Living on the Edge: An Edge Novel

326 Pages·2011·1.05 MB·English

by  Shannon K. Butcher

Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Teaser chapter
Praise for Shannon K. Butcher and the Sentinel Wars
Novels
Finding the Lost
“Exerts much the same appeal as Christine Feehan’s Carpathian series, what with tortured heroes, the necessity of f inding love or facing a fate worse than death, hot
lovemaking, and danger-f illed adventure.”
—Booklist
“A terrif ic grim thriller with the romantic subplot playing a strong supporting role. The cast is powerful as the audience will feel every emotion that Andra feels from fear for her
sister to fear for her falling in love. Finding the Lost is a dark tale, as Shannon K. Butcher paints a forbidding, gloomy landscape in which an ancient war between humanity’s
guardians and their nasty adversaries heats up in Nebraska.”
—Alternative Worlds
“A very entertaining read . . . the ending was a great clif fhanger, and I can’t wait to read the next book in this series . . . a fast-paced story with great action scenes and lots of
hot romance.”
—The Book Lush
“Butcher’s paranormal reality is dark and gritty in this second Sentinel Wars installment. What makes this story so gripping is the seamlessly delivered hard-hitting action and
wrenching emotions. Butcher is a major talent in the making.”
—Romantic Times
Burning Alive
“Starts of f with nonstop action. Readers will race through the pages, only to reread the entire novel to capture every little detail . . . a promising start for a new voice in urban
fantasy/paranormal romance. I look forward to the next installment.”
—A Romance Review (5 Roses)
“This f irst book of the Sentinel Wars whets your appetite for the rest of the books in the series. Ms. Butcher is carving her way onto the bestseller lists with this phenomenal
nonstop ride that will have you preordering the second book the minute you put this one down.”
—Affaire de Coeur (5 stars)
“Absorbing. . . . Butcher skillfully balances erotic, tender interactions with Helen’s worries, and intriguing secondary characters further enhance the unusual premise. Fans of
Butcher’s romantic suspense novels will enjoy her turn toward the paranormal.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ms. Butcher of fers fresh and delightfully creative elements in this paranormal romance, keeping readers engaged as the story unfolds. Burning Alive is a well-crafted beginning
to this exciting new series, and will have fans of the genre coming back for the next adventure in the Sentinel Wars.”
—Darque Reviews
“An exciting romantic urban fantasy.... Shannon K. Butcher adds her trademark suspense with plenty of tension and danger to the mix of a terrif ic paranormal thriller.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Burning Alive is Shannon Butcher’s f irst foray into paranormal romance, and what a doozy it is! Filled with sizzling love scenes, great storytelling, and action galore, fans of
paranormal romance will rejoice to have Ms. Butcher f inally join the genre!”
—ParaNormal Romance
“A dif ferent twist on the paranormal genre. . . . Overall, Shannon K. Butcher has done a good job with Burning Alive, and I will def initely be reading the next in the series.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
Also by Shannon K. Butcher
NOVELS OF THE SENTINEL WARS
Running Scared
Finding the Lost
Burning Alive
Living Nightmare
eISBN : 978-1-101-47742-7
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For Jim Butcher.
Happy twentieth anniversary, honey.
Chapter 1
Lucas Ramsey’s target stood out from the swirling masses of perfumed,
sequined gold diggers on the ballroom floor. There was something different about
her—a watchful, focused quality that none of the other women at this fancy shindig
possessed. Then again, there were three other women flirting with the flabby, older
man she was hanging on. Maybe she was worried she’d lose her sugar daddy.
Too bad Lucas wasn’t a rich man, ’cause he’d love to sign up for that job, even
if for only one night.
The weapon in his shoulder holster felt odd through the thin cotton of his
tuxedo shirt, and the shiny leather shoes didn’t have the same gripping traction of
his combat boots. He was as far out of place here as a man could get, but Sloane
Gideon was here, so he was, too.
She was his last chance to repay a man he owed everything to. And the job
was simple. All he had to do was keep her from catching her flight on a private jet in
ninety-eight minutes.
No sweat. Even a washed-up soldier like him could handle that. In fact, Lucas
could think of more than one way to make her miss that flight. The Old Man had
said to use any means necessary to keep her in Texas, and as the list of the more
interesting possibilities formed in Lucas’s head, his body temperature kicked up a
couple of degrees.
There were hundreds of people here, all as well dressed as the room itself.
Silk draped the walls, and fine linen cloths covered the tables. No polyester there.
A tidy crew of unobtrusive waiters wove among the guests, offering an endless
supply of champagne in crystal flutes. Live music sweled from the raised platform
where a small orchestra played. Elegant harmonies wove their way through the
room, and on the far left, couples danced to a waltz Lucas recognized but could not
name.
He was more of a beer and rock-and-roll kind of guy, but that didn’t mean he
couldn’t appreciate the finer things in life.
Like Sloane Gideon. She was definitely fine.
Sloane was lovely in an untouchable sort of way. Perfect hair, perfect makeup,
perfect dress flowing over perfect curves. She was walking perfection, and he’d bet
his last dollar that she knew it. Decked out in diamonds and a dress that probably
cost more than his car, she was way out of his league. Of course, if a man
managed to strip her of all that flash and sparkle, the playing field would be a lot
more even. And a lot more interesting.
All he had to do was pry her off the arm of Moneybags.
Lucas made his way across the ballroom, through the glittering upper-crust
socialites. He ignored the women who glanced his way, and the men who sized him
up, staring at him as if trying to calculate his net worth. Not much, he knew, but he’d
played enough roles in his life that this one wasn’t much of a stretch. At least here
no one was shooting at him, which made this a walk in the park by comparison.
He mimicked the rigid posture of the other men here, donned an air of casual
indifference to the ridiculous amounts of wealth being displayed, and moved toward
his target.
His knee throbbed as he forced it to accept his weight without limping. He
wasn’t sure how he was going to hit the dance floor with Sloane without giving away
his weakness, but he’d think of something. Maybe a nice, long slow dance would
come their way.
Even with a busted knee, Lucas could still come up with at least a dozen ways
he could make her forget about her flight. Hell, if he wasn’t too rusty, he might even
be able to make her forget what day of the week it was. That would be a nice
change of pace from his recent, unwelcomed, lengthy celibacy.
Any means necessary held a cargo ship load of possibilities.
Lucas had a hotel room upstairs all ready and waiting, stocked with enough
wine to knock a man his size unconscious. Come morning when his debt to the Old
Man was repaid, he’d leave Sloane satisfied and sleeping while he walked away
from his old life with a clean slate and a clean conscience.
His new life held little appeal, but that, thankfully, was a problem for another
day.
A movement in his peripheral vision stopped him dead in his tracks. He wasn’t
yet sure what he’d seen, but his instincts were: trouble. The urge to duck and cover
screamed inside him, making his pulse skyrocket.
He turned his head, just enough to see the threat.
On a raised platform behind the orchestra was a thick arrangement of huge
potted trees and plants. Sticking out of those plants was the last six inches of a
rifle’s barrel.
And it was aimed right at Sloane.
The man crossing the ballroom toward Sloane had been born to wear a tux.
She let her gaze slide up and down his body, appreciating the way the fabric
hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his trim waist. The fit was so good it
almost hid the bulge of the weapon beneath his jacket. Almost.
She tightened her grip on the arm of her client, signaling to him there was
trouble.
“Time to go,” she whispered into his ear, smiling as though she’d just said
something seductive.
Edward Henning looked at the three cosmetically engineered gold diggers
fawning over him and giggling, then back at her like she was crazy. “I don’t think
so.”
Sloane squeezed his arm harder. “Move. Now.”
She’d scoped out the place earlier, and her best bet was the eastern stairwell
exit. She gave her client a not so gentle tug, but the man refused to budge. Hanging
on whatever bimbette number three was saying, he stayed glued to the spot.
Mr. Tuxedo and his concealed weapon were still fifty feet away, but he was
making progress through the crowds easily. Men parted from his path, pulling their
wives and dates out of his way. Not that she could blame them. Any woman in that
man’s path was a target—whether for sex or violence, Sloane wasn’t sure, but it
was definitely one of the two. Maybe both.
The bimbo trio giggled at something her client said, and she felt his chest puff
up. At sixty-three, Edward Henning was turning to flab, spending too much time at a
boardroom table and not enough in a gym. Then again, if he’d been in better shape,
maybe he wouldn’t have needed to hire her to watch his back. Out-of-shape flab
with deep pockets was her job security. And Sloane loved her job—loved the