Winning
Glory
GenTech
Rebellion
Book
1
Ann
Gimpel
Dream
Shadow Press
60K
words
Release
Date: 4/21/15
Genre:
Military Romantic Suspense
The
line between hunter and hunted thins, blurs, and finally shatters.
Series
Backstory:
Sometime
between the interminable wars in the Middle East and 9/11, the United
States moved forward breeding a race of super humans. Clandestine
labs formed, armed with eager scientists who’d always yearned to
manipulate human DNA. At first the clones looked promising, growing
to fighting size in as little as a dozen years, but V1 had design
flaws.
Seven
years ago, a rogue group turned on their creators, blew up the lab,
and hit all the other breeding farms, freeing whomever they could
find. In the intervening time, they’ve retreated to hidden
compounds and created a society run by men. Women are kept on a tight
leash because the men fear if they discover their innate power,
they’d launch their own rebellion.
Book
Description:
Being
a genetically altered human without a name grew old, so Glory named
herself. Surrounded by a maze of unpleasant alternatives, she makes a
bold choice and ends up a fugitive in the midst of a Minnesota
winter. Once she’s on the run, she discovers how unprepared she is
for life outside her protected compound.
CIA
agent, Roy Kincaid, devoted his career to hunting super humans who
staged a rebellion seven years before. He’s not making much
headway, so he goes deep undercover. One blustery night, a striking
woman staggers into the café where he’s catching a late meal. Part
waif, part runway model, the half-frozen woman arrows straight into
his heart.
Glory’s
flat out of alternatives, but death in the storm might be preferable
to telling the tall stranger looming over her anything. Sensing Roy
is dangerous, she pushes into his head seeking clues and discovers he
hunts those like her. Maybe she can fool him, just for tonight. Get a
hot meal and dry motel room out of the deal. If she’s lucky, he’ll
never find out she’s on the run from the same group he’s targeted
for death.
The
thing she didn’t count on was falling in love.
Excerpt
Winning Glory:
…“Dessert,
hon?” The waitress sidled back over to him, and Roy realized he was
her only customer.
“Sure.
What do you have?”
She
rattled off a series of pies and cakes. He chose apple pie with a
scoop of ice cream, and she left with his dinner plate. Roy slumped
against the chair. He had to keep going. No choice. Not really. A
good night’s sleep, coupled with the first adequate meal he’d had
in a couple days might make a big difference in his attitude. At
least he hoped they would.
He’d
just begun on the pie, which had a surprisingly flaky crust, when a
rush of cold air yanked his attention toward the door. A tall woman
walked in. Long, dark hair caked with snow swirled around her, and
she held her body tightly as if she were really cold. Roy glanced at
her feet and was shocked to see a pair of tennis shoes with holes in
them. Good God, had she been outside with such inadequate footwear?
Didn’t she understand she could freeze to death? Even his stout
boots didn’t do much to divert the cold.
Keeping
her gaze downcast, she made her way to the counter and sat.
“Coffee,
hon?” The waitress asked.
“How
much is it?” the woman inquired.
“Two
bucks.”
“Oh.”
The woman’s shoulders drooped, and she swiveled the stool around,
getting ready to go back out into the storm.
“No,
you don’t.” The waitress’s voice sharpened. “I’ll stand you
a coffee. You look about done in.”
The
woman’s even features melted into what looked like relief before
she turned back to face the counter. “Thank you. That’s really
kind and I appreciate it. My wallet was stolen, and—”
“Never
you mind.” The waitress patted the woman’s shoulder. “Bet
you’re hungry too.” She poured hot coffee into a mug and handed
it to the woman, who drew the steaming liquid to her lips.
“Maybe
a little,” the woman ventured. She clasped the cup with fingers
white from cold.
By
now, Roy knew he was staring, but he couldn’t make himself turn
away. There was something waiflike and alluring about the tall woman
with long, black hair. Snow dripped off her, creating puddles around
her stool. All she wore against the winter weather was a thick, gray
sweater and worn jeans. No scarf. No gloves. No hat. He was close to
certain her wallet hadn’t been stolen. She looked more like an
abuse victim on the run to him. Maybe he could help her get to her
intended destination, if it wasn’t too far out of his way.
He
pushed his chair back and made his way to the counter. “Say—”
he began, but she started and drew away as if she expected him to hit
her.
I
was right. Abuse victim for sure.
“I’m
not going to hurt you.” He kept his voice low, soothing. “Order
whatever you want, and I’ll pay for it.”
She
kept her gaze on her hands clutching the coffee cup. “I can’t let
you do that, sir. I’m all right. Truly I am.”
Without
waiting for an invitation, he took the stool next to hers and called
to the waitress. “Bring her the same meal I just had.”
“You
got it, hon,” rang from the direction of the kitchen.
“You
are not all right,” Roy said. “You’re thin as a rail, and you
were shivering when you came in here. In fact, you still are. I’ll
bet your shoes are wet clear through.” When she didn’t respond,
he ploughed on. “Let me help you.”
She
shook her head. “Don’t want your kind of help. It always comes
with strings.”
“Mine
doesn’t.”
He
pushed a little with his enhanced mental ability to get her to look
at him. If she did, maybe she’d see truth in his eyes. A shudder
ran down her thin frame, but she dragged her gaze upward reluctantly.
Roy felt bad for forcing her, but he didn’t have time to soothe her
wounded places, which he suspected ran deep.
Eyes
a shade of green he’d never seen inspected him. Long, thick lashes
framed those eyes, and they were set in a face with high cheekbones,
a high forehead, and black eyebrows winging a track over porcelain
skin.
“Who
are you?” The words tore from him. He hadn’t meant to say them.
She was nervous as a feral cat as it was.
She
shook her head sadly. “No one. I’m no one. You’ll forget all
about me when you leave here.”
Something
shifted in his mind, but he fought it. Before he could determine if
something real had just happened or if he were imagining things, the
waitress showed up with the woman’s dinner.
“Here
you go, hon. Hope medium’s okay for that steak?”
“Fine,
thank you.” Before the words were out, the woman picked up the fork
and knife and shoveled food into her mouth.
Roy
congratulated himself on a good call. Even though she’d been
reluctant to admit it, she really was starving. He had no idea what
she’d do tomorrow or the next day, but it wasn’t his problem.
While she ate, he observed her from the corner of his eyes. In
addition to being hungry and underdressed, she looked young. Maybe
twenty. He’d be surprised if she were much more than that.
He
shook a mental finger at himself. The country was full of abused
women running from the men who used them as punching bags before they
raped them. It was one part of law enforcement work he’d never
understood: why the women kept going back for more.
“There
are safe houses for girls like you,” he said, and could’ve kicked
himself. What the hell was wrong with his mouth tonight? He couldn’t
seem to keep words on the other side of it.
She
stopped chewing long enough to glance at him. “What’s a safe
house?”
“A
place where women like you can go so whoever’s after you can’t
get to you.”
“What
makes you think someone’s after me?” Color splotched across her
white cheeks.
Roy
took a deep breath. “I was a cop for a long time.”
Her
entire body tightened, and he wondered if he’d been wrong about why
she was out in the storm. “You said was.” She swiped a paper
napkin over her lips. “Are you still?”
“No.
Not anymore.”
She
took another bite, clearly thinking about what he’d said. “These
people you think are after me. Could they still find me in a safe
house?”
He
wanted to lie to her, but didn’t. “Sure. Anyone can find anybody
with the Internet and all, but the people who run the safe houses
won’t let anyone who might hurt you inside.”
She
drew her arched brows together and drank some coffee. “I’d have
to go outside sometime. Work. Earn my way.”
He
nodded. Those things were all true. He scratched his head and pushed
too-long hair out of his eyes. “Sometimes, when a man is really
persistent, there are ways of setting you up with a different
identity in a different part of the country.”
Interest
lit her features, and she cut up the last of her steak. “Where
would I go to have that happen?”
“I’m
not sure, but we could check with local agencies in the morning.”
A
blank expression washed over her face, as if someone had shut out a
light. She shot him a look she might have given yesterday’s
overripe trash. “Morning, huh? You’re just like all the rest of
them, mister. Means I’d have to spend the night with you.”
Roy
winced. He hadn’t been thinking. Of course she’d make that
connection. “No.” He shook his head emphatically. “I’d buy
you your own room for the night. You can clean up, get some sleep,
and we’ll regroup in the morning after breakfast.”
She
narrowed her eyes, and he felt himself drawn into their depths. “My
own room with a locked door?”
He
nodded solemnly, willing her to believe him. If he could just do one
decent deed, it would make up for the last two weeks of beating his
head into a brick wall. Maybe it would give him enough juice to keep
hunting for the scientists who were a bunch of Houdini fuckers.
“Mmph.”
She started on her potato, taking large bites. In between them, she
said. “I’m trying to figure out your angle. If I’ve worked my
way around to believing you won’t hurt me by the time I’m done
eating, I’ll accept your offer.”
It
was the best he was likely to get. Roy stood. “Fair enough. I’m
going to finish my pie.” It was sitting in a pool of melted ice
cream, but he didn’t mind. “If you’d care to accept my help,
just stop by my table on your way out. If you walk past, I give you
my word I won’t bother you.”
“Deal.”
She said around a mouthful of food. Swallowing, she twisted to look
at him.
It
felt as if she were staring straight through him, but Roy held his
ground even after he identified a zing of power withdrawing from his
mind. What the hell was she, anyway? When she returned to her dinner,
he retreated to his pie, thoughts racing a mile a minute. What the
fuck was he doing? If he were smart, he’d forget his offer, throw
enough money on the table to cover both meals, and run like hell for
his car.
There
was something about the woman, though, an appeal that drew him,
snared him, and wouldn’t leave him be. He ate mindlessly, not
tasting the pie. He knew the feel of freak mind control. Was that it?
Had he inadvertently stumbled onto one of them?
Impossible.
They’re never by themselves, and whatever she examined me with
didn’t feel quite right.
Plus,
she didn’t resemble the ones he’d killed before. They had dark
hair, but animal eyes. Amber, not green like hers. Of course they’d
been men, but simple genetics argued they’d all look much the same
if they came out of the same petri dishes.
Were
there other augmented humans beyond those he already knew about? The
thought fascinated and chilled him at the same time.
He
scraped his fork over the plate and realized it was empty. Slugging
back long-since-cold coffee, he dug for his wallet and extracted what
he was certain would cover dinner, laying bills on the table and
placing his empty mug atop them.
The
woman looked almost done with her meal. What would she do?
What
would he do if she walked by him and out the door? Would he be able
to keep his promise and not go after her?…
Honor
Bound
GenTech
Rebellion
Book
2
Ann
Gimpel
Dream
Shadow Press
63K
words
Release
Date: 6/9/15
Genre:
Science Fiction Action Adventure Romance
We
have to trust to fight side by side, but love’s so unexpected—and
so irresistible —it trumps everything.
Book
Description:
Honor
takes a huge chance and flees her compound one wintry night. A
genetically altered woman, she has no memories from before her kin
staged a rebellion seven years before. Because of her enhanced
physiology, she finds a home working for the CIA alongside four other
women just like her. There are still plenty of rules, but they’re
different, and she’s figuring out how to blend in.
Milton
Reins burns through women and marriages. After the third one
implodes, he swears off hunting for a replacement. Running the CIA is
a more than fulltime job. There’s no time for anything else in his
life, which is fine until Honor comes along. Training in the gym
throws their bodies together and makes him remember the feel of a
woman in his arms. Milton aches for her, but she’s a freak—the
CIA term for test tube humans designed by scientists.
Honor
wants Milton with every bone in her body, but it’s a terrible idea,
especially after she delves into his head and sees his ambivalence
toward her kind. Need drives them together, but their differences
create roadblocks every step of the way. Fueled by anger and fear,
she shuts him out. So what if the sex was great, she’s done.
Or
is she?
Claiming
Charity
GenTech
Rebellion
Book
3
Ann
Gimpel
Dream
Shadow Press
60K
words
Release
Date: 6/9/15
Genre:
Science Fiction Action Adventure Romance
What
does it take to move past a lifetime of hating?
Book
Description:
Charity’s
luck never ran strong because her original configuration was
unstable. Her handlers designed experiments to fix the problem, but
only made it worse. Sick to death of living under their thumb, she
jumps at a chance to escape her compound. She’s no sooner settled
in as a CIA special operative—a role where she can put her
augmented mind and body to use—when her wobbly genetics escalate.
Tony’s
a freak—a genetically altered human waging war against the
government. He snaps up an offer of amnesty, walking away from his
role as a genetic researcher to work for the CIA. When Charity
collapses in a severe seizure, he labors to save her life, but
nothing’s working. In a last ditch effort, he joins his mind to
hers and discovers he wants her more than he’s ever wanted
anything. Only problem is she hates every single male freak for how
they treated women in the compounds.
Charity
recovers from her medical crisis, but all she can think about is
Tony. Furious, determined to never let anyone like him near her, she
blocks him from her mind, but he seeps back in anyway. Loving someone
like Tony is a huge risk, a gamble that could throw her already
precarious genes into a tailspin.
Knowing
all that, why the hell is she considering it?
Excerpt
Claiming Charity:
…Tony
dialed his night vision up another notch and paced Frank as they ran
hard around Langley’s perimeter. After being cooped up for hours in
a plane, both men needed to burn off some steam. As Tony ran, scenes
from his computer-like brain flashed before him.
After
his petri dish birth on one of the breeding farms set up by the U.S.
government, he’d been groomed from adolescence to work as a genetic
researcher. None of them attended school; their knowledge was
downloaded directly from huge mainframes operated by government
scientists. He lived a comfortable life at his breeding farm near
Portland, Oregon, but it blew up in his face seven years ago. He was
twenty-two then and knee-deep in research to perfect those like him.
Each successive strain was a bit better than the last, but problems
still cropped up.
He’d
been close to a major breakthrough—at least he thought he was, but
it could’ve been a dead end like so much of his research—when a
cadre of renegade freaks, genetically engineered humans just like
him, staged a rebellion. They hadn’t cared for the decision to
scrap the earlier prototypes, so they blew up every breeding farm
they could find. After that, they created hidden compounds, like the
one in Keyser, West Virginia where Tony ended up.
He
hadn’t bought into the violence, but there wasn’t a hell of a lot
of choice once it began. Normal humans shot them on sight after the
rebellion, so he went along with the program and moved his genetic
research to his assigned compound. He didn’t have nearly the access
to materials he’d had prior to the rebellion, but at least he was
still alive.
“You’re
pretty quiet, buddy,” Frank observed.
“Sorry.
I was thinking.”
The
other man snorted. “Always dangerous. About what? Did you come up
with something we missed on those hard drives Milton swiped from our
headquarters?”
“Nah.
Wish it were that straightforward.”
Frank
slugged him in the arm. “Watch that esoteric stuff. Our
programming’s not designed for it.”
“Maybe
not, but do you ever wonder what will become of us?”
“The
probability of that line of thought producing something of value is—”
“Not
what I asked,” Tony snapped. “We’ve thrown in our lot with
normal humans, V0 as it were. We can’t undo it.”
“So?
You and I discussed this before we showed ourselves and requested
amnesty. We could’ve remained hidden. They would have found Charity
without our help, and then they’d have left. We didn’t take that
route. Are you having second thoughts?”
“Not
really. We didn’t fit in with the other Nameless Ones—except it
was a ridiculous moniker, since we had names, we just didn’t tell
them to the women.” Tony slowed when they came to a perimeter fence
and turned to face the other man. Because of the physical strength
built into his genetics, he wasn’t even slightly winded.
Frank
stopped and tossed his hood back. Shaggy black hair fell to his
shoulders, and he examined Tony through his amber, animal-like eyes
with vertical slit pupils. All the men looked very much the same due
to shared genetics. Tall, rangy, muscled. Both of them wore
regulation issue CIA field gear they hadn't changed out of yet.
“What
aren’t you saying?” Frank asked.
“Not
sure. Except I’m feeling like a man without a country. We didn’t
fit in there, but we don’t fit in here, either. They don’t trust
us. I saw it in Milton’s eyes that night you and I saved Charity’s
life.”
Frank
grimaced. “Shit, bro. We’re machines. We’re not supposed to
have feelings. Who cares if they trust us, so long as they continue
to offer us a place to work and live? When did you fall off the
wagon?”
Should
I?
Tony
weighed the advisability of confiding in Frank, but if not him, then
whom?
“Talk,
or I’m going back to my apartment. I’m fine when we’re moving,
but I’m getting cold. Can’t be much more than fifteen degrees out
here. In fact,” Frank sent a short blurt of power outward, “it’s
eighteen point three Fahrenheit, but there’s a five knot wind,
which brings the ambient temperature to—”
“Never
mind that. I know it’s cold without a weather report. I have a
problem that runs deeper than the humans not trusting us. They made a
commitment to us, same as we did to them. The odds of them welching
on the deal—so long as we don’t fuck them over—is under twelve
percent.”
Frank
furled his brows. “Okay. So you have a problem. Is it something we
could hash out inside where it’s warm?”
“I
think better when I’m cold.”
“Fine.”
Frank gestured with a gloved hand. “Whatever it is, get it out, so
we can chase down something to eat and find our beds.”
Tony
unclenched his jaw. It was either spit it out or shut up. Running
probabilities about Frank’s reaction wouldn’t alter his choices.
He squared his shoulders and began to talk. “I spent a long
time—hours—linked to Charity when she was so compromised. I was
the one who sent my energy into her.”
“I
haven’t forgotten. So?”
“I
developed a fondness for her during that time.” Very unmachine-like
feelings tightened Tony’s gut.
Frank’s
eyes widened. “Oh ho! You want to f*** her. I’m not seeing where
that’s a problem. The women were off limits to us at the compounds,
but the CIA doesn’t have those kind of rules.”
The
unmachine-like feelings intensified, and Tony felt his face grow
warm. “Yeah, I want her that way, but it’s more than that. I like
her. She’s a bitch, sure, but she’s fresh and funny and spunky.
We drummed the spirit out of so many of the women, but not her.”
“Have
you talked with her about any of this?”
Tony
shook his head. “No.”
“Why
not? Seems to me that’d be the logical place to start.”
A
snort blew past Tony’s lips. “Yeah, huh? Problem is I got a
pretty good look inside her head. She hates us.”
Frank
drew back. “Why? She never even met us before she and her group
attacked our compound.”
Tony
shook his head again. “It runs deeper than that. She hates all of
us men—for how we treated her and the other women. Even if that
weren’t there, it must’ve been appalling for her when she
discovered the V4s slaughtered the females in our compound. Her team
planned to rescue them. The V4s figured it out and beat them to the
punch.”
“Yeah,
but none of that was personal—” Frank began.
“Try
telling her that. I’m sure it felt goddamned personal. Christ! The
women’s bodies weren’t even cold when Charity stumbled onto
them.”
“I’m
not sure Charity found them, but the women who did certainly told her
about it.” Frank jerked his chin in the general direction of their
apartment building. “Let’s get moving.” When Tony fell into
step with him, he went on. “Seems to me you’ve really only got
two choices. One. You suck it up and keep quiet. We weren’t exactly
designed to have mates. All our babies were created in test
tubes—even after the breeding farms.”
“That
was because we were afraid the women would pick our brains during
sex, discover how powerful they were, and demand equality.”
“It
doesn’t matter why,” Frank replied. “Even though I was a
minority, I never believed it would’ve been the end of the world if
the women discovered their innate power, but they didn’t.
Regardless, over time, we got away from intercourse as a primary
source of procreation.”
“We’re
getting off course. What’s my second option?”
“Sit
down and talk to her. Tell her how you feel.”
Tony
rolled the probabilities of how that would go through his brain.
“Less than an eighteen percent chance she’d be open to it,” he
muttered.
Frank
didn’t respond, and they ran the rest of the way to their building
in silence. Once they were inside, Tony said, “Thanks.”
“For
what? I didn’t help much. See you tomorrow at zero seven hundred.”
Frank turned down the hallway that led to his apartment.
Tony
climbed a flight of stairs to his quarters and let himself in. If
getting something going with Charity was such a crapshoot, why
couldn’t he let go of the idea?
When
the answer came, he didn’t like it much. He’d broken protocol to
save her, blending his energy with hers in an intimate pattern that
wasn’t in any of the manuals. Apparently she’d gotten under his
skin during the process, and now he was stuck. When he wasn’t busy,
she was all he thought about.
He
stripped out of his heavy field coat and tossed it over a chair. The
rest of his clothes ended up in a heap on the floor. Everything could
stand a tour through the washing machine, but not tonight. He headed
for the bathroom and a shower with his cock standing out like a
ship’s prow. He was hard almost all the time now, despite jacking
off two or three times a day. Hard because he wanted her.
Crap!
He
pulled the shower curtain aside. Once he got the water going, he
stepped over the high rim of the tub. Even though he tried not to,
his hands found their way to his engorged flesh, and somewhere
between the soap and hot water, he made himself come with visions of
what he thought Charity’s perfect, naked body would look like
plastered behind his eyes…
About
the Author:
Ann
Gimpel is a mountaineer at heart. Recently retired from a long career
as a psychologist, she remembers many hours at her desk where her
body may have been stuck inside four walls, but her soul was planning
yet one more trip to the backcountry. Around the turn of the last
century (that would be 2000, not 1900!), she managed to finagle
moving to the Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love with the
mountains. It was during long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing
evolved. Unlike some who see the backcountry as an excuse to drag
friends and relatives along, Ann prefers solitude. Stories always ran
around in her head on those journeys, sometimes as a hedge against
abject terror when challenging conditions made her fear for her life,
sometimes for company. Eventually, she returned from a trip and sat
down at the computer. Three months later, a five hundred page novel
emerged. Oh, it wasn’t very good, but it was a beginning. And, she
learned a lot between writing that novel and its sequel.
Around
that time, a friend of hers suggested she try her hand at short
stories. It didn’t take long before that first story found its way
into print and they’ve been accepted pretty regularly since then.
One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her tales often
have a green twist.
In
addition to writing, Ann enjoys wilderness photography. She lugs
pounds of camera equipment in her backpack to distant locales every
year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her pack weight is
camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That
someone is her husband. They’ve shared a life together for a very
long time. Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out
their family.
@AnnGimpel
(for Twitter)
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