Books from Bombshell

Missing Incorporated

Silhouette Bombshell #88
ISBN: 0-373-51402-6
April 2006
Suspense/Adventure

Journalist Magdalena “Mad Max” Riley has a knack for finding missing persons, but her talents are tested to the limit when she joins the desperate search for twelve-year-old runaway Alex Dantell, whose family fortune has targeted him for kidnapping—and maybe murder.

Max must team up with a sexy private investigator and a rival journalist who are also on the boy’s trail, but trusting the wrong one could put Max and young Alex at the mercy of a deadly assassin.

Reviews for Missing Incorporated

"Missing Incorporated (4.5), by Tess Pendergrass, is nonstop action from cover to cover. Max is a female character many of us would love to identify with, and Davis is the perfect foil for her strength. He lets her be who she is -- and only steps in when she asks for help."
—Alexandra Kay, Romantic Times

"MISSING INCORPORATED (4) is Tess Pendergrass's first book for Silhouette Bombshell. The plot is as multi-faceted as a hall of mirrors, turning suspicion in first one direction, then another, and keeping readers guessing all the way to the end. There are plenty of surprises in this energetic, explosive story. Ms. Pendergrass has written a terrific book with a satisfying resolution that manages to leave the door open for further adventures with Mad Max."
--Mellanie Crowther, The Romance Readers' Connection

Taut suspense and compelling characters make MISSING INCORPORATED an exciting story....There are some threads left hanging, which leaves me hoping that this isn't the last we see of Max. MISSING INCORPORATED is the first Bombshell from Tess Pendergrass, and the captivating tale has me looking > forward to reading more of her work.
Jennifer Bishop, Romance Reviews Today

Excerpt

Max didn’t expect Yvonne Dantell to be opening her own door today. But even less did she expect the door to be opened by a six-foot, skinhead bodybuilder sporting a fire-breathing mermaid tattoo on his bulging right arm below his sleeveless black muscle shirt. He filled the doorframe, incongruous against the background of the huge Greek revival kitchen.

“Freakin’ reporters.” His voice was surprisingly light for his bulk, but still menacing enough. “Get the hell off the property before I break your heads in.”

“Charming,” Wolfe murmured, but he didn’t move, and neither did Max.

“We’re here to see Yvonne,” Max said. She offered Muscle her card. “She knows who I am. I think she’ll want to see me.”

“She doesn’t want to see nobody,” Muscle said, ignoring the card with deep satisfaction. “Send a note with your regards.”

“We’ll wait while you let her know we’re here.” Max held out the card again. “It’s urgent.”

Instead of slamming the door in her face, Muscle made the mistake of grabbing her wrist instead, a snake-quick strike with his left hand. He jerked her toward him, probably intending to lever her arm up behind her to walk her to the curb.

Instead of resisting, Max stepped toward him, throwing her left hand up to his shoulder and shoving. As he stumbled back, her left foot slid behind his.

He fell, pulling her with him. Adjusting quickly, she grabbed her fist with her free hand and jerked, managing to pull her arm free before he dislocated it, but not before he sent her sprawling across the black and white tiled floor.

She hit one of the fluted columns separating the cooking area from the breakfast nook. The impact bruised her ribs, but she managed to scramble behind the column, dodging Muscle’s charge and winning a split second to get to her feet.

He grinned at her, his white teeth an unpleasant gash across his bullet-shaped face. He lunged, an off-balance grab for her arm that let her escape farther around the column. But he couldn’t fool her again. He wasn’t nearly as slow-witted or clumsy as he wanted her to believe.

He’d just maneuvered himself between her and the door. It wasn’t about getting her to the curb now. He meant to hurt her.

As if.

Max edged backward. Retreat meant fear. He believed it. He grinned when her back hit the marble-topped island in the center of the kitchen.

“Max?” Wolfe stood in the doorway, cell phone in hand.

She shook her head. She’d never get to Yvonne if the cops got involved.

Wolfe shrugged and leaned against the door frame with a raised brow that said he was letting her take the lead.

Muscle stepped around the column. Nice and slow.

This time his lunge was neither off-balance nor clumsy, but his hammer-fisted strike still whiffed harmlessly inches from Max’s shins as she levered herself to the top of the island and danced out of his reach.

Her blow was even quicker than his, her boot connecting solidly with the side of his head. But she didn’t manage to slam his skull against the marble, and he dodged back. He raised a hand to his temple.

Max raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He grinned again. “Sorry I can’t say the same.”

Max centered her stance, ready for his next attack. Or not. Tomas hadn’t yet taught her a counter that would be effective against the 9mm Sig Sauer Muscle pulled from the back of his waistband.