The car explosion shook the earth beneath Lincoln Easley’s feet. “I hated that Beamer anyway,” he quipped as he took off running. A musical score played in his head—the way it always did when his ass was on the line—something punchy and suspenseful. Horns. Lots of horns.

Bullets whizzed by. He dove to the ground and yanked his last remaining gun from his shoulder holster. Ignoring the gravel and oil stains that were wrecking his new tuxedo, he flipped on his back and returned fire as he scrambled under a truck for cover. Too late, his target darted for cover too. Lincoln sucked his teeth. “Gotta be quicker than that next time.”

When he heard a muffled sob behind him, he reflexively aimed in that direction. There was a young family hiding under the SUV with him. Dad, mom and a toddler. Innocent civilians. Lincoln’s expressive face telegraphed dismay. “Just what I need,” he growled.

“Please! Don’t hurt us!”

“Shh!” Lincoln put a finger to his lips to silence the scared woman.

“You!” an officer shouted. “Check that alley! You two, come with me!”

Lincoln was a covert agent tasked with assassinating a diplomat accused of espionage. He had planned to do exactly that, until he stumbled upon a sordid tale of sex, money and power. Someone in Washington wanted his target dead for personal reasons—and politicians with hurt feelings could start wars.

Lincoln made a judgement call to fall back and wait for further intel, which angered someone high up. Now he had friends and enemies after him with a burn notice that accused him of being a terrorist. He had no clue who was behind any of it, and with the odds stacked against him, Lincoln doubted his chances of making it out of this thing alive.

He held his breath as a squad of men sprinted past the vehicle where he was hiding. They looked like police, but Lincoln wasn’t sure of anything anymore. The security guard who had chased him this far was certainly not who he had seemed to be. Besides, not even the good guys would show him mercy if they thought he was a terror suspect.

“Where’s a friend when you need one?” Lincoln gritted his teeth in frustration, knowing he could nix the thought of the intelligence community coming to his aid. He glanced at the young family hiding with him. They were a liability. He wanted to leave them, but he was torn between his training and his upbringing. What would his mother think of the man he had become?

Lincoln closed his eyes and let out a breath. He had to take them with him. A stray bullet could be deadly. He wanted no more innocent blood on his hands. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m gonna get you out of here,” he promised quietly. He beckoned for the trio to follow his lead. At that moment, the toddler whimpered.

One of the officers raced back. “Hey, I think I heard something!” he shouted.

When the portly man hunched down with his weapon unwittingly pointed at the baby, Lincoln hit him hard in the face with the butt of his gun. He quickly threw a flash-bang grenade to the middle of the street to buy them time.

Another deafening explosion filled the air with sparks and smoke, and Lincoln rolled from beneath the SUV. “Let’s go! We have to move!” He and his charges sprinted down an alley to where he had stashed his other car.

“Where are you taking us?” The young man huffed, trying to keep up with the toddler in his arms, and a look of guilt flitted over Lincoln’s face. Without even trying to, he now had hostages. I’ll look like the bad guy to the very end, he thought.

“Someplace safe,” Lincoln hedged.

He knew the script. The young man would be killed. The young woman would turn to Lincoln to keep her and her child safe. Passion would ignite in this heart-tugging, action-packed spy thriller with a hint of romance. It was exactly the kind of character he loved to play.

Suddenly, the main camera whizzed along a suspension cable for a close-up of their faces as they made it to the luxury car, and the boom stick was whisked out of the frame. Lincoln slowed his pace, knowing camera angles would make him look as if he was running much faster than he was.

“And…cut!” the director yelled.

“Finally!” Lincoln gasped.

The set came alive with activity. People on the sidelines burst into action to take care of the talent. Someone raced forward with a towel and patted Lincoln’s forehead and he grimaced at the unnecessary attention.

“Careful not to smudge his makeup!” the scriptie warned.

Lincoln shrugged away from the helping hands and wove through the crowded set to the video village where his buddy Mitch Trepan, the director, stared at the monitor. “How did I do, Mitch? Do we need another?” Christ, he hoped not.

“We’re losing light,” the camera assistant informed them. Mitch looked to the Director of Photography who nodded in agreement. Frowning, Lincoln glanced at the footage. Mitch was acting like they needed another take. Lincoln’s insecurities flared like a bad case of gout, but the director clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Nah! The guys in accounting will kill me if I squeeze in more pyrotechnics,” Mitch laughed, “and Suki will join the mob if I don’t get back to the hotel soon. That’s a wrap for today. You were fantastic, Lincoln. Nobody but you could have pulled that off.”

“Well, it was a team effort,” Lincoln replied modestly.

Mitch rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that. You’re part of the team. I see you! So much growth from the young man I met years ago. Anyway, tomorrow we film the final scene. I’m itching to start something new. Did you get a chance to read that script I sent to your trailer?”

“Oh, yeah!” Lincoln fibbed. “I loved it!” He knew he would love it when he finally got the time to read it. Lincoln’s life was a blur of filming, interviews and appearances. He barely had time to shower, much less put his feet up with a good screenplay.

“Landon Ashville delivered the perfect role for you. Make time in your schedule for a new project, if you can. I, uh…I just have one request.” The director ushered Lincoln away for privacy and gave him a piercing look that made him a little uneasy.

“Anything you need.”

“I want you to take,” said Mitch, “some additional training—a survival course—to prepare for a role of that magnitude.”

Lincoln laughed in surprise. “You want me to take a survival course?”

“Don’t sound so put out. We’re not talking our usual Mitch Trepan/Lincoln Easley production. This is a major man versus nature film. Now, you do amazing in urban settings, but it’s a lot of character to carry. You think you can handle it?”

“You make it sound like you have doubts.”

Mitch shrugged. “I know the extra training will take your innate ability to the next level.” He pulled a pamphlet from his pocket and pressed it to Lincoln’s chest, backing toward the set. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early to finish up. Vengeance with a Vengeance is going to be huge, I can just feel it. Anyway, take a look at that brochure and give it some thought.”

“Thanks, Mitch. See you tomorrow.” Lincoln pocketed the brochure and grunted noncommittally as he made his way to his trailer. He was supposed to stop at wardrobe to get out of his clothes, but he needed a breather. Unfortunately, someone called his name, and he looked back to see one of the supporting cast making a beeline for him. “What’s up, Carmen?”

“You remembered my name!” she gushed. “Most of the rest of the cast don’t. I’m just ‘that girl from TV’ to them. Um, me and a few friends are going to a local club tonight. Care to join us?”

Lincoln wrinkled his nose. “Eh, I was planning to change and head back to the hotel. I’m not one for big crowds.”

“Let’s keep it personal, then. You and me.” She arched a brow and moved closer, but Lincoln unconsciously put some distance between them. Her flirty smile turned sheepish. “Or, not. Maybe I’m not your type.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he laughed. “I don’t have a type.”

“Yeah, no! I get it. You’re sexy, talented and famous. Of course, you’re playing the field! Gosh, I’m so embarrassed that I let my friends talk me into thinking I stood a chance. It’s just that I’m getting over a break up with this jerk who turned out to be dating someone else, and…” She laughed nervously. “Just do me a favor. Don’t tell anyone I came onto you. I’d rather they not know I’ve made a fool of myself. Again.” She rolled her eyes.

“Hey! Nothing to be embarrassed about. To be honest, I’m flattered.”

Her blush faded as he made her feel at ease. “Thanks for being a good sport about this.”

“No problem. It’s been a pleasure working with you, Carmen. I hope you and your friends have a fun time tonight. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Lincoln slipped into his trailer with a sigh of relief. He did not know which was more taxing, the acting for the cameras or keeping up appearances on the other side of the lens. No one knew how hard he worked to project self-assurance. Especially when he was not feeling particularly self-assured.

People like Carmen thought he had everything—sex appeal, fame, unshakeable confidence—but Lincoln was more than aware of his shortcomings. He peered at the glossy brochure. “Survive Anything,” he muttered to himself. “The role is perfect for me, but I need extra training. Go figure. They ought to teach how to survive Hollywood.”

* * *

A few thousand miles away, Nadia Marson hunkered down with the other upmarket guests at a luxury resort. She had never been so terrified in her life. Her heart slammed in her chest at the shrieking and howling wind, and she squeezed her eyes shut and sent up a quick prayer.

Mr. Man Upstairs, I know we don’t talk much, but if I get out of this alive, I swear I’ll get help for my chocolate addiction, she promised. I’ll even give up my love affair with strappy heels!

Nadia loved the good life, but she would give up anything to make it through this storm. She had paid a fortune for a private getaway to sip piña coladas with hot, bare-chested men. The island she had chosen to visit was supposedly one of the safe ones. The travel agency had assured her that the climate was benign.

So, when the bad weather warning was issued the prior evening, Nadia had not worried. Forecasters predicted the storm would veer and the resort would avoid a direct hit. But Mother Nature had different plans and Nadia was now stuck in the middle of a category three hurricane.

“Everybody, stay calm!” a hotel staff member yelled. His expression looked as panicked as Nadia felt. Thunder boomed, and the handful of guests in the hallway let out a collective yelp. The entire hotel shuddered and heaved. Then, the power went out. The only illumination came from purple and cobalt clouds and white rain seen through the picture windows of the lobby

How can anyone stay calm in this? Nadia chanced a peek at the storm. Wind-whipped palm trees flailed helplessly as the relentless rain lashed the building. But that was not the worst of it. She squinted to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing: a wall of water rising in the distance.

“Oh, my God!” Nadia gasped.

“The storm surge! Everybody get upstairs!” someone ordered.

The ocean climbed higher as it raced toward the hotel. Others ran, but Nadia was paralyzed by fear. The giant wave crashed through the gilded doors of the lobby with a deafening boom. Gusts of wind swept her raven hair around her pale, startled face and a particularly strong one knocked her to the floor.

As hotel furniture was smashed into driftwood, Nadia scrambled away, trying to climb to her feet, but failing. Her wild eyes took in the water rushing toward her. I’m gonna die, she thought. She braced herself for impact.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and she saw everything she had come to the islands to escape: The lavish lifestyle she had left behind to take a breather in paradise, the pressures of being an heiress to a multi-billion-dollar megacorporation, not to mention the failed relationship with her ex-boyfriend.

Damn you, Jason Stratham! This was his fault. If the social-climbing playboy had not cheated on her with that vapid reality TV show star, she would be home in Texas. Nadia fled the states because her name was dragged through the mud when the tabloids discovered that Jason was two-timing her.

She was Nadia Pamela Marson, the sole heiress of wealthy oil magnate Wilson Marson, and consequently the media was having a field day taking her down several notches. Her father was grooming her to take a position within the company, an idea that held no appeal to her at all.

“Señorita! Dios mio, come quickly!” A housekeeper grabbed Nadia’s hand and yanked her from the floor. Nadia recognized her; she was the girl who patiently listened to her problems every morning while tidying up her hotel room. “You have to move, señorita! We have to go!”

“Go where? The water is everywhere!” Nadia cried.

“Just follow me!”

She clung to the woman’s hand and ran behind her. They were the last up the stairs and the ocean swiftly rising around them. The hotel groaned and complained, but, amazingly, it held. Finally, they reached the top floor where thirty or forty guests and staff members were crowded in the hall.

Nadia breathlessly moved to the banister to stare down at the angry water swirling to the second story. As quickly as it had come, it was receding. But before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she overheard a manager discussing the dire situation with a cluster of hotel employees. The whispered exchange brought up a question of whether there would be enough food. The emergency generators were out, and rescue might be several days away.

Nadia looked around to see if anyone else heard the conversation. The others looked too overcome by what they had been through to even think about what was ahead. None of them—including Nadia—looked equipped for a hard couple of days with limited food and water, along with no power.

Nadia bit back a sob and yanked her cellphone out of her oversized handbag. “Damn it!” she swore as she realized service was down. There would be no calls for a helicopter or a private plane. What pilot in his right mind would travel in a hurricane, anyway? Worst of all, she could not call her father to let him know what was happening.

I’m sorry, Dad, she thought helplessly. She knew what Wilson Marson would say to that. Don’t be sorry. Be better. There was nothing she could do to make up for leaving home without telling her family where she was going, but she could at least be of service here.

Nadia wiped her tears as she approached the young housekeeper who had forced her into action. Smiling tremulously, Nadia read her name tag, something she ruefully realized she had not done at any other point during her stay.

“Maria, you saved my life. I…I can’t thank you enough,” she sniffed. Maria’s eyes widened in surprise when Nadia impulsively pulled her into a tight hug. It felt good to lend comfort and be comforted.

Maria gently disengaged with tears in her eyes, as well, as she looked around at the shaken guests. “I am so sorry you all have to go through this, señorita,” said the housekeeper.

“Well, we’re all in this together, right?” Nadia tried to laugh.

“The storm will be over soon,” Maria assured her.

Nadia glanced at the window at the end of the hallway. Indeed, the storm seemed to be losing strength but the damage had been done. The resort town was devastated by the storm surge for as far as the eye could see. The few remaining buildings speared from the ocean. No land was in sight. Nadia choked up as understanding dawned that there were people who would not live to tell this tale.

“Do you have family members out there?” she gasped.

“Mi madre is working here at the hotel with me. It’s just the two of us.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” she breathed a sigh of relief. “I want to help. I can’t just stand around, waiting for things to get worse. What can I do?” Before Maria could turn down her offer, Nadia grabbed a stack of blankets from one of the staff members in passing.

She delivered the warm throws to guests and offered words of encouragement as someone else unlocked a vending machine and handed out snacks and sodas.

No one mentioned how long they would be forced to stay in the dank, lightless hotel or when the hotel rations would be exhausted. Nadia decided she would keep busy until her time was up or until she heard helicopter blades cutting through the air, signaling that they were saved. Whichever came first.

But if she got out, she would do whatever was necessary to never be this helpless again.