Title: Specimen
Series: PRISM Agents, Book One
Author: C. Quince
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 03/11/2025
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 105100
Genre: Science Fiction, MM romance, sci-fi, interracial/intercultural, former military, spies, secret agents, aliens, vampires, covert missions, cosy mystery, paranormal, paranormal sleuthing, sci-fi fantasy, action, British humour
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Description
David Cortez, a decorated US Marine, is now on the run from his own government after escaping a top-secret CIA lab when an experimental medical procedure turned sour.
While lying low in Mexico, an assassin sent from British Intelligence tracks him down. However, Sonny from MI6, a British-Iranian with a cockney accent, offers David a choice: join his team, or be killed.
David chooses to work with Sonny, not only because he wants his life back, but because he feels a kinship with the man.
They’re also both in the unique position of being the only living test subjects with alien DNA in their blood. Could that explain the strong attraction between them?
Excerpt
Specimen
C. Quince © 2025
All Rights Reserved
Tijuana, Mexico
David was being followed.
He couldn’t see who the tail was; every time David paused to do a little window shopping on the street and check his six in the window’s reflection, the tail managed to hide. Whoever they were, they were good at slipping by undetected.
David wasn’t sure who it was. Agency, probably, or another US-based shadowy government division. He should’ve picked Venezuela to lie low, but Mexico was his home, his heritage. He had lingered here longer than he should; he knew that, but he’d been so careful, using different names and cash only. He’d grown a beard to blend in and kept moving from place to place, never settling. David had been looking over his shoulder for six months. Now it seemed the bastards had finally caught up to him.
The sun was low in the sky, turning the clouds pink and orange. Vendors in the busy street were out in full force, providing good cover. David calmly made his way down the street, not letting on that he knew he was being followed—but if his tail was worth their salt, they’d know that he knew.
If his tail was a US Government agency like David suspected they were, they wanted one of two things: One, they wanted to keep tabs on him. Two, they wanted to bring him in. The latter would involve kidnap in some form or other; then they’d transport him to a black site—a soundproofed lab where nobody would hear him scream.
David should know. He’d been through that scenario once, and once was enough. If they thought he would come in quietly after what they’d done to him, they had another thing coming.
In the early evening hubbub of Tijuana, David led his tail down side streets and off the beaten path. He knew this town like the back of his hand, and it gave him the advantage.
On an ill-lit street, popular with gang members from the local cartel, a neon bar sign flickered on and off over an open doorway. David ducked in there. Immediately inside the door was a set of steps descending into darkness. David hurried down. At the bottom of the stairs, another open doorway awaited him. David knew the bar; it was small, gloomy, lit only by neon, and it was popular with drug dealers. Today it was busy enough, with music playing loud, and David was able to slip in without attracting attention.
He planned to lie in wait and watch who came through the door after him, so he situated himself at the far end of the bar, facing the entrance. He ordered a light beer. The bartender opened a bottle and stuck a wedge of lime in the top before handing it over.
David took the beer but didn’t drink yet. His eyes were trained on the doorway. Nobody had followed him in, which meant they were hanging back.
If the shoe had been on the other foot and David was the one doing the tailing, he wouldn’t have run straight into the unknown either. That meant this tail wasn’t a local, much as he’d suspected.
David leaned on the bar more casually and poked the lime wedge down into the bottle so he could take a sip of beer. He happened to catch his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Illuminated by red neon light, David’s tan skin looked darker than it usually did. He’d grown his hair out to ear length, the colour a mid-brown shade kissed by the sun. His full beard was a darker shade of brown. He looked like a local.
It was ironic; he’d spent his youth in California trying to look less Mexican, trying to fit in with the White kids in his grade. He’d lightened his hair with frosted tips for a while there—hair in the early ’00s…not great. David was half Mexican on his father’s side. His mother was Caucasian American from San Diego.
Now David had fled the US, he wanted to look more Mexican. He had felt shielded by his disguise so far, but maybe it was time for a new disguise. A new location.
Still no one had come through the door. That was nearly five minutes, a lifetime in surveillance work.
David was about to cut and run, when a figure appeared at the entrance. For a moment David tensed, but he soon saw that this figure was tiny. A short Mexican woman, and likely not his tail. She was the first of a group of local youths entering the bar. Two women, three men.
David relaxed some. These were Mexican kids. He could tell by looking at them; their dark hair, their complexions, and their clothes. The shoes gave it away: slides and sandals weren’t exactly standard surveillance footwear. These were civilians.
As the lively group came further into the bar to order their drinks, David noticed that one pair of feet among them had on black boots.
Bingo.
That was his tail, the man at the back of the group. Likely he had waited for a group to enter the bar and tacked himself on. Clever.
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Meet the Author
Quince is a MENA-British author who lives in England, enjoys sci-fi and fantasy, history, and Halloween.
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