Name: Rachael Dahl
Twitter Handle: @DahlRachael
Title: THE WRONG SIDE
Genre: New Adult Thriller
Word Count: 88K
My Main Character's Most Fearsome Obsession is:
My main character can't breathe if she doesn't have a guy in her life. It doesn't matter whether he only wants to be friends with benefits or is in for the long haul. If she's in between guys, she'll do anything, a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, to snag someone who's willing to hook up with her. Her only condition is that the guy has to be at least fifteen years her senior.
Twenty-one year old Marlena Lombard has sixteen days to develop a relationship with her absentee father, become a devout follower of Muhammad, and oh yeah, stop a terrorist attack.
When the FBI faces a shortage of female agents who can pass as young Muslim women for an important operation, Special Agent Lombard recruits the daughter he hasn’t seen in years. Desperate to finally have a relationship with her father, Marlena agrees.
The mission is simple. All she has to do is infiltrate a group of Muslim students at a university in Wisconsin. The hidden wire she’s wearing will do the rest. But once she dons the abaya and hijab, Marlena quickly learns she’s in over her head. She’ll have to choose whether she should bail before she’s caught and killed or go deeper to save thousands of innocent lives.
Some things in life are more important than breathing and hooking up with Randy tonight is one of them.
“One drink,” I lean further over the caddy of fruit slices. The smell of limes and maraschino cherries diminishes the smell of the light beer that most of the customers drink here at The Burger Joint. I pretend to study the fruit, but I’m checking out the way I look. My V-neck shirt gapes open wide enough for Randy to see the lace edging of my red bra. The one I put on this morning, specifically for him. I look at him, innocently. “C’mon, I’m offering you a free drink. One you don’t have to make.”
Randy glances at my cleavage before grabbing a rag to wipe away the wet drink circles dotting the black, granite bar. He continues down to a completely dry spot, but he’s watching me. It’s the way his chest stops moving. No breathing in or out. The wrinkles around the corners of his mouth turn upward as he smiles briefly. Got ‘em.
“Marlena!” The hostess, Jackie, yells from the entryway of the bar, trying to get my attention over the noise of the background music and the talking customers.
I have three seconds to seal the deal, before she ruins it. “How about it?”
Before Randy answers, Jackie, the nosy-wanna-be actor who will never make it, yells, “One top. Table twenty-three. Looks rich, maybe you can weasel enough of a tip out him so you can pay me rent.”