Behind the public façade of Blackthorne, Inc., a high-end private investigation company, lies a band of elite covert operatives, and they’re back doing what they do best.

Foster (Fozzie) Mayhew, Blackthorne’s Intel Specialist, is cocky and arrogant, befitting his Aussie heritage. Put him in a helicopter with his surveillance instruments and he can spot the fleas on a squirrel's balls from five hundred feet. He’s happiest when he’s rescuing hostages, getting them to safety while Uncle Sam is still negotiating. But Fozzie's boss pulls him from the work he loves and sends him to locate Victoria Hamilton, estranged daughter of a rich client.

Torie Stoker, born Victoria Hamilton, is hiding from her father who needs her at home and married. There's no love lost between Torie and her family. They shipped her off to a Swiss boarding school when she was thirteen, and at twenty-nine, she's never looked back. When her best friend, Kathy, dies, Torie settles in Oregon, determined to give meaning to Kathy’s death by continuing the botanist’s quest for rare plants with potential medical applications. When a man shows up with a gun, Torie realizes how badly her father must want her back.

Fozzie wants nothing more than to locate his target, report to his boss, and get back to his real job. When he finds Torie being dragged away at gunpoint, his protective instincts kick in. Soon, they're racing to discover why her father sent armed men after her. Or could it have something to do with Kathy’s pharmaceutical research to cure orphan diseases? The answers threaten to change Torie’s life forever.

Rooted in Danger, the third in the Blackthorne, Inc. series, starts on a tropical island, and things heat up from there. Rooted in Danger will keep readers turning pages as the stakes—and romance--escalate.
 

Unedited excerpt:

In the stronger light of the kitchen, she got her first close look at the man. There was something disturbingly familiar about him. She tried to imagine what he’d look like dry, with his dripping wet tendrils of hair restored to their normal state. He stood there, waiting, his questioning brown eyes peeking from under bushy eyebrows.

Her grip on the gun tightened and she wrenched it free. “You! What’s the deal? My father’s double-teaming me now? Sends Mr. Nasty to scare me, and then you’re supposed to come to my rescue? Is that it? How dare he? How dare you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never saw that bloke before. I told you, my car broke down. Have a heart. It’s bloody cold and wet out there. You wouldn’t want me to catch my death, would you?” One corner of his mouth turned up.

“Why should I care?” she shouted. Leftover grief, full-blown fury, or demonic possession, she couldn’t tell. But, totally out of control, she swung the gun at his head.