A Donovan Cross Novel
Donovan Cross is the NIA’s legendary secret agent. He has been sent on dozens of missions in every corner of the globe and will stop at nothing to achieve his goal. Originally from Hawaii, Cross has not returned home in nearly 30 years. The unexpected death of his parents altered the course of his life. Instead of attending a prestigious college on a scholarship, he chose a path of spying and espionage.
When the Agency ordered him to return to his birthplace, he anticipated confronting painful memories of his parents’ passing. Unbeknownst to him, his presence on the island is crucial to addressing a sensitive global crisis: China’s imminent invasion of Taiwan.
Hawaii is being used, shrouded in secrecy, to facilitate this invasion. The skills Cross has honed over the years and his knowledge of the island’s secrets will lead him and his newfound ally, the beautiful Jade Viper, on the thrill ride of a lifetime.
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Excerpt from Return To Hawaii © Copyright 2025 Daniel J. Voelker
THE PROLOGUE
To the gilded narcissists and the quietly desperate, the Botoxed beauties and the emotionally bankrupt, the champagne-soaked dreamers and the soul-searching cynics: this book is dedicated to you. You, who inhabit the shimmering, superficial world of excess and aspiration, where the pursuit of pleasure is a relentless, often exhausting, endeavor. You, who chase the fleeting high of fleeting connections, the hollow validation of fleeting moments in the spotlight, the elusive promise of eternal youth found only in the bottom of a crystal glass and the glow of a filtered Instagram post.
This book is for those who find themselves trapped in the glittering cage of their own making, surrounded by luxury yet profoundly alone, haunted by the echoes of unmet expectations and the ghosts of desires long deferred. It’s a dedication to the carefully crafted facades, the meticulously maintained illusions, the elaborate charades performed daily in the name of maintaining a meticulously-orchestrated life. It’s for those who understand the bitter irony of having everything yet feeling nothing, a void that no amount of wealth or adoration can ever truly fill.
To the men and women who navigate the treacherous currents of ambition, desire, and betrayal with equal parts grace and desperation, juggling high-stakes power plays with late-night rendezvous, this is a tribute to your carefully cultivated complexity, your dazzling contradictions, and the unsettling truth of your flawed yet captivating human experience. It is for those who understand that even beneath the perfectly sculpted abs and perfectly applied makeup, a beating heart struggles to find its rhythm, a soul searches for meaning, and a spirit yearns for something more substantial than the fleeting pleasures of a hedonistic existence. A toast to the intoxicating blend of vulnerability and power, the dangerous dance between ambition and self-destruction that defines your lives, and those who dare to glimpse behind the polished surfaces and uncover the thrilling, unsettling reality that lies beneath. For you, who understand the intoxicating scent of desperation mingled with the bittersweet taste of success, this is a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit, even when it’s cloaked in designer labels and a veil of carefully constructed charm. A dedication to those who play the game, and those who understand that in the end, the game always wins.
Chapter 1
The scent of chlorine, faintly overlaid with the cloying sweetness of expensive perfume, hung heavy in the air. Crystal chandeliers, the size of small cars, cast a dazzling, slightly distorted light on the polished marble floors of the West Bank Club. This wasn’t just a health club; it was a meticulously curated temple of self-improvement, a gilded cage where the city’s elite came to preen, to sweat, and to subtly (or not so subtly) compete. Tonight, however, the air thrummed with a different energy – the electric buzz of anticipation that precedes a truly extravagant party.
Veronica, a lawyer with a reputation for closing deals faster than a speeding bullet train and a wardrobe that could bankrupt a small country, surveyed the scene with a practiced detachment. She was dressed in a sleek, black jumpsuit that clung to her like a second skin, a stark contrast to the flowing silks and shimmering gowns of the other women. Her dark hair, usually pulled back in a severe chignon, was loosened, cascading down her back in soft waves, a calculated departure from her usual professional image. Tonight, she sought escape, a fleeting reprieve from the relentless pressure of her career and the gnawing emptiness that often accompanied her triumphs. The West Bank Club, with its promise of fleeting pleasure and carefully constructed illusions, felt like the perfect antidote.
Across the room, Marcus, a personal trainer with a physique that could launch a thousand Instagram posts and an enigmatic smile that could melt glaciers, was effortlessly charming a group of women old enough to be his mother – and several of them were, if the subtle air of competition amongst them was anything to go by. His easy charisma was a weapon, carefully honed over years of working with the city’s most demanding and entitled clientele. He moved with a fluid grace that suggested years spent mastering his craft, both physical and social. His tanned skin glistened under the lights, highlighting the taut muscles beneath. He knew the value of a carefully crafted image, and his current image was one of casual, effortless success. Beneath the surface, however, lurked a guardedness that hinted at a past he preferred to keep buried.
And then there was Deborah, a woman who’d spent her life accumulating wealth and beauty, only to find that neither quite filled the void she felt growing inside. She was draped in diamonds and designer labels, but her eyes held a haunted look, a deep-seated sadness that no amount of Botox or cosmetic surgery could erase. She was a socialite who had navigated the treacherous waters of Chicago high society for decades, but even her finely-honed social skills couldn’t mask the cracks in her carefully constructed facade. Tonight, her usual air of assured confidence seemed fragile, almost desperate. Her age, once a source of power and authority, now felt like a burden, a reminder of time slipping away. She craved a rejuvenation, not just physical, but emotional, and the West Bank Club, with its youthful energy and attractive trainers, seemed to offer a fleeting glimpse of that possibility.
Their initial interactions were a carefully orchestrated dance of veiled intentions and unspoken desires. Veronica and Marcus exchanged a brief, almost imperceptible glance across the crowded room, a silent acknowledgment of a shared understanding that transcended the superficial pleasantries of the evening. Their eyes locked momentarily, a subtle spark igniting in the space between them, a connection born of mutual ambition and underlying dissatisfaction. Deborah, observing them from afar, felt a twinge of something akin to envy, a potent cocktail of jealousy and regret. She was accustomed to attracting attention, yet these two, seemingly so at ease in their own skins, radiated a different kind of allure – one that hinted at a passion that she herself seemed to have lost touch with.
The lavish party unfolded like a meticulously choreographed ballet of excess. Champagne flowed freely, expensive hors d’oeuvres were passed on silver platters, and conversations swirled around the room like eddies in a fast-flowing river – a mixture of polite chatter and barbed comments, whispered secrets and blatant boasts. The air vibrated with a sense of unreality, a bubble of wealth and privilege that seemed both intoxicating and suffocating. The constant, low hum of the club’s air conditioning struggled to mask the underlying tensions and unspoken desires that simmered beneath the surface.
Veronica, despite her outward composure, felt the familiar tightening in her chest – a physical manifestation of the pressure she felt every day, a pressure that threatened to overwhelm her even in this haven of indulgence. She’d built her career on calculated risks, on a ruthless ambition that had propelled her to the heights of her profession. But success had a hollow ring, especially when it felt purchased at the expense of something more profound – genuine connection, true happiness.
Marcus, watching Veronica from across the room, detected that vulnerability, that flicker of insecurity that betrayed her carefully constructed persona. It intrigued him, this woman who appeared to have it all but clearly lacked something essential. He recognized the same hunger within himself, a yearning for something more than fleeting victories and temporary connections. His charm was often a shield, a way of deflecting intimacy and protecting himself from past hurts. Yet, something about Veronica, her quiet intensity, pierced through his defenses.
Deborah, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers significantly younger than herself, felt a pang of desperation gnawing at her. Their flattery, however insincere, was a balm to her wounded ego, a temporary fix for the growing sense of irrelevance she felt. But the fleeting pleasure they offered felt shallow, ultimately unfulfilling, leaving her with a deeper sense of unease and anxiety. She craved something real, something meaningful, but the years spent chasing fleeting pleasures had left her uncertain where to even begin looking.
As the night wore on, the carefully constructed facades began to crumble, revealing the vulnerabilities and insecurities that lurked beneath the surface. The simmering tensions between the three characters intensified, setting the stage for a complex drama of desire, ambition, and the inescapable consequences of choices made in the intoxicating, yet ultimately hollow, world of the West Bank Club. The evening was only just beginning, and for Veronica, Marcus, and Deborah, the journey was about to take a dramatically unexpected turn. The carefully-crafted masks they wore, masks of success, of effortless charm, of youthful vitality, were about to be tested to their limits, their carefully curated lives about to be shaken to their foundations. The air, already thick with anticipation and the scent of expensive perfume, now held a new, more potent fragrance – the sharp tang of betrayal and the intoxicating aroma of forbidden desires.
My profession is online marketing and development (10+ years experience), check my latest mobile app called Upcoming or my Chrome extensions for ChatGPT. But my real passion is reading books both fiction and non-fiction. I have several favorite authors like James Redfield or Daniel Keyes. If I read a book I always want to find the best part of it, every book has its unique value.
