New Orleans, 1973 – The CIA uncovers two young kids with uncanny psychic ability. A renegade agent wants them for his own. When Ronnie Gilmore and Cassie Reynold fight back, things get deadly fast.
The ability to Remote View makes Cassie and Ronnie high value assets in the Cold War contest playing out in the early 1970′s. The discovery of their power sets off a battle that ultimately means full scale war between factions within the government.
Backs against the wall the two young psychics must face overwhelming odds to maintain their freedom and control of their own lives. When push comes to shove, Cassie Reynold proves to be the deadliest 13-year old girl you’ll ever meet.

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

Cassie was sitting with her back against the fence surrounding the park. Low bushes in front of her, she could see Breed waiting in his car. Ronnie had slipped along the fence line, covered by the same row of plants, finding a spot near the entrance that allowed him to see the rest of the lot. They had decided to play a waiting game, allowing the reporter to stew awhile. Ronnie felt it was a good bet that Breed could be trusted. Cassie had less faith. She wanted to be sure before they got in a car with anyone. Before they’d split she had made Ronnie give her the pistol he was carrying in his bag, the one he had used to shoot the man in his house. He was reluctant to touch it but she had no reservations. She sat now with the pistol in her hand. There were four bullets left in the cylinder. Just in case.

Just holding the pistol in her hand, the weight, the smell of gunpowder still heavy in the cylinders, gave Cassie a sense of resolve. She was someone with power now. The idea of being chased and hounded, her family traumatized, sent a cold chill up her spine. It turned into a dry calmness that flooded her veins, then to a steely resolve to end the situation. Sitting on the ground, watching, waiting, Cassie Reynold changed from the hunted to the hunter, a change akin to flipping a card on a table. On one side a 13-year old with nothing on her mind but the next school dance and stealing a kiss from her boyfriend. On the other side, the calculated ferocity of a lioness protecting her young. Cassie felt it, went with it, accepted it.

The parking lot was almost empty now. The school buses were gone. Stray groups came out of the park, families with smaller children, a few couples, and now and then a single person came out to their car. Breed was alone at the end of the parking lot. A few scattered cars lay between him and the entrance. On the outermost row a man was in his car reading a newspaper. Probably waiting for someone, thought Cassie, but maybe not. The park behind her had gone quiet. Only an employee or two back there moving around, closing things up. She could hear garbage cans banging together and the occasional murmur of conversation. Three teenagers came out of the park entrance wearing uniforms, got into a beat up Pinto, and drove off. Another older man followed shortly after, leaving only Breed and the man with the paper in her sight. He was starting to make her skin crawl. She was picking something up from him. The sun had set a few minutes ago and the park behind them was dark and silent. Cassie picked up her bag and slipped along the fence line, moving up beside Ronnie. She gave him her bag.

“Go down to where Breed is waiting. Stay in the bushes. When you see me step out into the parking lot, get in the car with Breed. Go in on the opposite side. Move fast.”

“Why? What’s going on?” asked Ronnie. He’d seen this look on her face back in her Aunt’s house. He felt the air change around her, like she was giving off some kind of electrical charge. Her mouth was a grim line. Her eyes, usually a deep and inviting brown, appeared now to be coal black. The difference was so startling he wondered if she’d somehow lost her mind. He reached out, putting his hand on her arm. The skin was ice cold even in the warm air. He could see her pulse throbbing in the lower part of her jaw.

“You okay?” he asked. “Listen, we can still try to make it down the seawall. If we follow the bushes we can get down there without them seeing us.”

“Just do it. That guy over there,” she said pointing, “He shouldn’t be here. They know we’re here. We’ve got to get rid of him.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Go,” she said and pushed the bag at him. “Be ready to move when I come.”

Ronnie gave up, took the bag and began to make his way back along the fence. He reached the end of the bushes and crouched low, staying on his feet, ready to head for Breed’s car. He could see the reporter behind the wheel. Breed tossed a cigarette out the window and a flare of light hit the windshield as he lit another. The place was full dark now, the only light coming from the street lamps along the road behind the lot. Across the field the Student Center was still open. Ronnie could see the second floor sticking up above the line of the levee top, lights in the windows. He watched Cassie walk out into the open, cross the parking lot, and stand in front of the car. The man put his newspaper down and opened the door.

 

While Cassie was moving in the parking lot, General Archer was sitting in the aisle seat of an airplane bound for New Orleans. He had spent the better part of three hours waiting for the phone call from Thorne on the latest sessions. All attempts to contact the man had failed. In Archer’s mind it could only mean one thing. Thorne had gone haywire. In his mind it was time to get directly involved. For all his good points, Archer knew Thorne was a wild card, the type of man you sent out when the odds were low but the payoff was huge. Archer had used him many times and Thorne had always come through. But he was unpredictable and best used in a place where the authorities could be bought off, the newspapers owned. Now they were operating in the U.S. and things couldn’t be controlled as tightly as he liked. Thorne’s Wild West tactics were getting out of hand.

Behind Archer, back in the economy section, were two of his better agents. If muscle was needed they would be there though his preference was to keep them out of it. Better he should dangle a carrot in front of Thorne to settle him down. Archer had no illusions as to the kind of man his underling could be. Thorne was a weapon and being a weapon, could turn dangerous if not handled properly. The important point here was that the two kids be kept hidden from any other agency that might find a use for them. Archer took a long view of things. While Thorne was interested in the quick grab and the immediate power, Archer was more interested in the future. He intended to allow these kids to resume their life in exchange for cooperation in the future. Their ability was a weapon itself, a potent one, and should be used sparingly. If there was any hope of that, he wanted to be the one with his finger on the trigger. But first he had to get Thorne out of the way. Archer leaned back, signaled the stewardess for a drink, and began to plan the way ahead.

 

Ronnie was watching as Cassie came out into the open. Breed caught the movement too, and turned his head to watch. Carrying the two bags, Ronnie came out from behind the bushes and opened the back door on the driver’s side of Breeds vehicle. He tossed the bags inside, said “Wait here.”

Thorne’s agent couldn’t believe his luck. He immediately recognized the little girl as Cassie Reynold. They’d been chasing her for two days and she was right here in front of him. He got out of the car. The girl looked tired and scared. If she’s here, he thought, the boy can’t be far way. Time to wrap things up. Thorne was on his way and it just might be possible to have them both by the time he got here.

“Are you a policeman?” the girl asked. She was a ragged looking little thing, her hair was uncombed, a ribbon on top the only thing keeping it together. Her shirt was dirty. The jeans she was wearing rode on her oddly, pinching at the waist. A dirty streak was on her left cheek and bits of the bushes she had emerged from were caught in her hair.

“Why, yes I am,” he said. “Do you need one?”

“Yes, I think I’m in trouble. Can I see your badge?”

Oh man, this is going to be easy, the agent thought. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his ID, held it out for the girl to see. “Here you go.” Cassie looked at it, and said “Do you have a gun?” The agent nodded. “Right here,” and patted his coat over his left armpit. “Do I need one?”

“You might. You see that car over there?” she said, pointing to Breed’s vehicle. Ronnie was behind the car, heading their way. “That man is trying to grab me and my friend.”

He followed her motion, looking over to Breed’s car. He could see the boy behind it. Breed was just opening the door, one foot on the ground. By the time his head came back around she was holding a pistol, her finger on the trigger. The pistol was pointing at him. His stomach turned to water.

“Sorry,” she said, and pulled the trigger. The shot banged out in the air and his kneecap blew away with it, pieces of shredded pants leg exploding, mingled with blood and bits of tissue. He hit the pavement, grabbing for his leg. He screamed. Cassie took two steps, leaned over and reached into his coat, got his gun. He tried to grab at her, pulled at her head, got hold of her hair. She kicked him in his shattered leg and he screamed again, letting her go. “Tell Thorne we’re coming for him,” she said. She stepped over to the car. The keys were still in the ignition and she pulled them out, putting them in her pocket. There was a radio mike hanging on the dash. Cassie ripped it out and threw it across the parking lot. Ronnie was there now. He took the gun from her hand and put it in his back pocket. Together, they broke for Breed’s car. The reporter was standing by his door with his mouth hanging open. Cassie and Ronnie piled into the back seat with Breed still watching the agent on the ground, blood spreading from his leg.

“Time to go, Mr. Breed,” Ronnie said.

 

Thorne pulled into the parking lot of the amusement park, knowing he’d been beaten again. he pounded the steering wheel in frustration. His man was on the ground. He cursed to himself and got out the car. He could see the lights of a police car coming down Elysian Fields. Someone at the school must have heard the shots and called it in. Kneeling down, he pulled off his belt and wrapped it around the bleeding leg, pulling it tight.

“What happened?” His agent just groaned. He pulled the belt tighter. The lights were getting closer. He had to get some information now. He slapped the man on the face.

“Listen to me. We’ll have an ambulance here in a few minutes but I need to know what happened. Did the kids show up?”

“That little bitch shot me. Got me looking the other way and shot me in the leg. They took off in the reporter’s car. Goddamn little bitch. I’m going to kill her when we catch up to her.”

“I don’t think so,” Thorne said. “I think she’s smarter than you.” He walked back to his car, got on the radio. It might not be over just yet. The reporter just might make things easier. He couldn’t use the local police to track down the car but he could get into the state licensing system and have his own people watching for it. They’d be looking for a place to hide now. He called back to his office, got people working on the reporter. He wanted to know addresses, family, anything he could find. When fugitives ran they went to familiar places where they thought they were safe. Hotels played into it so he put a watch on Breed’s credit cards. As soon as bills were turned in he’d know when and where. These people would have to eat and they’d have to have someplace to sleep. When they did, and they eventually would, he’d find them. In the meantime he would have to deal with the local police. The cover stories and identities were already in place. Thorne prepared for everything, or at least thought he did. He had to admit, if only to himself, that these kids were unlike anything he’d ever seen.

The wild card in the equation was Archer. Thorne had been declining his calls all night. If he couldn’t find these kids and get them away to a safe house he was a dead man. Just another piece of motivation.

 

Carl Woods sat behind his desk, the remains of a sandwich laid out in front of him. All around him the detective division was in a swarm of activity. It had been a busy night. A robbery in the French Quarter, a shooting down by the lake, and a domestic violence dispute that had erupted into a murder had the squad stretched thin. Woods had avoided it all somehow. His attention was occupied by several unsolved cases, including the missing children. That one was stuck in his craw. Breeds article would hit the papers the next morning. He would be swamped by media, twisting in the wind with no answers. It was enough to make him wish again for a nice clean drug killing.

He dialed Breed but got no answer at the paper, tried his home phone with the same result. A detective wandered in, sat at the desk next to his and pulled out report forms from his desk. Woods got up and headed for the coffee pot. He couldn’t remember the detective’s name for a second, caught it as he turned back, Parker. Drew Parker, he’d just come into the division a month or so ago. Woods hadn’t worked with him yet.

“Parker, I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Want one?”

“Damn right,” Parker said. “I’m going to be here all night trying to dope this one out.”

“Tough one?” Woods asked.

“I don’t know,” Parker said. “It shouldn’t be. I caught that shooting out by the lake, you know? It looked simple. The guy’s in the parking lot at Pontchartrain Beach, says he pulled in to go over his appointment book. His story is that some guy tried to rob him and he ended up getting shot in the leg. But it doesn’t add up.”

“Why’s that?” Woods asked. He wasn’t making any progress on his cases, he figured, he might as well see if he could help out the new guy.

Parker pushed his papers to the side. “Let’s get that coffee and I’ll tell you about it.” The two made their way down to the snack room. Woods pushed quarters into the coffee machine, punched the buttons. They found a table and sat down. Parker rubbed his hand over his face, blew on his coffee. His notebook came out and he flipped it open.

“The story we got from the victim is bullshit. I know it. We get there and the guy’s on the ground. There’s another guy there that says he was passing by, saw the victim on the ground, and stopped. But here’s the thing. After the ambulance came I looked in the victim’s car. The keys are gone and he says the robber took them. There’s also a radio in the car. The mike is lying in the parking lot about 30 feet away. So why did the guy take his keys and not the car? He wasn’t going anywhere with a blown up leg. That’s another thing. Why shoot him in the leg? A guy with a gun shoots you in the chest doesn’t he?”

Woods thought about it for a minute. “Did they fight? Maybe he got hold of the guy, grabbed at him you know.” Woods made a reaching motion with his hands. “Could have tried to get it away from him and pointed it down.”

Parker shook his head. “Maybe. But the vic says the guy asked for his wallet and then just shot him. But here’s the other thing. The guy that stopped? I wandered over and took a look through his window. He’s got a radio in his car too. Way up under the dash. Something stinks here but their ID’s check out so what can I do?” He shrugged. “I’ll just file the report. Not much to go on. Another unsolved mystery in the big city.”

Woods said nothing. Pontchartrain Beach was a few miles down Elysian Fields from the house of Julie Hoffman. If the kids left the house, headed that way, and holed up somewhere? What? Thinking about it, there were plenty of places along the lakefront a couple of kids could hide. The weather was good, no problem there. It was pretty farfetched but possible.

“Well,” Woods said as he got up to leave, “Good luck with the case.”

“Yeah, it’s a case all right,” said Parker. “A case of the ass in my opinion. I’m going to call it ‘The Case of the Mysterious Hair Ribbon.’”

“What?” Woods turned around.

“Didn’t I mention that? Yeah, the ambulance guys get there and they’re trying to get an IV started right? They get his arm on the ground and he’s holding a hair ribbon in one hand. Like a girl’s hair ribbon tied in a bow?”

 

Breed got behind the wheel and started the car. Backed out and roared past the man lying on the ground, pointing the car up Elysian Fields. Not knowing where else to go he hooked a left at the first red light, a wide double avenue called Leon C. Simon. A police car went past on the other side, lights and siren going. He recovered himself enough to begin doing some thinking. When he reached Downman Road he took it up to Morrison, hung another left. He reached the I-10 and took the eastbound entrance. Neither of the kids had said anything but the girl was watching him. Breeds broke the silence first.

“What the hell was that?” he said.

“That was why we’re running, Mr. Breed,” Cassie said. “When people with guns are chasing you, you run. Or fight back. In this case we did both.”

“Okay, that brings up my next question? What exactly is going on? Why are these people chasing you? You realize you just shot a man and now I’m helping you get away? What am I getting into?”

Ronnie spoke up. “First we want to know why you didn’t say anything in your article about the guys that broke into my house.”

Breed knew he was in a pretty bad situation. Whatever these kids were involved in, he was in it now. The boy had killed one man and crippled another. If everything was connected they’d also electrocuted two other people. And they were sitting in the back seat of his car with guns. He’d either get a great story out of this or end up dead on the side of the road. He wasn’t inclined to give odds either way. He decided to go with the truth.

“The detective that went to your house is a friend of mine. He helps me out sometimes, sometimes I help him out. He asked me to hold off until he could put it all together. We thought the most important thing was to find you guys, so I wrote an article about you being missing. I gave him a couple of days. The article with the whole story comes out in tomorrow’s paper, the guys at Ronnie’s house, your Aunt’s house burning down with the two men in it. Everything I know, which isn’t much.”

Ronnie looked at Cassie and nodded his head. It sounded right. He’d been thinking all along that finding someone they could trust, someone who wasn’t in their family, was the only way out. Breed was a reporter. He had connections. The last thing Thorne would want was exposure. If the article actually showed up tomorrow they’d know for sure. In the meantime he’d keep the pistol handy. Cassie nodded back.

“Right now we need a place to stay and something to eat. And it’s a long story. Let’s get someplace where we can be safe for the night and we’ll fill you in on everything. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” Breed said. “I’ve got a place we can hide. My brother’s got a fishing camp out by the Rigolets. He keeps a key hidden out back. We can go there.”

Continued….

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