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Sherrilyn Kenyon - Silent Truth

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Hunter Wesley Thornton-Payne III has perfected the role of bored playboy. When he attends a fundraiser for the Renaissance Womens Center hosted by Chicagos elite, intending to pick up information about a dangerous organization he first has to find and terminate an assassin who is killing innocent Americans connected to an upcoming arms trade agreement. Abbie Blantons mother falls prey to a mysterious illness, and Abbie turns to her investigative skills as a television news journalist. While attending a Chicago fundraiser, she leaves with more questions than she arrived with, and becomes the focus of a killer with a twisted sense of honor. As if her night hadnt gone badly enough, Abbie encountered a man she never forgotand never wanted to see again. Abbie begins to realize Hunter isnt the superficial playboy he appears to be but a dangerous operative with a tortured past whose success depends on destroying the best chance her mother has to survive.

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Sherrilyn Kenyon Dianna Love Silent Truth The fifth book in the BAD - photo 1

Sherrilyn Kenyon, Dianna Love

Silent Truth

The fifth book in the B.A.D. (Bureau of American Defense) series, 2010

Were dedicating this to the men and women in

the military who are away from their families

protecting us all back home.

Bless you and may God keep you safe!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

From Sherrilyn Kenyon

Thank you to Dianna for being such a good sport and always making me smile. I never thought I could cowrite anything, but given that we often share a common brain-LOL-you made it not only easy, but a joy. Thank you so much for all the support.

Thank you to Kim, Jacs, Brenda, and Retta for reading all my manuscripts and making great comments. Thank you, fans, for coming back day after day. You guys rock!

To my husband for being my shelter in the storm. Im grateful every day that I said yes when you asked me out to see a movie I couldnt stand. For my kids, who are always my comfort and my greatest source of pride. May God bless and keep you all.

From Dianna Love

A huge thank-you to Sherrilyn for being the best friend and writing partner a person could ask for. Shes an amazing talent were lucky to have in publishing and one of the most genuine people Ive ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Anyone who has met me or interacted online with me knows nothing I do would be possible without the unflagging support of my wonderful husband, Karl. Everything he does nurtures my muse and makes it easy for me to indulge my second love-writing. A special thanks to all the fans who have asked for more BAD Agency books and dont hesitate to share their favorite book and characters with us. Your enthusiasm and excitement are all we need to keep expanding this series.

Thank you, Cassondra, for being the best assistant, who is making my life easier every day! Also, thank you to Tracy and the wonderful women at Shamrock Caf in Tyrone, Georgia, who keep me fed when Karl is out of town. I love hearing from readers-dianna@author

diannalove.com-if you want to send me an email.

From both of us

Lauren McKenna proves continuously why shes an exceptional editor. She has a gift for understanding the direction we take with each story and is always open to new ideas. Thanks also to Megan McKeever for all her help in getting the book out and to Merrilee Heifetz for her constant support.

We appreciate author Mary Buckham (so much!), who reads early drafts-quickly, no less-and makes great suggestions. Her study of interesting things like Asian culture and her husband Jims knowledge of rare information have stimulated some fun ideas when Sherri and I brainstorm. Another talented writer, Cassondra Murray, also reads every story and comes up with subtle suggestions that make a huge difference in the final draft. We have husband Steve Doyle to thank for a limitless knowledge of weapons and military procedures from his time with Special Forces, plus his feedback from reading every story. We appreciate Annie Oortmans PAL creative reports on every book. Thanks also to Hope Williams and Manuella Robinson for their beta reads that mean so much in the final version.

Thank you to each of the following: We used information on electronic forensics shared by Keith Morgan. Westly Bowen, on staff at Fayette Community Hospital in Georgia, provided medical information. Former NBC anchor Wes Sarginson helped with research on television reporters. Thank you to James Love, Diannas brother, who shared details about the Gulf of Mexico, and to Gail Jensen for her help with researching Chicago. Errors slip through on occasion just because were human and if you find one, its on our part, not the source who generously shared their time and knowledge.

An extra hug to the wild RBL Women, PW blogger Barbara Vey, and the Petit Fours & Hot Tamales bloggers-thanks for all the support, laughs, and martinis. You are too much fun!

We love our readers! You are the reason we work so hard to create a story that will take you away on an adventure for hours of entertainment. We appreciate the time you spend writing us emails and coming out to visit when we tour and sign-and the amazing gifts (you rock!). Thank you for allowing us to spend hours doing what we love most-creating a world where our characters can come out and play. Thank YOU!

If youre a paranormal fan, check out the exciting new Belador series we have coming out in fall 2010 details at [http://www.SherrilynKenyon.com] www.SherrilynKenyon.com and [http://www.AuthorDiannaLove.com] www.AuthorDiannaLove.com.

Chapter One

Picture 2

Four years ago off the coast of Kauai, Hawaii

Hunter Wesley Thornton-Payne III didnt believe in premonitions of doom, but now might be an optimum time to reevaluate those beliefs. That last bone-jarring shudder of the thirty-year-old fishing trawler beneath him qualified as a preemptive warning.

Salt water sprayed across the deck from each side of the wheelhouse where he stood. Wearing a wetsuit didnt mean he wanted to be blasted with water every thirty seconds. For the past forty-five minutes this floating hazard had plowed south through the Pacific Ocean toward tonights black-ops objective.

Failure would trigger hideous deaths for unsuspecting CIA agents over the next twenty-four hours.

A simple mission on paper.

Scaling a sheer rock cliff rising two thousand feet out of windswept waves, and on a moonless night, might give him pause if not for his partner Eliot Sawyer. Having him on this mission should quiet any concerns.

But a dark shadow continued to hover over Hunters psyche, a sixth sense he trusted almost as much as he trusted Eliot.

A ferocious wave broke across the starboard side, the tip of its watery tail lashing his face with cool spray. The faded teakwood deck quaked beneath his feet.

This piece of shit better hold together long enough to get us into position. Hunter wiped water from his eyes again. You can bet that sack-a-shit Retter is riding around out here in something that can do more than ten knots. I should be hauling his ass up that cliff since this was his idea.

Eliot laughed. The bastard laughed more than any other human Hunter had ever known. Even in college, humor had balanced out his mammoth size. Thought you agreed this was the only way to slip inside Brugmanns compound.

Hunter hitched a shoulder in a dont-remind-me response. Hed come to the same conclusion as Retter-BADs top gun and the lead on this operation-that approaching from the north under the guise of a decrepit fishing boat offered the optimum insertion point. Ehrlich Brugmanns private residence perched on a cliff above a vertical wall of volcanic rock overlooking the northern coast of Kauai.

Brugmann had traveled alone to Hawaii this trip. Had he thought the United States wouldnt notice him selling out the CIA and national security if he didnt do it in DC at his primary residence?

Hunter suffered another whiff of fishy stench permeating the wood. He stared out over the starboard side at the last shred of light as the sun sank closer to the ocean. Twilight silhouetted a pair of fifty-footers bucking waves a mile off.

Two more boats held together with hope and slime.

Retters doing as well.

Boats were okay in Hunters book-the sleek half-million-dollar ocean racers hed once piloted to trophy finishes.

But he hated the kind that tended to sink without notice.

Aging joints creaked in complaint when the deck pitched again. Hunters grumble ended in a vicious curse.

Good night for a swim, eh? Even Eliot had to grab a handhold or bust his silly ass. Pale lights mounted to the wheelhouse cast a sallow glow over his wide body outfitted in an identical black wetsuit, and lit his crooked-tooth grin.

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