What are some of the spiritual themes you like to write about?
One of the most common theme in my book is hope, that there is always hope, no matter the situation or what has happened or what one has done.
What other books of yours are coming out soon?
In September, the first book of the A Breed Apart series, TRINITY: Military War Dog, will release. I’m really excited about this series and had a lot fun with Trinity and Heath, her handler.
If you could spend an evening with one contemporary person (not a family member of yours), who would it be and why?
Believe it or not, I think I’d like to sit down with Sarah Palin and just pick her brain, hear her thoughts, just see what she’s like in person. Sometimes she surprises me and some people don’t like her, but I love her “take no prisoners” approach to the media, to politics, and to life.
I’d like to meet her, too. What historical person would you like to meet (besides Jesus) and why?
I think it’d be Ronald Reagan—the Great communicator. The man exuded strength, both of character and in terms of power. My husband and I admired him so much that we named one of our twins after him—Reagan.
James and I have long admired Ronald Reagan as well. How can you encourage authors who have been receiving only rejections from publishers?
Don’t let it define you—rejection, sadly, is part and parcel of the writing life. After you’re published, you still have to get that next contract, and if you aren’t getting rejections from publishers, you’re getting rejected by readers. It’s part of life. Figure out who you are as a writer and cling to what God has told you. Unless He has told you, His plan hasn’t changed with that rejection, so keep going.
Tell us about the featured book.
This time Nightshade is the mission.
Former Marine and current Nightshade team member Griffin Riddell is comfortable. So comfortable he never sees the set up that lands him in a maximum security prison, charged with murder. How will he ever prove his innocence stuck behind iron bars?
Covert operative Kazi Faron is tasked with reassembling Nightshade—the black ops team someone dissected. Breaking
out of a federal
penitentiary amid explosive confusion may turn out to be her last assignment.
What will it take to convince the fugitive that whoever set him up has also
dissected the Nightshade team? Griffin
As Kazi and
race to rescue the others and discover the traitor, love begins to awaken in
their hearts. Can a covert operative
and the felon she’s freed overcome their mutual distrust long enough to save
Nightshade? Will anything prepare them for who—or what is coming? Griffin
Interesting. Please give us the first page of the book.
“It’s sad, really.”
“The Kid” Vaughn trudged away from the thumping rotors of the helo that had
deposited them back at the Shack, his pack almost dragging the ground. “Ya
don’t realize how much a person adds until he’s gone.” Marshall
“Legend’s not gone.” Max “Frogman” Jacobs hoisted his rucksack into a better group, his mind locked on Sydney and their two sons waiting for him at home. Poor woman had to be going out of her mind with two of his Mini-Me’s running around.
“Yeah.” John “Squirt” Dighton hit the light breaker, then waited for the six-man team to clear the door. “He’s just temporarily detained.”
Lights sizzled and popped to life. Groaning bounced off the grimy windows as he hauled the door closed, locked it, then started toward the showers.
The Kid grunted. “Forty-years-to-life temporary.”
In the locker room, a depressive gloom hung over the team. They’d been on countless missions, hit just about every terrain and environment imaginable, but none had taken the toll the last couple had. And there was one reason—they were down a man.
If Max could write the playbook, they wouldn’t do another mission without the
guy. But with the man in federal prison for murdering a congressman, it’d be a
long wait. Griffin
It was quiet. Too quiet. Max looked around the Spartan room. Walls of lockers, most unused. A few benches. A giant once-white bin for dirty duds. And the team. Six men, now. All very skilled. Good men. Even the one missing. Every man here knew Legend had been set up—he didn’t murder that congressman. But nobody could prove it. The evidence was damning. Justice—injustice was more like it—came swiftly. Lambert, ever the puppeteer, couldn’t pull the right strings to get Legend off.
“I’m heading up to visit him tomorrow. Anyone game?”
“Cowboy” Neeley slumped on a bench and ran a hand over his short, dark hair.
His blue eyes probed the group. Colton
“Nah, man. I’ve got a date,” the Kid said.
Squirt beaned him with a towel. “What girl would go out with you, mate?”
The Kid snapped the terry cloth back at the former Navy SEAL. “Your sister.”
Squirt froze. His jaw went slack. Then his eyes darkened.
Laughing, Canyon “Midas” Metcalfe rose to his feet from the corner. “You just proved his point by thinking your sister would actually go out with him.”
Squirt swallowed, his face drained of color. “I introduced them at a New Year’s party.”
Midas laughed harder. “Your mistake, mate.”
Shuffling closer, Squirt pointed a finger at the Kid. “I swear, you touch her, I’ll shove a fist full of witchety grubs down your gullet.”
“Give me credit, dude.” The Kid raised his hands. “I’m a gentleman.”
Max grunted. “Right.” As he strode around the lockers to the shower well, he heard more threats and much more laughter from the Kid. Max shook his head. Would the Kid ever grow up, learn when to leave things alone?
As he tossed his oily, grimy duds on the bench, Max paused, thinking maybe he should send his report to Lambert now so he wouldn’t have to mess with it tomorrow. The mission had been simple enough, a snatch-n-grab of an Iranian doctor. It’d been nice and clean, in and out. The report wouldn’t take long. Then he could shower, bug out, and know he had the whole weekend with Syd and the boys.
Max jogged up the iron stairs, which creaked and groaned beneath his weight. Down the hall to the right. He punched in the code and entered the secure hub, the door hissing shut behind him. The most high-tech part of this dump-of-a-warehouse.
Shouts drew his attention to the blinds. He jabbed two fingers between a couple and spread them to peeked down into the main area. Squirt and the Kid raced into the bay and back the way they came. Squirt looked ready to kill. The Kid’s face revealed his fear. Max shook his head again. Man, he wanted
back. The guy seemed to bring balance
to the team. Badly needed balance. Griffin
Max powered up the computer. Hand propped on the warped wood, he waited for the system to boot.
More shouts. Loud thuds.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Would they never—?
Instinct drove Max to his knee at the sound of gunfire. He scrambled to the window. Through the slanted blinds, he peered down into the slab of cement. His brain wouldn’t assemble what he saw. Gunmen. A dozen or more. Rushing into the Shack from the parking bay. Moving swiftly, as if. . .
They know the layout.
Max darted to the door and jerked it open. He sprinted down the hall toward the stairs. As his boot hit steel, he froze. A shadow emerged. Floated into the hall.
Max jerked back. Pressed his spine against the wall.
By the showers, the Kid looked up. Max signaled to him. Then made his best and loudest Nightshade whistle, hoping it would penetrate the building, give the men warning to take cover.
The Kid threw himself back into the locker room.
Men swarmed the corner. One looked to his left, one right. His weapon slowly rose as he traced the stairs with his M16.
Oh, my goodness. Give me more. Now!! How can readers find you on the Internet?
Ronie on the web: www.roniekendig.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/rapidfirefictionTwitter: www.twitter.com/roniekendig
Thank you, Ronie. This book sounds wonderful.
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