Excerpt from Too Bad to Die by Francine Mathews, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Talk of invasion made Churchill nervous. He didn't think his army was ready to attack Hitler in France, and he wanted Roosevelt's support for a simpler approach. A series of lightning raids, maybe, from various parts of the Mediterranean. More time, perhaps, to train for a brutal amphibious landing across the unpredictable Channel. Stalin would pressure them in Tehran for a date and a detailed plan, anything that would guarantee him a pitched battle on Hitler's Western Front within six months. But Churchill was stalling. A commitment to Overlord meant concentrating all his military effort on one terrible stroke; and if Overlord failed, it would take England down with it.

Churchill was deathly afraid of putting his head into a noose of Stalin's making. It was vitally important that he explain his position to Roosevelt, here in Cairo, before their joint delegation arrived in Tehran. He and Roosevelt had to stand together—present a unified front against Stalin's demands.

But Roosevelt was playing hard to get.

—

THE PRESIDENT had been polite but distant to his British friends since his plane had touched down three days before. He'd seized every opportunity to draw Chiang Kai-shek aside, instead, and to talk Broadway shows with his stunning wife. So far, Churchill hadn't been able to get a word in edgewise. And they were flying to Tehran in thirty-six hours.

Hudson lifted his glass in salute. "Hey. No England, no Scotch. How in the hell did you find this bottle in Cairo, Johnnie?"

"Brought it with me on Leathers's plane." The Scotch was Ian's personal poison, a single-malt bottled in secrecy on the remote Scottish island of Islay. The Laphroaig distillery had been converted to a military depot since the start of the war, but precious bottles could still be found. Ian's family was Scots. One of his bottles had smashed during a rough patch of turbulence over Rabat. Leathers's plane cabin smelled like caramel and peat.

The Minister for War Transport snorted. "Needn't have bothered," he said. "The PM has flown in enough drink to flood the Nile."

"Let's hope he can swim, then."

"That's why he brought me," said a voice from the doorway. "Keep his head above water and floating in the right direction."

She was a mirage of gold and turquoise, a perfect hourglass in shimmering silk. Her smile was aloof and enigmatic. Ian had seen that feline look before, lit by flaring torches, on the wall of a pharaoh's tomb.

But Pamela was the sort of woman who bored him silly. The kind who might as well be a pet, something fed and cosseted and groomed. Played with when she demanded it. Never an equal. Never anything but owned.

"Mrs. Randolph." Leathers harrumphed and struggled to his feet.

"Pamela," Ian murmured.

Michael merely saluted with his drink. She had the ability to strike him dumb.

She fixed her glowing gaze on Ian. "I've got something for you, Commander. A telegram. Passion by post, direct from the PM's private wireless. A penny says it's Ann!"

A faint line furrowed Ian's brow. He set down his Scotch and held out his hand. "Give," he said quietly.

"You might offer a girl a drink."

"Hudders, the girl wants a drink."

Michael rose hurriedly to his feet. "We've got whiskey here, but I'm sure you'd prefer—"

"Champagne," she murmured. On Pamela's lips, the word was a bauble. Something to toss in the air and catch in the teeth. Michael was mesmerized. He held out his arm. She took it.

"Pamela," Ian said wearily. "The telegram?"

She drew it from her bodice like a harem girl of old. Still warm from her skin when she handed it to him. He noticed Leathers almost try to touch it.

"If you'll excuse me," he said.

And left the Minister for War Transport in possession of the Laphroaig.

Excerpted from Too Bad to Die by Francine Mathews. Copyright © 2015 by Francine Mathews. Excerpted by permission of Riverhead Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.