Sandman, the third story of Regan’s new Unknown Identities series takes place over the New Year’s holiday and is included in the Heroes for the Holiday short story collection:

A Marine sniper has one final shot at love…

Wrongly accused of an unsanctioned kill on a secret desert mission, Matthew Horn took his only option and let a shadow agency declare him dead. In the years since, he’s become a trusted operative, but now they want him to kill an innocent woman… a woman from his past.

Desperate to escape her mysterious kidnapper, Renata Vaccaro breaks free and finds herself facing what can only be the ghost of the man she loved and lost. Instead she learns Matthew is not only alive, he’s there to kill her.

Matthew and Renata must unravel a web of lies to find a solution that saves her life and assures his freedom, giving them one more chance to reclaim the love they lost.

Here’s an excerpt:

Chapter One

Every muscle in her body ached. Holy Mother of God, even her eyelids ached behind the blindfold. Renata Vaccaro tipped her head back as far as the restraints allowed, sure this time she would glimpse some source of light, but all was darkness. Hours ago – or maybe it had been days – she’d run out of tears and she felt the mascara that had been on her eyelashes now caked on her cheeks. As if anything about her appearance mattered now.

When would someone tell her what this was about?

Flexing and stretching her fingers, her wrists chafed against the tight restraints but she felt the band of her citrine ring. So it wasn’t an elaborate robbery – or maybe they just weren’t done yet.

What she wouldn’t give for a good old fashioned mugging about now.

The thought was so ludicrous she laughed. The hysterical sound bounced around her, making her shiver.

Was she in an office somewhere in the airport? A basement? Her swing coat and shoes were gone, but she felt the comfort of her silk blouse, scarf, skirt, and stockings. The floor was cold and hard under her toes. Possibly cement, but it didn’t smell like basements and other underground places. Unless she was in some sort of vault. Climate controlled vaults didn’t have the same musty odor as basements.

A moment’s panic hit on the heels of that thought. Closed spaces were a personal weakness. With no visual cues, she had no way of knowing the parameters of her surroundings. On a long, slow breath, she decided she might as well envision herself in a big space rather than a small one.

It helped. As did the smooth inhale and exhale of the meditation breathing she’d been practicing. There would be an opportunity, she just had to keep it together until that opportunity presented itself.

She tried to wriggle her chair, to throw herself one way or the other, but the chair seemed locked in place. There was no light, no sound aside from those she made in her distress. No motion, no smells other than the sharp scent of fear overpowering the perfume she’d applied yesterday.

Was it yesterday or had more time slipped away?

Not the point, Renata. She was awake now and focusing on the present was critical.

Her memory felt disjointed, like a puzzle with a few pieces missing and even more pieces forced into the wrong places. She remembered handing over her boarding pass, strolling down the jet way, her mind on Madrid and all the enticing temptations waiting for her there.

Stupid. If she’d just stayed home like one of the good girls… She scolded herself for being an idiot, for using the demands of her job to make excuses to her family. For believing anything about her plans could have been as straightforward as a sexy holiday affair.

Renata forced her mind from that slippery cliff of ‘what the hell’ and ‘what’s next’. She couldn’t afford a moment’s speculation on either answer or she’d lose her tenuous grip on her sanity.

Instead, she calmed herself by imagining the sunshine on the terrace of the villa in Madrid. Her family had vocally disapproved of what they thought was a working holiday. They would disapprove even more if she’d told them truthfully that she was spending the holidays in Spain alongside a man with more money than sense. Her reasoning wouldn’t matter.

Selena had been right again. Provided Renata survived this, she’d be obliged to admit Selena’s criticism of her taste in men. It would be expected. Damn her cousin’s good-girl approach to everything.

Renata cried out for help. Shouted for Neal. She told herself this was about him, or rather his net worth, but she didn’t quite believe it. No one knew they were seeing each other. Neal didn’t even know exactly why she was interested in him. She shouted again, but the echo of her voice was her only reply. At least the echo confirmed there was plenty of space around her. She surged against her restraints until they bit into the tender skin at her wrists and ankles.

She needed to remember something, any little detail, but her mind was a frustrating blank after the jet way.

It was like someone had simply snatched her up out of her life. Whatever drug they’d used, it was fast and effective and kept her out while they’d transported her here. Wherever here was.

No one had made demands, or even an appearance, since she’d woken to find herself in this nightmare. Her post as a translator with the Italian diplomatic corps would be over when they learned of this security breach.

Did her boss even know she was missing? Neal would assume she’d changed her mind about the visit. Her family thought she was working. Her boss thought she was on holiday. Oh, God. Panic started swirling in the pit of her stomach. Would anyone bother to search for her in time?

She was well liked but hardly indispensable to the diplomatic corps. There were plenty of other beautiful women with a sense of style and her gift for languages who could be an asset to world-traveling ambassadors.

She wanted to scream and keep screaming until someone answered. She wanted to tear free and escape. She wanted to cry. More than anything she wanted to feel something other than the cold bindings holding her in place and the blindfold covering her eyes.

Somewhere in the distance something squeaked. A shoe? A hinge? A rat? She trembled. “Who’s there?” Her thready voice annoyed her. “Who’s there?” she demanded with more determination.

The squeak didn’t come again, but she felt someone approaching, the footfalls too quiet to give her any real information about her environment or her captor. “What do you want?”

A hand, covered in the soft texture of a latex glove gripped the side of her face. She felt the tiny prick of a needle against her neck, then she slid away into an abyss of nothingness.

* * *

Want the whole story? Sandman is available individually or as part of the Heroes for the Holiday collection – currently on sale for only 99 cents!

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