Promise Me the Moon

By Nichole D. Evans

When Grace Quincy ("Q") lands a job as the lead scientist and engineer in the CIA's Clandestine Operations and Properties group, she becomes the Quartermaster for U.S. reconnaissance—the creator of spy gadgets for Jayce Jackson, special agent with a license to kill.

As charming as the famed British double-O, Jackson is one-hundred percent all-American, from his dusty cowboy boots to his unending Southern charm. His conquests in and out of the bedroom are the stuff of legends, yet Q daydreams of being something more to Jackson.

At the highly sought-after event, Nebulas and Novas, Q gets tangled in Jackson's latest mission and the mysterious disappearance of NASA's green glass Moon stone. Q must trust her wits to survive the dangerous operation, thwart Dr. Faust's sinister plan, and save the sexy spy she loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Nov 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781509223312

Nichole D. Evans

Nichole D. Evans’ writes tales of international intrigue laced with salty humor—probably from growing up in a hometown centered around a national laboratory and fifteen years teaching bawdy eighth graders, respectively. She believes in heroes and heroines who are smart, loyal, and do the right thing, even when the mission seems impossible. Inspired by the clever quips of James Bond and the unexpected courage of Jack Ryan, her plots are woven on a backdrop of real-world events, resolved just in time to fall in love. Nichole is married to her real-life “Q”, and she has two children who are out saving the world on their own.

Book preview

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They’re worried I’ll hurt you. He stepped away from me. They’re probably right.

You haven’t hurt me yet. I worried more about the forces separating us than I did about Jackson hurting me in a relationship gone bad. Don’t you think I can handle what you do? I know who you are even when the world doesn’t. I’m not that breakable, Jackson.

His gaze dropped. I live a complicated life, Q. Feelings—emotions—get in the way.

So you do have feelings, I teased, trying to lighten the mood. I hated this overthinking version of Jackson, but my jibe seemed to make him more anxious.

Christ, Q. You used to understand this, he countered. I do my thing, and you are there. Always there. You ground me to the real world, yet you understand what I’m up against.

What makes you think that I won’t still understand it? Jackson, I lo—

Don’t say it. He threw his hands up and stepped around the car. Opening the driver’s door, he grumbled, Don’t say it. We can’t go there. He slid into his seat.

I froze, afraid my knees might give out. I’d almost said it. Jackson, I love you. He’d heard me, my feelings on display, and he shut it down. But at my most vulnerable moment, I had glimpsed the fatal flaw of the hero I worshiped.

Jackson feared love.

The man faced perils that would break anyone else, yet he feared getting too close, connecting too deeply, or losing part of himself in a relationship.

But Jackson hadn’t counted on me.

Praise for Nichole D. Evans

Promise Me the Moon was a finalist in The Valley of the Sun RWA's Hot Prospect Contest in the Romantic Suspense Category (2016)

Promise Me the Moon

by

Nichole D. Evans

The Q Chronicles, Book 1

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

Promise Me the Moon

COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Nichole D. Evans

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

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Crimson Rose Edition, 2018

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2330-5

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2331-2

The Q Chronicles, Book 1

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To the real Q at Los Alamos National Laboratory whose brilliant inventions relayed covert messages making the World a safer place.

I miss you, Daddy.

Chapter 1

Lights! Camera! Cue the Action Sequence

Jackson, pay attention. Are you high enough?

I kept my voice steady—difficult, considering the circumstances. Special Agent Jayce Jackson’s cover had been blown upon entry, so as he worked a nonexistent plan B, radio communication lapsed.

His silence killed me. But then he did have a license for that.

Jackson had retreated to the rafters of a warehouse, dangling on a specialized climbing cable I had wound into his belt buckle—a titanium alloy, incredibly thin but strong. Just below him, a group of Russian military entrepreneurs arrived to sell a trailer full of Cold War Era missiles to a Middle-Eastern terrorist group from Syria. Back at the Control Room, we all sensed the precariousness of Jackson’s position.

Covert operations never unfolded as smoothly as they did in a blockbuster movie.

Jackson, are you high enough? Are they going to see you? I repeated over the surveillance mike as the players entered below him.

If no one looks up, I’m high enough, he muttered, maneuvering himself behind a support beam in the center of the room. Q, have I ever let you down?

Frequently, I responded, exhaling.

Hey, Q? About this cable, how many pounds is it rated for?

Five hundred.

And the retraction mechanism?

We tested it to two hundred, but in theory it could lift more. Why?

No reason.

I sighed—he always had a reason. Jackson ranked as one of the best thinking on his feet, but he made the mission unpredictable while the pieces came together.

Are we expecting anyone else? he asked, now climbing the beam and adjusting the cable.

I studied the monitor. Three Syrians, all low-level grunts, and four Russians, including the mastermind of this scheme, General Vlad Bartok gathered. If we took Bartok into custody, we’d stop the arms sales syndicate. As far as we know, this is it.

Send me a kiss for luck, darlin’. With that, Jackson pushed off the support beam and released the cable on his belt, lowering himself in a quick arc.

What happened next, I would have paid twenty dollars for a ticket and popcorn to see.

Swinging gracefully around the group, Jackson landed and circled two of the Russians. He slid his belt out of his pants and looped the belt buckle around the two men, latching it onto the cable. When he set the belt-buckle device to retract, the cable tightened around them and started pulling them up.

My opinion of you is steadily rising, Jackson remarked as the men’s feet left the ground.

As they rose, feet in the air, kicking and yelling, Jackson spun into a roundhouse kick, hitting the closest Syrian in the temple, knocking him out. In perfect Arabic, he told the other two Syrians to get out of there before he lost his cool. The men exchanged puzzled looks, then backed up and left the warehouse with their bags of money.

At the same time, Bartok and the last Russian jumped into the truck, now separated from the trailer of missiles.

Director Mitchell Mansfield, our superior, leaned toward the surveillance screen with the stress vein in his forehead twitching. Leave the two in the air. Don’t let Bartok go. The order left no room for questions.

The things men will do for a little head. Jackson’s comment, referring to the small Russian missiles he ran past, brought chuckles to the team. Forgive me, Q, he added.

Don’t apologize to me, Jackson. As the only woman on the team, I often heard off-color comments. I’m not the one with a little head.

On the radio silence echoed while my response sank in, and then good-natured laughs emerged.

As much as I’d like to explore this conversation further, Q, I have a ride to catch. Jackson latched his arms onto the side panel and pivoted his legs into the bed of the truck as the Russians tore out of the warehouse.

I doubted he had even broken a sweat.

Switch to his body camera, I ordered, and the picture changed from the overall view from the rafters to the jolting perspective from Jackson’s shoulder. I hoped the new clasp I had fashioned out of a tungsten-steel blend would hold the camera in place.

Our heads bobbed, trying to keep pace with the action on screen. Within minutes, Jackson had maneuvered into the cab of the truck and neutralized the passenger by kicking him out the side door. Lunging to the other side of the cab, Jackson landed a knockout blow to Bartok’s skull. Turning the Russian’s stunned body to the passenger side, he stopped the truck then secured Bartok in cuffs before reaching public roads.

The local law enforcement, alerted and standing by, swarmed in with red and blue flashing lights and sirens. The officers in blue took over the scene while Jackson slipped away to protect his cover. Thanks to him, one of the world’s most notorious arms dealers was in custody.

The rush never got old.

As we wrapped up in the Control Room, the team recapped Jackson’s feats like teens exiting the latest action flick.

Did you see him fall from the rafters? Holy Mother!

What a kick he laid on that guy. Bam! And he went down.

I thought I’d lose it when he jumped into the truck.

I concentrated on the video feed as Jackson removed his shoulder camera, aiming it toward himself before turning it off. I doubted anyone noticed his pointer finger and thumb held down—sign language for the letter Q. Brushing his finger past his lips, he hit the switch to turn off the camera. Now I left, walking by the team and holding back a smile.

My job put me with other operatives, but no agent thrilled me like Jackson. He entered and exited danger without fault and always returned to us with the prize in hand. More than that, however, he treated me like an indispensable part of his success.

But I’d never be the stereotypical woman behind the successful spy. Girls like that could only be found in one place—

Entering stage left in six-inch heels and a long gown barely skimming here and there, she descends the stairs into a casino or a ballroom or a museum to find him.

The setting doesn’t matter, as long as it’s rich and exotic.

A cinematic pan closes in on her, commanding his attention from across the room, while he glances at her with a smug I-know-what-we’re-going-to-do-later smirk and bets it all on red.

And, of course, he wins, leaving the villain to wonder where his plan went wrong.

In the background the bass guitar twangs out the theme song as he throws back the rest of his Belvedere vodka—up with a twist—and makes a one-line quip about expecting the unexpected. Then he saunters across the room to claim her, the perfect prize. The heroine can foil, ruin, capture, trouble, encourage, or betray him, and still purr, Oh, Jayce, at the end.

For girls like me, scenes like this only existed in the movies.

In my job, I required props like a soldering iron, lab coat, and a command prompt rather than a push-up bra and stiletto heels. My dialogue covered the benefits of using Semtex in car bombs and the hypothetical implications if life on Mars existed. And I didn’t have much patience for celebrity gossip or following fashion trends.

My commitment to Jayce Jackson encompassed every sense of the word—except maybe the one-night-stand sense, but I kept hoping. He was every bit as over-the-top sexy as the dashing Brit from that classic movie franchise, but one-hundred percent all-American, from his dusty cowboy boots to his unending Southern charm. I’d seen Jackson silence a room of females by drawling a polite greeting and flashing his dimples. I firmly believed his license to kill came with a warrant to search my panties—and when required, I’d happily comply, for the sake of God and country.

But I wasn’t the throwaway girl who died at the beginning of the film, alerting the hero to his antagonist’s criminal dealings. I had a recurring role as a scientist-slash-engineer-slash-inventor for clandestine operatives. I created the gadgets, toys, and machines that made Jackson’s spying possible—the Quartermaster to CIA’s finest agent.

Even my name, Grace Quincy, foreshadowed a life fated for Q-dom. The day I joined this organization, I’d been christened Q, a surname-cinematic tag that stuck. Only those on the outside kept calling me Grace, a name underscoring God’s joke on my incredibly talented, athletic parents. My nerdy tendencies had troubled them while I was growing up, but now that I brought in the salary I did, they started to see the wisdom in all the science fairs, robotic clubs, and academic decathlons.

Yet they still managed to express their continuing hopes and disappointments at our weekly Sunday dinners. With the whole family invited, my older brother and younger sister and their spouses and children, my mother had plenty of perfection to draw from for comparison.

Betty said the club is starting a Zumba class, Mom hinted as she set silverware next to the plates I had laid on the mats. It might be a good way for someone to start getting in shape.

Oh, who did you have in mind? I pursed my lips, trying not to smile. Sometimes it amused me to make her squirm. Although I inherited my mother’s killer metabolism, my exercise avoidance techniques insured I would never beat her in a foot race.

I just thought—you know—since you never seem to have time to go out biking or running with us. She frowned.

Maybe I don’t like running or biking. Or anything else I have the possibility of falling off or tripping over.

I know if you get out and try… You’re not a gawky teenager anymore, Grace.

Hmm. I reflected. And here I thought tonight would be a why-don’t-you-find-a-nice-boy-to-date night.

Grace, she protested, you make it sound like all we do is pick on you.

No, she’s pretty much accusing you of it, my brother Carter teased, carrying in a salad and some potatoes to set on the table. Can we eat soon, or are we gonna just pick on Gracie tonight?

Why don’t you call everyone, Carter? my mom asked with a sigh. We’re almost ready.

As he left to get everyone, Carter winked at me, and I nodded in acknowledgement. Perfect though he was, he still found time to protect his little sister from a meddling family. I loved him for it.

Family dinners followed the same pattern most weeks. First, my sister Courtney would give us the rundown of all the ways the twins surpassed others of their age group. Then Carter’s boys would do something mischievous, evoking scolding from their parents and chuckles from the rest of us. Eventually the kids would be excused to go play ball in the backyard, and the adults would linger at the table over a glass of wine.

I often tried to escape as well, preferring the company of my niece and nephews to the judgment of my parents and siblings. Tonight, however, they had other ideas. When I stood to leave, my father’s hand squeezed my shoulder from behind, pushing me down.

Where are you going, Gracie? He reached over to my wine glass and topped it off with Chardonnay. Why don’t you stay with the adults tonight?

I don’t have much to share. I shrugged. Besides, Mom wants me to get more exercise.

That’s not what I meant, she called from the kitchen. Sit down. I have an apple tart for dessert.

Usually dessert bribery worked on me. But I also knew if my mom made it, it contained whole-grain, gluten-free tofu and an all-natural sugar substitute—not my idea of a treat. The kids had a reason to escape outside before dessert. But I also sensed something was up, so I gave in to the inevitable and relaxed in the chair.

That’s my girl, my father cooed.

I took a healthy swig from the glass in front of me while my sister and mother returned from the kitchen with the tart and serving plates.

Grace, we want you to know we love you and support you, no matter what life decisions you make, my sister Courtney recited what had to be a rehearsed statement.

Thank you—I think. I looked around the table, puzzled.

Everyone’s gaze focused on me. My parents had forced smiles with widened eyes and nodded like two bobble-head dolls.

You are such a pretty girl, my mother managed, and then she started crying. My father knelt by her chair, and she put her head on his shoulder.

Stan, Courtney’s too-perfect husband, jumped in, comforting Mom. Linda, there’s nothing to get upset about. This lifestyle is becoming more and more accepted in society. There’s no reason Grace needs to feel like an outcast.

My mother moaned, I know…it’s just not what I wanted for my baby. She fell back into my father’s arms to his whispered encouragements.

Not again! When I graduated and got the job with the CIA, I thought I’d heard the end of the side comments and well-meaning suggestions to find a more traditional career. My family never liked the whole introverted science thing, but this reached a new level of ridiculous. Science laboratories no longer employed strictly men. Women, like me, had proven equal to men as scientists, engineers, and inventors, and they should know it.

I thought you would have come to terms with my choices by now. Besides, it’s my decision.

We’re not saying it’s not, Courtney piped up. We want you to feel you can come to us—you can talk about whatever it is you do.

It’s a little hard to explain the specifics to someone who’s never done it, I said. I mean I can tell you we do a lot of experiments and look for certain reactions…

Don’t talk about the reactions. Mom wrinkled her nose and shook her head. We don’t need to visualize that part.

What do you want, then? I could tell you about the exotic locations or the amazing explosions I’ve had my hands in.

Mom groaned and put her head back on my father’s shoulder.

I looked around the table. Mom had her head down, Dad avoided eye contact, Courtney and Stan just shook their heads in pity, and Carter bit his lips as if he were trying very hard not to laugh. What does Carter know? I narrowed my gaze on him, and he raised his hands, claiming nothing.

You have all known since high school what I’m passionate about. I don’t know why it’s a surprise. The specifics are secret for safety, not because we don’t want you to know.

Mom raised her head. And she’ll never have a baby. I’ll never have a grandbaby by my Gracie.

Now I was confused. What do you mean? None of the chemicals I work with cause infertility.

She means sperm. My sister was known for being a straight shooter. You need sperm to make a baby. And sperm comes from a man.

I tried to keep my voice level. I am aware of that. I am a scientist. The curriculum included biology. Geez, I admitted having a dry spell in the sperm department, but I knew what ingredients the process required. I’d gone on a date with one of the guys at work just…well…maybe a few months ago. But I always thought in time…

I don’t think being a scientist is the issue, Grace, my brother choked out between laughs. Being a lesbian is.

A lesbian? I studied my family around the table. Courtney and her husband tried to look supportive, but their pinched faces made them look constipated. My mom still wallowed, and Dad rolled his eyes and put his arm back around Mom.

Carter gave me a wide grin. I’m guessing everyone is assuming you dance bumper-to-bumper, so to speak.

His wife, Margot, who had shrunk down into her chair at the end of the table, hit him in the arm.

My jaw dropped, and my lips must have formed one of those Os you see in comic books to represent shock. I’m not…I mean, I like…

You don’t have to lie to us any longer, my sister offered. You’re here. You’re queer. We’re okay with that.

Stan, a lawyer by profession, had to put in his argument. We’ve all discussed this, and we want you to know, we still want you as part of the family. Even if you choose to shun your traditional gender role, we will accept you as the butch you are.

Mom responded with a whimper and a shaky but concerned smile.

I hesitated to admit after hearing they still wanted me as part of the family—uh, is there an option?—and I shunned my gender role—what the hell did that mean?—only one question came to mind.

You think I’m butch?

Carter burst out with a loud Ha! and stood and turned toward the back wall, his shoulders shaking.

Margot rolled her eyes and mouthed, Sorry.

"It’s not that we think you’re butch, my sister clarified. It’s that others see you that way, and we’re okay with that."

I took a sip of wine for fortification and stood up. Wow. I guess I don’t know what to say. Scooting away from the table, I flung my hands out. Wait, I do know what to say. I’m. Not. Gay.

All eyes focused on me for a moment, and then everyone started looking at each other.

Grace, we know lesbians have a more politically correct term for it, but you know what we mean when we say ‘gay.’ Stan stepped into his role as advocate for the family naturally.

Thank you, Stan, I managed with just a touch of sarcasm. I moved toward the kitchen, my blood pounding in my chest and forehead. Mom, Dad, a pleasure as always, but I have to get out of here. In truth, I needed to breathe.

I managed to get through without tripping on any of the chairs or carpets and into the kitchen before Mom called, You forgot your tart! Let me wrap up one, or two in case there’s someone special you want to share with.

I breathed out and waited while Mom wrapped dessert. She meant well. They all did. But somehow, I failed to be the daughter they wanted. I didn’t fit their mold, and tonight’s intervention, although misguided, represented another attempt for my family to figure out where I fit in the world. My place wasn’t easily defined, and their understanding tended to be limited to well-labeled boxes. I hoped someday we’d find equilibrium—a place where they could be proud of me, and I didn’t have to sell out.

Mom came over with the foil-wrapped plate, kissed my cheek, and held me a little longer than usual. I expected to see disappointment in her eyes, but instead I saw unending faith and hope. It was the same look she’d given me when I came in dead last in the hundred meters at our sixth-grade track meet and when the teacher at gymnastics explained how some kids just never progressed. She never judged. She never scolded. She told me we’d find something else I liked to do.

You know we are proud of you, even if we aren’t always good at showing it, she whispered in my ear.

I nodded, taking the foil-wrapped plate. Thanks for dinner, Mom. I opened the screen door and stepped out.

Wait. Say goodnight, Gracie, she called to me. I’d memorized the old George Burns and Gracie Allen routine that my parents had played over and over in my childhood. The next line was mine.

Goodnight, Gracie. I smiled and carried my tart out to the car.

Chapter 2

Caution: Trespassers May Be Charming, Tempting, and Altogether Heart-Stopping

A few years ago, I’d saved up enough money to buy a little house on the corner of Spruce and Maple Streets, a funny misnomer since there wasn’t a spruce or a maple tree anywhere in sight. It was a two-bedroom bungalow with a screened-in porch, squeaky floors that showed character, and a small mortgage that fit my budget. It had a postage-stamp front yard in need of mowing, and a larger backyard grown beyond what a traditional lawn mower could be expected to handle.

After I bought the house, I’d painted it white with blue trim, while in my mind singing the line about white dresses and blue satin sashes from The Sound of Music over and over.

Would someone butch do that?

As I made it home, my head still spun from tonight’s intervention. Like sending a devout Mormon to Alcoholics Anonymous, the twelve steps promised healing, but without those particular wounds, not a lot of progress would be made. I would rack my brain over the next several hours trying to figure out where they got the idea I was gay. As I pushed the key in and turned the knob, I stopped. The lock was already undone.

I bit my lip to hold back a smile as my pulse rate increased. I tried to remember locking the door when I left, but it was such a common thing, I couldn’t. Besides, a locked door never stopped this intruder. I glanced around and nothing else seemed out of place, so I pushed the door open and eased into

Reviews for Promise Me the Moon

[chgstrom · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book seemed like a cross between a Janet Evanovich book and James Bond. Definitely not anything serious, but a lot of fun. Could easily be read in one or two settings. Just don’t take anything too seriously!

[fredacochran · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I won this book, and i was skeptical about reading it cause its not my normal kind of reading. Once i started reading i was hooked from the get go. Very well written it was if I was actually Q in the book. The quips and puns in the book was awesome and just added home to the story for me. I kept saying i gotta put it down after one more chapter then it pulls you back in and you say but i gotta know what happens next. I read the book in one day. I love this book and im glad i was chosen to be one of the winners. Cant wait to read more from this author. Outstanding.

[squeex_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book is FUN! Suave American spy Jayce Jackson and the voice in his ear, Q. She also is a genius at developing new toys for Jackson to utilize. I almost rolled my eyes as this is a wee bit like one of my favorite movies, Spy, with Melissa McCarthy and Jude Law. Then I did not roll my eyes as it stands on its own as a story and made me turn the pages quickly and enjoy the read-ride. And that is a wee bit like Spy is okay with me. Q is smart and strong and funny and is the boss of the scientist shop. She can hold her own with Jackson, big flirt that he is. A cool concept for the mystery they are solving and the banter and gadgets keep everything moving along nicely. I am glad this is the start of a series. I look forward to more adventures.I can definitely recommend this book and this author. THIS BOOK IS FUN!

[grumpydan · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

If you are fan of James Bond and spy novels and love a quirky comedy with a lot of sexual innuendo, then you would enjoy this book. Grace Quincy aka “Q” is an engineer and scientist for a secret CIA group called the Operations and Properties group. She oversees the others as they create the devices that the spies need. Especially one Jayce Jackson, they she is head over heels in love with. Getting from behind the scenes and working a case with Jackson in New Orleans makes for a dangerous scenario.If you don’t take this too seriously, it is fun novel to read. Q is a strong woman who handles herself well, not only with Jackson, but her peculiar family as well. Since this is the beginning of a series for this new author, I am not sure how the relations between the spy and the scientist will continue. But I did enjoy this story and read it quickly.

[hotcha-2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved the cover of this book and Grace, as well as the plot. I couldn't help but dig in to TRY to help the duo find NASA's green glass disappearance while Grace and Q try to fight off their attraction, and now I want to read book 2!

[gatorhater · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was a typical James Bond type novel, that has romance that flies off the pages. With every spy novel, there's these clandestine meetings that involves the different parties, their goals are outlined within these meetings. Now it's the agents, who work within these dangerous arenas's tying too accomplish their goals.

[tom471 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I won this book in a LibraryThing giveaway. The author sent me an autographed copy, a nice touch. Thank You Nicole Evans!This is a light, fluffy romantic James Bond takeoff. The narrator is "Q", Grace Quincy, lead scientist and engineer in the CIA's Clandestine Operations and Properties Group(COP). She has romantic fantasies about handsome Jayce Jackson, all American special agent with a license to kill.They constantly flirt, but since she listens in on all his operations, she is well aware of how many women he has seduced, and decides she doesn't want to be just another conquest.However, on the latest operation, she has to accompany him as his date. This puts both of them in danger. How they overcome their adversaries makes for a mildly enjoyable read.The first half is a little slow, being heavy on fantasizing.One quote, a conversation between Q and Jayce:"You've already told me you're glad that I'm just Properties for this operation.," I grumbled. "Leaves you free to pick your own big-busted, peanut-butter legs accomplice.""Peanut-butter legs?" He raised his eye brows in curiosity."Peanut-butter legs," I threw back at him. "Smooth and easy to spread."3.5 rounded up to 4 stars.

[jfe16 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Grace Quincy is the Clandestine Operations and Properties scientist/engineer/gadget maker for Jayce Jackson, CIA superspy. Assisted by Bob, Bill, and Barry [known as the Killer Bs], Grace [known around the lab as Q], has everything running smoothly. But her whacky family has some strange ideas about Grace’s life and her mother goes to extremes to show Grace her support even though she’s the most clueless of all. When Q accompanies Bob to the very au courant Nebulas and Novas extravaganza, she soon finds herself in the midst of Jackson’s latest caper as the priceless green glass moon stone vanishes and she steps into the case to face the exceedingly sinister plans of Dr. Faust. But she soon discovers that sometimes even the best of plans can suddenly take a very unexpected and dangerous turn . . . .With tongue firmly in cheek, readers will find much to appreciate in this tale of spies, villains, and intriguing capers. The characters are well-defined; Jayce Jackson is the stereotypical dashing hero while smart and capable Grace, as a woman, is the less-typical intelligent brains behind the scenes. With a swiftly-moving plot and some delightful derring-do, this is a fun-filled romp in the fantasy world of spies. The snappy dialogue, filled with quips, puns, witticisms, and double entendres, ratchets up the tension between the two central characters while a few cringe-worthy moments and a hefty dose of romance add depth to the storytelling. Clearly, this is one story meant to offer readers a tale of clever escapist fun coupled with a hefty dose of charm. The unfolding tale is nothing short of delightful . . . don’t miss this one. Highly recommended.I received a free copy of this book through the LibraryThing Early Readers program

[rabid6reader · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

An enjoyable souffle of action and romance, Promise Me the Moon does indeed deliver the moon. Grace Quincy is the technical behind-the-scenes wizard supporting Jayce Jackson, southern gentleman and CIA super-spy. They've always had some connection between them, and it heats up in a mission involving green moon glass, holographic artwork, and sinister international organizations. Comic relief is provided by bumbling coworkers and Grace's clueless family.The double entendres sizzle, as it's a love letter to the 1960s and 1970s Bond films. While there is some juvenile banter and humor, Grace can more than hold her own in the action/spy world, and many of the traditional scenes are updated for the 21st century. It's all light, frothy entertainment, and I look forward to seeing further adventures of this duo.