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  Advance praise for The Value of Valor

  The Value of Valor by Lynn Ames is more than a gripping political thriller, heartfelt love/lost and loved again story. Within its completely intertwined, interwoven, and integrated plotlines, it is also a hot mystery, a romantic thriller, and has enough conspiracy theory to satisfy anyone who even still believes Elvis lives.

  Espionage, treason, a mad race to save the president, and hot sex—what’s not to love?

  ~Therese Szymanski, Lammy finalist, best-selling author of the Brett Higgins Motor City Thrillers

  There’s more at stake in this complex novel than first meets the eye. A treasonous organization hinted at in the first two books of the series finally comes to the forefront with plans that have long been in motion.

  The tension mounts. With every chapter that passes, the crosses and double-crosses get trickier and more twisted until the exciting denouement. You’ll be left surprised and satisfied by the ending.

  This novel can stand alone. You don’t have to have read the first two in the series, but this third in the trilogy is a fitting completion to the plot threads brought up in the earlier books.

  Fast-paced, compulsively readable, and full of twists and turns, THE VALUE OF VALOR will keep you up late into the night.

  Highly recommended.

  ~Lori L. Lake , author of the “Gun” Series, Different Dress, Ricochet in Time, Stepping Out: Short Stories, and editor of the Lambda Literary Award anthology finalist , The Milk of Human Kindness.

  The Value of

  Valor

  By

  Lynn Ames

  THE VALUE OF VALOR

  © 2005 BY LYNN AMES

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  ISBN: 978-1-933113-65-4

  Other Versions: Paperback, ISBN: 1-933113-46-4

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

  ________________________________________________________

  CREDITS

  EXECUTIVE EDITOR: TARA YOUNG

  COVER DESIGN BY VALERIE HAYKEN (WWW.VALERIEHAYKEN.COM) COVER PHOTO BY VALERIE HAYKEN

  Published by

  Intaglio Publications

  P O Box 357474

  Gainesville, Florida 32635

  Visit us on the web: www.intagliopub.com

  About the Author

  A former press secretary to the New York state Senate minority leader, an award-winning former broadcast journalist, and a former public information officer for the nation’s third-largest prison system, Lynn Ames is a nationally recognized speaker and CEO of a public relations firm with a particular expertise in image, crisis communications planning, and crisis management.

  Ms. Ames resides in the southwestern U.S. with her favorite guys (relax, they’re dogs), a golden retriever named Alex, who bears a remarkable resemblance to a character in this book, and his nephew, Parker. She enjoys all manner of sports, reading, traveling, all things intellectual, singing, dancing, and writing (which no longer counts as a hobby, as your purchase of this book attests).

  Ms. Ames’s other works include the best-selling novels The Price of Fame (which was short-listed for the Golden Crown Literary Society’s inaugural award for best lesbian romance) and The Cost of Commitment.

  Her short stories appear in the following anthologies: Infinite Pleasures: An Anthology of Lesbian Erotica, The Call of the Dark: Lesbian Erotic Tales of the Supernatural, Telltale Kisses, and Stolen Moments: Erotic Interludes 2.

  More about the author, including contact information, other writings, news about sequels and other original upcoming works, pictures of locations mentioned in this novel, links to resources related to issues raised in this book, author and character interviews, and purchasing assistance can be found at www.lynnames.com.

  Dedication

  To the brave few willing to tell the truth

  Acknowledgments

  The Value of Valor is the most difficult novel I’ve written to date.

  The plot is intricate and involved; it required countless hours of research and consultations with numerous experts in a wide variety of fields.

  I have always maintained that the best fiction contains elements of truth; as a reader, it’s that believability that keeps you turning the pages.

  For helping me to achieve that level of realism, I’d like to thank the following individuals: Dr. Hellen Carter, whose input regarding the CIA, weapons, and technology was invaluable; my anonymous source at the FBI—you know who you are—thanks; Jane Ball and Julie Begonia for assistance and contacts with the Navajo nation; Dr. Stephen Colodny and Radclyffe for expertise with medical issues; Karin Kallmaker and the GCLS chat group for taking time out from their flirtations to help me solve a small, but critical problem; and Lori Lake for unselfishly sharing scads of forensic research on car accidents and for being a marvelous friend and cheerleader at crunch time.

  To the folks at Intaglio Publications, especially my good friend Kathy Smith, for doing an outstanding job producing this book and for always taking such good care of me. Thanks to my editor, Tara Young, who came on board for part three of this trilogy, gave me fantastic feedback all the way through the editing process, and gave me complete confidence in the final product. We have wonderful synergy.

  A very special thanks goes to my beta readers Terry Glidden, Valerie Hayken, and Kat Lodge. Kat is responsible for teaching me about issues and cultures: she is the research queen. Terry is responsible for making my words count. Her patience and attention to detail make my work so much stronger. Valerie’s instincts for the story and characters are unparalleled. More valuable still than her beta reading skills are her graphic design capabilities. As my book cover designer, Valerie has produced consistently marvelous work. This cover, I think, is the best she’s ever created.

  Finally, to those of you who read The Price of Fame and The Cost of Commitment and have continued to clamor for part three in the series, thanks for all your support and encouragement. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Note from the Author

  1989, the year in which The Value of Valor takes place, was a fascinating year. George H.W. Bush was sworn into office as president of the United States; tens of thousands of students rallied in Tiananmen Square in China; Mikhail Gorbachev was named president in the Soviet Union; P.W. Botha quit in South Africa; Deng Xiaoping resigned in China; the Berlin Wall came down after twenty-eight years; the Czech Communist regime was dissolved by Parliament; the Romanian Communists were overthrown; and the U.S. invaded Panama to capture dictator Manuel Noriega.

  I wasn’t able to portray all these events in this novel—in fact, I barely scratched the surface. But I hope that, like me, you’ll look at the timeline I’ve laid out for you above with a critical and skeptical eye. How much do you believe in coincidence?

  It is always my aim with my novels to make them utterly entertaining but also socially relevant. So as you read this book, I will point out two things: truth is sometimes stranger than fiction and oftentimes history repeats itself.

  Please, sit down, pull up a chair, and enjoy the ride.

  Lynn Ames

  The Value of Valor

  PROLOGUE

  he woman under the crisp, white sheet showed no sign of T movement. Her face was swollen—covered with lacerations and abrasions. Dried blood from a nast
y cut on her scalp stood out in bold contrast to her flaxen-colored hair.

  As the healer finished rinsing away the worst of the sticky substance, she wondered how the woman had survived at all. Gently, she lifted the sheet, revealing a dark bruise that covered the dislocated left shoulder and a portion of the woman’s chest. Satisfied that the arm was properly braced, she rechecked the tension on the large white wrap that secured three broken ribs.

  “I’ll do what I can for you, young one.”

  “I see she still hasn’t woken.” A powerfully built, older Native American stood in the doorway, his imposing shape blocking out the sun.

  The healer quickly replaced the sheet. “No. I’d need to do a CAT

  scan to confirm it, but I believe there’s still some swelling in her brain.

  It’s much better, but still…”

  “It’s been two days. We should take her to the hospital.”

  “No. It’s too dangerous for her.”

  “Having her here may be too dangerous for us.”

  “Must you think only of yourself? This woman was deliberately run off the road. Someone wants her dead. Someone is already dead.”

  “Why should we interfere?”

  “Because it’s the code we live by. We must revere life, not jeopardize it.”

  “You and your traditional ways.”

  “These are the teachings we follow. If you must be more practical, consider that those men who caused her accident, whoever they were, believe she’s dead. There won’t be any reprisal.”

  “Then there’s no reason we can’t take her to the hospital.”

  Lynn Ames

  “A hospital will mean questions. Questions will lead to attention.

  Attention might bring those men back to finish the job. No, she’s much safer here.”

  “Bah. You’re not in a position to decide anything, Terri.”

  “Not by myself, no. That’s for the entire Council of Elders. We’ve called a meeting for this afternoon. We’ll listen to the boys’ account of what happened and make a ruling.”

  “Tommy, tell us what you saw.” A wizened, graying older man, his face lined with years of hard work in the sun, beckoned to a young man in his early twenties to step into the center of a circle of elders sitting cross-legged on the dirt. The meeting, as all meetings of the council were, was conducted in Navajo. It was a way to carry on the language and reinforce a sense of continuity among the people.

  Tommy licked his lips nervously. “We—four of us—were working on the cliffside near Chinle. We were harvesting materials for the sand paintings.

  “It was very quiet; we could hear the call of the hawks overhead.

  There hadn’t been any traffic on the road above for hours. Suddenly, I heard—we all did—the squealing of brakes and the sound of crunching metal. It was like thunder.” Tommy looked to his friends for support.

  “Go on.”

  “We looked up, but there was nothing we could do. The car plowed right through the guardrail and sailed into the air. It was like something out of a movie.

  “It landed on the edge of a ledge not far away from where we were—

  its back end was hanging out into space. Jeff, Jason, Kenny, and me barely managed to reach the driver’s door in time. When we wrenched it open, this woman was pinned against the door. We pulled her out of the car—she was hurt bad. Her eyes were closed, and she was bleeding.”

  Tommy hesitated.

  “Go on.”

  “We tried to get the other woman out, too. She’d slid over on the bench so she was practically sitting in the driver’s seat. Must not have been wearing a seatbelt.” He shook his head. “She looked worse than the woman we saved— there was a piece of metal sticking out of her chest.”

  “From the guardrail?”

  Tommy shuddered. “Yeah. Her eyes were open and she was staring.”

  “What happened next, Tommy?”

  “It was like slow motion. The car tumbled end over end and landed on its roof on top of the next plateau. It must have been a hundred feet down. The fireball was hot enough that I felt it from where we were.”

  “What made you think it wasn’t an accident?”

  The Value of Valor

  “As we were lying there trying to catch our breath, I saw two men drive by, then turn around and come back. They got out of their car, looked over the side of the cliff, and seemed pleased when they saw the wrecked car down there.”

  “They didn’t see you or the woman you were able to save?”

  “No, where we were was shielded from view by an overhang.”

  “How close were the men to you?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Maybe ten feet away.”

  “You saw their faces?”

  “Yes. One of them had a scar on his right cheek.”

  “All right. What happened next? Did they say anything?”

  “They were laughing. One of them clapped the other on the back and made a joke about earning easy money.

  “We were scared. We waited for the men to leave. When we were sure they were gone, Jason went back to the truck and drove it back here to get help. The rest of us stayed with the woman.”

  “Did she ever regain consciousness?”

  “No. Like I said—she was in really bad shape. We were afraid she was dead, too.”

  “Okay, Tommy.” The tribal leader looked to the other young men.

  “Do you have anything to add?”

  There was a chorus of “No, sirs.”

  “Very well.” The leader turned to the others gathered in his circle. “I think it’s too dangerous to take this woman to a hospital. The intent of these men was clear—she wouldn’t be safe.”

  “We don’t even know who she is. She didn’t have any identification on her. If we keep her here, we may be inviting danger.”

  “I disagree, James. Those men have no reason to believe there were any witnesses to their crime or that one of their victims lived. We are completely safe. Are there any other voices wishing to be heard?”

  The question was greeted by silence.

  “Very well then, the woman shall remain in our care until she’s well enough to travel. Terri Lightfoot, you will continue to see to her needs. I suggest we conduct a chantway to dispel any evil and attract good.”

  “I’ll organize one to begin this evening,” Terri answered.

  “Good. Whatever can be done for her shall be. Council dismissed.”

  The wind blew the door to the clinic closed behind the healer as she made her way back to the figure in the bed.

  At the sound of the slamming door, the patient’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Easy. Easy, my child.”

  “W-where am I?”

  “You’re safe now. What’s your name?”

  Lynn Ames

  “M-my name?”

  “Yes.”

  Green eyes the color of a lush forest tried to focus. “I-I don’t know.”

  The eyelids slid closed once again.

  “Don’t worry for now, my child. Just rest.” Terri Lightfoot stroked the blonde hair that peeked out from the bandages. She fingered the diamond-encrusted wedding band she had removed from the woman’s swollen left ring finger and kept in her pocket for safekeeping. “You’ll know when the time is right.”

  The Value of Valor

  CHAPTER ONE

  ingers played across her breasts, tantalizing, exciting. The heat of F her lover’s breath seared her sensitive skin.

  “Jay.” It escaped her lips as a prayer, which morphed into a mournful wail as she came awake.

  Katherine Kyle bolted upright, the sweat-soaked sheet pooling around her naked waist, moonlight peeking in through the blinds of her suburban Washington, D.C., condominium. The numerals on the digital bedside clock mocked her: 2:36 a.m.

  “Jay,” she whispered. “What am I supposed to do without you?” The tears came again, stinging her already swollen eyes. She welcomed them.

  Alarmed by the
sounds of distress, Kate’s faithful golden retriever laid his chin on the bed and whimpered.

  “I’m sorry, Fred. I know you miss her, too.”

  The soulful look in his eyes reflected her mood perfectly. Sliding off the bed, Kate threw on a T-shirt she had discarded earlier, lay down on the dog bed, and hugged her companion.

  “It’s just you and me now, buddy.” She choked on the words, huddled closer, and rested her head on his soft fur, hoping his warmth would penetrate her bones and take away the chill that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her very soul since she’d gotten the fateful call three days earlier. Kate closed her eyes against the memory.

  “White House. Press Secretary Kyle speaking.”

  “Ms. Kyle? Ms. Katherine Kyle?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Officer Brandan Oakley of the Arizona Highway Patrol.

  There’s been an accident involving a rental car in Canyon De Chelly near Chinle, Arizona.”

  Kate let go of Fred and covered her ears, trying to shut out the words.

  “You are listed on the rental car application as primary contact for a Ms. Jamison Parker.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to inform you, Ms. Kyle, but there don’t appear to be any survivors.”

  “No surviv…that can’t be…we…I…she...”

  Lynn Ames

  “I’m afraid Ms. Parker is dead.”

  “No,” Kate screamed, scaring Fred. “No,” she sobbed, as she hugged him close again. She imagined she could still smell the passion and feel the warmth of the sheets where Jay and she had made love the morning before the accident. She curled into the fetal position, Fred laying his head on her side.

  “Kate, it’s President Hyland. I heard. I’m so sorry. Jay was a wonderful woman and we’ll all feel her loss. I’ve personally asked the FBI to investigate, and I’ve had arrangements made for you to fly out there immediately. Don’t worry about anything here, we’ll hold down the fort.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Kate said aloud as she absentmindedly ran her thumb over the dog’s left front paw. Fred licked the back of her hand sympathetically. “I want her back. I just want her back.” She rocked back and forth, trying in vain to comfort herself.