During a secret mission gone bad, covert operator Gillian Pentycote ceased to exist. Held captive by a madman, shot full of drugs that stole her memory, Gillian survived. Now, with a new identity and nothing to lose, the woman who calls herself Red Dog has gone from bookish secretary to sizzling-hot hired gun. And she has one plan: to find the man who shattered her life and take him down for good. Special agent Travis James has the same plan, except he has rules to follow-and using a gorgeous amnesiac as bait isn't in them. So Travis must play a dangerous double game of his own. He knows Red Dog will do anything to lure the ultimate criminal to her side and exact revenge. But from Central America to a Colorado showdown, Travis has gotten his priorities straight. He'll kill the bad guy, but only if he can save the beauty-and never, ever let her go....
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October 30, 2006
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Excerpt from Crazy Sweet by Tara Janzen
The roar and rumble of the pipes on the car pulling up outside Beck's Back Alley Bar were unmistakable, headers and the dual exhaust of the bad girl's ride, tuned to perfection and guaranteed to shake glass in four directions. Red Dog was here ' back from cheating death one more time.
Travis James let out a heavy breath and knocked back a shot of tequila before he turned to face the front door. He hated to miss her entrance. Watching Red Dog walk into a room was the best floor show in town ' in any town.
"Geezus," the guy sitting at the table behind him said when the door opened.
Oh, yeah. She had that effect on him, too ' all the time, every time.
He chased the tequila with a swallow of beer and let his gaze drop down the length of her body. She was so bad, she was good. Good like seven-dollar-a-shot mescal, and exquisitely, classy bad.
A sheer red silk muscle shirt didn't leave anything to the imagination, especially not the size, the shape, or the delicacy of the black lace bra she was wearing underneath it.
He bought her a lot of black lace.
Her worn denim jeans had silver studs running down the right leg and were so tight, they should have come with a warning label. A small chamois fanny pack was slung around her waist. Pale ostrich-leather cowboy boots covered her feet. Stacked heels, pointed toes, and worn vamps, they'd seen a lot of long days in a dozen Third World hellholes over the last two years ' the two years since Red Dog had created herself from a blank slate and a heart hungry for revenge. She was five feet, five inches of pure, unadulterated, ass-kicking girl, and every day she pushed him. She pushed him hard.