Jenna Lives

Greetings and welcome, to all who have seen and wonder what those words mean. Consider yourselves at home, and welcome. Drag up a comfy chair while I explain. And for those already familiar with Jenna and her exploits, this is (almost) a spoiler.

Jenna Lives.

It's a good thing for Jenna, and a bad thing for anyone who's ever been on her bad side. And to let you in on a secret: She's not done yet.

When we first met her, Jenna was a promising young physical therapist, companion and rehab aide to Nadia Velasquez. So what went wrong? I mean, besides being embroiled in a deadly secret that could mean the death of millions of people. Well, oh-so-awesome readers, the answers are in my first, EPIC-Award-winning novel, Becoming NADIA (Click on the picture to see more):

"Whoa there," you say. "What do you mean, Jenna's one of the bad guys? She's such a nice person, so sweet and kind, and"

...oh, forget it. She damn near killed Jon, and at the end of this one, she totally destroys---

*wags finger* Ah, ah, ah. You almost made me tell.

Okay, she's one of the bad guys.  But she's really not a bad person. Or is she? In my second novel, Unalive, Jenna comes head to head with the agenda behind her bosses' stated goals, and learns a secret about herself as well that could mean the difference between life or death. In the process, she manages to not destroy Las Vegas or half the Eastern Seaboard as she puts two and two together in a way doesn't quite add up to five.

"Okay," you ask, "so she's really not one of the bad guys?"

Well, no, not really.

"Then she's a good guy?"

Well, no, not really. As a matter of fact, by now, you're either going to love Jenna or hate her. And we're just getting started. I mean, if you were betrayed like she was, you'd be royally pissed, right? And where vengeance is concerned, "good" and "bad" are off the table. the only thing that matters is simple, final and bloody retribution. This time, all the stops are pulled, no measure is spared, and Jenna is willing to give everything including her own life to make sure The Pinnacle never again pose a threat to her or anyone under her protection. She just might, at that.

"So," you ask, "How does one get started in the awesome, ass-kicking, super-agent business, anyway?"

Sherman, set the Way-Back Machine about twenty years before the events in Becoming NADIA. Let's check in on Jenna when she was just a little...girl? Okay, let's call a spade a spade. To some, she's a girl. To others, she's nothing more than Project 14-257. What's the price for a life? What's the price for peace? When it's measured in blood, is there still room to turn around and walk out? Not according to some. Check out this one, folks:

So now you've been introduced. It's my hope that Jenna becomes as real to you as she's become to me, that she finds a place in your heart and mind, and that truly:

Want a sticker of your own? Email me at cyrus dot keith at yahoo dot com and ask. We'll get one to you. If you feel like buying my books, I certainly won't stand in your way. My work is available at Barnes and Noble, Amazon, and a good dozen or so other retailers.

Thank you for stopping by. I look forward to hearing from you.

The Challenger, Continued

Greetings, Castaways on the raft in space we call Earth. This week, I want to continue in the same vein we started last week. What follows is the scene in Unalive that involves the aircraft type we discussed: The Challenger 604.

Real quick, here's the cover art for Unalive, my second novel. Feel free to click on it to find out more about the book. I'll let you buy it if you want. More about the cover: The Model (I've had many of the mechanics at work ask) is Danielle Harris, the Hollywood scream queen who gained her name in Rob Zombie's Halloween movies. I sent her a copy of the book. Let's see if she's sufficiently impressed to land me that movie deal, eh?

So, without further ado, Unalive, featuring the Challenger 604 jet.

Phil Baterson looked up as the Challenger jet’s galley door opened. A plump brunette in a
black and gold attendant’s uniform stepped through. “We’ll refuel in Hanoi and then Moscow. If
you need me, just press the crew call button in the VIP armrest. Dinner will be at seven. Can I
get you anything now?” A couple of hands went up; the attendant took some drink orders and
receded into the galley to prepare them.

Anna Spielberg rested, drowsing on the divan on the right side of the 604’s spacious forward
cabin. Her wounded arm was suspended in a sling and secured to her torso for further support.
Her face betrayed the drug-induced stupor and fatigue she must have been feeling. Sofi sat
quietly next to her mother, watching a movie on a small video monitor mounted on a swing-arm
from the drink ledge. Two other beefy men played cards at a foldout table. A sour-looking,
middle-aged woman lounged in another seat, reading.

Jenna came out of the office in the rear of the cabin and slid the door closed behind her. Phil
could tell she wasn’t in prime shape herself. He’d seen others coming down off of combat
stimulants, and it was never pretty. But Jenna looked like she would drop any second.
She’d sent her report upline, but he wondered how coherent it was. He knew she needed to
get it sent while the details were still in her mind, but still…if they had any questions, they could
always ask them later. Phil was sure there would be questions, judging from her current
appearance.

He had seen Jenna Paine before, in better times. The dark circles under her eyes, and her
pale, sweaty appearance, the way she slogged across the carpet, told him these were definitely
not better times. How is it she’s still conscious?

Jenna flumped down into the leather seat and a sigh escaped her chest.

“Hey, you.” She lifted her head toward the source of the voice. Anna smiled at her from
across the aisle. “Thank you.”

“I’m so sorry, Anna,” said Jenna. “I should have…done something before—”

“Jenna, you saved our lives.” Anna sat up higher in the divan, straining from the effort. “My
daughter and I owe you, twice over from what I understand. Don’t sell yourself short. I don’t
believe anyone else could have seen that coming and taken the actions you did. I can’t even
begin to thank you enough, my friend. You are an amazing woman. Now, get some sleep; you
look like hell.”

“I’m all right, Anna. I’ll see you through to Prague, and then get some rest when we get
settled in. The hospital gave me these,” she said, and pulled out the bottle of stims.

“Let me see those.” Anna held out her good hand. Jenna handed the bottle over. Anna took
out one of the small blue tablets and examined it closely. “You shouldn’t be taking these, Jenna.
With your metabolism, there’s no telling what these would do.”

“I only took one, Anna, but if I have to, I’ll dose up again.”

“Phil,” said Anna, “Relieve this woman so she can get some rest, please?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I tried twice, Doc, but she don’t listen real good.”

Anna glared at Jenna. “I think we’ll be all right now, Jenna.” She gave the bottle to Phil.
“Now get some sleep; you’re worthless to me in your condition.”

He leaned over and whispered in Anna’s ear, just above the noise of the engines. “Just keep
those uppers from her and give it another ten minutes. She’ll be out like a light.”

“If she does drop off, I want a pulse and respiration check every ten minutes,” she whispered
back. “Seriously, Phil. Understand?”

The good-natured smile faded from his face as he comprehended her concern. “Yes, ma’am,
I get you.” He set the timer in his watch to repeat a ten-minute countdown before settling back
into his book. About a minute later, he looked up. Jenna’s eyes were closed. Her head lolled back
against the headrest of her seat. He slowly got up and approached her, watching for any sign of
awareness. Finding none, he pulled the release lever on the seat and reclined it all the way back
with his other hand. Jenna never even twitched.

Phil looked over at Anna. She nodded. He checked Jenna’s pulse. Finding a beat, he nodded
back at Anna, who closed her eyes and sank back under the influence of her painkiller. He
opened the cabinet at the back of the cabin, pulled out a blanket and spread it over Jenna, and
then sat back down.

* * * *

When Jenna opened her eyes again, the plane was on its final approach into Prague. Her
sweat-soaked blouse clung to her body, and her skin was clammy to the touch. “Anna? Sofi?
What the…” She twisted around in her seat and almost fell out. When she tried to stand up, her
vision closed into a tunnel in front of her face. She couldn’t find her balance. “Anna!”

Hands supported her as she fell in the aisle. They laid her back into her chair, and her head
began to clear. Her entire body tingled. Someone belted her in. She tried to get back up, but a
hand pushed her back down. She heard Phil’s voice reassuring her. “Miss Paine, just relax, okay?
We’re landing. We have an ambulance standing by, and we’ll make sure everything’s secure.”
Jenna didn’t remember the ride to the hospital. In fact, she barely remembered Phil carrying
her down the Challenger’s air stair. The ambulance waited on the ramp between two black
Mercedes sedans.

Another team of four waited in scattered array while the ambulance crew loaded Anna and
Jenna. The sour-faced woman carried Sofi’s sleeping form down the steps and placed her gently
into the backseat of one of the security sedans. The team members split up between the cars. Phil
jumped into the back of the ambulance, and the caravan took off across the ramp toward a chain
link gate leading out onto the highway toward Trebenice State Hospital.

Free Excerpt time!

Greetings and salutations to all my steady castaways, and everyone who's finding me here for the first time! You're welcome here, to just come on in and be yourself. No need to grand-stand or make any points. You are you, and you are welcome here.

I passed a milestone a month ago that I totally forgot to announce: My 10,000th page view. As of writing this, 12,571 people have reached out to touch us. Okay, so a few of those were the same person more than once, but that's still pretty cool. So join me in a libation to celebrate: *pours coffee/hot chocolate/tea  for all* Wassail!

Anyway, this week I need to announce something else: My publishing house, MuseItUp Publishing, has established another deal with a new, established vendor who is helping us reach a whole new level in helping folks to see what we have to offer. At this precise moment, iBooks is running a package special for four complete novels in one volume, for 99 cents! So, check this out: for one ridiculously low price at the Apple bookstore, you can get four top-notch sci-fi books.

I get to join the likes of Rosalie Skinner, John B. Rosenman, and Joanne Elder for our first-ever package deal in The Prodigies of Science Fiction. 

Click on the cover to go there. I'll let ya.

 

 

 As for my part in this project (for you new fans), I wrote the EPIC-Award-winning Best Thriller of 2012, Becoming NADIA.

And now, the promised Excerpt:

“I'm not me,” Nadia moaned, curled up in her seat. She wrapped her arms around her knees. Her hands shook. “I'm somebody else, and I'm not me anymore. I never was me, was I?”

Jon leaned over to touch her on the shoulder, but a hand shot up and she writhed away. “Don't touch me. Don't even come close to me,” she cried. He could see that her cheeks were already wet. She cried softly to herself, “If I hadn't known, I could have gone on. If I hadn't known—”

“If you hadn't known,” Jon interjected, “You'd still be wondering who Phillip was. If you hadn't known, you'd still be in their hands.”

She looked up, indignant. “Those people saved my life, Jon. They said it took more than twenty surgeries, just to save my face. They put that much into me so I could have a life again. They even had Jenna move in with me so I could adjust—”

“Or be monitored,” said Jon.

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes flashed angrily.

“Have you ever, at any time, been left alone since you woke up?”

“Of course,” she snorted. “I went to work—”

“To be with the people who just tried to kill you.”

“I went shopping by myself. There was a little grocery store just around the corner.” She stopped and went back to hugging her knees.

“What happened there? Alicia, what happened to you?”

“Don't call me that!” Her voice lowered threateningly and her eyes flashed. “Don't you call me by that name.”

“Then who are you? What do we call you now?”

“I don't know.” She sat curled up on the seat, her eyes locked on the lighting control panel by the cabin door. He watched her for a while, her chest wracked with silent sobs.

Jon got up and rummaged through the tiny galley behind the copilot's seat. He opened a drawer and took out a couple of small bottles. After he opened them both, he sat back down and held one out to Nadia.

“Peace?” he offered. She said nothing. “Nadia, I'm sorry. I should never have said that. I don't think I can ever understand what you're feeling right now. But maybe we can relax a little and figure some of this out.”

Nadia didn't respond at first, but after a few seconds, she released her knees and dropped her feet to the floor. She took the bottle of Scotch and sipped it. Her face wrinkled in disgust and she almost spat it back out. Holding the bottle up, she tried to read its contents through watering eyes. She couldn't seem to make words come out of her mouth.

“It's Scotch,” Jon offered. “Don't tell me you've never drank alcohol before.”

Finally, she found her voice. “I can only answer for one year. And the answer is 'no.'“

“I can get you some water, if you want.”

“What does this do?”

“It relaxes you.”

“I think I need this more,” she said, tossing back the bottle in one swallow. She squinted hard and gulped once, then lay back in her seat, feeling the warmth radiate from her stomach. “Let me know when we're there, please. I want to close my eyes for a little bit.”

“Sure, Nadia.”

Jon picked out a magazine from the rack in front of his seat and tried to read it, but couldn't concentrate. He kept stealing glances at the petite figure of the woman across the aisle. Her blonde hair poured in a golden, curly waterfall past her shoulders. Her squarish face complemented the slim build. From first appearances, it didn't seem as if she wore any makeup, but as Jon studied her full lips, he noticed a subtle shade of lipstick, and just a trace of makeup around her closed eyes. Brown, he remembered. Captivating, almond-shaped, brown eyes. A guy could fall into those eyes and never want to come back.... He admired her figure for several seconds. Give it up, Daniels; she's work, not play. And besides, she's way out of your league, something inside him whispered. The flight continued, silent save for thedrone of the engines and the muffled conversation in the cockpit.