Dead Air — Carol Ericson

It's the ratings, stupid. That's what motivates take-no-prisoners radio talk show host, Carly Hansen. Carly grew up watching her powerful father, former Senator Palmer Hansen, bully and manipulate those around him, crushing Carly's dreams of becoming a professional ballerina along the way. She salves her disappointment by maintaining a steely control over her emotions and being the baddest ass in Portland. But when she goes after smooth-talking Father Rey, the influential cult leader of the Rey of Divine Light, the attitude can only take her so far. And the ratings come with more than a whiff of danger.

Roman Douglas, seasoned war correspondent, lives for danger. To compensate for his guilt over his fiancée's death in Baghdad, he's itching to rescue his nephew, Hunter, from Father Rey's cult compound. But one loud-mouthed radio talk show host keeps getting in the way. How can he rescue Hunter from the compound, and assuage his guilt, with Carly Hansen drawing public attention to Father Rey?

Despite their different methods, Carly and Roman decide to join forces to go after Father Rey. If there's a thin line between love and hate, Carly and Roman cross it. And soon their sizzling desire for each other burns as hot as their desire to bring down Father Rey and his cult.

***

Carly bit the tip of her finger and assessed the man before her. Hardly anyone disagreed with her anymore. Kevin had agreed with her on every point, up to and including when she found him in bed with what's-her-name.

Roman took a turn around the room. “I'm asking you to stop. Let me do it my way. Then you can have all the former cult members you want parading across the airwaves. You can ask them what they eat for breakfast. You can ask them if they were a tree, what kind would they be.”

Carly stomped her foot. Oh God, he had her acting like a child. She pulled her shoulders back and gave him her best withering smile. “I don't ask questions like that.”

He waved his arms. “Yeah, yeah. You're a serious journalist.”

She clenched her fists at her sides. He wouldn't look so good with a broken nose. She studied his aquiline nose, bent slightly at the bridge. Okay, maybe he would.

Flexing her fingers, she shrugged. “Whatever. You do what you like, Mr. Douglas. I'm going to continue my assault on Father Rey, with or without you. I wish you the best of luck rescuing your nephew.” She held out her hand, feeling as if she had gotten Carly Hansen back in line. Cool. Calm. Slightly amused. That Carly Hansen.

His eyes dropped to her outstretched hand, and he turned away toward the window.

She sniffed. Talk about childish.

He spun back around and lunged at her.

Was the man out of his mind?

His shoulder drove into her mid-section, knocking the scream from her throat. Glass shattered behind him followed by the sound of rushing air.

As his powerful body pushed her through the doorway to the anteroom, a loud explosion propelled them both further into the room, airborne before they landed with a smack. Carly's head cracked against the hardwood floor. The smell of gasoline filled her nostrils before Roman's chest landed on her face, momentarily cutting off her breath.

His body lifted, and Carly coughed, dragging air into her nose. A clean scent replaced the acrid smell of smoke. He smelled good. Soapy.

Then the velvety blackness descended like a curtain on a stage at the end of act one.