Retired agent David Hill lives a quiet life in a remote wilderness community. His neighbours don't know him. His name is a lie and even his face is not his own. With enemies like his it's safer that way. Then one night an injured alien woman crashes into his life needing his help. She's beautiful and innocent and above all else, in need. What's a man to do? But she also poses a conflict for him. Because he knows what his old bosses will do to Cyrea if they catch her. What they will do to her people. And to his neighbours who've been hiding the Leinians for years. He must choose between his duty and his conscience. To expose her to them is to place them all in deadly peril. To keep the secret is to betray everything he has believed in his whole life. But a greater danger stalks them all. David's most dangerous enemy is hunting him. The Leinians have their own enemy though they don't know it. And when the two of them get together it just may be the end of the world.
About the Author: Greg Curtis was born in New Zealand, land of the long white cloud and small flightless birds. He grew up in the city of Wellington, renown for its high winds and the almost magical ability of rain and sleet to be lifted off the street and blasted into one's face. After eighteen years of suffering the cold and wet, he was finally blown away in a particularly bad storm to settle far away as a student, for more years then most would ever admit to. Later when the universities had pronounced him done, he became an overqualified and underpaid worker in the health sector, (aren't we all). He has lived in the city of Rotorua, one of the very few places in the world where people have actually chosen to reside beside active geysers and breath air that reeks of sulphur, for the past fifteen years. He works by day for his daily bread, and toils away by night on his books. When not engaged in his great passions of reading and writing science fiction and fantasy, drinking strong black coffee (some call it tar), and consuming copious amounts of chocolate (dark naturally), he lives a quiet life of contemplation as the high priest to his two cats. He worships them with regular gifts of food, occasional grooming and by providing them with a warm dry place to sleep. They in turn look down upon him with typical feline disdain, but occasionally deign to bring him gifts of headless vermin, - as a warning. In a desperate bid to understand the meaning of his life, he has recently started studying philosophy, particularly metaphysics, and finally concluded that God must be a cat! Cheers and be good or don't get caught.