Selfish Ambition

By Donna B. Comeaux

Shortly after Sherelle Lindsey transmits her dissertation to Journalism Department heads at the American University in Cairo (“AUC”), a bomb blasts through her classroom. When she awakes, she’s tied to a chair. Who’s captured her? To her surprise, Army Special Forces and Major Laurence “Lennie” Williams are responsible. How does she thank this wounded soldier? Betrayal. Twisted by her aspirations to become managing editor and her growing love for Major Williams, Sherelle struggles to come clean.

For Major Williams, rescuing someone from the throes of danger was not only his job, but also the adrenaline rush he needed to survive a broken engagement. After being wounded during the rescue of Sherelle Lindsey, he can no longer go on covert missions and he finds himself with no other option than to take a job as a counterintelligence supervisor in Washington, D.C. Life has no real meaning for him until he meets Sherelle Lindsey on a train. It doesn’t take Lennie long to know he’s in love. Though Lennie can’t explain it, he’s certain God put them together. Matter of fact, he believes unequivocally that Sherelle saved him instead of the other way around. But can he convince her of that? Or has he misinterpreted God’s message?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Donna B. Comeaux
• Release date: Feb 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310406348

Donna B. Comeaux

Donna writes romantic suspense and Christian devotionals. She's written for defunct online magazine, and uses her website to encourage readers and writers.Donna hopes to publish her next novel, "White Castle," a family saga, in the fall of 2024.Donna and her family reside in Oklahoma.

Book preview

Selfish Ambition

Donna B. Comeaux

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2014 Donna B. Comeaux

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Published by Donna B. Comeaux

Smashwords Edition 2014

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

Dedication:

This is dedicated to my grandmother, Gracie Lee Coleman, who died at the time of this publication. Thank you, Grandmother, for creating heartfelt childhood memories. I will never forget your hard work and sacrifice to help me become everything I hoped to be.

SYNOPSIS

Shortly after Sherelle Lindsey transmits her dissertation to the Journalism Department heads at the American University in Cairo (AUC), a bomb blasts through her classroom. When she awakes, she’s frantic to know who’s captured her. To her surprise, Army Special Forces and Major Laurence Lennie Williams are responsible. How does she thank this wounded soldier? Betrayal. Twisted by aspirations to become managing editor of a Washington, D.C. newspaper, Sherelle struggles to come clean.

For Major Williams, rescuing someone from the throes of danger is not only his job, but the adrenaline rush he needs to survive a lonely life. After he’s wounded and loses his wings to this lovely beauty, it doesn’t take long to know he’s in love. Though Lennie can’t explain it, he unequivocally believes God has put them together. But can he convince Sherelle of that? Or has he misinterpreted God's plan?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to take this time to thank Shari Cross of Tulsa, Oklahoma for proofing this novel in its early stages. Thank you for being a true friend for so many years, Shari.

To the www.CritiqueCircle.com organization for providing a platform for writers like me to expose their work and receive much needed (and still in need of) critiques and advice.

To my youngest son, Aris Joseph, for taking time out of your busy schedule to proof the military aspects of this novel. You know how much I love you. I'm proud to be your mother.

To my eldest son, Gerren Earl, for the countless times you’ve picked my self-esteem off the floor and saved me from many nights of tortuous agony. There is no way I could have made it this far without your presence, encouragement, and love. I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you.

To my dear and beloved husband and friend for making sure I had all the resources I needed. You listened endlessly, offered crazy advice (most of which I never took, but it was fun), you laughed, and you always always always believed I could do this. No way I’d make this journey without your unconditional love and support.

To God be the glory. Amen! Thank you, God, for approving I take this journey. You lit my path and made sure I planted my feet in the right place at the right time. Without your guidance and strength, I’d surely give up my dream and fall to despair. I love you, Lord. Amen.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

Thank You

Acknowledgments

Synopsis / Book Jacket

Dedication

A Sneak Preview of Another Romance

Chapter 1

It was exactly four thirty. Students at the American University in Cairo would end their spring semester in fifteen minutes. But the minute hand seemed stuck by a single drop of petrified molasses. No matter how often everyone eyeballed the black and white disk on the wall, time lingered.

Sherelle Lindsey was anxious. Like many foreigners at AUC, she wanted to get as far away from Egypt as possible. She never thought she’d say it, or think it, but she missed Seattle’s rainy days. Once she made it home, she promised to stand in the middle of the street until rain drenched her clothes. To fulfill that promise, she must remain calm and get through the next fifteen minutes.

As she walked all three aisles of her classroom, she tromped her heels onto AUC’s linoleum floor. Though she kept keen eyes on the clock, her sharp ears stayed attuned to the escalating riots in Tahrir Square. She pressed praying hands to her lips and said another prayer as someone yelled for help. Then she waited. With steel patience, she waited.

All eighteen of her graduate students shared her concerns. Their writing utensils tapped desktops and gravitated through test papers at rapid speed. They heard feet scurry through hallways. Shadows flickered under the door. Periodically, someone twisted the door handle before letting go, inflaming fear on everyone inside. They almost jumped out of their seats when someone opened the door then slammed it shut.

Until a half hour ago, it seemed as though most might escape without incident. But protesters’ scuffle with government authorities rose to incredible levels. Yelling intensified. Pipe bombs exploded. Bottles broke. Shots fired. People screamed.

Stay focused. We’ve gone through this before. It’ll all be over in . . . Sherelle checked the clock, . . . ten minutes, she said in a calm voice, a striking contrast to her frayed nerves.

She squeezed her biceps until they burned, radiating pain to her shoulders. That did nothing to extinguish her growing anguish. Why hadn’t she heeded the United States’ warning six months ago and boarded a flight home? What excuse would she use for ignoring another warning last week?

With nine minutes left, Tahrir Square erupted and brought the semester to an abrupt halt. Sherelle rushed to the window and pulled on Venetian blinds and witnessed relentless young protesters fight with the aggression of full-armored soldiers. Someone screamed Fire! Ignited in flames, an Egyptian soldier fell to the ground. She clamped one hand on her mouth then jerked when she heard thumps of tear gas expel in the air.

Books hit the floor as her students tried to exit the classroom all at once. Sounds of the mass exodus pulled her away from the window. Be careful! Please be careful! Go straight home, she warned. She feared many wouldn’t make it, pondered her own safety, but had to suck it up. She’d made the conscientious choice to stay and finish her dissertation. If she got hurt, she had no one to blame but herself.

She slipped her purse strap on her shoulder then leaned on the wall and stared at the door. Should she make a run for it? Should she stay? She wanted to go home in the worse way. It’d be nice to smell bacon and hear fluttered activity coming from the kitchen. With eyes shut tight, she imagined her mother setting the table; her father gnawing on his fireless pipe while reading the morning paper.

Tempted to weave through the crowd and head for the airport, she looked at the menacing mob once more. She grimaced then decided to wait it out.

Sherelle! Get out of here! a professor shouted as he rushed to the door. Jammed in his arms, a black leather folder stuffed with papers threatening to spill to the floor.

Have you seen this crowd? We’ll never make it. Sanjay, stay with me. We can wait this out just like before.

This is bad. This is really bad.

As she started to plea with Sanjay one last time, he left.

On the brink of despair, she forced herself to reexamine the streets. She recognized no one. Various people lie in Tahrir Square cloaked in plumes of soot. Riot police and military personnel hurled runaways into vans then searched the carnage for more survivors. A policeman jostled one body with his boot. Another man lay flat on his belly with smoke escaping from his back. He squealed in pain and tried to crawl to safety. Sherelle strained to identify him, reminded a month ago one of her female students had died, while two others sat in jail, if not already dead.

Today had a different feel to it from the very beginning. In the predawn hours as her feet hit the floor, the warm April morning seemed lifeless. Almost no one moved. She woke, perplexed; didn’t understand why persistent silence had replaced daily squabbles over the shower. Even more disturbing, mothers had soothed wailing babies to mere whimpers. Doors that squealed and woke her before sunrise didn’t move at all.

On her way to class, Sherelle had hurried through an empty but eerie Tahrir Square. She quickened her pace, unfailing to look left then right. At one point, she walked backwards. Had she been followed? Though she saw no one among its many dark portals, she’d kept acute eyes on the AUC building anyway. Somewhere in the shadows piercing eyes watched her. Rising tension made her stomach feel as warm as the early morning heat. She felt sick. Thought it’d do her good to spew her guts. She resisted. Too risky.

Once inside her classroom, she had turned on lights then her computer. After settling in, she proofed her dissertation one last time. Often, she’d stopped for a moment and looked into the empty square, curious about the spooky feel of the day and that annoying clicking reverberating through the air. She tried to convince herself those late nights she’d spent finishing her dissertation had created nervous tension. Still, something hadn’t felt right.

As she had studied the vexatious scene, she noticed a police car sitting underneath an arched portal with no one inside. A strange man stood alone smoking a cigarette as he leaned against a large column. When she heard wheels squeal, she tilted her head. Pumping as fast as he could, a barefooted young boy hurried his bike across Tahrir Square, his shirttail fluttering in the wind. That clickclickclicking she heard earlier sounded again and pulled her gaze from the boy to a room only visible when a door opened to a soft-lit room. She craned her neck and soon saw a man going in and out the door.

Now, in this late afternoon hour, she speculated if all that she’d witnessed earlier had been a preamble for the riot in the street. She may never know. She only hoped Sanjay and her students had escaped. However, the body count in Tahrir Square exposed her greatest fear. Hardly a soul that left the building had survived. Even if they had, the military police had assuredly hurled them into a vehicle and took them away to who knows where.

In a hurry, Sherelle attached her dissertation to an e-mail addressed to the Journalism Department. She paused. Had she spell-checked it? Was the formatting correct? On impulse she hit the send button.

Relieved, she couldn’t wait to lay in her own bed. She planned to sleep late for the next two days before giving any thought to pursuing a managing editor's position. That reminded her, she needed to phone her parents and give them her arrival time. She retrieved her phone and started to dial. Nothing. She tried again. Nothing. She attempted to type: Mom / Dad, be home tomorrow at . . ., but nothing happened. After staring at the cell phone for a moment, she threw it in her handbag and bit her lower lip.

The Egyptian government had disrupted the phone service.

Sherelle sat straight when tanks rumbled and vibrated the building. Her hands and knees shook. She rose, removed the cell phone from her purse and shoved it inside her left pants pocket. Her charger—where had she put her charger? She looked on bookshelves, in drawers, underneath papers, and next to her computer. Then she realized she didn’t need it. Service was down.

She pawed through her purse again and felt along the lining for one of many safety pins she kept handy. After she unfastened the pin, it fell to the floor. Her shaky hands couldn’t pick it up. She placed her tiny New Testament Bible inside her right pocket, but replaced it with her passport and driver’s license. Several times she tried to fasten another pin to her right pocket to secure her ID, but she had a hard time closing the pin. With her body slumped forward, her hands between her thighs, she prayed. Oh God, please get me through this one last time. She held her breath, pinned the right pocket then exhaled.