Blue Hot: Patrick & Steeves Suspense Series, #3

By Kate Fargo

Danger lurks in dark corners ... 

 

When an American nuclear physicist is kidnapped from a Mexican University and the NSA discovers P-239 missing - the ingredient necessary to build dirty bombs - the NSA suspects the warring cartels.

 

Emily Patrick and Dal Steeves are enjoying some well-earned R & R and taking the time to get to know each other better. But once again, their simmering romance needs to takes a back seat as they return to Mexico to try and save the day. 

 

Don't miss this fast-paced romantic thriller set South of the Border with intriguing characters, witty dialogue, danger and plenty of twists and surprises. 

 

*** BLUE HOT IS Book # 3 in the popular Patrick & Steeves Suspense Series. While the series can be read in any order, we recommend starting with Red HOT for full enjoyment of this fast-paced action and adventure series. 

 

PRAISE FOR PATRICK & STEEVES SUSPENSE SERIES:

 

★★★★★ "Action-filled thriller! All I can say is WOW! This fast-paced, action-filled thriller had my heart pumping and adrenaline rising with strong characters, mystery, danger, and so much more. I loved the sizzling chemistry and dynamic between Emily and Dal as they worked together for the NSA in Mexico. White Hot is a must-read for fans of romantic suspense. Kate Fargo is a very talented author and I look forward to the next Patrick and Steeves adventure."

 

♥♥♥ "Loved the book! Action packed and it kept me pinned to the book pretty much from start to finish!"

 

♥♥♥ " Loved it, had a hard time putting it down when I needed to--Dal and Emily are amazing--the adventures just keep getting better---I cant wait to read the next adventure---GREAT JOB Kate Fargo!!!!"

 

♥♥♥ "A well developed suspenseful read!! Well written as it pulls you in to where you can't put the book down until you find out how it ends!!"

 

READING ORDER FOR PATRICK & STEEVES SUSPENSE SERIES:

 

Red HOT

White HOT

Blue HOT

• Language: English
• Publisher: Footloose Publishing
• Release date: Dec 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781738820429

Book preview

1

El Pato, known to his family and closest friends as Duckie, gazed out the window over the expansive grounds surrounding his hacienda. The stamp of his wealth was everywhere. On the grounds, in his home, in the twin infinity pools and his one hundred and ten foot yacht docked in his private bay. He watch the crew swabbing the decks, bustling around like ants. He liked things spotless. And what he wanted, he got.

Beyond the open doorway of the ten stall garage behind the pool house, more employees washed and waxed his fleet of vehicles, the polished chrome winking in the light. He enjoyed flaunting his wealth almost as much as flaunting his position. Soon his power would be absolute. Only one thing stood in his way.

Today, the missing link in his meticulously orchestrated plan would be secured, putting him that much closer to achieving the status and territory domination that had alluded him thus far. He’d been patient - more patient than a man like himself usually needed to be - and now the time was finally here.

A dark gray cloud pushed in from the west, scudding low over the choppy ocean surf and promising rain to shatter the oppressive humidity. Normally, at this time of year, he’d be in the mountains. Normal didn’t count today. The mountains would have to wait.

2

Dr. Silas Connor pushed his heavy-framed black glasses back up his hooked nose with the heel of his hand. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping onto his notes on the stainless steel counter. Maybe it was time to call it a day.

He was close to a breakthrough, so close he could almost taste it, but the temperature in the lab was untenable. His assistant had sent a work order to repair the airflow system to maintenance but he wasn’t holding his breath it would be looked at anytime soon.

Known to his students and interns as Doctor Con, Silas had arrived in Mexico only a few short months ago. For the most part he’d embraced the new culture, but the mañana attitude that lent itself well to beach holidays hadn’t found a place in his heart. Especially when it came to his laboratory.

His laboratory. That was the key phrase. If he’d stayed at CalTech in Pasadena, it might have been years, maybe even another decade, before he’d have a chance to head his own lab. When the offer had come from the National University of Mexico (UNAM), he’d had to balance his drive for perfection with his drive for advancement. He knew he’d have to give up some of the cutting edge technology accessible at CalTech. At the same time, a few years running his own lab south of the border could accelerate his advancement beyond his peers, putting him in a very good position when he returned. He figured two years if he had a breakthrough, four at the most, then he’d had the chops to return to the US and write his own ticket.

He lived for his research. To continue receiving the grants necessary for his work, he needed to continue publishing. And being at the top of the food chain would facilitate both his need to publish and his ability to secure grants.

In the first few weeks, each time he entered the lab, he thought they were laughing at him. He put it down to a cultural thing. Growing up he’d become accustomed to ridicule. With his slight frame, wispy dark hair and heavy glasses to compensate for his weak vision, he was practically the poster child for every caricature of science nerd ever drawn.

But as the students came to respect his quiet dedication, one of his interns shared that ‘con’ meant ‘with’ in Spanish, so Dr. Con could mean anything. Doctor with salsa. Doctor with cream. It was a silly joke, but a clean one that didn’t offend his sensibilities. In fact, for the first time since he’d left California, Silas felt a part of things. It was nothing more than good-natured teasing.

Claudia, he said, peeling off his lab jacket moist from the humidity, will you please call maintenance again and ask them when they will be able to check the air flow in this laboratory?

Of course, Dr. Con. She peered up at him from her work on the side bench. She was one of his most talented graduate students and he was pleased with the progress she was making.

He shrugged into his suit coat, tucked his battered leather satchel under his arm, and glanced up at the large clock hanging on the wall over the door. Still enough time to get to get to his lecture. Slipping into the hall, he hurried toward the exit near the loading docks. This late in the afternoon, most of the warehouse staff was gone so he took a shortcut through the large parking area usually filled with delivery trucks.

The glint of a chrome bumper in the sunlight caught his eye as a black late-model sedan rolled up beside him. He peered into the vehicle but the glass was tinted almost black. The rear window slid down.

Dr. Connor, I wonder if I could have a few minutes of your time. The man surveyed him through black eyes hooded by heavy brows.

Silas tilted his head. I’m sorry, I’m due at a lecture. Can you book an appointment with my office? I have office hours tomorrow at -

He choked on his words as the man leveled a revolver at him. I think it’s best we meet now, Dr. Connor, the man said in heavily accented English.

His heart pounded in his throat. What could they want with him? There must be some mistake, he said, his gaze sweeping frantically over the empty grounds and barren loading docks behind him.

The man in the car waved the barrel of the gun at him. There’s no mistake, Dr. Connor. Get in. Or I’ll have my men physically put you in the car.

Silas had heard of express kidnapping in Mexico. But if that’s what this was, why did they know his name? He could run and risk being shot. He might make it back inside the building. If the man was a bad shot, maybe the gunshot wouldn’t be life-threatening. Better that than being taken who knows where.

Decision made, he took a false half step toward the vehicle before he turned and sprinted back through the loading docks. Behind him, he heard shouting and heavy footsteps slapping his way. As he leaped for the stairs, a heavy hand grabbed the back of his suit jacket. He lost his footing, slammed face first into the edge of the top concrete step. Blood spurted from his nose. He opened his mouth to yell but was silenced by the fist crashing into the side of his face. The ground beneath him, splattered with the vibrant red of his own blood, swam out of focus. He couldn’t make out details.

Grab his bag, someone said, as he was yanked to his feet. The voices of his captors faded as the world around him dimmed to black.

3

Emily Patrick pulled into an empty stall in the dimly lit underground parking lot, locked her car, scanned the barren space and crossed quickly to the entrance. The light above the elevator door indicated it was on the fifteenth floor. She checked her watch. Glanced at the door to the stairwell. It was only three floors. As if on cue, her thigh started to throb. She’d have to wait for the elevator.

The doors opened into a long hallway. All the office doors were closed, no lights shone from inside. This time of night the silence was so complete the building itself seemed to breathe. Still, she’d walked through this hall, at this time of night, many times and it wasn’t the silence that scared her. It was breaking the silence.

Pushing the door at the end open, she eased into the waiting area and sat in the corner chair. An old Newsweek rested on the table beside her. She grabbed it, thumbed the pages, but nothing caught her interest.

She pushed at her nails, methodically shaping the cuticles of her left hand with the thumb nail of her right. After so long, it was silly these visits still made her anxious. Beyond the wall to the inner office, a door softly clicked shut and footsteps echoed past her down the hallway. A few seconds later, the door swung open and her therapist beckoned her in.

Come in, Emily. The sharp-featured man stepped to the side to allow her to pass, then closed the door behind them, shutting out the world.

This time, this one hour slot in her life every two weeks, was at once the most stressful and the most comforting. A dichotomy she was at a loss to explain. In the beginning, she would count the days, the hours until her next appointment. But also, in the beginning she came more often, her need was greater. Now it had been ages since her last visit.

Water? Juice? Dr. Jango held up a water bottle as Emily settled into the wingback chair nearest the window. It had long been her belief, in those times when she longed to gazed out the window to avoid his questions, that he purposefully had put the patient’s chair back to the window so the patient couldn’t avoid his piercing gaze. And further, she sometimes had the impression, as she noticed his eyes slide to the landscape over her shoulder, pen and notebook forgotten in his lap, that he was more interested in what was outside than in what she had to say. She shrugged. An unfair assessment perhaps.

Water, thanks, she said. Jango’s face crinkled into a kind smile. An exceptionally tall man, he carried his shoulders completely squared even when sitting. His posture left little doubt to his military standing and increased his air of authority.

He passed her the bottle, along with a plastic cup. So, Emily, he began, folding himself into the other wingback chair, we’ve missed a few sessions recently. He slanted his gaze to the notebook in his lap to check the date. Tell me, how have you been?

She took a deep breath and rattled off the events of the last two months while he jotted down notes. The slight lift to his brow when she recounted how Jack, her boss, had tried to kill her didn’t escape her. When she’d finished, she relaxed her shoulders against the back of the chair and pulled a breath in through her nose, then exhaled slowly through her mouth.

Dr. Jango tapped the end of his pencil against his notebook. Tell me, how do you feel about the level of danger in your new job?

Emily looked over his shoulder, letting her gaze shift to the print on the far wall. The pastoral scene always calmed her. She breathed in through her nose. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. Laughter crawled up from her lungs and burst through her mouth. I only took the job because it was supposed to be a boring desk job - an occasional cross-border trip to pick up a wayward American.

She looked Jango straight in the eye. He nodded, encouraging her to continue. He did that a lot. This was her time. The Emily hour, sixty minutes she could fill with monologue, angst or silence. Although she’d found silence rarely cut it with the good doctor. He tilted his head.

I haven’t had a lot of time to process it, she admitted. One day I was filling out paperwork and getting an ID card and the next I was running from the cartel in Mexico.

And yet … he prompted.

And yet?

"And yet