gavin had been a part of the raid that had led to his death. But another terrorist organization could have taken over the compound.

  “Somehow he’s risen from the grave. We’ve received satellite footage that he’s up and running again. You know that compound. You lived there for over a year. Now that you’re a private contractor, I need you to put together a team and get Rochelle and the others out of there.”

  Yes, he’d lived there. Working undercover as a terrorist, gaining the trust of one of the most horrific murderers in the Middle East. And Gavin had set him up to die. If Omar was truly alive, then he’d know about Gavin’s betrayal.

  Already on the ground in Kabul for another reason, Gavin had dropped what he was doing and quickly navigated his team onto this assignment.

  Ro
chelle Denning. Also known as Sarah. He’d met her in Kabul when they were deployed at the same time. Met her and found her fascinating. They’d gone out on three dates, shared an amazing kiss on the last date, and then she quit answering his calls and texts. Not one to tread where he wasn’t wanted, Gavin had let it go in spite of his confusion over her sudden cold shoulder.

  The general had said that Caden already called his resources with the FBI, but they wouldn’t be much help in the Registan Desert.

  His men would parachute far enough away to remain undetected, then make their way across the open fields of sand to the compound and to the north wall, where Gavin would meet them and lead them inside. With the night-vision goggles and binoculars, he could make out the entrance he’d used to come and go undetected when he was living at the compound.

  “There’s no way that’s Omar,” Cole Lawton said, his voice clear in Gavin’s ear. “Over.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so either,” Gavin said, keeping his voice low, “but the pictures don’t lie. Over.”

  “Dude, I saw his body. He was burned to a crisp. We’ve got pictures of that as well, remember? Over.”

  “Yeah. Over.” And before they could extract that body for DNA testing, they’d come under fire and had to fight for their lives to make it to the waiting bird.

  He blinked against the memories. Unlike many of the people he served with, he didn’t suffer nightmares often, but that didn’t mean he wanted to dwell on the stuff nightmares were made of.

  “You think they know who they snatched?” Lawton asked. “That she’s Denning’s daughter? Over.”

  “I sure hope not.” Because if those killers knew they had the daughter of one of the highest-ranking men in the US Army, there would be no saving her. He checked his watch, then the altitude of the plane. Just a few more seconds, then . . . , “It’s go time,” he said. “You know what to do. Over.”

  “You sure this is going to work?”

  “I’m sure.” Mostly.

  “What’s Plan B? Over.”

  “There is no Plan B. I don’t believe in them. Over.” With that, he lowered the night vision lens over his right eye, while he used his left for depth perception and watched the plane. His adrenaline was at an all-time high. “Three seconds,” he said, mentally counting down. “Over.”