C. Michelle Jefferies is a writer who believes that the way to examine our souls is to explore the deep and dark as well as the shallow. To manipulate words in a way that makes a person think and maybe even second guess. Her worlds include suspense, urban fantasy, and an occasional twist of steampunk. When she is not writing, she can be found on the yoga mat, hand binding journals, making hand frame drums, and serving ginger tea. The author and creator divides her time between stories, projects, and mothering the last two of her seven children on the wild and windy plains of Wyoming.

Awards: C. Michelle Jefferies is an award winning author taking third place in the Storymakers first chapter contest, first place in the Storymakers songwriting contest, and winning a publishing contract with TM publishing for her book Enchanted Etiquette.

Latent by C. Michelle Jefferies

From the moment an unknown operative delivers a death threat directed at hit man Antony Danic's wife, the game changes. For years he has operated under the assumption that as long as he toes the line and completes his assignments, everything will be fine. However, it's not just his life at risk now, it's hers as well. And that is not okay with him.

As he works, it becomes evident the corporation that employs him is maneuvering in a much more dangerous arena than he ever imagined, and he is a pawn. Bound by a lifelong contract that might as well be signed in his own blood, the atheist assassin scrambles to keep his wife safe.

When his handler tells him to kill a man Antony knows is innocent, he has a decision to make. Do what is expected of him—or go rogue and risk it all. Even if it drags him through a hell he doesn't believe in.

 

REVIEWS

  • "I picked this up in a paperback edition from the author in person, and boy, am I glad I did. From its first pages, this thriller puts its assassin protagonist on his back foot, turning the game on him by threatening his wife and by forcing him to question to the godless, materialist world he has always believed in. I can't wait to read more of the series!"

    – Reader review
  • "Anthony is a killer, but his faith and skills are tested to their limits when he becomes the target. I loved the main character in this book. Making an assassin the protagonist is tricky, but Michelle Jefferies handled it perfectly! Everyone is sure to fall in love with Antony. He feels real and is an in-depth and multi-faceted character. The author did a great job at building his internal conflict to match the thrilling external action. It's a page turner with true-to-life conflicts. Great read!!!"

    – Reader review
  • "This book has one of the most original plots I've seen in a while. Although it hints of a dystopian setting, the relationships between the characters are real and relevant today. Antony is a rich character who's drive to be a hero is challenged or and over, eventually setting up the next volume in the series. So many juicy questions to answer, I will definitely read on."

    – Reader review
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

Antony Danic let the slide of his Glock .357 slam home. The sound echoed against the sterile surfaces of the industrial kitchen where he waited. Lines of stainless steel appliances and stark white counters filled the room that was half the size of his whole apartment.

Elite would love this kitchen. His thoughts turned from his wife to the hit, a machine-like calm settling over his body.

"Corporate, this is Viper," he said as he double-checked the blade strapped to his calf and adjusted his blue-lensed Lanzen glasses.

"Viper acknowledged," one of four female operators said over his silver and red earpiece.

"Viper in recon position." With his deadly accuracy, much like several Australian snakes, it hadn't been hard to choose his call name.

"Roger that, Viper. Radio silence commenced." The earpiece went silent. There would be no more contact until he initiated it.

Mr. Bennett held to a strict schedule when he was in town. He would arrive at exactly eleven to do a final walk-through of his restaurant before locking up for the night. Somehow, after chasing the man for three weeks, across Pakistan and the US, he had found him in Tallahassee, Florida.

"Thank you," a voice echoed through the kitchen, coming from the direction of the dining room. "I'll talk to you later." Antony could hear shoes on the tile floor. He slid his finger from the side of his Glock to the trigger well. A wide man entered the kitchen, checking the small refrigerator by the door and wiping his finger on the counter.

Meticulous and well-fed, Antony thought as he stepped from the shadows, training his pistol on the man. Pretty oblivious, too, for a supposed mob boss. They now stood a mere ten feet from each other.

Antony cleared his throat—he refused to shoot a man in the back—and pulled the trigger.

l

Antony grimaced at the splatter of blood on his pant leg and made a mental note to stand farther back next time.

I should know better—the larger targets always bleed more. Especially that third signature shot to the femoral artery. At least it wasn't obvious on his black cargo pants, although he could feel it, growing cold and sticky, on his skin. Behind him, the door of the restaurant hissed closed and the smells and sounds of the city drew his attention from his last hour of work. Standing on the corner, he headed for the nearest train station.

A siren echoed and a lone car rolled past him, the tires crunching on the blacktop. There were still a few of them around. Older cars were a luxury, too expensive for the common man, or a major expense for the "old timers" who didn't like or trust newer technology.

"Time," he said into his earpiece.

"11:17 p.m., June 26, 2097," one of the women from headquarters answered.

"When does the next plane leave for Canberra?"

"3:06, sir."

The airport express line was still a city block away. Ahead of him, a community shuttle hovered at the curb of a stone apartment building. A young woman stumbled down the steps toward the shuttle. Behind her, a man followed.

"Inform Maiko the package is delivered and Viper is going home." He ran, his titanium sniper rifle case bouncing against his back in a calming cadence. Above him, a few shuttles flew along the appointed routes. For the size of the city, it was unusually quiet tonight.

"Yes, sir, your ticket home has been activated." the voice in his ear said.

"Viper out." He nudged the silver and red earpiece with his shoulder. The station was just ahead of him.

He swiped his international transport card at the turnstile and rushed up the stairs. He reached the platform just as a large shuttle rose in the distance. Trans World Flight, a cruise ship in orbit. He intended to take Elite on one someday. He sat near the back of the train car and watched the city speed by and the massive airport appeared in the distance. He was just hours away from home.

"Welcome to Canberra ACT, the National Capital of Australia," the automated voice said. Antony turned the corner and walked from the airport into the adjacent train station. A maze of tracks crossed through the large room, and metal stairs and ramps led to each of the bays. Bright florescent lights bleached the color from everything in the station. The digital sign projected on the wall indicated his train would stop at a bay to his left in approximately 3.32 minutes.

"God loves those that come to Him and confess their sins." A man stood next to the transportation card machine, a metal can on the ground at his feet. He held a book in his hand and his frayed clothes reminded Antony of the homeless he'd seen around the city. "What about you, young man—have you given Him your sins?" he asked, grabbing at the sleeve of Antony's jacket.

Antony felt strong fingers pinching at his muscles. Sighing, he closed his eyes for a prolonged moment; all he wanted to do was get home to his wife and bed. As usual, sleep had escaped him in the adrenalin wash after a hit. He was exhausted. He pulled his arm up, the fabric sliding out of the preacher's grip, and sneered at the man.

"Hardly." He continued to the left.

"The path you choose leads to darkness—your heart yearns to be free from sin," the man said, maneuvering in front of Antony.

Antony stopped walking right before running into him. "Religion is placation for the weak-minded," he growled. "It's slavery in itself."

The man met Antony's gaze, and Antony noticed that in spite of the man's speed and strength, he was actually older. The lines around his dark, almond-shaped eyes were evident at this distance. When the man reached for his arm again, Antony grasped the front of his coat.

"Get your hands off me, old man." Antony pushed the man away from him. The preacher stumbled back a few feet before he stopped his own fall. "There is no God. It's all in your head." Antony stepped back as the train pulled into the station.

If there was a God, my mother would still be alive. Clenching his teeth, he shoved the thought into the back of his head where it belonged.

"Everything all right here?" asked a police officer dressed in traditional khakis. He stepped between them and reached out his hands, placing one on Antony's chest and one on the preacher's.

"Tell that freak to leave me alone." Antony pushed the officer's hand away and stormed past him to the open train doors.

"Simply a difference of opinion," he heard the preacher say from behind him.

Two people stepped off the train before Antony got on. He found a place to sit against the wall in the rear of the train car. He leaned back in his seat, the bloody fabric on his leg feeling coarse against his skin.

An old woman turned on her bench to stare at him with watery eyes.

He groaned and looked back at her, raising his eyebrows. "What?" he snapped.

She turned away and looked down.

He punched the volume up on his earpiece. "Music," he said, and closed his eyes.