Winning
Glory
GenTech
Rebellion, Book 1
Ann
Gimpel
Dream
Shadow Press
60K
words
Release
Date: 4/21/15
Genre:
Military Romantic Suspense
The
line between hunter and hunted thins, blurs, and finally shatters.
Series
Backstory:
Sometime
between the interminable wars in the Middle East and 9/11, the United
States moved forward breeding a race of super humans. Clandestine
labs formed, armed with eager scientists who’d always yearned to
manipulate human DNA. At first the clones looked promising, growing
to fighting size in as little as a dozen years, but V1 had design
flaws.
Seven
years ago, a rogue group turned on their creators, blew up the lab,
and hit all the other breeding farms, freeing whomever they could
find. In the intervening time, they’ve retreated to hidden
compounds and created a society run by men. Women are kept on a tight
leash because the men fear if they discover their innate power,
they’d launch their own rebellion.
Book
Description:
Being
a genetically altered human without a name grew old, so Glory named
herself. Surrounded by a maze of unpleasant alternatives, she makes a
bold choice and ends up a fugitive in the midst of a Minnesota
winter. Once she’s on the run, she discovers how unprepared she is
for life outside her protected compound.
CIA
agent, Roy Kincaid, devoted his career to hunting super humans who
staged a rebellion seven years before. He’s not making much
headway, so he goes deep undercover. One blustery night, a striking
woman staggers into the café where he’s catching a late meal. Part
waif, part runway model, the half-frozen woman arrows straight into
his heart.
Glory’s
flat out of alternatives, but death in the storm might be preferable
to telling the tall stranger looming over her anything. Sensing Roy
is dangerous, she pushes into his head seeking clues and discovers he
hunts those like her. Maybe she can fool him, just for tonight. Get a
hot meal and dry motel room out of the deal. If she’s lucky, he’ll
never find out she’s on the run from the same group he’s targeted
for death.
The
thing she didn’t count on was falling in love.
Excerpt:
…“Dessert,
hon?” The waitress sidled back over to him, and Roy realized he was
her only customer.
“Sure.
What do you have?”
She
rattled off a series of pies and cakes. He chose apple pie with a
scoop of ice cream, and she left with his dinner plate. Roy slumped
against the chair. He had to keep going. No choice. Not really. A
good night’s sleep, coupled with the first adequate meal he’d had
in a couple days might make a big difference in his attitude. At
least he hoped they would.
He’d
just begun on the pie, which had a surprisingly flaky crust, when a
rush of cold air yanked his attention toward the door. A tall woman
walked in. Long, dark hair caked with snow swirled around her, and
she held her body tightly as if she were really cold. Roy glanced at
her feet and was shocked to see a pair of tennis shoes with holes in
them. Good God, had she been outside with such inadequate footwear?
Didn’t she understand she could freeze to death? Even his stout
boots didn’t do much to divert the cold.
Keeping
her gaze downcast, she made her way to the counter and sat.
“Coffee,
hon?” The waitress asked.
“How
much is it?” the woman inquired.
“Two
bucks.”
“Oh.”
The woman’s shoulders drooped, and she swiveled the stool around,
getting ready to go back out into the storm.
“No,
you don’t.” The waitress’s voice sharpened. “I’ll stand you
a coffee. You look about done in.”
The
woman’s even features melted into what looked like relief before
she turned back to face the counter. “Thank you. That’s really
kind and I appreciate it. My wallet was stolen, and—”
“Never
you mind.” The waitress patted the woman’s shoulder. “Bet
you’re hungry too.” She poured hot coffee into a mug and handed
it to the woman, who drew the steaming liquid to her lips.
“Maybe
a little,” the woman ventured. She clasped the cup with fingers
white from cold.
By
now, Roy knew he was staring, but he couldn’t make himself turn
away. There was something waiflike and alluring about the tall woman
with long, black hair. Snow dripped off her, creating puddles around
her stool. All she wore against the winter weather was a thick, gray
sweater and worn jeans. No scarf. No gloves. No hat. He was close to
certain her wallet hadn’t been stolen. She looked more like an
abuse victim on the run to him. Maybe he could help her get to her
intended destination, if it wasn’t too far out of his way.
He
pushed his chair back and made his way to the counter. “Say—”
he began, but she started and drew away as if she expected him to hit
her.
I
was right. Abuse victim for sure.
“I’m
not going to hurt you.” He kept his voice low, soothing. “Order
whatever you want, and I’ll pay for it.”
She
kept her gaze on her hands clutching the coffee cup. “I can’t let
you do that, sir. I’m all right. Truly I am.”
Without
waiting for an invitation, he took the stool next to hers and called
to the waitress. “Bring her the same meal I just had.”
“You
got it, hon,” rang from the direction of the kitchen.
“You
are not all right,” Roy said. “You’re thin as a rail, and you
were shivering when you came in here. In fact, you still are. I’ll
bet your shoes are wet clear through.” When she didn’t respond,
he ploughed on. “Let me help you.”
She
shook her head. “Don’t want your kind of help. It always comes
with strings.”
“Mine
doesn’t.”
He
pushed a little with his enhanced mental ability to get her to look
at him. If she did, maybe she’d see truth in his eyes. A shudder
ran down her thin frame, but she dragged her gaze upward reluctantly.
Roy felt bad for forcing her, but he didn’t have time to soothe her
wounded places, which he suspected ran deep.
Eyes
a shade of green he’d never seen inspected him. Long, thick lashes
framed those eyes, and they were set in a face with high cheekbones,
a high forehead, and black eyebrows winging a track over porcelain
skin.
“Who
are you?” The words tore from him. He hadn’t meant to say them.
She was nervous as a feral cat as it was.
She
shook her head sadly. “No one. I’m no one. You’ll forget all
about me when you leave here.”
Something
shifted in his mind, but he fought it. Before he could determine if
something real had just happened or if he were imagining things, the
waitress showed up with the woman’s dinner.
“Here
you go, hon. Hope medium’s okay for that steak?”
“Fine,
thank you.” Before the words were out, the woman picked up the fork
and knife and shoveled food into her mouth.
Roy
congratulated himself on a good call. Even though she’d been
reluctant to admit it, she really was starving. He had no idea what
she’d do tomorrow or the next day, but it wasn’t his problem.
While she ate, he observed her from the corner of his eyes. In
addition to being hungry and underdressed, she looked young. Maybe
twenty. He’d be surprised if she were much more than that.
He
shook a mental finger at himself. The country was full of abused
women running from the men who used them as punching bags before they
raped them. It was one part of law enforcement work he’d never
understood: why the women kept going back for more.
“There
are safe houses for girls like you,” he said, and could’ve kicked
himself. What the hell was wrong with his mouth tonight? He couldn’t
seem to keep words on the other side of it.
She
stopped chewing long enough to glance at him. “What’s a safe
house?”
“A
place where women like you can go so whoever’s after you can’t
get to you.”
“What
makes you think someone’s after me?” Color splotched across her
white cheeks.
Roy
took a deep breath. “I was a cop for a long time.”
Her
entire body tightened, and he wondered if he’d been wrong about why
she was out in the storm. “You said was.” She swiped a paper
napkin over her lips. “Are you still?”
“No.
Not anymore.”
She
took another bite, clearly thinking about what he’d said. “These
people you think are after me. Could they still find me in a safe
house?”
He
wanted to lie to her, but didn’t. “Sure. Anyone can find anybody
with the Internet and all, but the people who run the safe houses
won’t let anyone who might hurt you inside.”
She
drew her arched brows together and drank some coffee. “I’d have
to go outside sometime. Work. Earn my way.”
He
nodded. Those things were all true. He scratched his head and pushed
too-long hair out of his eyes. “Sometimes, when a man is really
persistent, there are ways of setting you up with a different
identity in a different part of the country.”
Interest
lit her features, and she cut up the last of her steak. “Where
would I go to have that happen?”
“I’m
not sure, but we could check with local agencies in the morning.”
A
blank expression washed over her face, as if someone had shut out a
light. She shot him a look she might have given yesterday’s
overripe trash. “Morning, huh? You’re just like all the rest of
them, mister. Means I’d have to spend the night with you.”
Roy
winced. He hadn’t been thinking. Of course she’d make that
connection. “No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I’d buy
you your own room for the night. You can clean up, get some sleep,
and we’ll regroup in the morning after breakfast.”
She
narrowed her eyes, and he felt himself drawn into their depths. “My
own room with a locked door?”
He
nodded solemnly, willing her to believe him. If he could just do one
decent deed, it would make up for the last two weeks of beating his
head into a brick wall. Maybe it would give him enough juice to keep
hunting for the scientists who were a bunch of Houdini fuckers.
“Mmph.”
She started on her potato, taking large bites. In between them, she
said. “I’m trying to figure out your angle. If I’ve worked my
way around to believing you won’t hurt me by the time I’m done
eating, I’ll accept your offer.”
It
was the best he was likely to get. Roy stood. “Fair enough. I’m
going to finish my pie.” It was sitting in a pool of melted ice
cream, but he didn’t mind. “If you’d care to accept my help,
just stop by my table on your way out. If you walk past, I give you
my word I won’t bother you.”
“Deal.”
She said around a mouthful of food. Swallowing, she twisted to look
at him.
It
felt as if she were staring straight through him, but Roy held his
ground even after he identified a zing of power withdrawing from his
mind. What the hell was she, anyway? When she returned to her dinner,
he retreated to his pie, thoughts racing a mile a minute. What the
fuck was he doing? If he were smart, he’d forget his offer, throw
enough money on the table to cover both meals, and run like hell for
his car.
There
was something about the woman, though, an appeal that drew him,
snared him, and wouldn’t leave him be. He ate mindlessly, not
tasting the pie. He knew the feel of freak mind control. Was that it?
Had he inadvertently stumbled onto one of them?
Impossible.
They’re never by themselves, and whatever she examined me with
didn’t feel quite right.
Plus,
she didn’t resemble the ones he’d killed before. They had dark
hair, but animal eyes. Amber, not green like hers. Of course they’d
been men, but simple genetics argued they’d all look much the same
if they came out of the same petri dishes.
Were
there other augmented humans beyond those he already knew about? The
thought fascinated and chilled him at the same time.
He
scraped his fork over the plate and realized it was empty. Slugging
back long-since-cold coffee, he dug for his wallet and extracted what
he was certain would cover dinner, laying bills on the table and
placing his empty mug atop them.
The
woman looked almost done with her meal. What would she do?
What
would he do if she walked by him and out the door? Would he be able
to keep his promise and not go after her?…
About
the Author:
Ann
Gimpel is a mountaineer at heart. Recently retired from a long career
as a psychologist, she remembers many hours at her desk where her
body may have been stuck inside four walls, but her soul was planning
yet one more trip to the backcountry. Around the turn of the last
century (that would be 2000, not 1900!), she managed to finagle
moving to the Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love with the
mountains. It was during long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing
evolved. Unlike some who see the backcountry as an excuse to drag
friends and relatives along, Ann prefers solitude. Stories always ran
around in her head on those journeys, sometimes as a hedge against
abject terror when challenging conditions made her fear for her life,
sometimes for company. Eventually, she returned from a trip and sat
down at the computer. Three months later, a five hundred page novel
emerged. Oh, it wasn’t very good, but it was a beginning. And, she
learned a lot between writing that novel and its sequel.
Around
that time, a friend of hers suggested she try her hand at short
stories. It didn’t take long before that first story found its way
into print and they’ve been accepted pretty regularly since then.
One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her tales often
have a green twist.
In
addition to writing, Ann enjoys wilderness photography. She lugs
pounds of camera equipment in her backpack to distant locales every
year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her pack weight is
camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That
someone is her husband. They’ve shared a life together for a very
long time. Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out
their family.
@AnnGimpel
(for Twitter)
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