Fateful Justice Book 1
by Sara Vinduska Genre: Romantic Suspense
It wasn't the first time Lash Brogan had aimed a gun at another man and pulled the trigger. It wasn't the first time he'd watched a man fall to the ground bleeding. As an actor, he'd done just that countless times. But this time it was not a scene from one of his movies. This time it was for real.
When Lash Brogan, an Irish immigrant and one of America's most popular movie stars, is kidnapped and held hostage in the mountains of Colorado, it will take all of his strength and determination as well as help from a beautiful stranger to help him escape. Justine McBride is a reclusive physical therapist trying to escape the painful memories of her family's death. After helping him recover, she falls hard for Lash without considering the ramifications of such a public relationship.
Reflections introduces you to a world where fate's not fair, but justice and true love are certain.
Look for future stories that continue to follow the lives of Lash Brogan and his friends.
Justine McBride breathed deeply, the cold mountain air awakening her senses as she gazed up at
the majestic Rocky Mountains. Her feet sunk soundlessly into the fresh snow. God, how she loved this
place, the stillness, the timeless beauty.
Some might consider her a bit of a recluse, living alone and isolated like she did. It's not that she
didn't like being around people, she just preferred solitude. After all, her few close friends were just a
phone call away and she had her work to keep her busy. That was more than enough for her.
The cold air began to seep its way under her carefully layered clothing and she reluctantly decided
to turn back.
Something moved at the edge of the forest. She blinked, to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving
her. The shape was still there. A wide shouldered man staggered from the trees. Was he injured or drunk?
She stood unmoving, her heart hammering against her chest. She knew she should turn around and
run back to the warmth and safety of her cabin, bolt all the doors, and call the police, but something kept
her rooted to the spot.
The man was coming closer. He wore only a white T-shirt and ripped khaki pants. There was still
time, she could make it back to the cabin, but she couldn’t make her legs work.
She watched as the man fell to his knees in the snow and didn’t get up. She looked around her,
there was no one else in sight and she knew she couldn’t just leave him out there to die in the snow. He
needed help. Finally able to move, she raced to the spot where his body lay. As she neared him, she
slowed and approached cautiously. At first he didn’t move, then he tried to get to his feet.
“Please . . . hhhelp me,” he managed through chattering teeth. He blinked several times as if not
sure she was really standing there in front of him.
Justine hesitated a moment, seeing the dried blood that covered the man's face and clothes. What the hell am I getting myself into? That was when she saw the gun. She started to back away.
“I promise . . . I won’t hurt you,” Lash pleaded, sensing her fear. She looked like a deer caught in
headlights, ready to bolt at any instant. Lash knew this woman was his only chance at surviving, he had to
make her believe he wouldn’t harm her. If she didn't, if she left him, he would die. And he'd been through
too much to fail now. Especially when his survival depended on charming a woman, something he was
very good at. He forced his frozen lips into what he hoped was a smile.
Justine searched the man's sky-blue eyes. You could tell so much about a person by what was in
their eyes, and she saw only pain and desperation in his. She bent down and put her arm around his waist,
helping him to his feet. “Can you walk a little further? My cabin's just over that hill," she said, nodding
towards the east.
“I . . . think . . . so.” Talking was suddenly very difficult. Lash tried to smile again. He could see
smoke rising from the chimney of the A-frame cabin. Smoke meant a fireplace, a fireplace meant warmth.
It wasn't too far, he could make it.
Justine paused, something about the man's lopsided grin stirred her memory. A fleeting image that
she couldn’t quite grasp.
He leaned heavily on her and the going was slow. She could feel the weight of his shivering body
and knew she had to get him inside soon. She risked another look at his face. One eye was black, his
cheek was cut and bruised, and his curly reddish-brown hair caked with dirt and blood. But there was
something familiar in his dark features, and that accent . . . Irish. Where had she seen him before?
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed as reality hit. Her mind reeled with images. The newspaper and
magazine headlines Lash Brogan, Award Winning Actor Abducted! Snapshots, clips of his movies raced
through her mind as she stopped in her tracks and looked at the man leaning on her shoulder.
“Tell me you’re not who I think you are.”
His eyes, clouded with pain, cleared for a moment as he focused on her face. “Depends. Who do
you think I am?”
“You’re Lash Brogan," she whispered.
“At your service.”
“Oh God,” Justine said, looking behind them, panicked now.
Lash grabbed her by the hand. “Don’t worry. The guys who did this won’t be coming.”
“What do you mean?”
She saw the truth in his eyes. He'd killed them.
“Oh God,” she said again. She put her arm around him again and hurried as fast as she could the
last hundred yards to her cabin. She took one last look behind them and saw with relief that the blowing wind had covered their tracks in the snow.
Fateful Justice Book 2
After barely surviving the death of the woman he was going to marry, Irish actor Lash Brogan has accepted his first leading role in two years.
But someone doesn’t want the movie to be made. The set is plagued by accidents and deaths. The arrival of an FBI agent with a past connection to Lash, and the appearance of an intriguing woman he would like to get to know better, further tilts his world.
Lash refuses to run from the danger or the painful reminders of his past. He will stay and see the movie through to the end. No matter what the cost to him.
Redemption continues the story of Lash Brogan and his friends. Join them in a world where fate’s not fair, but justice and true love are certain.
The man was dressed in all black from head to toe, including the Steyr he held in his right hand, aimed at the man across the room from him. “I told you I would come back for you, and I always keep my promises.”
The other man did not show fear. It had been three years.
He’d thought he was safe, and now he had no where to run. He was caught. “I’ll pay you,” he said with a smirk, though he knew the words would make no difference to the man with the gun.
The man in black laughed, but the gun didn’t waver. “You should know better than that, this isn’t about money.”
The other man shrugged. “Can’t blame me for trying. You’ve done well for yourself, I hear.”
“You could have too, if you hadn’t betrayed me.”
It was pointless to argue. He’d known this day would come, so he looked his assassin in the eye as the trigger was pulled. A look of pain flashed in his eyes, then he clutched his chest, blood spurting through his fingers, as he pitched face first onto the ground.
“And cut!” A voice yelled from across the room.
“That was perfect,” Guy Sorenson said. “The blood looked great and Eric, that was one of the best death scenes I’ve ever seen.”
Eric Sutton didn’t move.
“Eric, come on, you were brilliant,” Guy said, giving the actor a playful kick in the side. He bent down when he didn’t get a reaction. “Eric,” he said, shaking the actor’s shoulder, then rolling him over when he still didn’t get a response. Guy’s face paled. He looked up. “Christ, I think he’s really dead.”
The stunt coordinator raced forward, knelt, and checked for a pulse. The set medic ran towards them, dropping to his knees next to the actor’s body, starting CPR. The actors and crew still on set were frozen in disbelief, the entire room eerily silent except for the exertions of the two men trying to save a life.
The stunt coordinator sat back on his heels, his hands covered in blood, and shook his head. “He’s gone.”
Corey Fulcher, the man in black, turned white and the gun fell from his hand. The sound of the gun hitting the floor echoed through the now silent set. “No, that’s impossible. We did it just like in rehearsal.” His voice had lost the strong arrogance of the character he’d been portraying and sounded weak and pathetic even to him.
One of the security guards came forward and led Corey back a step, kicking the gun aside.
“I’m going to be sick,” Corey muttered. He stumbled forward, found a trashcan. When he was finished, Guy handed him a towel.
“Nobody moves until the cops get here,” the guard shouted, trying to sound authoritative, but betrayed by his shaking voice.
Corey swallowed hard and sat down shakily in a chair. “I didn’t kill him, I didn’t, didn’t mean to, the gun wasn’t . . . it wasn’t even real. Guy,” he pleaded, “I don’t understand.”
Guy placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just relax, everything’s going to be okay.” Of course that was a lie neither believed.
Twenty minutes later, producer Robert Colt watched as the cops interviewed his leading man, who was pale, shaking, and sobbing openly now. It took three more hours for the cops to interview all the prop guys and report back to him. He imagined them lined up in a row, being called one by one.
It seemed like they had done everything right. There would be no easy answer to this one. Especially for the press camped outside. How could he spin this to his advantage? There had to be a way. He fought a growing sense of dread. And he knew that it would take a miracle to save his film now, but he would find one.
One way or the other.
Originally from Kansas,Sara Vinduska is a romantic suspense author and aspiring farmer in North Idaho. Her other passions include yoga, soap making, good red wine, and K-State football.