She faltered. “Where are we going?”

He reached into an overhead compartment and drew out a plush blanket. “D.C.”

The plane lurched forward, and she stumbled. He grasped her arm, shooting an electrical jolt up her bicep.

His eyes darkened. “I’d wondered.”

“Me too.” As kids, they’d been combustible. So she hadn’t imagined the spark from years ago. She blinked confusion from her vision and allowed him to settle her into the seat. The second he covered her legs with the warm blanket, she finally took a deep breath.

He sat down, gaze somber. “You haven’t responded to my proposition.”

Her head jerked back. “This isn’t, I mean, you—” She gestured around the luxurious plane.

His lips twitched. “No. I did not execute a military extraction and secure three private jets to force you into making up your mind to meet me in person now that I’m settled in the States. Finally.”

She plucked at a string on the blanket. They’d kept in touch through the years, and when he’d sent her an e-mail two months ago saying he wanted to meet up with her, she’d needed time to think about it. “I didn’t think so.”

Turn the page for a preview of the first novel

in the groundbreaking new series by Rebecca Zanetti!

Mercury Striking

will be available in paperback and e-book

in February 2016 from Zebra Books.

“Nothing is easy or black or white in Zanetti’s grim new reality,

but hope is key, and I hope she writes faster!”

—New York Times bestselling author Larissa Ione

With nothing but rumors to lead her, Lynn Harmony has trekked

across a nightmare landscape to find one man—a mysterious,

damaged legend who protects the weak and leads the strong.

He’s more than muscle and firepower—and in post-plague L.A.,

he’s her only hope. As the one woman who could cure the disease,

Lynn is the single most volatile—and vulnerable—creature in this

new and ruthless world. But face to face with Jax Mercury . . .

Danger has never looked quite so delicious . . .

Chapter 1

Life on Earth is at the ever-increasing risk of being wiped out by a disaster, such as sudden global nuclear war, a genetically engineered virus or other dangers we have not yet thought of.—Stephen Hawking

Despair hungered in the darkness, not lingering, not languishing . . . but waiting to bite. No longer the little brother of rage, despair had taken over the night, ever present, an actor instead of an afterthought.

Lynn picked her way along the deserted twelve-lane interstate, allowing the weak light from the moon to guide her. An unnatural silence hung heavy over the empty land. Rusted carcasses of cars lined the sides, otherwise, the once vibrant 405 was dead, yet she trod carefully.

Her months of hiding had taught her stealth. Prey needed stealth, as did the hunter.

She was both.

The tennis shoes she’d stolen from an abandoned thrift store protected her feet from the cracked asphalt. A click echoed in the darkness. About time. She’d made it closer to Los Angeles, well, what used to be Los Angeles, than she’d hoped.

A strobe light hit her full on, rendering sight useless. She closed her eyes. They’d either kill her or not. Either way, no need to go blind. “I want to see Mercury.”

Silence. Then several more clicks. Guns of some type.

She forced strength into her voice. “You don’t want to kill me without taking me to Mercury first.” Jax Mercury, to be exact. If he still existed. If not, she was screwed anyway.

“Why would we do that?” A voice from the darkness, angry and near.

She opened her eyes, allowing light to narrow her pupils. “I’m Lynn Harmony.”

Gasps, low and male, echoed around her. They’d closed in silently, just as well trained as she’d heard. As she’d hoped.

“Bullshit,” a voice hissed from her left.

She tilted her head toward the voice, then slowly, so slowly they wouldn’t be spooked, she unbuttoned her shirt. No catcalls, no suggestive responses followed. Shrugging her shoulders, she dropped the cotton to the ground, facing the light.

She hadn’t worn a bra, but she doubted the echoing exhales of shock were from her size B’s. More likely the shimmering blue outline of her heart caught their attention. Yeah, she was a freak. Typhoid Mary in the body of a woman who’d made a mistake. A big one. But she might be able to save the men surrounding her. “So. Jax Mercury. Now.”

One man stepped closer. Gang tattoos lined his face, inked tears showing his kills. He might have been thirty, he might have been sixty. Regardless, he was dangerous. Eyeing her chest, he quickly crossed himself. “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

“Not even close.” Wearily, she reached down and grabbed her shirt, shrugging it back on. She figured the “take me to your leader” line would get her shot. “Do you want to live or not?”

He met her gaze, hope and fear twisting his scarred upper lip. “Yes.”

It was the most sincere sound she’d heard in months. “We’re running out of time.” Time had deserted them long ago, but she needed to get a move on. “Please.” The sound shocked her, the civility of it, a word she’d forgotten how to use. The slightest of hopes warmed that blue organ in her chest, reminding her of who she used to be. Who she’d lost.

Another figure stepped forward, this one big and silent. Deadly power vibrated in the shift of muscle as light illuminated him from behind, keeping his features shrouded. “I didn’t tell you to put your shirt back on.” No emotion, no hint of humanity echoed in the deep rumble.

The lack of emotion twittered anxiety through her abdomen. Without missing a beat, she secured each button, keeping the movements slow and sure. “I take it you’re Mercury.” Regardless of name, there was no doubt the guy was in charge.

“If I am?” Soft, his voice promised death.

A promise she’d make him keep. Someday. The breeze picked up, tumbling weeds across the deserted 405. She fought a shiver. Any weakness shown might get her killed. “You know who I am.”

“I know who you say you are.” His overwhelming form blocked out the light, reminding her of her smaller size. “Take off your shirt.”

Something about the way he said it gave her pause. Before, she hadn’t cared. But with him so close she could smell male; an awareness of her femininity brought fresh fear. Nevertheless, she unbuttoned her shirt.

This time, her hands trembled.

Straightening her spine, she squared her shoulders and left the shirt on, the worn material gaping in the front.

He waited.

She lifted her chin, trying to meet his eyes, although she couldn’t see them. The men around them remained silent, yet alertness carried on the breeze. How many guns were trained on her? She wanted to tell them it would only take one. Though she’d been through hell, she’d never really learned to fight.

The wind whipped into action, lifting her long hair away from her face. Her arms tightened against her rib cage. Goose bumps rose along her skin.

Swearing softly, the man stepped in, long tapered fingers drawing her shirt apart. He shifted to the side, allowing light to blast her front. Neon blue glowed along her flesh.