Cindy Gerard - With No Remorse

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

Copyright (c) 2011 by Cindy Gerard

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

First Pocket Star Books paperback edition August 2011

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Cover design by Lisa Litwack

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 978-1-4516-0681-2
ISBN 978-1-4516-0685-0 (ebook)

Contents

Acknowledgments

It feels like we're heading into broken-record territory here, but I have to acknowledge some of the same very important and special people who have held my hand, critiqued, and supplied vital information in the writing of this book. Susan Connell, Joe Collins, Glenna McReynolds--I don't know how I could have done it without you. Gail Barrett, brilliant author, thank you so much for sharing photographs and information from your trip to Peru. Because of you, I almost felt like I had been there.

And Tommy--you are the bedrock that keeps my foundation solid. Without you, my world would fall apart around me. I love you, honey.

Author's Note:

I had so much fun researching this novel. Peru is a magical and mystical country and I fell in love with everything about it during the writing of this book. While I attempted to be as accurate as possible with geography, for the sake of the storyline I "enhanced" some of the topography and "created" a new railroad line with a midnight run to Cuzco. In my humble opinion, there should be one anyway.

Luke Colter's number one rule of self-preservation: Don't ignore the itch.

The last time he'd blown off the warning, he'd ended up gut-shot and on life support in a San Salvador hospital. So when he felt that first tickle of unease skitter along the back of his neck, he shot straight to attention.

Nothing looked out of sync inside the gently rocking train as it ate up the miles across the Peruvian Andes in the middle of the quiet June night. Still, his heart had kicked up like that of a marathon runner on his last leg, so he methodically scanned for signs of trouble from his seat in the middle of the dimly lit passenger car.

Everything looked status quo, a bunch of tired people making the best of the overnight ride on the hard, narrow seats. Everything smelled status quo, too: the damp wool of the Quechua farmers' ponchos, stale tobacco smoke, the faint aroma of llama dung on the bottom of someone's shoe, and the moldy, musty scent that always seemed to permeate enclosed spaces in the Andes.