BLURB

       A city in danger. Thousands will die. What would you sacrifice to save them?

      Fatal Flaw CoverOperative Mark Talbert's father is murdered, the agency he works for has him hunting terrorists, and the only connection is the father of Julie Evans, the woman he loves.

      Julie's father has placed her in the hands of a terrorist determined to unleash horror on an unprepared city. She needs someone she can depend on, but can she trust the man she loves?

      People are dying; people who seem to have nothing in common, until Mark discovers his father's involvement in a decades-old crime. A killer is taking a calculated revenge that threatens Mark, Julie, and Julie's son.

      Meanwhile the terrorists are making their final move.

      ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

      Writing might be a solitary job, and the internet a valuable research tool, but when it comes to sourcing obscure information that a writer needs for authentic plot details, nothing beats talking with people who work in those areas.

      So my thanks go to pharmacist Debbie Sunners for information on prescription drug use and abuse; Station Officer Queensland Fire and Rescue Service Bundaberg Andrew McCracken for house fire details; Neil Eccles for mechanical advice (my friends will start worrying about driving with me soon); Chris Spearman for help with Asian details; Terry Byrne for the pitfalls of property development and dealing with the EPA; Dr Stephanie Shaw-Binns for medical details (I'm glad my characters can't come alive and pay me back for all the damage I inflict on them). Any inaccuracies are mine, not theirs.

      My wonderful writing friends, Diane Esmond, David Russell, Cherie Curtis and Kris Sheather, deserve my heartfelt thanks for reading the manuscript and giving me their honest and insightful opinions. Diane also came up with the brilliant cover concept that Daryl Lindquist has brought to life so well.

      Rob, my darling husband, you show great patience with a wife whose fingers are so often glued to a keyboard. I know you are not a book reader, but I love it that you make the effort to read mine (though I'm sure you only do so for the action and the sexy bits ;-)).

      Very big thanks go to Lindy Cameron, the brains and energy behind Clan Destine Press, for her miracle of getting this book from first read of the manuscript to the bookstore shelves in only thirteen weeks, and to editor Liz Filleul for picking up the mistakes that authors make because they're too close to the story.

      To my readers, thank you for your support. It's wonderful to get your feedback and to know you've enjoyed reading my characters and their stories as much as I've enjoyed creating them. Without you, my flame of enthusiasm for storytelling would not blaze as brightly.

      PROLOGUE

      'You should be more careful. Your back door was unlocked.'

      The voice from the hallway startled Gordon Talbert from his doze. His head jerked up, and he almost cried out with the pain that shot through his neck.

      A shadow emerged from the dimness into the living room.

      'Who the hell…' Gordon's voice choked off as he saw what the figure was holding. Toby, his 18-month-old grandson, eyelids slightly open, rosebud lips sucking gently on dreams, oblivious to the arm around his ribcage and the tip of a thin knife pressed against his soft neck.

      Gordon's mouth worked, but no sound emerged. He pulled himself out of the lounge chair, knees trembling, and steadied himself before taking a step forward.

      'Don't come any closer, I might get scared and do something you'll regret.' The mild, almost mocking voice gave lie to the menace in the words.

      Gordon stopped, his mind trying to make sense of the situation, but failing. 'Who are you?' he finally asked. 'What are you doing here? What are you doing with my grandson?'

      The figure smiled, teeth white in the muted light from the living-room floor lamp. 'To quote an old movie, I'm your worst nightmare.'

      'I don't even know you!' Gordon protested.

      'You did once. Forty-one years ago. You watched as my life was ruined. You stood back and watched my pain, my humiliation.'

      Gordon felt the blood drain from his face as he fought against the memory the words evoked. 'No! No. You're not… You…'

      'Oh, I've changed. Quite a lot, as you can see.' The top lip curled in self-deprecation. 'But I never forgot.'

      'I was only fifteen,' Gordon protested, but the guilt, once always so close to the surface but pushed aside for many years, flooded through him again.

      'And I was only thirteen. Thirteen, Gordon. Imagine your child at thirteen, going through what I went through.'

      'But I didn't hurt you.'

      'You did nothing to stop me being hurt. A wise man once said that bad things happen when good men do nothing.' A sneer complemented the sarcasm in the tone, and Gordon flinched as his own campaign speech was flung at him. 'You did nothing, Gordon Talbert,' the voice continued, 'and my life was never the same again.'

      'I tried to see you, the next day, to tell you how sorry I was, to see if I could help…'

      'Too little, too late.' The hand holding the knife moved slightly, and the child flinched as the blade tip pressed into his skin. 'But to show you more mercy than you showed me, I decided to choose you second.'

      'Second?' Terror ate into Gordon as Toby's eyelids fluttered open and he began to squirm against the arm securing him. He was a sturdy toddler, but he was firmly pinioned, and the knife's narrow blade didn't ease from its position.

      'I've already dealt with Ethan. He was just as big a coward as he was forty-one years ago. He blubbered, Gordon. Blubbered like a baby and begged me to let him go.'

      Bile rose in Gordon's throat. He wanted to rush forward, snatch Toby from the imprisoning arms and shield him from the hatred quivering through his captor. He took a step closer.

      The knife bit a little deeper.

      Toby wailed in pain.

      'Don't! Please!' Gordon held up his hands and moved back. 'I'll do whatever you want. Just don't harm the child. He's innocent.'

      The knife moved slightly away, but the toddler continued to cry, his sobs rising and falling with each breath. Tears rolled down his plump cheeks and onto his abductor's hand.

      'Get the key to your gun safe,' the figure ordered.

      'What?'

      'Your gun safe. Open it.'

      Gordon walked into the kitchen. His hands trembled as he opened a high corner cupboard, reached in and took a keyring from a hook. His mind whirled, searching for some way to gain Toby's safety. Kitchen knives. In the block. No, he wouldn't be quick enough. The knife against Toby's throat could slice through before he could even draw the blade from the timber. He walked into the laundry, his grotesque entourage stopping just inside the doorway while he opened the laundry cupboard and unlocked a metal safe attached to the wall. His gun case lay inside.

      'Take out the gun.'

      He unlatched the lid. The gun was heavy and cold in his hand.

      'Load it. There's a bullet on the washing machine.'

      Gordon glanced around. The bullet sat like a miniature monument. This was no random attack. This had been planned, planned to the last detail. His terror swelled until he thought it would choke him.

      Toby's chubby arms beat ineffectively, his legs kicking back against his captor. The