It Only Takes One Match '
Vivi Fiori wondered how the day could have gotten so bad so fast. One minute, she ' s on a train moving through the Thai countryside, a precious archeological artifact in her hands; the next, she ' s being chased through the jungle by the Thai mafia with some hardcore American marine right behind her, shouting orders like she should be grateful for his macho interference. What Vivi needs is to get to her contact in Bangkok ' warm shower, nice hotel, girly clothes, no dead bodies or sexy armed Marines. Her practical side is telling her to run like hell. Then again, her practical side never met a guy like Sam Wyatt '
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June 27, 2006
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Excerpt from Hit Hard by Amy J. Fetzer
Kalawana, Sri Lanka
He looked like Genghis Khan in a Corona T-shirt and khaki shorts.
Dark hair tied back and a stringy gray Manchu beard, Tashfin Rohki was as ugly as he was lethal.
But then, you couldn ' t tell the black hats from the white, anyway.
The fact that Sam Wyatt held a stolen Israeli Galil and smoked a thin Cuban cigar was just for openers. In the small clearing near the river basin about twenty yards ahead of him, Riley and Max were the ones in the hot seat, working a deal to retrieve rough-cut conflict diamonds that had found their way into the hands of the Tigers.
The feline kind would have been easier to deal with, Sam thought, but the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam had been waging a terrorist campaign in Sri Lanka. The bastards wanted to create a separate state.
Damn selfish of them.
And downriver, Sri Lankan Army troops waited for some payback. But not till Dragon One commandeered the stones.
From under his cowboy hat, Sam squinted through the soft curl of smoke as Riley bartered like a vender in a souk.
He had to hand it to the man, his Irish blarney was in full throttle tonight. The moonlit, prehistoric look of the jungle and a half dozen grungy men surrounded by torches were a stark contrast to Riley and Max, the well-dressed diamond smugglers.
Sam swatted at a mosquito buzzing at his head. The motion drew the attention of the men circling the group. Weapons lifted a little higher, eyes narrowed. Sam smirked and gave his back- the-fuck-off stare. Paranoid pigs. Anyone who ' d kill innocent farmers to make a point that no one got wasn ' t worth spit to him. A bullet, sure. He had a full clip. Hot and ready.
He didn ' t mind being the hired muscle tonight, well aware of his short fuse, mostly galvanized by stupid people. Ground level made Sam nervous. It took away control. In a jet, a chopper, he steered, attacked. Laid down cover fire. The enemy was a blip on radar, a target to take out.