Title: A Savage Trick (Book Three in the Damaged Heroes series)
Author: Sarah Andre
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Book Blurb:
Highly decorated Chicago firefighter Trick Quinn is renowned for his charmed life. No victims have ever died on his watch, he cherishes his wife and daughters’ love, and he even won the lottery the first time he bought a ticket. His luck disintegrates when he’s accused of depraved acts, plunging him into disgrace. Every attempt to prove his innocence sucks him further into a warped nightmare that threatens his job, his freedom, and his family. Dutiful Zamira Bey is at an unenviable crossroads: choosing between finding her happiness and restoring her Muslim family’s honor. When the notoriously savage firefighter becomes a court-ordered client, the paradox between the honorable man and the allegations ignites her curiosity. Not only is her growing attraction unwelcome but threatens her career and guarantees community ostracism. Bound by their common battles, Trick and Zamira fight to uncover the truth and protect their families, all while facing a growing vigilante threat in a city shaken by terror.
Excerpt:
“Engine Forty-Three, Ambulance Three. Residential fire, two-twenty North Whipple Street…”
Trick’s hand stalled in his dog’s fur, a sense of déjà vu paralyzing him. That was his address… Eve and the girls! “Please, God,” he whispered, bolting upright and snatching the radio. “Please be safe.”
He sprinted out of Pete’s house and jumped into his pickup at the curb.
He raced down the residential streets, rolling through stop signs and revving past slow drivers. “Come on, come on!” He should have been there to protect his babies…should have been a better dad…should have never let Eve push things this far in the first place.
Miles passed in agonizing slow motion until he finally squealed around the corner onto his street. His heart stalled. The house was engulfed. The engine and truck were already curbside, the squad stood poised for action behind the firefighter battering in the front door. Trick careened into the Farnsworths’ driveway and scrambled out at a dead run.
“Trick,” a high voice shouted. Mrs. Collins stood near the engine, a garden spade in her right hand. “Your wife’s inside!”
Next to her, the captain was waving him off. Trick wasn’t on the crew. Wasn’t in his turnout gear. Too emotionally attached for a rescue. Probably half a dozen other reasons. “My kids,” he yelled, racing up behind the men who’d breached the door.
The captain hollered his name as Trick grabbed the end of the hose.
“They went to practice,” Mrs. Collins called. “Eve waved goodbye and went into the house.”
The captain gripped the back of his shirt and hauled him out of the pitch-black inferno. “Are you out of your cotton-picking mind?”
“My wife’s in there!”
“I was right beside your neighbor when she told you!” The captain waved irritably. “Go wait by the paramedics. Trust us to do our jobs, lieutenant. You know better than this. We’ll get her out.”
The paramedics stood by their stretcher and gear, gaping at Trick. No doubt they’d seen his life free-fall these last couple of weeks. By their curious frowns, they probably figured he’d finally snapped. But who left their wife to die when they were trained to fight flames and rescue victims?
Trick paced past EMS, too agitated to stand still. How on earth had it started? The flames predominantly centered in the living room. Had they found her yet? Visions of blackened corpses, curled in fetal positions, flooded his mind. A primal scream lodged in his throat.
“Heads up, lieutenant,” one of the paramedics said, almost apologetically. He pointed over Trick’s shoulder.
Trick glanced back, stifling a groan. Media vans were arriving. Lots of media vans, not just the three locals looking for an evening news snippet. Trick spun away, closing the distance to the front door again. Behind him, vehicle doors slammed and shouts of “There he is” and “Lieutenant, did you set this fire?” rang out.
His new normal: life as a monster.
“Lieutenant! Are you trying to kill your wife and daughters?”
“Stay back,” the captain thundered at them, waving his hands like an agitated referee. “Stay on the other side of the street!”
“Why aren’t you in there helping?” a particularly aggressive man shouted, echoing Trick’s thoughts. Trick gritted his teeth but didn’t turn. “What are you trying to cover up, lieutenant?”
A firefighter burst from the house, a body in his arms. Trick raced forward, heart in his throat. “It’s my wife,” he rasped.
“Stay back, lieutenant,” the captain warned again as the firefighter laid Eve on the stretcher, and the paramedics went to work. Trick took a step back and gulped the smoky air as her stats were shared. She was barely alive. One tech inserted a nasal cannula; the other prepped an IV epinephrine infusion.
Eve’s entire right side up to her neck was blackened flesh, and burned fabric adhered in places to her skin. A swollen knot marred the left side of her forehead, which the paramedics made note of, too.
After they carefully sliced open her t-shirt, they stuck AED pads to her chest. The men worked quietly and efficiently as Trick paid humbled witness to their heroic attempts to save her life.
“Fire was deliberate,” a firefighter muttered from behind. Without taking his eyes from Eve, Trick strained to listen. “The sofa cushions were all piled together like a bonfire. The rest of the living room looked like it had been tossed beforehand.”
“Yeah,” another firefighter said. “Completely ransacked.”
Chills coated Trick’s arms. A place got tossed when someone searched for something. For what? They had nothing of value. Why try to kill her?
“Eve?” he said softly, capturing the attention of the crew around him. Silence fell even from the media across the street. “Eve?”
Her left eye opened a slit, dull with pain, and focused on his face. Slowly, the corner of her mouth lifted. His heart stalled. In any other circumstances, he’d have interpreted it as an attempt to smile. But if he’d learned anything these last two weeks, it was to distrust his perception of reality. Especially with her orchestrating his reality. She hated him, and she was in horrific pain. There was no reason to smile. Unless… Unless she set the fire.
His mind recoiled immediately. He had to be wrong.
“Lieutenant,” the paramedic said gently, “we need you to step back.”
“Eve, did you…” The rest of the sentence died on Trick’s lips. The question was too insane. He had to be misinterpreting. Look at the knot on her forehead! She wouldn’t have knocked herself out.
She released a sigh, and her eye drifted shut. Her muscles slackened. “We need to transport now.” This time the paramedic’s directive was sterner, and Trick stumbled back. The stretcher rolled past, wheel indentations flattening the dewy grass. If she died… What? Opposing words and emotions swirled and clogged his stunned brain. If she dies…what?
“Lieutenant,” that same aggressive reporter called, “who gets the millions if your wife dies?”
Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3QvlIJO
What makes your featured book a must-read?
From page one, this suspense keeps you on a rollercoaster guessing game, while the forbidden love trope steals your heart. Received a Writer’s Digest award for best genre fiction.
Giveaway –
Enter to win a $45 Amazon US or Amazon Canada gift card
Open Internationally. You must have an active Amazon US or CA account to win.
Runs August 9 – August 18, 2022.
Winner will be drawn on August 19, 2022.
Author Biography:
Sarah Andre writes romantic suspense and is a 2017 RITA® Award finalist, which is Romance Writers of America highest award of distinction.
She lives in serene Southwest FL with her husband and two naughty Pomeranians. When she’s not writing, Sarah is either reading novels or coloring. Yes, you read that right. She’s all over those coloring books for adults.
Social Media Links:
Website: https://sarahandre.com/
Author FB: https://www.facebook.com/SarahAndreNovels
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SarahRSWriter