Alliance Book Six Now Available

"A Shadow of Jaguars" is NOW available in print and ebook. Happy release day! Paperback copies are $22.99 and ebooks are $5.99. Grab a copy from your favorite book retailer:

Barnes and Noble:
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-shadow-of-jaguars-kadee-carder/1147922306?ean=9798231429677

Amazon:
https://a.co/d/0gZJvlNv

Walmart:
https://www.walmart.com/ip/Alliance-A-Shadow-of-Jaguars-Book-6-Paperback/20457518778


It is also available from:
Bookshop.org
Everand.com
Fable.co
Hoopladigital.com
Kobo.com
Overdrive
Smashwords.com
Thalia.de
Vivlio
and most of your favorite bookstores.

I will update the book page with more links as they become available.

How about a sample? 
Check out chapter one below. Then, order yours from any of the links above and join the adventure!


****

Chapter One
 
At Your Service

****
 
Everyone was dead. Smoke steamed through the vents lining the white hall, drifting around the floor. My boots pounded against the concrete. One hand throttled the neck of my weapon, the other clenched in a fist. Tuck hadn’t fallen so hard before. His body stilled, so quick, so final. Options raced through the layers of modus operandi. Get a medic. Try thumping his chest. Nail the enemy to the wall.

Come on, Logan; smooth and steady. My chest tightened, air threading through my throat like a rope. As I drew upon the charred remains of Front Deck, a trail of red pooled below the bottom step. It led up the stairs. Dim lights stuttered overhead. Cautious. I choked up on my weapon.

A green and brown sack tumbled down toward my boots; his head smacked my steel toe with a thud. Colonel Schuring’s slack jaw dribbled out a trickle of blood, the crimson trail dripping down to his hands, marred with a patchwork of fresh wounds. Air froze in my knuckles while I stared down at his chest. No movement.

No noise from the coms.

No activity down the hall.

“Colonel Schuring.” I stated it.

Knees cracking, I squatted over the corpse, and padded two fingers against his jaw where bone met breath. Nothing.

The lights glared in my peripheral from up the stairs. Within a blink, fire blasted me against the back wall. Spine crunching. Head cracking back. Crimson heat, blinding white light, and a whine so shattering that my teeth crushed together.

In an instant, I shot up in bed, gasping. As if I were under water. The inside of my throat collapsed. Grabbing my collar with an empty fist, I yanked the gray cotton away from the virtual inferno.

Another nightmare. Another rehashing of my training in the POD.

Hadn’t had one of those in at least a month.

That’s what happens when new orders come in. When the earth continues shifting, so do your boots, but the gray matter aims for yesterday’s empire. Yesterday has gone. Today, we reach for the cosmos.

0414 hours. Time to get up anyway. My rewired brain knew it was ready for the morning run. Two bare feet hit the earth. The sloppy wet sheets hung their head in shame. Wouldn’t be needing them soon, anyway. I gathered the material, ready to chase daylight before the darkness moved in.

 
****

“Wouldn’t it be great if instead of putting turkey on a sandwich, they replaced it with a new kind of meat?” Tucker eyed the thin, white bread. He mashed his finger into the cavity. A mutinous gray morsel of what some people might call ‘turkey’ slid onto the white ceramic plate.

“What kind of meat?” I asked.

“Some—like—what about bison? Can you slice that up?”

I gnawed on my own half-eaten mash of meat and bread. “I don’t see why not.”

“It’s good as a steak. Why not slap that sucker on a sammie?”

“Throw in some kind of new cheese, too.” Taking a huge swallow, I grabbed the steaming cup of coffee to wash it down. “What’s that white crumbly stuff? Parme—inger—thinton—”

Tuck rolled the wad of meat around the back of his molars. Swallowed. “Count me out for that one, mate.”

“That’s not what it’s called.”

“Time to brush up on your cheese database, McConnell.”

“Because I have nothing else to do.”

He tipped his chin toward me. “Right-o.” Sergeant Tucker Thompson’s obvious Australian accent clung to the end of the ‘o’ with a friendly ‘r’ ending.

Saylor slipped into the chair on Tucker’s left. “That’s the last time I just wait and see what they serve here.” She rubbed her neck below her low blonde bun.

“Bread.” Tucker pointed at it, just in case.

Saylor sighed. “It’s always some kind of tasteless white bread thing.”

“The rations have made your dietary preferences a bit tricky.” He sympathized.

I shoved another bite in my mouth.

Saylor nodded my way. “You see Dad this morning?”

“Mrph inga.”

“Just checking. No need to get snippy.” She picked up the aluminum fork and prodded the mushy carrots beside her sandwich.

“Nngrm—”

“I know, but I slept in. For some reason, my alarm didn’t go off again.” She stabbed the carrot and shoved it in her mouth, clamping her lips around the tines. She slammed the fork down on her red tray.

“Why the sticky wicket?” Tucker bumped his shoulder against hers.

“The board.” Saylor balled up her fingers into a fist. “They keep negating my reports. I say the mission’s a go, and we have the necessary data, and they say no, we need this other data and this other scientist from some other government agency or rocket engineer or something, to confirm. They’re pandering. They’re afraid. But Object INS has changed trajectories. We need to move now.”

“Well, it is all new territory,” I inserted.

Saylor’s emerald eyes blinked. Twice. She squared her jaw. “The Earthshine has been providing data for eight months up in orbit. We have enough data. Now we need boots in the air to get the job done.”

“Would it be boots flying around, since there’s no gravity?” Tucker wiggled an eyebrow.

“Earthshine has a gravity field built in. We know this, too. We know Breame installed his supercomputer on the Earthshine to allow maximum capabilities. It’s more prepared to handle life than we are here in Fort Story.” She pushed her tray away. It smacked against mine, jostled my coffee, and splashed some over the rim.

I gently picked up a napkin and wiped up the mess while Say stewed. The thudding within my chest silently thundered. Object INS had been hurtling through the solar system and a change in trajectory could mean—bad things. Or good things. Or just changing things.

Tucker took another bite of sandwich.

“Saylor,” I said, “The board answers to you, remember? This is your show. Breame left you all of Alliance. The tech is yours. I know Dad said last night that you needed to work with the board, but you have to remember they’re political. They’re about saving face and what Alliance looks like to the world. The media already likes our circus. And you’ve got a new round of recruits Tucker’s been training to back you up, whether here on the ground or as a second crew. You just have to step out. Finalize the team and then go. Who’s going to stop you?”

Saylor inhaled. She bit her lip. She squinted at me, those jewel-toned eyes questioning.

“This is what you’ve been waiting for. The nanotech in your blood, the Earthshine equipped to create a new empire—Breame’s gone. You’re the front line. Let’s go.”

“It’s just that easy?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

She lifted one shoulder and then lowered it.

“Don’t shrug. It makes you look weak.”

Her eyebrows narrowed.

I narrowed mine back.

“There’s that Logan I’ve been missing,” she said.

“Where’s the Saylor who tackled me on the training field? The one who dove underground in the mountains in Wyoming? The one who sauntered into Breame’s caverns across the world?”

“She’s been busy filling out paperwork. Doing lots of math and physics.”

“Logan,” Tucker interrupted. “Are my ears deceiving me? Are you encouraging her to break protocol?”
“So what?”

Tucker held out his palm. “Oh Captain, my Captain.”

“Look, we’ve known about Object INS for, how long? Seriously eight months? More?” My fingers tapped the coffee cup handle. “If they want to use the Earthshine, someone better get to stepping. We have to get up there and see what we have to work with. You said it’s changed? How so?”

“Object INS has a wobble to it now.”

“Wobbles mean what?

“That’s another question the board asked,” Saylor sighed. “They want multiple scenarios to prep for. And they insisted on additional training hours for the crew.”

“We have the Earthshine schematics,” Tucker stated.

I sipped my coffee. “We have been using virtual reality to train for years; we know just how different a VR experience is from a real one. The POD showed us that. You can live digitally or on paper, but it’s nothing like the real thing.”

Saylor raised an eyebrow. “You’re insinuating what, Logan?”

“Since I’ve trained for the mission—”

Saylor’s communicator buzzed from beside her tray, cutting me off. She grabbed it, lost to the message.
“You want to go up there?” Tucker filled the sliced conversation.

“Sure.”

“Sure is a weak way to say yes. It sounds like you aren’t totally reconciled—”

“Oh, I’m reconciled.” I stated it. Chugged a gulp of liquid valor. “When have you seen me hesitate to act? When have you seen me wait by the sidelines?”

Saylor grinned, still staring at the black box before her. “That time you ran away all squirrel-like when you were making out with that one Dragon chick.”

My cheeks burned. Chest on fire. Heaved out a breath.

Saylor whipped her face toward Tucker. “Told you so.”

“That was hard times.” I defended.

Saylor brought it back to me. “That was something.”

“I ran away. Yes,” I owned it. “And I learned that I don’t like running away. That’s not me.”

“You’re not one to duck and cover?”

My shoulders sagged for a moment. “I think it was the banana shirt. My brain couldn’t function properly in the presence of that awful banana print shirt.” My palm slid up to the center of my chest and gripped my camo jacket.

“You know you love that shirt.”

Tucker just sat there, beaming. One last bite of that sandwich rested on the edge of his plate.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll see you one banana shirt that you can get a crew up to the Earthshine before the end of the week.”

Saylor eyed me. “It is only Tuesday.”

Tucker raised his hand. “I’ll raise you a pot of coffee.”

****
 
Settled into the end seat of the living room sofa, I flipped through Mrs. Schuring’s recipe book. “I’m not your maid or personal chef,” the Colonel’s widow had stated, hands on hips. She asked us all to pick out two meals every week, so she could prep for the eighty thousand meals she cooked for the herd of us in the compound. True, there were quite a few of us, but I ate lunch in the dining facility every day. But with Micah, Patricia, Saylor, myself, Dad, and Bette Schuring in the house, we did put a nice dent in the pantry on the daily. Couldn’t blame her for tiring of grits and bean-based meals.

Pork chops?
Nah.
Flipped the page.
Herbed pork loin?
No.

The photos blurred with the words. I thumbed to the back of the book, where she hid the desert recipes. Perhaps this week I could try another round of my chocolate chip cookies. I called them “Cochunkies,” but Saylor called them “inedible.” Coconut flour is not that bad. Maybe I need to add more sweetener and less coconut.

The front door slammed. Saylor and Tucker swept into the room, her giggles leading the way. “Hey! Hey! Everybody!” She gripped his hand. He anchored to his spot. Sweat beaded up on his forehead. Unusual.
I stood, dropping the book on the padded sofa arm.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs by the entry hall.

Saylor tugged at Tucker’s arm, her grin accosting her face. Her cheeks glowed. Tucker threw back both shoulders, his free hand wiping away any of those nerves, or, or maybe it was my mind noticing it. He wrapped his arm around Saylor’s middle. Her blue dress swayed. Her eyes drifted up over her shoulder, and the two of them shared one of those secretive looks.

What’s going on.

He winked at me, then turned to face Dad, who’d finally made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Bette placed a hand over her heart. “Oh my.”

Dad gave a quick nod, but his lips turned up. “So? You have our attention.”

Saylor released Tucker’s hand and lifted her fingers up. A bright white twinkle under the lights. “Tucker proposed. I said yes.”

Micah and Patricia squealed, scurrying over to her. Dad and Bette clamored around, subtly eyeballing each other—she tipped her head to him, and he closed his eyes, a slight nod. He had known. Lots of loud sounds and screeches from the females, like if a weed whacker used chains. Or cat tails.

I chuckled at the mental imagery.

“What’s that, Logan?” Saylor asked.

I pursed my lips. “Oh. Um. Seems appropriate since you have only just wrapped up your first round of university courses.”

Saylor rolled her eyes and twisted back to her screechy sisters and to Tucker’s cheery navy blazer. She fingered the lapel. “I should have known something was up. I’ve never seen this guy in a sport coat.”

“Come, come!” Bette clapped her hands. “Coffee and dessert! We need to celebrate!”

The yellow cloud of happiness meandered away from the sofa and back toward the sunroom.

“How’d he ask?” Patricia kept repeating.

The forlorn recipe book lay on its cushion, crammed with biscuits and starters and Boeuf Bourguignon. Saylor and her sunshine sashayed into the sunroom. My bare feet anchored to the carpet.

It all seemed quite hasty. Sure, they had a history. But we were barely settling into life at Fort Story. I had only just put up a poster on my wall last week – a black 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 454 with white racing stripes. Had a quote beside it: Move or be moved.

Bette glared over her shoulder at me. “Logan. Coffee duty.”

Sent a brief salute her way. I make a mean pot of coffee.

“Decaf.” She appended her instructions.

“Confirmed.”

She busied with something in the pantry while everyone else careened into the chairs in the sunroom. A beeline to story time.

Dad held back at the doorway, a discreet nod to me. “It’s okay if you don’t approve.”

Grabbing the carafe, I nestled it under the faucet. Focused. “If I were a shrugger, I’d shrug.”

“He spoke with me two months ago.”

Water tumbled into the glassware. Pressure meeting boundary. Snapping open the lid of the coffee pot, I nudged the old filter up and out of its pocket and tossed the innards into the garbage.

“Bette likes to compost those.”

I snapped the lid shut. “Then she can make the coffee next time.” New filter, fresh decaf, three big scoops, done. The water sloshed under my hazardous grip.

“Don’t take it out on the coffee.”

I finally eyeballed him. “It likes a good beating before it meets its inhabitants. That’s what brings out that bitter kick.”

“Salt works for that, too,” Dad stated.

“Gotta get my combat in somehow, these days.” Punching the ‘on’ button at the bottom of the black device, I slipped around Dad and paused at his side.

Bette handed me two plates piled with square, chocolate-dipped cookies. “Serve.”

Once I’d adhered to her protocol for celebration and everyone scarfed at least two cookies and a cup of coffee, I munched on a square in the corner and wondered just where my day had gone off the rails.

“Tell all.” Patricia giggled from beside Saylor on the sofa.

“Well,” Saylor began, “Tucker took me to this nice Italian place. He’d looked it up and made reservations and everything. It was this beautiful, little house, which had been restored to look like an authentic villa. Vines growing outside, with all these purple and pink flowers strewn about.”

Ugh. I leaned against the wall. One of Saylor’s stories could take a year to tell because of her profuse verbiage.

“So, we sat in this far corner, lit by these little candles in the center of the tables, with a window view. It overlooked the lake.”

Micah and Patricia squealed. Bette perched on the white wicker chair across the small coffee table perpendicular to Saylor, facing me, and Tucker in the chair before me. Dad leaned against the white wicker chair. His shoulder brushed against Bette’s for a moment and a look crossed her face…What was that look?

“Out on the lake were these boats, and after we ate, Tucker walked me down by the docks to go look at them. Well, he had reserved a ride for us on one. Just us and the stars.”

Tucker interrupted. “To be fair, I had wanted to get out there right at sunset, but the food took forever.”
Saylor giggled. She nestled up against him.

Ugh.

The coffee pot gurgled. Jumping away from the wall, I strolled over to grab myself another cup. Black as my boots’ new leather sealant.

Saylor rehashed Tucker’s speech. When he first saw her on Isla Barina, world apart, great risks, he couldn’t imagine life without her, best friend, the usual.

Saylor glided into the kitchen beside me, dumping sweetener into the cup she grabbed from the cabinet. “You can stop rolling your eyes now, Sir Grumblegumpus.”

“I haven’t rolled my eyes a single time since you walked in the door. I never roll my eyes.”

“Oh sure.”

“I simply allow my ocular sockets freedom to revolve, is all, as they observe their converged—”

She sighed. “You just don’t understand, Logan.” Coffee sloshed into the cup, swallowing the sweetener.

“Tell me about war-time romance, Saylor. I’m all ears.”

“You’re all hard-headed, is what you are.”

I dipped my forehead. “At your service.”

Bouncing up on the tips of her glittery teal shoes, her pursed lips smacked the skin on my cheek.

I lunged backward. “Saylor.” Rubbed at the spot.

“Get ready. It’s a new tomorrow.”

Under my breath, I acquiesced. “Indeed.”

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