Title: THE EMERALD EYE
Genre: Adult Mystery
Word Count: 76,000
My Main Character’s Most Fearsome Obstacle:
Colt Ryder was named after the gun and makes her living as a hired one. Sporting a pistol in her bra-holster, she’s not afraid of the bad guys. She’s more concerned with outpacing the guys she works with: both at Daddy’s security firm and back home on the ranch with her brother Win. She doesn’t want anyone, from ranch hand to body man, to see her as chicken. She isn’t. Or to think that she might need them. She doesn’t. Self-reliant Colt would do anything not to ask for help—especially from a man.
Named after the gun, Colt Ryder makes her living as a hired one. In 2011, the Texan crosses the pond to protect the Queen of England on her historic visit to Ireland. Colt’s sweep of Dublin Castle yields a letter promising a long-lost treasure—and the hunt for the Irish Crown Jewels is on!
Ireland needs to stake its claim to the regalia before the British monarch arrives and asserts hers, leaving Colt one week to track a century-cold trail. And she’s not the only dog in the hunt. The Irish Republican Army, rogue British spies, and the Knights of St. Patrick target Colt as a means to the gems. Someone threatens Her Majesty, too, reining Colt back to her primary mission, as a bomb ticks down to a deadly royal welcome…
Colt reckons the castle archivist might be the last man she should trust. Dec O’Brian boasts a stockpile of secrets, a girl in every pub, and a lass in every library. But Colt needs him for his expertise and has no time to question his loyalties—in love or in politics. They suss out clues hidden everywhere from the Book of Kells to Ireland’s favorite painting. Southern heat meets Celtic cool, and Colt lets down her guard.
Promising the key unlocking the treasure, Dec escorts her into a crypt and…Bam! The door slams shut, the tomb floods, and Dec has vanished like a ghost.
Colt is in far too deep. And the whole thing is about to blow up.
Colt Rose Ryder was fixin’ to lose an eye.
And the fascinator she wore was not going to help. Although the contents of her Flashbang bra-holster just might.
While the rest of the security personnel disappeared beneath the shade of English Field Maples, Colt stood out as bright as a bluebonnet. She didn’t usually sport headgear shaped like a flying saucer, but at least her ridiculous half-hat came equipped with a camera, mic, and receiver. She should ask Win to upgrade her Stetson.
As a redhead in bleached-blond Texas, Colt was used to standing out. She just had a hard time standing still.
She’d been admitted to Westminster Abbey, not as a guest for the Royal Wedding, but as protection against potential threats. They hadn’t brought 25-foot-tall trees indoors for show. Those sturdy maples could be knocked down into horizontal beam barriers, if necessary.
She ground the heels of her boots into the chessboard tile and scanned the guests. Maybe one day, she’d walk down the aisle rather than sweeping the perimeter. For now, she was wed to the job. Always a bodyguard, never a bride.
Colt didn’t have to look up to know that she was also being watched. Like her brother was going to let her out of his sight. Win remotely piloted the EyeBallTM flying overhead. Daddy had invented the spherical aerial surveillance camera, and Win had lovingly modified the Eye, adding facial recognition and a weapons system.
“Colt—I’ve got something!” he hollered through her earpiece.