KILL ME ONCE AGAIN
My second book, Kill Me Once Again, first available on Amazon.com as an eBook, is now available on Smashwords.com as an eBook. Smashwords provides a multi-format choice which permits users of Nook, Kindle (.mobi for Kindle devices), Epub for Apple iPad/iBooks, Sony Reader, Kobo, Stanza, Aldiko, and RTF formats to enjoy their products.
Here's a look at what Kill Me Once Again brings to your bookshelf and reading pleasure.
In Kill Me Once Again, Major Scott Wilson is fragged during a CIA black ops mission when he refuses to help his mutinous men smuggle captured Afghan heroin to the States. Scott dies in the med-evac chopper, but a determined Army field surgeon revives him. He recovers except for PTSD and retrograde amnesia, specifically any memory of the fragging. “If not remembering that mission doesn’t bother you, go home. Have a good life. It’s not important,” the VA shrink tells him. But now, it is important. Scott’s life may depend on remembering who killed him the first time.
After forced medical retirement, Scott’s boss and good friend, Jonas, has the Witness Protection Program relocate him with a new identity.
Five years later, in present-day Myrtle Beach, SC, assassins kill a girl driving Scott’s car and attack him. Scott kills one thug before a grazing head shot knocks him out. He wakes in a hospital where FBI agents say nothing was found at the site of the attack to support his story. When FBI Special Agent Kathy Saunders’ partner is murdered, she realizes she’s in danger, too. Unable to tell friend from foe and Scott’s WITSEC identity compromised, Scott and Kathy go into hiding. Electronic bugs, hidden GPS tracking devices, snipers, a bullying NSA Lt. Colonel and his henchmen, and merciless Russian assassins greet them at every turn. What's more, best friend Jonas is lying to him.
And here's a sneak peek at Kill Me Once Again.
Balghis Province, Afghanistan, 1998
THUP! THUP! THUP! THUP! Rotors pound. Pulsing blasts of air push down on me. A cyclone of sand swirls, stings my face and hands. Someone slings me over his shoulder. I hang limply, bouncing as he carries me at a run towards the Huey. Its screaming jet engine demands attention. The hot acrid smell of its exhaust pulls me back to the flood of pain in my head and chest. Strong hands drag me into the MedEvac chopper. I feel the chopper rise as we dust off. “Hang on, Major. Stay with me now, stay with me. We’re only twenty clicks out.”
I struggle to open my eyes. A tube runs from a needle in my arm to a bag swinging overhead in the dim red lights of night ops.
“Oh, God! What the hell are you doing? Get off my chest. Christ! Get off me, you bastard!”
“Easy, Major, easy. Come back to me, now. Come on, Major. Dammit!” he pleads. “Can’t this freakin’ bird go any faster?” he shouts into the intercom mike attached to his helmet.
Then nothing. That’s all my dreams tell me. That’s all I know.
That was five years ago. That’s the day I died.