Zapata Border Series Book 1 by Harper McDavid Genre: Romantic Suspense
Print Length: 297 pages
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing, LLC Publication Date: August 21, 2019
When engineer Avery McAndrews is offered a last-minute assignment to the rough and tumble border town of Zapata, Texas, she doesn’t think twice. Used to pushing past stereotypes, she’s sure this project will earn the long-awaited promotion.
Instead, she’s thrown in the crossfire between warring drug cartels and soon discovers that her captor, Javier Ramos, is more than just a power hungry drug lord. He’s crazy.
As lead attorney for the cartel, it’s Alejandro DeLeon’s job to manage Javier. But this time, Javier’s cruelty reaches epic proportions, and Alejandro finds himself wanting to risk everything to save Avery.
Running for their lives with Mexico’s underworld at their heels, Avery and Alejandro discover unintended and intensifying emotions, feelings neither sought and neither seem prepared to control...
Avery stepped down on the tarmac. From what she could see, Zapata was just another uninhabitable and godforsaken border town. Rattlesnake country, dusty and desolate. A gust of hot wind blew an affirming layer of grit over her freshly applied lipstick.
“Ms. McAndrews.” The copilot met her at the base of the stairs, holding her suitcase. He shot her a sympathetic smile. “We’ll return for you whenever you’re done.”
A small rush of panic pulsed through Avery. She glanced up at the corporate jet, tempted to hike right back up those stairs. “You mean you guys aren’t hanging around?”
He laughed. “Cancun, yes.” He glanced about at the forbidding terrain. “This place, afraid not. We’re based in San Antonio, though. When we get your call, it’s thirty to forty minutes, tops. The captain says you have his number. Just let us know when you’re ready to head back. We’ll be here for you.”
“Thanks.” Avery grabbed the handle of her wheeled suitcase. A black SUV with heavily tinted windows and with the Rockforth logo emblazoned on its rear bumper was parked just beyond the chain link fence. Next to it, an older man with a sizable paunch waited, his gaze focused on some point beyond her.
“Hi. I’m Avery.”
“I’m looking for someone named Derrick. Was he on the plane with you?”
“No. I’m his replacement.”
“I’m sorry, you haven’t told me your name,” she said, trying to ignore his obvious skepticism.
A second man stepped down from the SUV, extending a hand. “I’m Manuel and he’s Bruce. We’re the security team.”
“Security team? My boss didn’t say anything about that.”
“He didn’t mention security was an issue out here?” Bruce asked.
She gritted her teeth. She should have known. Eric had spent ten minutes dismissing her concerns about safety along the border, assuring her repeatedly that she had nothing to worry about. Typical. He only cared about one thing, and that was keeping Sam Rockforth happy. She didn’t blame Eric for that, though. Working on Sam’s projects came with a lot of perks. Today’s private jet had been one of many.
“No. He didn’t mention a security team. But I just found out last night that I’d have to take over for Derrick.” She hefted her bag into the back of the SUV and climbed into the back seat with her field gear in hand. She tried to stifle any misgivings she had about her so-called security team. At five-six, Avery had seen the top of Manuel’s head. And neither he nor Bruce appeared anything like the retired Navy SEALs or even night club bouncers she might imagine. But people weren’t always what they seemed to be. Being a female engineer meant she’d been the target of that enough to know.
“Facility’s about thirty miles out of town,” Bruce said as they accelerated along the road. And this is town? Avery choked back a laugh. The sameness of the highway was broken up only by the occasional run-down restaurant or abandoned gas station. Tumbleweeds seemed to be the sole evidence of plant life, and only plastic bottles, cans, and other assorted garbage punctuated the fallow expanse of dusty terrain.
She retrieved the site map from the file folder. Derrick’s projects were always such a mess. Nothing but a few random notes and receipts from bars with names that sounded suspiciously like strip clubs. With her index finger, she traced and retraced the production line. There was nothing unique about this particular tank battery. Based on the schematics, it looked just about like every other one she’d seen throughout the Gulf Coast and Rocky Mountains. The engineering was basic. Flow lines, separators, and pumps. It made no sense. Leaks and mechanical issues were hardly uncommon. Why go to the expense of sending an engineer at her pay grade when a local operations manager should be able to handle it? She chewed her lip. And why had Derrick let things spiral into a crisis mode?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the driver’s voice. “Mr. Rockforth probably would have sent more guys with us if he’d known we’d be guarding a woman.” Bruce’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. “What made ’em change their minds and send a pretty thing like you? Surely you don’t want to work in the oil field. Do you?”
It was a question Avery had had to answer many times before. Typically, it was posed with a bit more tact. She remained focused on the plant diagrams.
Bruce persisted. “Where are you from?”
“Denver,” she said with a sigh.
“Welcome to Texas.”
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s good to be back.” It was time to shut the man down. “I got my master’s at A&M. I’ve been working in the oilfield for years.”
“Well, here on the border they play by different rules than what you’re probably used to. You need to stay in the car unless we tell you otherwise.” Bruce paused to turn up the radio, which was playing an unfamiliar country song. “Manuel and I are both armed.” He drew out the syllables of the other man’s name with an exaggerated twang. “Guess it don’t matter that they sent a woman. When you’re dealing with low-life drug lords, it’s all the same. A bullet don’t show preference.”
As a child, Harper McDavid watched her mother ride the rollercoaster of writing books, swearing she'd never do it herself. But some things are just hardwired, and luckily for Harper the world has moved on beyond typewriters and ten-pound manuscripts.
Harper's gritty romantic suspense incorporates her own background in science and engineering and work experience along the border. The result is a collection of brainy hard hat-wearing heroines that occasionally swap out their coveralls for the little black dress.
Harper is the mother of three daughters and lives in the foothills of Colorado with her husband, two dogs, and a fat cat. Her free time is spent traveling the world in search of that next story and perusing her local library for funny book covers.
Why write about the border of Texas and Mexico when a romance set on the Left Bank of Paris is a much easier sell? It’s a good question. With me, the questions run even deeper. Why write a book? A romance–really? My friends have dubbed me the Reluctant Romantic.
A thousand times, I’ve thought back to those first few sentences and wondered what compelled me to write Zapata. Part of the answer is easy. I had a project there. The same task that I assigned to my protagonist, Avery. Someone was stealing my client’s oil, and one of the site employees had disappeared, reputed to have been murdered.
So why didn’t Zapata become a thriller? Maybe because a fairytale is necessary to negate the harsh effects of reality. Or perhaps love derived from hardship feels like the grand prize to me. I still don’t have a single answer. What I do know is that I’ve grown attached to the rugged landscape and its people. It’s the kind of place that gets its hooks into you and doesn’t let go.
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