Free Download
Long before revolution will tear Vistaria apart,
Nicolas Escobedo discovers the first hint
of the Insurrectos’ existence.
Arctic Ambush is a prequel origins novelette setting up the events in the Vistaria Has Fallen series:
Sign up for Tracy’s newsletter and get your copy of Arctic Ambush, part of the Vistaria Has Fallen romantic suspense series reviewers are calling “original”, “compelling” and “a rollercoaster ride.”
Arctic Ambush is not available for sale at any retail outlet.
See the download link at the end of this book, once you have enjoyed Vistaria Has Fallen!
Table of Contents
Free Download
About Hostage Crisis
Praise for the Vistaria Has Fallen series
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Free Download
Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!
The next book in the Vistaria Has Fallen series.
About the Author
Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey
Copyright Information
About Hostage Crisis
Hostages of the Insurrectos, both with secrets to keep.
For weeks, Olivia has been held against her will, along with other UN diplomats held captive on Vistaria by the psychotic Captain Ibarra. She desperately hides her identity and nationality to survive.
Daniel, an English businessman with secrets of his own, is caught in the same net. He defies the guards any way he can until forced to use Olivia’s window one night.
They have nothing in common but a will to live, which sparks a conflagration that threatens every hostage on Vistaria, and their own hearts, too…
Get your copy now of the third book in the Vistaria Has Fallen romantic suspense series reviewers are calling “original”, “compelling” and “a rollercoaster ride.”
1.0: Vistaria Has Fallen
2.0: Prisoner of War
3.0: Hostage Crisis
4.0: Freedom Fighters
5.0: Casualties of War
6.0: V-Day
[Reader Note: This series was previously published as erotic romance titles in the Vistaria Affair series. This new edition has been re-written for a general audience and re-titled.]
Praise for the Vistaria Has Fallen series
Am looking forward to seeing what happens in future installments.
I look forward to reading more of this series in the future. I want to know what happens now.
Another brilliant series begins.
Cooper-Posey has packed in love, action, mystery, and intrigue, all in this novel. I can’t wait to read the next installment!
Other brilliant read from Tracy that captivates you from the very beginning as we look at the potential of a rebel uprising in a fictitious Latin American country.
Passion, action, horror, tragedy and adventure are all beautifully and masterfully woven by Tracy to provide maximum reading entertainment.
The characters are fantastic and the story line, well let's just say it is very new and fresh. Lots of intrigue, excitement, mystery, and, of course, some romance as well.
Truthfully I cannot wait for the next book in the series to find out what is happening in Vistaria.
Chapter One
Olivia was not a heavy sleeper and the tension of the last four weeks had left her even less inclined to slumber. So at two a.m., when the window of her hotel room softly rattled and lifted, she woke instantly.
Her heart hammered as she watched from under her half-lowered eyelids the double-hung window slide upward.
She reasoned it out. It wasn’t possible for anyone other than a guest of the Royal White Sands hotel to be inside the compound after curfew—not with all the armed guards circling the grounds. That meant whoever was outside her window had to be one of the other guests. They were being stealthy because they didn’t want the guards to know they were there. Ibarra, the officer who controlled the Insurrectos running the White Sands had made it clear they would punish a guest for breaking curfew. This person was clearly doing that.
As the Insurrectos had not charmed their way into Olivia’s heart over the last few weeks, she wasn’t in a hurry to turn the guest over to Ibarra by squealing about breaking and entering. Instead, she sat up, bringing the blanket with her, and waited.
The window lifted enough to admit a full-grown human. A body slithered through. A naked body. Olivia caught her breath, containing her shock with well-trained discipline.
He stood and looked at her. His eyes were hidden by shadows cast by the window frame and the bright light from the floodlights the Insurrectos ran all night.
She recognized him as the British man who had arrived in the same group as she had, six weeks before. He was a fine specimen, too. Possibly early to mid-thirties, which made him a little younger than her, or maybe her age and just not showing it.
Physically, he was strong and fit. There was plenty of muscle. Not gym rat excessive, yet enough to show he worked out. He was lean and lightly tanned, which was unusual for an English businessman. Hard, lean hips and strong thighs. As he turned to listen for a moment, to check if his entry into her room had been observed, she saw his backside outlined in the light and mentally sighed. High and firm, with tight cheeks.
She wasn’t sure what his name was. They had never spoken to each other.
He lifted a long finger to his lips for silence, then padded to her bathroom. He didn’t switch on the light. Moving with confidence, he picked up a glass, poured a small amount of water into it and brought it back to her bedside. He bent over, lifted the sheets, blanket and the box spring cover, then carefully poured a teaspoonful of water over a small black lead. He placed the glass under the mattress and lowered the head of the lead into the glass so it was submerged. He dropped the covers back over it again and straightened.
“In the morning, before you leave your room,” he said, “don’t forget to put the glass back in the bathroom and bend the microphone back up the way it was. The Insurrectos are unimaginative, although they’re bloody good at following routine. They check the microphones every day when you leave your room.” He paused. “You did know they were bugging you, didn’t you?”
“I thought they might be.” She bit her lip.
“You destroyed all your identity papers, anything they might use to nut out who you are?” He didn’t seem at all concerned about being naked. He might as well have been fully clothed.
“As soon as they confined us to the hotel,” she confirmed. “We all did.” She cleared her throat. “You are going to explain why you broke into my room, aren’t you?”
He glanced at the open window. “Sorry about that.” He went to the window, slid the pane back down and clipped the window shut. The rounded caps of his shoulders gleamed in the light as he moved. “I was next door with…a friend.”
“I see,” Olivia replied. The room next door was occupied by the pretty brunette girl Olivia thought was called Theresa. Theresa had travelled with the main party as a diplomatic aide to one of the UN representatives, as she spoke fluent Spanish. This man would have gravitated to her because she was young and buxom.
“The Insurrectos called on her for questioning, so I had to leave in a hurry,” the man added.
Olivia barely held back her little moan. Since the Insurrectos had shut down the hotel and refused to let the diplomatic party leave, unscheduled middle-of-the-night interviews had become frequent. She had suffered through one herself. “Why do they do that?”
“Because in the small hours of the night, your resistance is weakest and your mind is sluggish. It’s the best time to question a subject.” He seemed indifferent.
Olivia was appalled. “I knew that. I mean, I do know that, only I never applied it to us here. We’re hostages, aren’t we?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Yes, we are,” he agreed. “You’ve only just figured that out?”
She smoothed the blanket about her knees compulsively. “I think I’ve known all along. I just didn’t want to deal with it. It’s so extreme. So bizarre. No one has ever used the word aloud to make it real.”
He pointed out the window. “The guns and soldiers make it real enough. Try strolling out of the compound. A hundred seven-six-two millimeter bullets from those HK21 machine guns ripping out your stomach will feel very real.”
She wrapped her arms around her knees, to keep her hands still. “Will she be all right, your friend?”
He nodded. “Serrano is paranoid, but he’s not stupid. He knows better than to harm diplomats.”
Olivia gave a hollow laugh. “If he isn’t stupid, then he wouldn’t have taken us hostage in the first place. I won’t rely on your assurance, thank you, Mr.—?”
“Daniel.” He sat on the bed, still completely at ease despite his lack of clothing.
It bothered Olivia that he was unmoved by her presence, when she could barely take her eyes away from his chest and shoulders, from his abdomen, hips…pelvis…the thigh resting so casually across her counterpane. “So now what, Daniel?”
“I’ll have to stay here until morning. Then I’ll go next door to retrieve my clothes and bother you no longer.”
“Stay? Stay where?”
He patted the bed.
“Like hell!”
“You don’t have a sofa.”
“I have a floor.”
“I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” he promised.
That irked her more than she cared to admit, even to herself. She pushed aside the covers and stalked to the bathroom, with no clear idea why she was heading there, except that she’d figure it out once she was there. She just had to get away from him for a moment so she could draw breath and regulate her thoughts.
She was only halfway across the floor when she heard him draw a sharp breath. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
She whirled. “What?” she demanded, the ragged ends of her temper simmering.
He was sitting up, his back straight, staring at her.
Abruptly, she was aware of what she was wearing. Or rather, what she wasn’t wearing.
As a member of the diplomatic corps she wore trouser suits. True, in this climate, they were lightweight and the tops she wore under the jackets were the lightest she could get away with. As a diplomat, a suit was de rigueur. It was all she had packed for day wear and therefore all Daniel had seen her wear around the hotel. In truth, it was all she comfortable wearing, these days. It was the role she was used to.
In bed, though, she let her hair down. She pulled down the French twist and slipped into the blue and short silk and lace halter-top negligee. It dipped down at the back to just below her waist, leaving her skin either bare and cool, or just kissed by the featherweight touch of luxury silk. The lace was the same color as her hair, a blonde that her ex had once called “mocha foam.” He had tried to make it sound derisive, as he preferred platinum blondes, preferably with an IQ in the mid-double digits. At least, that was who he ended up with.
It was after the platinum blonde had stolen Olivia’s husband, faith in men, loyalty, inheritance and self-pride all in one day that Olivia had started this little routine of dressing for herself at night. Screw everyone else, especially men. She had chosen the most luxurious fabric that felt the nicest against her skin and picked a garment in a color she liked, in a style she wanted to wear, that made her feel pretty, happy and good.
It hadn’t taken long for her to extend that contented happiness over to other areas in her life. She’d just taken it underground, away from prying public eyes.
Now this Daniel was sitting up and looking at her in her blue silk negligee. A deep sense of awkward awareness settled into her bones, such as she had not felt since she was a teenager. “What?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.
“You have the most stunning legs,” he declared, his voice mellow and smooth. “You could win beauty pageants with those legs. They go on for miles and miles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen legs quite so amazing as yours before.”
It took a breath and several heartbeats for Olivia’s mind to catch up with what he had said. Her legs. He was admiring her legs. It wasn’t just the last thing she had expected him to say, it hadn’t even been on the list. Winded and at a loss for a response, she turned and walked into the bathroom. She hated that she had lost all sense of grace and dignity. She was horribly aware of her legs, her hips and her ass as she moved. She shut the door with deep relief and sank down onto the closed toilet lid, her head in her hands.
“Good grief, get a grip, Olivia!” she murmured to herself, squeezing her temples. “You’re supposed to be a diplomat! You’re supposed to be able to handle any situation!”
She rested her hand against the beautiful, multi-colored tiles that covered the counter. They were cold under her fingers, telling her just how flushed she was. She drew a breath. Another one, controlling each inhale and drawing them deep down into her stomach and exhaling carefully. It calmed her a little, enough to let her feel her heart thundering inside her ribs.
Now she was calmer, she realized ruefully exactly why she had flounced into the bathroom like a high school princess with her mad on.
This Daniel, this prime specimen of a naked male, had not been a tiny bit disturbed by her presence. She hadn’t even registered on his radar. Theresa, next door, the twenty-something with the large breasts and giggle and flawless skin of the very young…Theresa, he noticed.
Just not Olivia. Even when Olivia had slid out of the bed, what he had focused on was her legs.
Olivia looked down at her bare knees, glowing ghostly pale in the light filtering through the small window high above her. She should be grateful he had registered that much, only gratitude seemed too much to ask for. In the last few weeks she’d had guns pointed at her, she’d been dragged out of her bed and questioned through the night. She had been a prisoner of the pseudo-government of Vistaria—the Insurrectos—who she would right now take delight in making sure were never formally acknowledged as the rightful leaders of what used to be one of the most delightful countries in North America.
Enough was enough. She was Olivia Davenport, a force to be reckoned with in diplomatic circles. On her good days, anyway.
Olivia stood up, straightened her shoulders and marched back into the bedroom.
Daniel was still sitting on the bed where she had left him. She was surprised at that. He’d struck her as the sort of man to climb into the bed she’d left empty, helping himself to the pillows and leaving her to find a space next to him when she emerged. That he had not made her stride falter. She approached the bed, slowing.
“I suppose, under the circumstances, I cannot kick you out,” she conceded.
“I’ll sleep on the floor if it makes you that uncomfortable.”
“No,” she replied. “It’s a big enough bed. That would just make me feel guilty.”
His teeth showed white for a moment as he smiled. “Conscience before morals. How interesting.” He lifted a hand toward the pillows. “After you.”
“It’s nothing to do with either,” she said as she slid under the covers. “I don’t want to have to deal with fallout over your presence in the morning.” She propped her head onto one hand to study him.
He circled the bed an
d reached for the untouched covers on the other side and hesitated.
“What?” she said.
His face was fully illuminated by the lights. She could see his eyes. They really were blue. The blue of a summer day. He was looking at her with a touch of dry amusement. “I don’t know your name.” He sounded apologetic.
She reached over and held out her hand. “Olivia Da—” She bit off the end of it. “Olivia,” she repeated, with a grimace.
His amusement evolved into an ironic smile as he shook her hand. “You’re a diplomat,” he confirmed.
“You’re not,” she said stiffly, taking back her hand.
“Hell, no,” he said fervently and slid under the covers. “I don’t have the patience. I got invited on this junket because I have business interests in the area. I have contacts out here and know Spanish.”
“In other words, you have money and influence.”
He paused from flattening a pillow to look at her. “That’s pretty cynical for a diplomat.”
“I’m only a junior diplomat and I’m entitled to call a spade a spade when you’re sitting in my bed naked and we’re both hostages at the disposal of the interim government of Vistaria.”
He raised a brow. “You said ‘hostage’ out loud. You’ve done it now.”
She lifted her shoulder. “Oops.”
He settled back on the pillows. Already, she could feel the heat emanating from his side of the bed.
“May I ask a question or two before you start to snore, Daniel?”
“I never sleep soundly enough with another person in the bed to snore.” He rolled his head to look at her and his brow lifted. “Ask.”
“You break the curfew a lot, don’t you?”
His answer was a long time coming. “I usually manage to keep my clothes with me while I’m doing it. But yes, I do.”
Hostage Crisis Page 1