Promises in the Dark Read online

  Praise for the novels of Stephanie Tyler

  HARD TO HOLD

  “Tyler bundles thriller and romance in a very appealing package to launch a new trilogy.… Tyler’s in-depth character study transcends the formulas of romantic suspense, making the attraction believable and real. Readers will eagerly anticipate future installments.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Get ready for two complicated characters in a dangerous and complex situation … Tyler kicks romantic suspense up a notch with this one.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Ms. Tyler has written an amazing story about the will to survive.”

  —Suspense Romance Writers

  “A sexy and witty first book in an exciting, action-packed romantic suspense series.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Hard to Hold is a suspenseful and empowering story with sizzling escapades. Stephanie Tyler is a master in spinning tales with uber sexy SEALs and equally strong women.”

  —Romance Junkies

  TOO HOT TO HOLD

  “The follow-up to the brilliant Hard to Hold, this new novel maintains the same degree of edginess, sexiness and out-and-out suspense readers have come to expect from Tyler.”

  —Romantic Times

  “Edgy and compelling, romantic suspense at its best.”

  —Cherry Adair, New York Times bestselling author

  “Love Love Love this!! Can’t wait for the thrilling conclusion.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “The action moves at a blistering pace through dangerous territory with barely time to breathe between conflicts. Kaylee and Nick’s romance is an awakening for them both, risking everything for love.”

  —Reader to Reader

  HOLD ON TIGHT

  “The third in a series about dark, intense and sexy Navy SEALs, Tyler’s novel has two complicated characters who are neck deep in an investigation—and under the watchful eye of a killer. Tyler does it again with this tight, riveting, very hot read!”

  —RT BOOKreviews Magazine

  “What a great ending to an overall fabulous trilogy. You get it all, romance, adventure, and mystery.… This series is one you will want to put on your keeper shelf so that you can reread them over and over.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Filled with non-stop action, heart pounding suspense, steamy love scenes and a truly heinous villain, Hold on Tight was a thrill ride from start to finish. Author Stephanie Tyler has truly mastered the art of keeping her readers on the edge of their seats. If you are a fan of military romance, and enjoy books packed with action and intrigue, as well as very hot love scenes, Hold on Tight, along with the previous books in the trilogy, are the stories for you.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “An intense and enjoyable book.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  BOOKS BY STEPHANIE TYLER

  HARD TO HOLD

  TOO HOT TO HOLD

  HOLD ON TIGHT

  LIE WITH ME

  BOOKS BY STEPHANIE TYLER

  CO-WRITING WITH LARISSA IONE

  AS SYDNEY CROFT

  RIDING THE STORM

  UNLEASHING THE STORM

  SEDUCED BY THE STORM

  TAMING THE FIRE

  TEMPTING THE FIRE

  ANTHOLOGIES

  HOT NIGHTS, DARK DESIRES

  (including stories by Stephanie Tyler and Sydney Croft)

  Promises in the Dark is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Dell Mass Market Original

  Copyright © 2010 by Stephanie Tyler

  Excerpt from In the Air Tonight by Stephanie Tyler copyright © 2010 by Stephanie Tyler

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Dell, an imprint of The Random House

  Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  DELL is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

  eISBN: 978-0-440-33972-4

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming novel In the Air Tonight by Stephanie Tyler. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  www.bantamdell.com

  v3.1

  For the men and women of the United States military.

  “We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.”

  —Winston Churchill

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for the Novels of Stephanie Tyler

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Excerpt From In the Air Tonight

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I have many people to thank.

  My editor, Shauna Summers, for her unwavering support, and everyone at Bantam Dell who helped during the making of this book, which includes Jessica Sebor, Evan Camfield, Pam Feinstein, and the art department, who rock my world with their covers.

  My agent, Irene Goodman—for believing and for listening.

  Larissa Ione, because I could not do this writing thing without you.

  My amazing support system of Lara Adrian, Maya Banks, Jaci Burton, and Amy Knupp—you guys help keep me (semi-)sane. (I know, who am I kidding.…)

  All my amazing, wonderful readers, who make my day with their e-mails and letters and blog posts and shout-outs on Twitter and Facebook. And a special shout-out to the Writeminded Loop!

  And always, for Zoo, Lily, Chance, and Gus.

  The past is never dead. It’s not even past.

  —William Faulkner

  PROLOGUE

  17 years earlier, Freetown, Sierra Leone

  Ohmohs … Ohmohs?

  How much?

  The incessant calls echoed in his ear, a mix of Krio and English he wouldn’t soon forget as he ran through the crowded marketplace along the narrow streets by the harbor. He’d long ago grown immune to the noise, the dust, the bodies that passed too close. Learned how to be invisible so he could steal food, clothes and whatever else he needed to survive in the busy place. Even pickpocketed the occasional tourist.

  To blend in, he’d covered his head so the blond hair wouldn’t make him stand out more. Rubbed his face with a fine dust and kept his eyes averted because there was nothing he could do about the blue color, which got more intense as his skin tanned under the hot sun.

  He would not get stolen or sold again.

  He remembered the last town he and his parents had traveled to. The soldiers had come in one night, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear his mother’s voice, begging, Don’t hurt my son.

  He hated that that was the only thing he could recall of her now, the rest overshadowed by the horror he’d seen. And they had hurt him, dragged him away from his parents and put a cloth over his mouth t
hat made him sleep.

  When he’d woken up, he was with a new family.

  Udat wan ehn uswan yu want?

  Which one do you want?

  He’d lasted for a day before he’d escaped, even though there was no one to go back to. He’d found a deserted alley to sleep in for a few nights until some other boys found him. Some American, some African.

  All had the same story. And so those friends he’d made here became his family. Together they stayed free, and he lost track of the long days that stretched into even longer nights.

  There were five boys altogether, the oldest being twelve.

  He was eleven, but felt so much older. He ached in a way he shouldn’t, because he knew too much.

  The oldest boy taught him, kept them all moving from place to place. Recently, they’d crashed in an abandoned warehouse that seemed promising for longer than a few nights. Plenty of spots to hide.

  There were rumors of a place close by that helped kids, but the oldest boy warned that he’d just be taken and sold again if he told his story.

  No one wants to help us.

  He didn’t feel well, hadn’t wanted to go hunting through the stalls for something to eat, but the rest of the group was counting on him. His stomach burned, tight from hunger. He’d never get used to that, the gnawing feeling that he would never be full or comfortable again.

  Even after he ate, he felt sick.

  That didn’t stop him from grabbing bread filled with fish and rice. The tourists haggled, the locals smiled and the music pounded in his ears.

  Today was easy—it was packed and the small fight that had broken out helped him. He moved past the chaos toward his escape route.

  “Boy.” A man clapped a hand on his shoulder and spoke loudly. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

  The feeling closed in on him again—he was too small, too weak. Suffocating under the disguise. He opened his mouth to say, I’m with my mother, to point to some unsuspecting woman who would not claim him, but nothing came out.

  Instead, he jerked away from the man who no doubt had seen him steal one of the day’s prizes and ran down the alley. No one followed, and he considered it a victory, stuffed some of the bread into his mouth and chewed, the roiling in his stomach abating for the moment.

  He would go back to the warehouse and share the rest.

  But as he slowed to a walk, a bag went over his head, blocking both light and air. He struggled, but the body against his was bigger and stronger.

  Later, he would learn not to struggle, found that going limp was actually a better strategy. That a swift skull to the attacker’s chin with the element of surprise was damned effective.

  But then … he’d known next to nothing except for the fact that no one would ever get the best of him again.

  When he opened his eyes, he was in a drug-filled haze. It might’ve been minutes later—or hours or days—and he knew it didn’t matter anyway.

  A man and a woman stood over him. They looked concerned but he had to get away from them.

  Panic turned to terror, even as the man held him to stop him from shaking and the woman spoke of home and brothers. School, play and nothing bad will ever happen again under our watch.

  This time, he didn’t have the strength not to believe them.

  CHAPTER

  1

  17 years later, Kambia, Sierra Leone

  This was the place—the small house with the light purple facade that looked like every other tin-roofed pastel-colored one that lined the wide dirt road. The market that ran nearly down the center, allowing a small area for cars to lumber through, teemed with people, none of whom seemed to notice or care that it was hotter than hell at 0800. Music blared from one of the opened windows, an incessant fixture, as if it covered the violence and misery and fear and lightened the worry.

  Maybe it worked. This area was more prosperous than most and the feeling of hope remained here. Or maybe that was his own projection.

  From out of his pocket, he took the picture—worn from carrying it around for the better part of six months—and shoved it at the African man who waited at the door.

  The man stared at it, frowned, then nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen her.”

  “Where? Show me.”

  “She is there.” The man pointed to a spot on the equally worn map that was held out to him, then took the money—American dollars—pressed into his opened palm. “You are military? Soldier?”

  “Just a tourist. Here for the scenery.”

  The man furrowed his brow, not believing a word of that. “You are not the first one to look for this woman today.”

  But I’ll be the first one who gets her, Zane promised himself. It was the third town he’d visited in less than twenty-four hours. He’d done this one on foot because the last driver refused to come this far out into the bush. But he’d known he would hit pay dirt here.

  The man stepped back into the shadows after drawing a crude map of the exact location Zane needed, even as the children who’d been eyeing him from afar ran past when they thought he wasn’t looking and then circled around to approach him.

  One of them didn’t turn away when Zane eyed him. The brave one, who’d lost his fear years earlier.

  Zane recognized the look, chin jutted with bravado—real or faked, it didn’t matter—it was an I’m not scared of you attitude.

  “Money?” he asked in English as he held out his palm, defying Zane to say no.

  Zane dug into his pocket, pulled out some crumpled bills and watched the kid’s eyes widen as he handed them over. Then he turned and walked away.

  Stick with those you can save, because you sure as hell can’t save them all.

  He stood taller than most here, looked over the crowds as the smell of cooked fish and rice floated through the warm air—women and men tried to sell him everything from carvings to homemade falafel. Even weapons were fair game, with those vendors whispering to him from darker corners as he strode past in search of any kind of goddamned vehicle to take him farther in-country.

  He’d have to pay in order not to have a driver, but he didn’t need the added burden of another person. And when he found an old Land Rover, he bargained with the owner until he was able to drive away alone, kicking up dust behind him, his roll of money a lot smaller.

  But he had cans of gasoline and the engine was decent. With the windows rolled down and his weapons hidden under a false third seat, an added bonus, he was prepared for various checkpoints and other assorted fun times in this country.

  He should check in with his brother Dylan, would when he got farther along. Right now, there was nothing to report other than he was closer to his goal.

  They’d been closer to the doctor for months now. Frustrating as hell, and Zane wasn’t about to jinx it.

  When Dylan had told him about this newest intel on Olivia, Zane had taken leave and insisted on going to West Africa. Didn’t give a fuck that Dylan and Riley couldn’t join him immediately.

  He wouldn’t waste a day waiting for backup. Not in this case.

  If Dr. Olivia Strohm had truly spent the last three months successfully evading DMH—an extremist group with terrorism ties and businesses all over Africa, ranging from skin trade to black market weapons—rescuing her was something he could damned well do on his own.

  We’ll meet you in seventy-two hours, Dylan had promised. That should give you plenty of time.

  He would meet his brother at the port in Freetown. A place he’d never thought he’d go to again.

  In his time with the military, he’d traveled to many cities along the western edge of Africa, including in the Ivory Coast and Liberia. Freetown was always avoided, mainly because it was a major port—too crowded for stealth.

  The crowds had been the thing that saved him once. Now, the thought of going back made his blood run cold. The Kambia District was close enough, the market smaller than he’d remembered and far more dangerous than he could’ve known when he was merely a boy.

  T
hank God for small miracles.

  His life had been built on small and not-so-small miracles, from his adoption to his live-for-the-moment lifestyle that had worked really damned well for him. For Zane, time off had always equaled trouble—he liked to keep busy, keep moving, and when he was on leave, his brother, the spy for hire, could always find him something to do. Black ops, gray ops, it didn’t matter, and he’d been on as many missions with both the SEALs and his brother in an unofficial capacity. But this was by far the most important one he’d ever done.

  The party facade he’d built up like brick walls around his past crumbled down last year with no warning and he’d barely had time to roll out of the way and avoid the fallout.

  Most of it anyway.

  Maybe if he found Olivia, things would go back to normal. His normal. So he took the leave because his brother promised they were close to finding her, since finally, after three months of dead fucking ends, they had a bead on Dr. Olivia Strohm.

  Which would’ve been great if it hadn’t been a possible death report.

  “A clinic was bombed in Morocco. No patients died, but DMH staff did,” Dylan informed him. “The papers said it was a suspected illegal clinic. There was no note—no one ever claimed responsibility for the bombing.”

  “That’s strange.” Groups who did shit like that always wanted to take responsibility. It was what they did—they wanted the notoriety, making a name for themselves was a huge part of their deal.

  Then again, no group would be stupid enough to go after DMH in that capacity. No, most of them wanted to work with them.

  “Rumors were that the clinic was involved in black market organ trafficking,” Dylan said. “All the staff was identified—all except one. A female.”

  Zane shook his head hard, as if Dylan were right in front of him as opposed to across the line—and the continent.