I had spent many nights in the jungle looking for game, but this was the first time I had ever spent a night looking for a man-eater. The length of road immediately in front of me was brilliantly lit by the moon, but to right and left the overhanging trees cast dark shadows, and when the night wind agitated the branches and the shadows moved, I saw a dozen tigers advancing on me, and bitterly regretted the impulse that had induced me to place myself at the man-eater's mercy. I lacked the courage to return to the village and admit I was too frightened to carry out my self-imposed task, and with teeth chattering, as much from fear as from cold, I sat out the long night. As the grey dawn was lighting up the snowy range which Iwas facing, I rested my head on my drawn-up knees, and it was in this position my men an hour later found me fast asleep; of the tiger I had neither heard nor seen anything.

I am Orafoura, but you can call me Jarod Kintz. I__ fairly proud to proclaim that Dora J. Arod has me on her short list of __orld__ worst writers._ The list couldn__ get any shorter, because I__ the only name on it. I should tell her to stop calling it a list, and change the title to __orld__ worst writer._ If you__e wondering why I rate all my work one star, it__ because the rating system doesn__ have a zero star option, or better yet, go into negative numbers.

Reading an author's Biography contributes to an understanding and enjoyment of their work, and gives a richness to the reading experience.

Langley bred a certain type of person with great intention. The human resources department required nearly as sophisticated of analysts as the foreign intelligence department. Apply the massive computing technology of the CIA to hiring, along with the naive appeal of the exciting, though perhaps not so lucrative life of a spy, and any headhunter would be jealous of the results.

We're three women from two different centuries, trying to save the world from oblivion. I don't know about you, but that's way above my pay grade.

He poured a splash of liquid into a second cup. __ome in and warm yerself by the fire._ Ariana walked deeper into the room, toward the glow of the hearth. It__ heat enveloped her skin and eased away the chill with such expediency, she almost sighed. Connor appeared beside her with a metal cup extended. __ canna sleep often myself._ She closed her fingers around the cool surface and glanced at the dark liquid within. A sharp scent hit her nostrils. __hisky,_ Connor said. He was perfection in the firelight. Shadows etched his jaw while the light softened his face, his lips. The powerful lines of his chest were visible at the neck of his leine, as well as a dark peppering of small curling black hairs. __hisky,_ Ariana said with a forced stare at the cup instead of him. __f course. I drink this all the time._ __ye, I knew that about ye. When I first saw ye, I thought, __ow there__ a lass who can handle her whisky.__ Connor winked at her with disarming playfulness. __t__l do ye some good. Take off the chill and settle yer thoughts._ __hy do you assume my thoughts are unsettled?_ she asked. He took a swallow from his cup. __ecause sleep comes easily to those without weight on their minds._ Ariana took a careful sip from her own cup, the way she__ seen men at the card tables drink. The liquid burned like sin down her throat and caught in her chest. She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard several times to keep from sputtering. Though she__ hoped to keep her reaction discreet, the grin on Connor__ face told her he saw through her guise. __t__ good._ Her voice came out in a croak and Connor laughed. It was a warm, rich sound and she found it terribly pleasing. His eyes crinkled. __ow that we__e discovered yer love of whisky, why dinna ye tell me what__ got yer thoughts heavy?