Flashpoint #2
“From ravaged South Sudan to opulent Morocco, Rachel Grant”s CATALYST reveals both a sophisticated thriller and a sizzling romance.”
– New York Times Bestselling author Toni Anderson
When a food storage depot in famine-struck South Sudan is torched, American aid worker Brie Stewart flees, only to land in a market where she’s the next item up for auction. Is the attack on the aid facility another assault upon the war-torn fledgling democracy, or has her family set her up as a pawn in their quest for oil rights?
Chief Warrant Officer Sebastian Ford crossed paths with Brie years ago when she was a shill for her family’s company, pushing a pipeline that threatened his tribe’s land. Determined to lead the rescue operation to save her, he won’t let her abduction—or the attraction that flares between them—get in the way of settling their unfinished business.
The Green Beret’s skills are put to the test in the flooded grasslands of South Sudan, where they must battle nature and dangerous factions who are after more than oil. Bastian and Brie put their hearts on the line as they find themselves embroiled in a conflict that extends beyond country and continent. Together they must douse the spark before it reaches the flashpoint and engulfs everything they hold dear.
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Author’s Note
Readers of my Evidence Series will recognize a certain Russian character in this book and might wonder about the timeline differences between the two series. Where possible, I avoid identifying the exact year in the books, but I will say that Catalyst—set in the “nebulous now” that happens to be spring 2017—takes place about six months before Cold Evidence. If you haven’t read any Evidence Series books but want to know more, you can start with Cold Evidence, where the Russian makes his first appearance.
I couldn’t resist connecting this series to another one of my books, Grave Danger. Set in Bastian’s hometown of Coho, Washington, in the year 2002, Grave Danger is the story of the Kalahwamish Tribe’s treatment by the owners of the historic sawmill town. A romantic mystery, Grave Danger features an archaeologist who digs up an old murder victim, and a police chief who battles both attraction and suspicion from the moment they first meet. You won’t find fifteen-year-old Bastian in the story, but you’ll probably meet him as a teen when I write the sequel.
The issue of girls in the developing world dropping out of school because they have no way to manage their period is real, as is the crisis of famine and civil war in South Sudan. If any part of this story has touched you, and if you can afford to give to those in desperate need, please join me in donating to a charity that sends reusable menstrual panties to the developing world, and/or food aid to South Sudan. Some suggestions are Days For Girls or Pads4Girls for menstrual products, and World Food Programme or Oxfam for food aid.
An original video for CATALYST
My son made this video!
Excerpt
Bastian watched her leave, utterly confused as to why he felt like a shit for hurting her feelings, when she’d been the one who’d tried to undermine a Washington tribe’s treaty rights so her daddy could add to his billions.
The Kalahwamish Reservation, his tribe’s land, was on the Olympic Peninsula. Their land hadn’t been in jeopardy, but tribes from across the state had all come together, much like tribes across the country had rallied to stop the Dakota Access Pipeline.
His belly churned, as it always did when he thought of DAPL. He was in Djibouti, serving his country, and that same country he loved and risked his life for had screwed over the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe. For months now he’d been asking himself if it was time to get out of the Army and go home to take up the fight to preserve freedom for his tribe and all Native Americans. How could he continue to risk his life for a country that didn’t give a crap about his people?
But damn, he loved being a Special Forces operator. After Cece burrowed her way into his family until there was no room left for him, his A-Team had become his family. Who would he be without the uniform? Without his brothers?
He loved his country. He loved his tribe. And sometimes it felt like they were still at war with each other.
He paid the bartender for the beer he’d barely touched and left the club. Night had descended while he spoke with Gabriella, or Brie, or whatever her name was now. It was full dark. The air was muggy and hot, and escaping into his air-conditioned quarters held no appeal. He was restless. Antsy. Pissed off.
He walked out, beyond the buildings that clustered around the club. They couldn’t see the Gulf of Tadjoura from this part of the base, but there was an open area that offered prime stargazing.
Ahead of him, he could see the silhouette of a woman. She stood in the open with her face toward the night sky, her long dark hair glinting in the yellow glow of a nearby light post. He stepped closer and caught the shine of tears on her cheek.
He shouldn’t feel guilty for calling Gabriella Prime—or Brie Stewart—on what she’d done, but somehow, he did.
She was the embodiment of everything he despised. But damn, that body. She wore simple clothes that hugged her slight curves.
The jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt were nothing like the tailored suit she’d worn all those years ago. He’d been a senior in college and had known nothing about women’s clothing, and yet he could tell her suit had cost big bucks, as had her hair and makeup. Ten years ago, she’d looked like a glossy business fashion ad in the flesh. From his front-row seat, he could practically smell the money on her and it had never occurred to him that money could smell so damn good.
Cece had noticed his fixation and called him on it, claiming he had white-girl fantasies. He’d been trying to break up with her for nearly a year at that point and had wanted to tell her, no, he wasn’t having white-girl fantasies, he was having anyone-but-Cece fantasies, and the women he dreamed about came in all colors.
Gabriella Prime just so happened to be the latest and whitest.
Staring now at the woman who’d played a role in some rather hot relationship escape fantasies, it was amazing he’d recognized her. Brie Stewart bore only the slightest resemblance to the polished Gabriella Prime, but she was every bit as compelling. More so now, because she looked real.
She wasn’t Oil Company Barbie anymore.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me, Chief Ford, or did you follow me out here to tell me more about why you suspect me of wanting to harm the people I work my ass off to help?”
“I didn’t follow you. But if those are the only choices, I guess I’ll go with continuing to stare at you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You’re a beautiful woman, it’s a simple fact.”
She laughed softly. “No, I’m not. I mean, I clean up well—I’m not being falsely modest—but you don’t live in my world and get to maintain the illusion you’re anything special, not when everyone is so eager to point out that my eyes are too wide, my face too round, and that I should have a surgeon take care of my unfortunate nose.”
“Unfortunate nose?” He’d never even noticed her nose. It was just a nose. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s giant, obviously.”
“White people are weird.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but in this case, you might mean rich people.”
“They’re the weirdest white people of all.” He cocked his head. “So, you still rich? I mean, should I make a play for you because you’re loaded?”
She pressed her hand to her heart. “You’d be willing to overlook my unfortunate nose?”
He shrugged. “If you’ve got money, sure. I can work around the beak.”
Her laugh was genuine, and she wiped her cheek, erasing her tears. “Thank you. I needed that.” Then she approached him, stepping farther from the streetlight and into the darkness that separated them. She came to a stop in front of him and placed her hand on his chest.
He knew this was nothing more than a tease, and yet his heart rate kicked up, which was insane. Worse, she could feel the rapid beat, and there was just enough light to see her smile.
Damn, she had a smile. Sweet, sexy. He didn’t notice her unfortunate nose because he was too busy looking at her perfect lips.
She placed her other hand on his chest and rose on her toes, sliding both hands over his pecs, giving every sign she was impressed by what she felt through the thin layer of his T-shirt. She brought her mouth to within an inch of his. “Do you want to kiss me, Bastian?”
“Strangely, I do.”