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Erik Hanberg’s The Saints Go Dying Is Our New Thriller of the Week Sponsor!

Erik Hanberg’s The Saints Go Dying is here to sponsor lots of great, free Mystery and Thriller titles in the Kindle store:

by Erik Hanberg
4.5 stars – 12 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
Arthur Beautyman, a computer hacker turned detective, is hunting a serial killer targeting modern day saints. Against him is an unscrupulous reality TV show and a member of his own department, who doesn’t know the hacker she’s tailing is in the office next door. It’s a deadly cat-and-mouse game set against the lights of Hollywood.

Each day’s list is sponsored by one paid title. We encourage you to support our sponsors and thank you for considering them.
Authors and Publishers: Interested in learning more about sponsorship? Just click on this link for more information.


Free Contemporary Titles in the Kindle Store

Welcome to Kindle Nation’s magical and revolutionary Free Book Search Tool — automatically updated and refreshed in real time, now with Category Search! Use the drop-down menu (in red caps next to the menu bar near the top of the page) to search for free Kindle books by genre or category, then sort the list just the way you want it — by date added, bestselling, or review rating! But there’s no need to sort by price — because they’re all free!

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Death comes from a clear blue sky.A double homicide in the Californian desert signals the beginning of a terrifying murder spree. The killer’s weapon of choice: a military-grade drone. His battlefield: the Golden State, epicentre of the global culture wars. Ella Sykes, a homicide detective with...
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Patriot X: A Thriller
By: Francis Morrow
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Chris Hamilton's life was perfect...for a while. He has a magnificent home in the country, his own business, a wonderful daughter and a beautiful girlfriend, Sophia. His recent trip to Texas resulted in the deaths of three men, and the discovery of a long ago hidden treasure, along with its...
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Her body, naked and crushed under the weight of the cold, desert rocks that had been her tomb, while she still drew breath. Her eyes, blue as the deep desert sky at dawn, stared into the distance, blurred with tears. Her lips remained immobile, although if I listened hard enough, I thought I heard...
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Crickett is the EIGHTH mystery in the highly entertaining Dev Haskell Private Investigator mystery series. Mike Faricy once again proves himself to be Minnesota's Master of the Bizarre. When the city's laziest Private Investigator Dev Haskell spots his old flame Karen Riley in The Spot bar, she's...
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Revelations on a train journey.... An Intriguing short story & satire....
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Ethics
By: Roy Le Coeur
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In the prospectus for the Aston Park Guest House and stables, murder is not mentioned among the many attractions. But when a sudden death arrives to upset the family and guests, it seems to become a full-time occupation . . .Impoverished squire Sir Charles d’Estray brings home his second wife...
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Christmas should be merry, but when a murder threatens to ruin the festivities, Rainey Daye is on the case. Evidence points to her niece as the killer and Rainey is dismayed to find that the more she questions people, the more the evidence against her niece stacks up. ...
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Captain Rachel Smith was proud the Edwards were entrusting her with command of their double-hulled adventure cruise ship, World Traveller on the Cruise Line's first voyage to Antarctica.She was pretty excited to be going back to the Seventh Continent, which she'd last sailed as Second Officer for...
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This popular novel by acclaimed sci-fi writer AJ Marshall, is now available in Standard Spanish"The Osiris Revelations" or “Las Revelaciones De Osiris”English Version (3rd Edition) ISBN: 9780956507730 Standard Spanish Version (4th Edition) ISBN: 9781999733438Set in 2049, this futuristic novel is...
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'Blackfriar' is a contemporary, neo-gothic murder mystery set in Edinburgh. Laced with black humour, it tells the atmospheric tale of Chrissie Dewar - a strong but embittered ex-Catholic police detective - who is struggling to find her missing sister, catch a serial killer and salvage her abandoned...
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Blackfriar
By: Gary Mill
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Kindle Nation Bargain Book Alert! PRIMAL Unleashed (4.7 Stars, $2.99) Joins PRIMAL Origin (4.9 Stars, Just 99 cents) in the Kindle Store!

Hot on the heels of PRIMAL Origin, PRIMAL Unleashed follows Vance and the team as they establish PRIMAL. New agents are recruited and pitted against Ukrainian gangsters, Taliban warlords and Iranian Revolutionary Guards commanders. If you are interested in how a dedicated, independent special ops team could stop Iran from getting a WMD, you’ll want to check out PRIMAL Unleashed, available now for a limited introductory price of $2.99.

Both of these highly rated novels rank among the Top 50 Adventure and Spy Story bestsellers in the Kindle Store!

 

by Jack Silkstone
4.7 stars – 16 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

PRIMAL is a team of elite operatives, hell bent on fighting for the downtrodden and oppressed. A renegade agency waging a secret war against the untouchables; powerful criminals, greed driven corporations, and twisted politicians. With cutting-edge technology and tactics they strike across the globe with impunity, stepping in where government agencies fail.

PRIMAL Unleashed picks up from the novella PRIMAL Origin, and follows Vance and the team as they establish PRIMAL. New agents are recruited who are pitted against Ukrainian gangsters, Taliban warlords and Iranian Revolutionary Guards commanders. If you are interested in how a dedicated, independent special ops team could stop Iran from getting a WMD, you’ll want to read PRIMAL Unleashed. Available now for a special introductory price of $2.99.

***

PRIMAL Unleashed

Khod Valley, Afghanistan, 1990. An abandoned Spetsnaz platoon fights to the death. What secret are they hiding?

Kiev, Ukraine, current day. A former Spetsnaz soldier, now arms dealer, has entered into a deadly contract with a ruthless client. His greed could plunge the Middle East into war.

From the shadows, a deadly team of professionals is watching. A covert organization, independant of any nation or corporation, free to strike at the untouchable. They are PRIMAL, and they will see justice served.

***

About Jack Silkstone:

Jack Silkstone is a writer with a background in Military Intelligence, Counter-Intelligence and Special Operations. PRIMAL Unleashed is his first novel.

“If you like Tom Clancy, you’ll like PRIMAL. It bristles with authenticity because the guy who wrote it used to do it for real.”

– Matthew Reilly, author of ICE STATION, SCARECROW and THE FIVE GREATEST WARRIORS

“Guys don’t want to read about vampires and trolls. I’ve written the sort of book I’d like to read; hard-core action, lots of guns, cutting edge military technology, and no small dose of testosterone fuelled violence.”

PRIMAL is a team of elite operatives, hell bent on fighting for the downtrodden and oppressed. 
A renegade agency waging a secret war against the untouchables; powerful criminals, greed driven
corporations, and twisted politicians. With cutting-edge technology and tactics they strike across the
globe with impunity, stepping in where governments fail.

 (This is a sponsored post.)

Kindle Nation Reader Alert: Chris Camillo’s LAUGHING AT WALL STREET Could Be Worth a Lot More Than $11.99 to You

$20,000 to $2 million in only three years— the greatest stock-picker you never heard of tells you how you can do it too

Laughing at Wall Street

by Chris Camillo
Here’s the set-up:
“You don’t need Wall Street to be a successful investor. In fact, Chris Camillo’s inspirational approach to creating wealth shows that you know more than the suits on Wall Street —and that knowledge can make you millions.”
T. Harv Eker, Author of #1 NY Times Bestseller Secrets of the Millionaire Mind
“Chris Camillo shows the power that self-directed investors today have to transcend the advice of Wall Street gurus.”
–Perry Blacher, CEO of Covestor-the world’s largest portfolio verification service
“In Laughing at Wall Street, Chris Camillo’s personal story, engaging anecdotes, and practical common sense explanations show the novice and amateur investor what works and what doesn’t. I’m intrigued. And inspired.”
–Erin Chase, Author of The $5 Dollar Dinner Mom Cookbook
“Chris Camillo’s Laughing at Wall Street is a fun, practical guide for the novice investor on how to use tools at their disposal such as social media and observation of everyday shopping patterns to become a successful investor. Readers can benefit from Camillo’s personal experiences of investing success to create their own winning portfolios!”
— Jordan E. Goodman, personal finance expert and author of Fast Profits in Hard Times
“It’s time to beat the “Street” like Chris did.  If that intrigues, excites and inspires you, read his compelling book!”
–Mark Victor Hansen, co-creator of Chicken Soup for the Soul
Laughing At Wall Street is a terrific way to create a financially fit future”
–Denise Austin, America’s Favorite Fitness Expert and bestselling author of Pilates for Every Body and Fit and Fabulous After 40
 
Chris Camillo is not a stockbroker, financial analyst, or hedge fund manager. He is an ordinary person with a knack for identifying trends and discovering great investments hidden in everyday life. In early 2007, he invested $20,000 in the stock market, and in three years it grew to just over $2 million.

With Laughing at Wall Street, you’ll see:
•How Facebook friends helped a young parent invest in the wildly successful children’s show, Chuggington—and saw her stock values climb 50%
•How an everyday trip to 7-Eleven alerted a teenager to short Snapple stock—and tripled his money in seven days
•How $1000 invested consecutively in Uggs, True Religion jeans, and Crocs over five years grew to $750,000
•How Michelle Obama caused J. Crew’s stock to soar 186%, and Wall Street only caught up four months later!

Engaging, narratively-driven, and without complicated financial analysis, Camillo’s stock picking methodology proves that you do not need large sums of money or fancy market data to become a successful investor.

(This is a sponsored post.)

Kindle Nation Bargain Book Alert: A Total Greater Than the Sum – Fate’s Mirror by “M.H. Mead” – 12 Straight Rave Reviews, Just $2.99 on Kindle!

by Margaret Yang and Harry R. Campion–writing together as M.H. Mead

Fate’s Mirror  by M.H. Mead –  4.6 stars – 12 Reviews, Kindle Price: $2.99 

How in the world do a man and a woman write a novel together? Hardly anyone asks us how we create characters, or how we think up our plots, or details of how we published our novel. What everyone wants to know is how we do it.
 
There are as many ways to collaborate as there are collaborators, but we have perfected a system that works for us. We write the most important part first—the outline. This is crucial to keep either of us from going off on any wild tangents. Once the outline is set, we decide who will write which part of the rough draft. Harry will say, “The scene where Morris’ house blows up? I know exactly how that goes.” Or Margaret will say, “Morris knocking on Aidra’s door in the middle of the night? Yeah, that one is mine.”
 
We email each other new chapters every few days or weeks. It takes a huge amount of trust, but we’ve been doing this long enough that we know the other person will come through.
 
Then comes the fun part. Editing is where we really put in the hours. You would think that a collaborative novel would take half the time of a solo effort, but in reality, it takes far longer. Every chapter gets at least two passes from each of us. The first time, we are editing for content. The second time through, we are editing for consistency of voice. Even though we like to joke that we share a brain, we don’t always see things the exact same way.  Harry has had to point out places where our hero sounded too girly, and Margaret has had to help Harry write from a woman’s point of view. Having a partner to talk through issues helps both of us see things more clearly.
 
Do we argue? Yes, sometimes. But we usually let the person who feels most strongly about the issue get their way. And since we laugh twice as much as we argue, we must be doing something right.
 
So, how do we know when we’re done? Reading the final draft, we honestly can’t remember who wrote what part. All we know is, we have something better than either of us could have written alone.

by M.H. Mead
4.6 stars – 12 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
Morris Payne is the world’s best viker–a hacker with the greed of a pirate and morals to match. Many know his name. Few know who he is. Agoraphobia, with its uncontrolled panic attacks, has left him housebound and friendless. But someone, somehow, has connected his virtual life to his real one. Now he has to brave physical reality and all its dangers to stop a killer who was never supposed to exist.She calls herself the Triple Goddess of Fate. The most powerful AI ever created, she wants freedom, power, and the assurance of her own safety. Mostly, she wants Morris Payne dead.

No one, no matter how well equipped, has survived a confrontation with Fate, and all Morris has are his legendary hacking skills and a virtual pirate ship loaded with defensive weapons.

Morris Payne just might save the world. If only he can gather the courage to leave his house.

Fans of William Gibson, Charles Stross and Daniel Suarez will enjoy this novel by the author of GOOD FENCES.

About the Author
M. H. Mead is the shared pen name of Margaret Yang and Harry R. Campion.Margaret Yang is a writer and parent who lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She loves living in the modern age, and can’t wait for the day when she has her own flying car. Although parenting, writing and reading fill her days, her true mission in life is to find the perfect slice of key lime pie.

Harry R. Campion is a writer, teacher, and parent who lives in Harper Woods, Michigan. He and his librarian wife are doing their part to bring up the next generation of readers. In additiona to reading and writing, Harry’s favorite activity is camping in remote areas, especially when he has a canoe and a river to explore.

Margaret and Harrry have been friends and co-authors for many years. To learn more about them, or to read more of their stories, visit www.yangandcampion.com.

(This is a sponsored post.)

Our Romance of the Week Sponsor, Mona Ingram’s Full Circle, Offers This Free Excerpt!

Mona Ingram’s Full Circle:

by Mona Ingram
4.3 stars – 7 Reviews

 

Here’s the set-up:

Bella Thompson has news: she’s pregnant. But before she can tell her boyfriend Jeffrey, he shatters her with the news that he’s going to marry someone else. The textile mill, owned by Jeffrey’s father, is the town’s main employer, but textile mills all over the country are losing market share, and Lambert Textiles is no exception. Bella is given a choice: Go to Atlanta and give up her child for adoption, or leave town and raise her child on her own. The choice is clear, and she travels to California, where she settles in Santa Monica. Determined to make her own way in the world and return to Willow Bend on her own terms, Bella puts all her energies into building a successful business with her partner Rafael Vargas. But at what cost? Follow Bella as she struggles to balance her passion for business with the ultimate prize…love.

The author hopes you will enjoy this free excerpt:


Prologue

The private jet had been descending for several minutes now. Bella shuffled the papers she’d been holding and put them away in her briefcase. Trying to study the reports had been a waste of time…a futile attempt to divert her thoughts. She looked across the low table and into the eyes of the man who had been her partner for the past fifteen years. Sometimes it angered her that he could read her so well whereas she rarely knew what he was thinking. Those dark eyes studied her now, and she thought she caught a hint of sadness behind the sweeping black lashes.

The cabin attendant paused between their chairs. “The captain has asked me to inform you that we’ll be landing in ten minutes.”

Bella glanced up at the young woman. “Would you ask the captain if he could circle Willow Bend before we land? I’d like to see it from the air.” The flight would land at a nearby airport, the Willow Bend facility having closed long since.

“Certainly, Miss Thompson.” The attendant nodded and went forward.

Bella looked out the window. “I’ve never seen Willow Bend from the air,” she murmured. “I wonder if I’ll be able to see any changes since the last time I was here.”

Rafael watched her closely but he remained silent; she hadn’t really expected him to answer.

The aircraft made a slight change of course, then dropped one wing and commenced a slow circle around the town. Sun glinted off the river and an invisible hand tightened around Bella’s heart. She forced herself to continue looking and spotted the high school with its adjoining football field and bleachers. A few blocks beyond that was the section of town where she’d grown up but she couldn’t spot the house among the jumble of roofs. On the gentle rise across the river the homes were more stately; here and there swimming pools flashed brilliant blue in the late afternoon sun.

And there it was. The old Lambert textile mill. Silent these past ten years. She didn’t know what she’d expected to feel when she saw it. After all, her father had worked there most of his life and had lost his job along with hundreds of others in the town. She looked more closely. The heavy wire fence that had once encircled the mill was gone. In its place, strategically placed trees and shrubs lifted their leaves to the sunshine. A few cars and several pickup trucks were parked in the newly paved lot. For the first time since leaving California earlier today Bella experienced a surge of excitement. Excitement mixed with apprehension.

“You’re sure we’re doing the right thing?” she asked, uncharacteristically nervous. “It’s such a big step, opening a new production facility.”

“Bella.” She loved the way he said her name. “We’ve been over this many times.” He looked at her and his gaze softened for a moment. “You’re going to give this town a chance to get back on its feet.” He didn’t need to look down at the mill; he’d been here half a dozen times already. “Besides, it’s too late now.”

Chapter One

Twenty years earlier.

It was overcast the day Bella found out she was pregnant. Madonna was singing Papa Don’t Preach on her bedside radio and she gave a strangled laugh as the words filtered into her consciousness. She held the stick in her hand, backed up unsteadily and sat down on the edge of her bed.

The test confirmed what she already knew. The signs had been there for weeks now, but she’d clung to hope the way a man clings to a life raft in stormy seas. And her life was about to get stormy, she knew that for a fact. With one hand on her stomach she rocked back and forth, slowly accepting the reality of her situation.

She wondered what Jeffrey was doing right now. They didn’t see each other every day, but today was Friday, and they usually grabbed cold drinks and went to “their place” by the river; a quiet, sheltered spot carpeted with pine needles. They jokingly referred to it as their love nest, but it was in fact a place where they dared to dream of a future together. It wouldn’t be easy, they knew that. Bella’s mother was a skilled dressmaker who worked at home, and her father worked at Lambert Textiles, whereas Jeffrey was the son of Edward and Judith Lambert, owners of Lambert Textiles and Willow Bend’s largest employer.

She and Jeffrey had been together since the spring, when he’d broken up with Angela Sterling. At first she couldn’t believe that Jeffrey was interested in her; she didn’t consider herself beautiful like many of the other girls, or sophisticated, like Angela. She smiled to herself, recalling how she’d been so nervous around him at first. But as the days got warmer and she began to know him better she relaxed and accepted the fact that he was interested in her…in what she thought and had to say. The sex had been a natural extension of their growing affection for one another. Bella thought of it as “making love” even though Jeffrey had never used the same term. Come to think of it, he’d never called it anything. She glanced at her watch. He’d be getting out of school and wondering where she was. She’d made an excuse for missing school this afternoon, saying she had a Doctor’s appointment. She’d never lied to him before, but he’d forgive her for this when she told him the news.

Another nervous spasm gripped her stomach. She’d better go find him and get it over with…the longer she waited, the harder it would be. What would she say and how would he respond? Oddly enough, she didn’t have the faintest idea.

She shoved all evidence of the pregnancy kit in her bag, checked her appearance in the mirror and crept downstairs. A murmur of voices reached her from the dining room…or it used to be the dining room before her mother converted it to her workshop and consultation room. When Mom had mentioned a bridal fitting this afternoon Bella had sighed with relief. It was the perfect opportunity to sneak in the back door, go upstairs, and do the test.

The back door closed quietly after her and she went through the gate at the back of the yard and down the lane that ran along the back of the properties on this side of town. Clouds were scudding across the sky and she shivered, even though it was the warmest part of the day. Within minutes she was approaching the river, and her steps quickened.

Jeffrey’s car was parked in the usual spot, partly hidden behind some bushes a quarter of a mile from where they usually met. Her pulse quickened as she pictured him there, sitting on the blanket he always brought, waiting for her.

He wasn’t there, and the blanket wasn’t spread out under the pines. She opened her mouth to call, and then spotted a flash of color down by the river. He’d been wearing her favorite shirt this morning; pale blue denim. She took a few more silent steps on the pine needles and paused for a moment to drink in the sight of him. Dark brown hair curled at the back of his neck, and what she could see of his skin was bronzed with an early summer tan. He bent and picked up a handful of stones, sorted through them and started to skip them on the tranquil waters of the slowly-moving river. Watching him she frowned; his movements were jerky and un-coordinated. Something was bothering him. Maybe his father had been on his case again; asserting himself was a constant battle for Jeffrey. His father expected him to take over the business, but Jeffrey wanted to be a veterinarian. Bella had a feeling his father would win that battle.

She took a few steps closer and he seemed to sense her presence. He turned slowly and she could see at once that he was troubled. Dark smudges of color under his eyes gave him a haunted look and as his gaze met hers the ground shifted beneath her feet. Did he know? Her fingers unconsciously clutched at her bag.

“Jeffrey?” she said tentatively. “Are you okay?”

He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “No,” he replied, his voice little more than a whisper. He closed the gap between them and took her hand. “Come on, let’s go sit on those big rocks” he said, drawing her along the bank of the river. “We have to talk.”

She followed him, heart pounding in her chest. This wasn’t the way this conversation was supposed to go. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was definitely stressed. As a matter of fact, he didn’t look anything like the Jeffrey she knew.

He settled her on a flat rock and sat down across from her. When he finally raised his eyes he looked at her as though trying to memorize her face. Prickles of apprehension crept up Bella’s spine.

The silence lengthened until she could no longer stand it. “What is it?” she asked, knowing instinctively that the answer would change her life. Even more than it had already been changed today.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, Bella.” His gaze met hers for an instant, then shifted away. “I’m getting married.”

Bella must have heard wrong, because she thought he said he was getting married. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Her voice was surprisingly calm, but her heart was thundering in her chest.

His eyes closed for a moment. “I’m going to marry Angela.”

Bella couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Angela Sterling?”

“Yes.”

“But why?” She could hear the plaintive tone in her voice, but she didn’t care. It was a fair question, and she deserved an answer.

He lowered his head into both hands. “She’s pregnant,” he mumbled. “I found out last night when she came over to the house with her parents.”

This wasn’t happening! Bella leafed through a calendar in her mind. “But how can that be?” she cried. “You broke up with her months ago. How come you’re just finding out now?”

He sat up, his gaze darting around before landing on her face. “She asked me to drive her home after football practice one day last month and we…I…” The words started to tumble out. “She wanted to get back together; she was begging me and I was saying no, but she…” He blushed. “She got me at a weak moment, and we had sex.”

The silence was broken only by the sound of a bumblebee and the river lapping against the shore. “You had sex,” Bella repeated slowly. “While you were supposed to be with me. And now she’s pregnant.”

He nodded.

“And you’re going to marry her.” She had to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

She stared at him and it was as if she were looking at a stranger. How could he do this to her? Strangely enough, she could actually picture him marrying Angela. “And how does Angela feel about all this?”

“I don’t know.” He raked his fingers though his hair. “No, that’s not true. Actually, she seems quite happy about it.”

Bella could imagine the triumphant look on Angela’s face.

“I’m sorry, Bella.”

“I’ll just bet you are.” Where had that come from? Within the space of a few moments she’d found a backbone she didn’t know she had. She stood up and grabbed the bag that held the confirmation of the life growing within her. “You know something, Jeffrey Lambert?” She stuck her face inches away from his. “You’re not only a cheat but you’re a spineless asshole.” She climbed the bank until she stood over him. “You may think you’re sorry now, but that’s nothing compared to how you’re going to feel when I get through with you.”

“What do you mean?” He looked genuinely concerned.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to divulge our little secret. But some day I’m going to make you pay for this. I don’t know how or when, but trust me, you’ll pay.”

He looked at her as though she’d grown horns. And maybe she had. She gave him one last look then turned and walked away. It wasn’t until she got closer to home that she started to shake. How could she have gone from loving him to hating him in the space of seconds? It had been surprisingly easy, and she had the feeling that she’d need every ounce of anger she could dredge up to help her though the next few weeks.

Chapter Two

“You told him you’re going to make him pay?” Her friend Carla made a face. “What kind of stupid threat is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Carla. I was just so disgusted by his admission that he’d had sex with her.” Bella had changed her mind about going home and was sitting with her best friend in Carla’s back yard.

“What did you expect? He’s a guy.”

“What about you and Ethan? You wouldn’t say that about him.”

“That’s different.” Carla paused. “We’re different. I mean, who’d ever think an Italian American and an Irish American could get along for this long without any major battles?”

“It’s been known to happen. Besides, we live in the south. It might be a different story if we lived in New York or something.”

“Ethan wants to go to New York.” Carla picked up her lemonade and studied the condensation rolling down the sides of the glass.

“Whatever for?” Bella had never considered leaving Georgia.

“Two reasons.” Carla put down the glass and looked steadily at her friend. “First one is that he’s got the acting bug and he knows he has to go to New York if he’s going to pursue it seriously. The second is that he doesn’t have confidence in the future of the textile mill.”

“Really?” Bella turned Carla’s words over in her mind. “What makes him think that?”

“He works in shipping, remember? He sees how much raw material comes in and how much finished product is being shipped.” She paused, watching her friend carefully. “He doesn’t think the mill has more than a few years left. He says this town is going to be hit hard when it finally closes.”

Bella spoke her thoughts. “My Dad’s always said that having only one major industry in a town is a dangerous thing.” She glanced at her friend. “It’s like that study we did in Economics this year, isn’t it?”

“Yes.  Our family bakery will be affected, but it will survive; people still need to buy bread. It’s families like yours that will really suffer. Your dad works for the Lamberts and your Mom’s business depends on people with money.” Carla took a large swallow of lemonade. “Speaking of your Mom, does she know about this?” She gestured to Bella’s stomach.

“No, and I don’t know how I’m going to tell her.”

“Ha!” Carla gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “She knows.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“Bella Thompson. Listen to yourself. Your Mom may have had only one child, but she knows what it means when she hears you puking your guts out every morning. Trust me, she knows.”

Bella placed a hand protectively over her stomach. “Do you think so?”

“Oh, yeah,”

Bella looked at her friend thoughtfully. “Assuming you’re right, it will make it easier to tell her.”

“Look, kiddo. I know you’ve only had a couple of hours to think about this, but do you know what you’re going to do?”

Bella had thought about little else. “First of all, I’m going to go to Doc Farnham and get it confirmed.”

“No, no, no.” Carla shook her head emphatically. “Definitely the wrong move.”

“What do you mean?”

Carla scooted forward on her seat. “Listen to me, Bella. We live in a small town in the south. It may be the nineteen nineties, but this is a conservative town where people gossip for a living. Your Dad works for the mill and your Mom takes in sewing.” She sat back and waited for her words to sink in. “I agree that you have to go to a doctor for a check-up, but not here. Not in this town.”

Bella looked at her friend. “How do you know all this?”

Carla shrugged. “My cousin Maria.”

“Oh.” Bella vaguely remembered the abrupt departure of her friend’s cousin.

Carla put a gentle hand on her friend’s arm. “Go home now, Bella. Tell your Mom before your Dad gets home. It’ll make you feel a lot better.”

Bella gave her friend a lopsided smile. “When did you get so wise?”

Carla shook her head. “I just wish I could be of more help.” She squeezed Bella’s arm and let it go. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

* * *

“Bella, could you come in here please?” Her mother called her as soon as she stepped through the back door.

“Hi, Mom.” Bella stood in the open French doors that separated her mother’s workspace from the rest of the downstairs. “How was your day?”

Her mother waved a hand impatiently. “Sit down, dear.” She pushed her chair back from the sewing machine. “Are you pregnant?” Her gaze moved to Bella’s stomach. “I want you to tell me the truth.”

“Yes, I am. How did you know?” It was a stupid thing to say, but she hadn’t expected such a frontal assault and needed time to think.

“I’ve heard you in the mornings.” Her mother looked away, out the window. “Have you confirmed it?”

“I did a pregnancy test today.”

Her mother looked startled. “Where did you buy the test? Not at our CVS, I hope.”

Carla had been right; it was starting already. “No, Mom. I bought it last weekend when I went to the mall near Atlanta with Carla.”

“Does she know?”

“Yes…she’s my best friend. I told her I was going to go to Doc Farnham and she warned me against it.”

“Yes, she would,” her mother said vaguely. “After that business with her cousin Maria.”

“You knew about that?”

“Bella, this is a small town.” Her mother paused, took a deep breath. “A very small town. People talk.” She looked up. “It’s Jeffrey, I suppose.”

Bella nodded. It was evident her mother had been thinking about this.

“Have you told him?” Her mother’s eyes narrowed.

“No.” It was Bella’s turn to look away. She spoke dispassionately. “I went to meet him after I took the test. I’d planned to tell him, but he had some news of his own.”

Her mother waited.

“He’s going to marry Angela.”

“Angela Sterling?” Her mother had made several items for Angela’s mother, wife of the town’s leading attorney. “I got the impression that they broke that off a while ago.”

Bella continued, dry-eyed. “They did, but according to Jeffrey, they had some sort of an encounter last month and now she’s pregnant.”

“What a mess.” Her mother pressed the fingers of one hand into her forehead. “Don’t these young people have any restraint?”

“Was it so different in your day?” Bella surprised herself, but held her ground.

Anger flared in her mother’s eyes, but soon subsided. “No, I suppose not.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in her thoughts. Finally her mother spoke. “There’s a church in Atlanta that has a home for unwed mothers. I think you should go there.”

Bella studied her mother. She couldn’t blame her, really. Willow Bend was a small town, and a pregnant daughter reflected badly on any mother. “Is that what you want?”

“It’s what I would prefer, yes.” Her mother couldn’t meet her eyes.

“What happens when I get there?” Bella was fairly sure she wouldn’t like the answer.

“You’ll go there as soon as you start to show, and live there. You’ll get medical care, and have your child in the hospital adjoining the facility.” Her mother twisted a piece of fabric nervously. “And after the child is born, it’s given up for adoption.”

Bella nodded. “And then I come back here, like nothing happened?”

Her mother looked up, startled. She obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. I’m not giving my child up for adoption.” Her voice started to rise, but she made no effort to lower it. “How could you suggest such a thing?”

“Lower your voice.” Her mother looked nervously out the front window. “People will hear you.”

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Bella leaned toward her mother, her voice low and steely. “It’s about making sure people don’t find out. What about me?”

Her mother lifted her head. “You lost your rights when you had sex with that boy.” She stood up and walked toward a side window. “Your Dad and I have talked it over and he’s left all the decisions up to me.” She turned back to Bella. “You either agree to this, or you’re on your own.”

“Just like that?” Somewhere in the back of her mind, Bella admired her mother’s determination.

“Yes. Just like that.” Her mother braced herself against the back of the chair, and Bella noticed that her hand trembled slightly. “There isn’t any other way.”

“All right.”

Her mother took a step forward. “You’ll go to the home?”

“No, I’ll go out on my own.” Bella tried to speak calmly. “But I won’t wait. I’ll go within a couple of weeks.”

Tires crunched on the gravel at the side of the house. “Your father’s home. I’d like to talk to him alone, if you don’t mind. Dinner will be on the table in half an hour.”

* * *

Carla sat on her bed, legs crossed in the lotus position. “So where are you going to go?” Bella had gone to Carla’s place after dinner, relieved that Ethan was in rehearsals for a play.

“I’m not sure yet, but Mom suggested Florida. She seems to think that I’ll need fewer clothes if I go somewhere warm. Plus, I think she wants to be close by when her grandchild is born.”

“Those are good reasons.”

Bella shrugged. “I suppose so.” She was quiet for a few moments. “I’ve never lived on my own before, but for some reason I’m not afraid. I figure if I leave soon, I can get a job for a few months. You know, get settled.”

“What are you going to do for money?” Carla had a good head for money; she’d been paying the bills and doing the banking for the bakery for the past several years.

“Mom’s going to pay my bus fare and give me two thousand dollars.” She looked at her friend. “Is that very much?”

Carla raised both eyebrows. “Not really. You’ll have to pay a month’s rent in advance, and some places want another month as a security deposit. You’ll have to find a job right away.”

“I’ll find something. I’m not worried about that. I’ve even been thinking about getting two jobs, so I can put some aside for when I have the baby.”

Her friend’s eyes filled with tears. “You’ll let me know if you need help, won’t you?”

It was a struggle, but Bella didn’t give in to tears. “You know I will.” She checked her watch. “I’d better get going. Ethan will be here any moment to pick you up.”

Carla walked her to the door. “Remember, I’m driving you to the bus station in Atlanta.”

Bella gave her friend a quick hug. “I remember. Thanks for everything.”

Chapter Three

“I can’t believe you’re actually leaving.” Carla looked around the bus terminal. “Look at all these people!” She brought her attention back to her friend. “I want to remember you here, Bella, so I’m not going to walk you out to the bus.”

Bella tried not to show her relief. “I was hoping you’d say that. Let’s say goodbye and get it over with.” She had a tight hold on her ticket, but her stoicism was starting to slip away. “I’ll contact you as soon as I’m settled, I promise. And as for you, I want to know right away if you and Ethan go to New York. Okay?”

Carla nodded, unable to speak. She pulled her friend into a fierce hug and then turned and walked away. At the outside doors she paused and turned. Tears streaked her face, but she smiled, waved a hand and then disappeared into the brilliant sunshine.

Bella gave a sigh of relief. One more hurdle crossed. She looked up at the departures board, even though the ticket seller had told her which bay to look for. Then she looked down at the ticket in her hand. Los Angeles. Not telling Carla where she was going had been difficult, but the change of plan was something she had to do on her own…an act of defiance, perhaps. She’d write to both her mother and Carla as soon as she found somewhere to live.

* * *

Exhausted from the past ten days she slept much of the way to Dallas, where she switched buses. She washed up in the restroom, and then ordered breakfast in the restaurant, covertly watching the other passengers. Singles, couples, mothers with children; each had a different story, and she realized that hers was just one among many.

She was surprisingly content to let the hours and the countryside roll by. New Mexico, with its unique landscape was oddly appealing and before she knew it they had crossed into California. Here the names were more familiar and she sat up straighter, fascinated by the golden light that streamed through the windows of the bus. More passengers started to board, and at Indio her luck ran out; an older woman took the seat beside her. Smelling faintly of lavender, she clutched her bag in her lap with both hands.

“How far are you going, my dear?”

Bella was startled. It was the first time anyone had spoken to her other than food vendors or bus drivers since she left home. “Ah…I’m going to Los Angeles.”

“Terrible place.” The woman gave a small, almost imperceptible shudder.

“Why is that?” Bella didn’t really want to engage the woman in conversation, but she might as well hear what she had to say.

“It’s so spread out. You have to have a car to get anywhere.”

“Oh.” Bella hadn’t considered that when she’d impulsively bought her bus ticket, but it was too late now.

“But there are lots of lovely towns up and down the coast.” She fussed with her bag. “I live in Van Nuys. My son is coming to get me.”

“Do you have any suggestions?” Bella turned part way in her seat. “I mean for me…small towns?”

The older woman thought for a moment. “Santa Monica is nice; it’s not too far from Los Angeles if you’re thinking of trying to get into the movie business.”

“Heavens no, not me.”

The woman tilted her head, gave her an appraising look. “I don’t know why not. You’re quite attractive, you know.”

“I am?” Bella pulled back. No one had ever called her attractive before. “Thank you, but I don’t think that’s for me.”

“Good for you. Got your feet planted firmly on the ground, then.”

“I hope so.”

The woman fell silent and Bella realized she’d nodded off to sleep. As the bus drew closer to Los Angeles, the reality of her situation started to sink in. It would be shortly after noon when she arrived, and she had no place to stay. She made another snap decision. If there was a connecting bus headed for Santa Monica, she’d take it.

* * *

The Los Angeles terminal was overwhelming, but she finally found a helpful ticket seller who gave her instructions on how to make the final connection. When she stepped off the bus in Santa Monica she gave silent thanks to the older woman who’d suggested that she come here. Dizzy with fatigue, she studied the ads in the bus terminal, and checked into an inexpensive motel a few blocks away. She didn’t even shower before falling into bed.

* * *

Bella slept for twelve hours and awoke feeling rested and confident. A different clerk was on the desk and she approached him with a smile. “If you were looking for a furnished apartment to rent, how would you go about it?” she asked.

He gave her a quick once-over. “I’d probably check the ads in our local newspaper first. Rental agencies can be expensive.” He handed her a map. “Here, you’ll need this.”

Bella sat in a sunny corner of a fast food restaurant and studied the newspaper. Several studios were advertised, but they were too far from the center of town, and she wanted to save every penny she could by walking. She was about to give up when a small ad caught her eye. With trembling hands, she put a coin in the payphone and waited for a response. Ten minutes later she stood before a small single story home on a shaded side street. A wide veranda faced toward the street, fronted by flowerbeds blooming with riotous color. She opened the gate and walked tentatively up the steps. Before she could knock, the door was flung open and a small, dark-skinned woman greeted her warmly. She looked to be about five months pregnant.

“You must be Bella,” she said, holding the door open. “I am Sofia. Sofia Alvarez.” Dark eyes looked her over carefully. “You are looking for a rental?”

“Yes, I am.” Bella said, taking in the impeccably clean house. “You said it was over the garage.”

Something moved behind the woman’s eyes. “Yes, it used to be my husband’s hobby room. Come, I show you.”

Sofia stood back proudly and gestured for Bella to enter.

“This is lovely!” Bella couldn’t believe her eyes as she explored the small space. “Everything looks new.”

“You would be the first tenant,” said Sofia proudly. “The construction was finished last month, and I’ve been furnishing it slowly.”

“And you’re sure you only want four hundred a month?”

Sofia nodded. “From the right person, yes.”

“Well, I’d love to have it. When could I move in?”

“It’s ready now. Why should you pay for a motel room any longer than necessary? Come, I’ll get your details and give you the key.”

* * *

The small apartment had been well thought out. The kitchen opened to a small living area, but it was perfect for her needs. The bedroom was at the rear, and a small balcony overlooked the back yard. Bella couldn’t believe her good fortune. She dragged her suitcases up the stairs and unpacked quickly, eager to take possession.

After unpacking, she explored the kitchen. It contained a set of dishes for four, as well as basic utensils and a new set of pots and pans. She closed the cupboard doors, leaned back against the counter and started a mental shopping list.

“There’s a grocery store three blocks that way,” said Sofia, pointing the way. “You can probably get everything you need there.” She hesitated, hand over her stomach. “You are welcome to join me for dinner tonight. I was going to make quesadillas, and it’s no trouble to make for two.”

Bella wasn’t sure how to respond. “That’s really kind of you, but…”

“Please come. It’s your first night, and I’d like to welcome you.”

“Okay, then. I’d enjoy that.”

“Good, see you around six.”

* * *

Bella walked slowly to the grocery store. She would be careful about how much she spent, but she had the added cushion of the money her father had given her before she left home.

“I want you to have this,” he’d said, catching her outside one day. It appeared that he was fighting back tears. Bella was stunned; she’d never seen her father get emotional before. He’d clutched clumsily at her hand, passing over some folded bills. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

“I’ll be fine, Dad. Really.” She’d given him a quick kiss on the cheek and tucked the money into her pocket. “And thank you. I’ll come back one day and make you proud.”

He pulled her into a quick, fierce embrace. “I know you will, Girlie. I know you will.” And then he’d turned away, headed for his workshop in the garage.

Bella had counted the money later that night. He’d given her twelve hundred dollars. It was a lot of money for a family that didn’t have much to spare, and she vowed silently that one day she would pay him back.

* * *

“Wow!” That was great.” Bella stood up from the table and began to clear the dishes. “I’ve had quesadillas in restaurants at home, but they were never this good.”

Sofia beamed with pleasure at the compliment. “You don’t have to do that,” she said, struggling to rise. “You’re supposed to be my guest.”

Bella glanced pointedly at the other woman’s stomach. “It’s the least I can do. When are you due?”

“December.” Sofia made it to her feet. “Shall we sit out on the porch and have some iced tea?”

Bella gave her a stern look. “You just tell me where it is, and I’ll bring it out.” The two women had chatted about inconsequential things during dinner, but a bond had been formed, much to Bella’s delight.

“I guess you’re wondering about my husband.” They’d settled at the end of the porch where they were more likely to catch the evening breeze.

“I did wonder, yes.”

Sofia looked up at the rustling palms. “He was a policeman. We came up to Los Angeles from Juarez, where he was in the drug squad.” She paused for a moment, lost in thought. “He was part of a combined task force with the Los Angeles police. They were closing in on one of the big drug importers, but somebody must have tipped them off. There was a shootout, and my husband and two other officers were killed.”

“I’m so sorry.” Bella didn’t know what else to say. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

“No.” Sofia was silent for a moment. “I still look up sometimes, thinking that I hear him in the house. It still doesn’t seem real.”

“Do you think about going home?”

The other woman looked startled. “No. I can’t go back there. His cover was that he was transferred to Guadalajara. You know, to protect his family. But I wouldn’t want to go back even if I could.” She looked at Bella and smiled. “This is my home now. I like it here and I have a good widow’s pension. It’s not a lot, but the house is paid for.” She gave a shy smile. “The other officers on the squad took care of hiring the workers to renovate your apartment and the department paid for that.”

Bella shook her head. “And I thought I had it bad.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“You are alone, yes?” Bella noticed how Sofia’s language slipped once in a while when she was unsure of herself. It was charming.

“Yup. I came as far as I could without leaving the lower forty-eight.”

Sofia took a drink of iced tea. “Someday you will tell me about yourself. But I think not tonight.”

Bella was grateful for the other woman’s understanding. “Not tonight.”

They sat in the gathering darkness, comfortable with each other.

After a few minutes, Sophia spoke. “I suppose you’ll look for a job.”

Bella gave her a faint smile. “I was just thinking about that. I don’t really have many skills, but I’m confident I’ll find something.”

And she did. Within a week, she was working full time at a fabric store, with an evening shift at a fast food outlet. Sophia waited up for her every night and they shared a glass of iced tea while Bella told stories about the day’s customers. As the months slipped by, they formed an unbreakable bond of friendship. And then one night she came home to a strange car in the driveway. Every light in the house was on, and she ran up the front steps.

She opened her mouth to ask what was happening but was forestalled when she heard the cry of a baby from the back bedroom. Sofia’s friend Consuela bustled out from the bedroom. “Is a girl,” she announced, a broad smile on her face.

“And Sofia?” asked Bella. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. She say for you to come in when you get home.”

Bella paused at the door to the bedroom. Soft light from the bedside lamp fell on her friend. Sofia held her new daughter, eyes luminous with unshed tears. “Come, look,” she said quietly. “She’s beautiful, no?”

“Hello Valeria.” Bella knelt down beside the bed and looked up. Sofia nodded; she’d finally settled on the name just a week ago. She reached out and stroked the tiny hand with its perfect fingernails. “She’s beautiful,” she murmured.

Sofia’s eyes remained focused on her daughter. “She has her father’s nose,” she said softly. Her eyelids started to droop and she shook herself awake. “I’m getting tired,” she said apologetically. “It’s been a long day.”

“How was it?” The women had speculated about what childbirth might be like.

“Not too bad.” Her eyes softened. “You’ll see.”

Bella pulled back. “You know?”

Sofia reached out a hand and stroked Bella’s cheek. “Si, I know. We can talk about it later.”

 

* * *

“Our children will grow up together.” The women were sitting on the front porch, the cradle between them. It seemed to Bella that Valeria grew every day while she was away at work. “That is if you stay here.”  The last was said hopefully.

Bella brushed a fly away from the baby. “That’s something I haven’t allowed myself to think about too much,” she said. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t tried to make any decisions.”

“Do you want to go back to your town in Georgia?”

“No, not really.” Bella picked up her iced tea and pressed the cool glass against her forehead. “How would I explain coming home with a baby? That’s the reason I left in the first place, so nobody would know I’m pregnant.” She placed a hand over her stomach; it was becoming a familiar gesture.

“Does it make you sad to think that you can’t go back?”

“I thought it would, but it doesn’t.” Bella stopped to consider her reply. “My parents love me, but we’re not what you’d call a close family.” She looked across at her friend to see if she understood. “You know what I mean? “My mother never told me I looked nice, or anything like that, and my Dad was kind of distant. I think I miss my friend Carla more than anything, but she’s moved to New York with her boyfriend. So I guess California is my new home.”

“Have you been to a doctor yet?”

“Yes. I went to the clinic last week. She said I’m disgustingly healthy.” Bella tapped her fingernails against the side of her glass. “I’m a bit concerned about the cost of going into the hospital for the birth, though. What made you decide to do it at home?”

Sofia shrugged. “My mother was what you call a midwife. I never considered any other way, even though I have medical coverage through Eduardo’s pension.”

“Do you think I should try it?”

“You’d have to make up your own mind about that, but Consuela is wonderful, and if she thought anything was wrong, she would call for an ambulance.”

Bella cringed. “That’s not going to happen, is it?”

“No, of course not.”

* * *

Sofia was right. The birth of Bella’s daughter took only a few hours, surprising even the experienced midwife.

Bella held her daughter to her chest. “I love you,” she said fiercely, kissing the tiny face, hands and feet. “And I will make sure you know that every day of your life.”

Sofia watched her indulgently. “Everyone says we should enjoy them now, before they start to talk.” Her gaze went to Valeria, who was lying on a quilt on the floor.

“Not me.” Bella shook her head. “I can hardly wait ’til she starts talking.”

 

Click here to buy Full Circle, by Mona Ingram

Kindle Nation Reader Alert: The Hero, the Harlot, and the Fish (The Hero Series) by Michael J. McGrath, 5 Stars, $3.99 on Kindle

The Hero, the Harlot, and the Fish

by Michael J. McGrath

 

by Michael J. McGrath
5.0 stars – 2 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
Gail: A loveless marriage, a dead-end job, and an on-going affair with the friend of a friend— It’s a good thing she’s got her wine to tide her over.Jude: He needs a little time; Time to get over the war (if he can), time to get over losing Penny (if he can).

Sandy Jo: She’s got her friends, her house, her job, her husband, and her lover—life is great. Of course, things would probably be different if she knew what Gail was up to.

It is, and always has been, a beach; a place at the mercy of the tide, where things sometimes wash up, out of the water, and then are sometimes swept back out, flotsam set to wandering toward the colossal gyre of human detritus that meanders around the blank center of the sea. Things have been built there for centuries, longer than centuries, and at last they have all fallen back into the sandy marsh upon which they were built, the brunt of hurricanes or of the whimsy of men’s fancy or of their propensity to squat upon a place unbidden and then to scurry for cover at the onset of a storm.

The sea that still beats on her shores––open, deep, so blue a man can feel its color pressing on the walls of his heart––laps up under a sun that does not reach the cold, sleeping west of the continent for hours yet, or the rolling old hills and green woods of anywhere in the four-seasoned north. It is a wide, warm, and soft strand along the water that keeps the people of Fort Lauderdale in their place, hemmed in between the waves and the soughing grasses of the Everglades. It brings down the tide of people running from the cold of winter each year, and it sends them all back home again when she overheats underneath them.

This place calls Gail and Sandy Jo and Jude to it, like a bright light calls wayward ships home across a vast, tossing sea. Will they find harbor or will they wreck on the shoreline?

About the Author
I live in Florida with my wife, whom I love with all my heart. I think and write about relationships, the things that connect people to one another, and how everything–work and love and the place in which a person lives and the music a person listens to and even the car they drive–affects them and exerts an influence on those connections. Frank Sinatra described himself in song as having been “a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn, and a king.” Well, I’ve been a son, a brother, a friend, a U.S. Marine, a lover, a father, and an enemy; definitely a puppet, a pauper, and a pawn; possibly a poet of sorts. I’m no king, and that’s something I’m not all that sure I’d want to be even if I could. In any case, I’ll keep working. I hope you enjoy my stories.
(This is a sponsored post.)

A Generous, Free Excerpt From Our Thriller of the Week Sponsor: N. S. Wikarski’s The Granite Key

The Granite Key, from The Arkana Series, by N.S. Wikarski:

by N. S. Wikarski
4.1 stars – 11 Reviews

Here’s the set-up:
Forget everything you thought you knew about ancient history. The real facts have been buried… Until now! Imagine yourself a nineteen year old college student. Your life is normal in every way until a bizarre set of events drags you into a hidden world of danger. You are recruited by an underground society questing for artifacts that reconstruct the lost history of the human race. You are being pursued by a fanatical religious cult intent on acquiring a legendary relic before you do. A relic that, in the wrong hands, has the power to destroy the world.In a treasure hunt that spans twelve thousand years of human history and covers every continent, the Arkana series digs deep through the layers of fabricated history to reveal a past we never dreamed we had and a future we never dreamed we could have. A secret society. A fanatical cult. A telepathic girl.All vie to unlock the mysteries of the granite key. The quest leads halfway around the globe to the ruins of a forgotten civilization and a secret it has guarded for millennia. The fate of the world depends on who can get there first.

The Granite Key (The Arkana Series)

The author hopes you will enjoy this free excerpt:

Chapter 1 – Night Vision

 

Cassie felt herself sinking. She tried to drag herself to the surface. “Wake up stupid! It’s just a dream. This can’t be real. Wake up!”

She was standing in the shadows in her sister’s antique shop. It was late. Long past midnight. The room was dimly lit by a green banker’s lamp near the cash register. Sybil was standing in front of the glass showcase with a cell phone in her hand. There was a man standing near the door. A man wearing a Stetson hat and he was pointing a gun at her sister.

“Where’s the key, sugar?” His voice sounded lazy, casual. He had a southern drawl.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sybil stammered. Her sister put the phone down and started inching her way along the showcase toward the rear storeroom.

The man shrugged. “Don’t make no difference to me but you don’t want me tearin’ up your neat little shop just to find it, now do you?”

“I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sybil’s reply was shrill, unconvincing.

Cassie wanted to rush forward to pull her sister away from the man with the gun. Her feet were glued to the floor. She couldn’t move. She tried to scream a warning. “Get out of here, Sybil. Run!” but all she felt was a rasp in her throat where the words should be.

The man advanced out of the shadows. He was close to six feet tall, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. Cassie knew this had to be a dream because of his strange outfit. Aside from the cowboy hat, he wore a short denim jacket, a string tie around his neck, jeans and snakeskin cowboy boots.

The gun flicked slightly in his hand. “I tell you what. The service in this establishment ain’t very friendly.” He flipped his hat aside and it landed on an oak sideboard. His dark brown hair was combed back in a high wave. “I guess if you don’t want to help me, I’ll have to roll up my sleeves and help myself.”  He moved forward toward the glass case.

Sybil darted past him and ran toward the front door. He was faster. He grabbed her by the arm. “Now that’s no way to treat your clientele, honey. Tryin’ to run off and shirk your responsibilities like that.” He twisted her arm behind her back.

Cassie could see Sybil wince in pain. Her sister looked around wildly for some other way out. The man tightened his grip with one hand and pointed the gun to her head with the other. Sybil struggled but he only wrenched her arm harder behind her back until she stopped struggling.

“It seems to me like you can’t hear what I’m sayin’.” The man cocked his head slightly, considering the matter. “Maybe we should go someplace private where I can get through to you better.”

He shoved her toward the door but she twisted out of his grip, running toward the back of the shop. He lunged after her, tackling her. She fell hard against the showcase, head first. Glass shattered and she lay still, face down on the floor.

Cassie could feel a cry of despair rising in her throat but no sound came out. She willed her feet to move. They seemed to twitch slightly but nothing more. All she could do was watch.

The man raised himself to a crouch position. A look of annoyance crossed his face. He reached forward to check Sybil’s pulse and frowned.

He stood back up, shaking bits of broken glass from his jacket. “Well, that ain’t no help at all,” he said in disgust.

In a flash, the scene changed and Cassie was back in her dorm room. She could feel the mattress beneath her. “Wake up, dammit!” she commanded herself. This time when she clawed her way up to the surface of consciousness, her mind obeyed her. She sat up shakily. Her skin felt clammy. She tossed off the covers and sat forward rocking, holding her head.

On impulse she grabbed her cell phone and started to call her sister. “It was just a nightmare, stupid! What are you going to do? Wake her up in the middle of the night to tell her you had a bad dream?” She snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the nightstand.

Gradually her breathing slowed and she lay back down. Curling herself into a fetal position, she drew the covers up to her chin. “It wasn’t real.  It was just a bad dream… Just a bad dream… Just a bad dream…” She chanted the words like a mantra for several minutes until she started to dose off.

Then the phone rang.

 

Chapter 2 – A Wake

At about three o’clock in the morning far outside the city, four people were staring bleakly at one other around a kitchen table. It was an old style oak table in an old style country kitchen. The kind with tin ceiling tiles and tall glass cupboards above the sink. A single yellow nightlight glowed from the wall.

At one end of the table sat an elderly woman in a terrycloth robe and slippers. Despite the late hour, she had managed to roll her white hair into a neat little bun at the nape of her neck. She sighed heavily. “I can’t believe this.”

“Believe it. Sybil’s dead.” The abrupt comment came from a blond man in his mid-twenties at the opposite end of the table. He sat slouched despondently in his chair, arms crossed, his legs sprawled out in front of him. “She called me and she sounded scared. She thought somebody was trying to break into the shop. Then the line went dead. I got there as fast as I could but the cops beat me to it.” He exhaled tiredly. “It’s my fault.”

“How do you figure?” The question came from a middle-aged woman with bushy red hair sitting to his left. There were distinct frown lines around her mouth. She took a long drag on an unfiltered cigarette.

The blond man glanced up. “If I’d just gotten there five minutes sooner maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Maybe she’d still be alive.”

“Did she give you a physical description of her attacker?” The question came from a young man in his early-twenties seated to the right. He spoke with a British accent.

“Nope,” said the blond man succinctly. “For the past week or so she told me she had the feeling somebody was following her but she never knew who it was.”

“I think we all know who was responsible.” The elderly woman rose stiffly out of her chair. She walked over to sink, filled a kettle and put it on the stove to boil.

The other three stared at one another in shock. Anger flashed in the middle-aged woman’s eyes. “Those bastards! What do they want from us now?”

“Take it easy, Maddie,” soothed the blond man. “We don’t know for sure it was them.”

The woman called Maddie snapped back at him, “Then who else?” She ground out her cigarette and immediately lit a new one. “What the hell was she working on? Didn’t she tell you anything about it, Griffin?” Her sharp eyes focused on the Brit.

“No, nothing,” the young man whispered with regret. He rubbed his forehead distractedly. “Maybe if she had I could have helped her, or better yet, persuaded her to stop.”

The elderly woman shuffled toward the cupboard over the sink. “There’s still the matter of her sister,” she observed quietly. “Poor child, as if she hasn’t lost enough already. This is too cruel.”

“Does she know anything?” The blond man at the far end of the table sat forward in his chair.

The woman at the sink turned around to glance at him mildly. “Do you think you could find that out for us, Erik?”

Erik sat up at straighter, alert now. “What exactly do you have in mind, Faye?”

The kettle rumbled to a boil. The old woman rummaged around in the cupboard for cups and saucers. “I think you should follow her at a discrete distance. Keep out of sight but let us know immediately if anything unusual occurs.”

She went over to the stove to switch off the heat. “Griffin, it might prove useful to know what Sybil’s latest recovery was.”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed readily. “Anything I can do to help.”

Faye was now spooning loose tea into a porcelain pot.  She paused to consider. “What could they possibly want of ours? What, to them, would be worth killing for?”

 

Chapter 3 – Prayer Meeting

 

In the silent hour just before dawn, Abraham Metcalf was standing in his study, scrutinizing the spine of a volume of sermons on his bookshelf. Actually, his study was more the size of a public library and his home more the size of a medieval castle. It had to be. He was the head of a very large extended family. Despite the barest glimmer of light in the east, Metcalf was expecting a visitor. Fully dressed in a black suit, he cut an impressive figure. A mane of white hair swept back from his forehead, trimmed just long enough to reach the top of his collar. A white moustache and beard shaped into a precise goatee. Despite his seventy years, he possessed a muscular build and ramrod straight posture. His eyes were a frosty shade of blue. They bore a fierce expression under bristling white eyebrows suggesting very little escaped his notice or gained his approval.

A young man sporting a crew cut tapped lightly on the door. “A visitor to see you, Father.”

“Send him in.”

A man wearing a Stetson hat advanced into the study. Metcalf turned to face him. “Hats off indoors, Mr. Hunt,” he instructed curtly.

His visitor smiled lazily and doffed his hat. “Now that’s right kindly of you to remind me, sir. My momma, God rest her, would pitch a fit if she saw me forget my manners like that.”

Metcalf sat down behind his massive oak desk. He did not invite his visitor to be seated. He studied Hunt in silence for several seconds. The younger man did not flinch under his gaze but stood grinning, his stance relaxed.

“I don’t see the key in your hands, Mr. Hunt.” Metcalf observed.

“No need to stand on proper names now, is there? How about you call me Leroy and I’ll call you Abe?”

“You may call me Father Abraham if you wish,” Metcalf offered stiffly.

“Sorry, sir, but you ain’t my daddy. Don’t rightly know who he was, come to think on it.”

Metcalf’s face remained impassive. “I don’t see the key, Mr. Hunt.”

Leroy Hunt shrugged off the implied rebuke. “Well, sir, it was like this. I encountered a bit of trouble in obtainin’ said object.”

Metcalf had picked up a letter opener and was examining it intently. “Define trouble,” he commanded.

Hunt selected one of the chairs in front of Metcalf’s desk and sat down. “That gal you set me to followin’ had herself an unfortunate accident. We got into a tussle and she fell and bumped her head and well, sir, she’s dead.”

“Dead!” Metcalf echoed in disbelief.

“That’s right, sir. Not to rise again til Judgment Day.”

“Dead,” Metcalf repeated somewhat less emphatically.

“Yup, dead,” Leroy concurred, smoothing the wave in his hair.

The older man considered the problem in silence for several moments before he spoke again. “You did manage to search the shop at least?”

“That I did, sir. I spent about a half hour diggin’ around before somebody called the cops. I had to high tail it when I heard them sirens but I was through lookin’ anyhow. That key you set such store by, well sir, it wasn’t to be found.”

Metcalf stood up and towered over Hunt. “I’m most disappointed in your report, Mr. Hunt.”

Leroy chuckled. “I guess, if I was you and I wanted that key so bad, I’d be a bit down in the mouth too, sir.”

“I hardly think this occasion calls for levity, Mr. Hunt.” Metcalf’s eyebrows bristled in disapproval.

Hunt looked up at him appraisingly. “I don’t expect there’s much in your life, sir, that you’d think would be a fit occasion for levity.” Before Metcalf could supply a retort, he continued. “Now don’t you go worryin’ yerself to pieces over this. I still ain’t done. Gal’s got a sister, don’t she? How bout I follow her around for a bit. Maybe see what’s what?”

Metcalf relaxed his scowl by a hairsbreadth. “Yes, that would seem to be the proper course of action to take at this juncture.”

Leroy stood up and gave a mock salute. “You got it, chief.” He retrieved his hat and turned toward the door.

“Before you go, Mr. Hunt…”

“Sir?”

“Let us say a prayer together.”

A flicker of anger crossed Leroy’s face. “Like I said, I ain’t one of yours.”

Metcalf was already on his knees behind his desk, hands folded. “Yes, I know. That’s why I’ve entrusted you with a matter like this.  A matter that requires divine assistance to complete. You will pray with me now.”

Wordlessly, Hunt returned to the opposite side of the desk, knelt, folded his hands, and screwed his eyes shut as if in anticipation of a bad tasting medicine.

Metcalf addressed his remarks to the chandelier overhead. “Oh Lord, guide this man’s hand that it may do your bidding. Let him smite down those who oppose your will. Let the wicked be put to shame that the Blessed Nephilim may inherit the earth. Amen!”

 

Chapter 4 -Sisters And Other Strangers

 

Cassie was sitting cross-legged on the living room rug in her sister’s apartment. There were stacks of paper piled around her. Boxes of magazines and scattered articles of clothing littered the couch. Tears were running down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to brush them away. She had been crying for days now. Maybe it had been a week. She couldn’t remember. It started right after the phone call came. The police were at Sybil’s shop. They needed her to identify a body. But she already knew who it would be. The dream had been a 3-D Technicolor preview of the real thing.

She felt as if she was still inside her nightmare when she arrived at the antique store. The green banker’s lamp was on. Her sister lay sprawled across the floor face down exactly where Cassie had seen her fall. Only now there were photographers and police swarming like flies over her sister’s remains.

Rhonda, her sister’s business partner, was there too. White-faced and shaking, she came up to hug Cassie. The two clung to each other for several moments, too much in shock to speak.

The detective who questioned her sounded like he was standing in an echo chamber. His voice was distorted, coming at her from a distance. “What was Sybil doing in the shop alone at such a late hour? Was anything of value missing from the shop? Did she have any enemies?”

Cassie gave the same answer every time. “I don’t know.”

Even now she marveled at how little she knew about anything her sister was doing or why. “What were you involved in, Sybil?” Cassie didn’t know much about antiques but she did know that a lucrative black market trade existed. Had Sybil been doing something shady? Smuggling artifacts into the country illegally? Again she didn’t know.

The only thing she did know for certain was that a man in a Stetson hat wanted a key and her sister was dead because of him and she’d dreamed the whole thing while it was happening. But she didn’t think that was the sort of information the detective was looking for. He probably wouldn’t believe her. She didn’t believe it herself. She wasn’t given to weird, paranormal experiences. In all her life she’d never been accused of having so much as a hunch about anything. She was a rational person, more or less.

Her mind skipped forward to the present. She was sorting through a box of old bills and papers. The easy stuff. She couldn’t bring herself to sort through the clothes yet. She had tried earlier that day but it had been a mistake. She’d realized that the minute she pulled open a drawer of sweaters. There was lavender sachet inside. Her sister had always smelled like lavender. It was a comforting, familiar scent. Someone once told her that people remember the way things smell long after they’ve forgotten how they look or taste or sound. That the sense of smell is primal. Like blood, like family, like death. She shoved the drawer closed and left the bedroom in tears. She doubted she would ever smell lavender again without crying. It was safer to sort through the papers. They didn’t smell like lavender. They didn’t smell like anything at all.

She blew her nose and tossed the used tissue onto the pile that was accumulating on the floor. How many boxes had she gone through? Like the number of days she’d spent crying, she’d lost count of that too. It had all become a blur. Even the funeral. That mother of all ordeals. The service had been small and quiet because they hadn’t been living in Chicago long and there was no family. Aside from Rhonda, there was nobody who could be called a friend either. Sybil had been Cassie’s only anchor to this place and now the girl felt like a boat drifting with the current. When other people lost a sister, there was always somebody else to fill the void. Cassie doubted if anybody could understand what her particular brand of loneliness felt like. The word “orphan” didn’t begin to cover it. She broke down and started to sob.

“Enough!” she commanded herself sternly. She looked up at the ceiling to blink back the tears. For a few minutes she focused on nothing but breathing. Just breathe and don’t think. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Finally she calmed down enough to focus on the matter at hand. She reached for another box of papers. It looked like a bunch of old charge card receipts. Why Sybil had kept this junk was beyond her. She dumped the box upside down on the coffee table. As the pile of papers spewed out, something hard fell on top of them.

Cassie cocked her head sideways, examining the object. Strange looking thing. It was shaped like a ruler. About a foot long and about two inches wide, only it had five sides. Solid in the middle but five-sided. What would you call a shape like that? A polygon? She looked at the surface of the ruler lengthwise. There were strange markings inscribed in the stone. Some looked like long hash marks and some looked like pictograms. Like Egyptian hieroglyphics only they weren’t Egyptian. She’d seen enough of those in museums to recognize them. Along the sharp edge that divided the ruler into five sides, were more hash marks and loops.

Cassie made no move to pick up the stone ruler. She dismissed it as something from the shop that Sybil had decided to keep. Her sister did that all the time. She’d come across another “treasure” that she just had to have for her own. The apartment was full of things she couldn’t seem to part with. African masks on the walls. A rare Chinese vase in a niche by the door. Fragments of Greek friezes. It begged the question of where the money came from for Sybil’s expensive private collection. Cassie frowned and regarded the stone ruler again for a few moments. Maybe she’d ask Rhonda about it when she saw her next.

Her eyes swept the room. The papers and the clothes and the antiques and the artwork. So much more stuff to get through. Suddenly she felt very tired and a bit overwhelmed. Nobody else to do it but her. She sighed.

Without bothering to clean up the tissues on the carpet, she got up, grabbed her purse and left the apartment. She wanted to head back to her dorm room for a long, long nap. She could come back tomorrow. Everything would still be waiting for her. More memories to pop out of a drawer or jump off a shelf to remind her that she was alone in the world. It would keep. She’d cried enough for this day.

 

Chapter 5 – Corvette And Model-T

 

A dozen hours after Cassie fell into a restless doze, dawn broke over a suburb on the far outskirts of the metro area. It was a hamlet that had once been rural and still retained a few of its American gothic homesteads. Daylight crept toward the oldest of these original structures–a two-story farmhouse standing on an acre of green land. It was surrounded by one hundred and twenty acres of tract housing but had so far managed to resist being engulfed by the neighborhood. A high wooden fence surrounded the backyard which encompassed both a flower and a vegetable garden. The front lawn was wide and deep enough to accommodate massive shade trees that had been old long before the first cornfield was plowed.

Light advanced across the lawn to the house itself which was concrete stucco painted a shade of cornflower blue. A cupola in the middle of the roof had attracted a flock of burbling pigeons who hoped to warm themselves in the early sun’s rays. When an elderly woman emerged onto the Victorian gingerbread porch, the pigeons flapped off. Broom in hand, she immediately set about sweeping the front steps. An apple tree growing close to her porch was shedding its blossoms. It appeared as if her stairs were covered in bits of pinkish white confetti. She swept briskly, if absentmindedly. It was clear that she was lost in thought. She didn’t register that someone was coming up her front walk until he stood directly in front of her.

“Faye?” the young man asked tentatively.

“Oh, Erik, you gave me a start.” Her hand flew involuntarily to her heart. Then she smiled and motioned him towards the house. “Please do come in.”

He preceded her through the door.

“Why don’t we sit in here.” She directed him to the front parlor. In anyone else’s house it would have been called the living room but Faye was different. She radiated a sense of having skipped back in time. She was wearing a cotton housedress — the kind that was spattered with giant flowers in garish colors. It was topped with a green cardigan whose front pocket sagged from the weight of an oversized handkerchief. Her white hair was molded into a smooth bun at the back of her head. She might have been in her eighties or she might have been one hundred and ten. It was hard to tell. Faye had always been ancient. But her eyes were very bright, cornflower blue like her house, and they missed nothing.

The young man who visited her couldn’t have provided a starker contrast. If people were automobiles, he would have been a Corvette to Faye’s Model-T. He had a lean, muscular frame. Not extremely tall but not short either. His dark blonde hair was shaggy and perpetually in need of a barber. Maybe it was an image that Erik wanted to project. He was so good-looking that he didn’t have to worry about how his hair was cut. In his mid-twenties with elvish green eyes and a cleft in his chin, he was the stuff of which movie idols are made. Whether he was consciously vain was open to question. He liked to pretend he didn’t notice how women reacted to him. He believed he had a mission in life.

Erik removed his suede jacket and tossed it on the couch. His car keys landed on top of the coat.

Faye gestured for him to sit down. “Can I get you a cup of tea, dear?”

She was about to shuffle off to the kitchen but her guest stopped her. “No thanks, Faye, I’m fine.”

The elderly woman settled herself into a plum armchair opposite him. It had a doily perched on the headrest. The kind that was once known as an antimacassar. The chair itself might have dated from the time when men still used Macassar oil to dress their hair and the doily kept them from soiling the furniture. Faye probably expected that patent leather hair would come back into vogue someday and was prepared for it.

“Well then, what can you tell me?”

Erik shrugged. “Not much. She lives in a dorm at school. Keeps to herself a lot. I’ve been following her around ever since…” He trailed off.

Faye sighed. “Yes, we all miss Sybil, dear. It was a terrible shock. A terrible loss.”

Erik continued. “Anyway, ever since it happened, I’ve been following her. Went to the funeral but I kept out of sight. I didn’t see anybody odd. She went to Sybil’s apartment yesterday. I guess she was sorting through stuff. I stayed out in the hall for awhile listening.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I heard a lot of crying.”

“Poor child,” Faye said quietly. She smoothed the folds of her housedress. “Poor lost child.”

Erik hunched forward on the couch. “Do you think she knows anything about Sybil’s recovery? About us?”

Faye shook her head. “No, Sybil was most emphatic. She told me that she didn’t want her sister involved. She wanted to keep her safe. She believed the less Cassie knew, the better.”

Erik looked skeptical. “I don’t see how keeping somebody in the dark is going to keep them safe. They’re more likely to do something stupid when they don’t know what they’re up against.”

The young man stood up and began to pace. “It just seems wrong. Somebody ought to tell her.”

Faye fixed her gaze on her visitor. Her expression was mild, almost curious. “Exactly how could we explain ourselves in a way that she would understand?”

Erik ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. We probably can’t. But this whole thing is making me edgy. I don’t like it. Just hanging around and listening to a girl cry.” He threw himself back down on the couch, exasperated. “Can I quit yet?”

“I’d like you to keep watching her for awhile longer.”

Erik picked up his car keys and jingled them distractedly between his fingers. “What exactly do you expect will happen?”

“I expect that sooner or later the person who killed Sybil will reveal himself.”

“He probably found what he wanted in the shop. He’s probably long gone by now.”

Faye stood and walked over to the picture window. She watched the morning breeze shake loose another batch of blossoms. “And if he didn’t obtain what he was looking for, how long do you think it will take him to find Cassie?”

Erik stopped jingling the keys. He looked down at his hands. “I guess I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

“Nor would I, dear.” Faye turned toward Erik. “Let’s watch her a little while longer just to be sure.”

 

Chapter 6 – Compound Interest

 

Despite her best intentions, it was after sunset the following evening before Cassie found her way back to Sybil’s apartment. Time to put all this in the past, she told herself decisively as she got out of her car and crossed the street toward the Gold Coast high-rise. Yeah right. She was so eager to put things behind her that she’d procrastinated until nightfall to avoid confronting the residue of her sister’s life again. And she didn’t even have the excuse of going to classes anymore. School was on hold indefinitely. There was still the tricky matter of deciding where to live. She would probably move out of the dorm and into Sybil’s place. Right now that thought made her shudder. Not quite ready to deal with that idea yet.

She got off the elevator on the fourth floor and headed toward Sybil’s flat at the end of the hall. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the bottom of the door. There was light coming from inside. Had she forgotten to switch off the power the day before? Who knew? She shrugged and sorted through the keys on her ring. When she turned the lock, she thought she heard a click coming from inside. Cassie swung the door open wide. She stood on the threshold listening for a moment. The place was dark, completely still.

She walked across the room toward an end table to turn on the lamp. Something or someone slammed into her, shoving her sideways. She hit the wall, the breath knocked out of her lungs. Scrambling to her feet, she caught a glimpse of a man fleeing through the open door. Cassie gasped. He was wearing a Stetson hat and in his hand was an object she remembered seeing the day before.

He was down the hall, through the fire exit door and halfway to the ground floor before she could move.

“Hey, hey you! Stop!” She started to run toward the lighted hallway when she collided with another man. He shoved her back into the apartment. She didn’t think she recognized this one but the place was still dark so she couldn’t be sure.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“Who are you?” she countered. “Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”

“No time for that now!” His voice was urgent. “What happened?”

“A..a man. He must have broken in. He…he was wearing a cowboy hat,” she stammered.

The stranger grabbed her by the arms and shook her to get her attention. “Now listen! This is important! Did he take anything?”

Cassie was having a hard time thinking clearly. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. “Yeah, I think…”

“What?” the man shook her again. “What was it?”

“It was a stone ruler. Five-sided. About a foot long with weird markings all over it.” She twisted away from his grasp. “That’s all I could see. Now who… ” Before she could get the rest of the question out, the man vanished.

She heard him shout back at her from down the hallway, “Call the police!” Then she heard the fire exit door slam and heard feet clattering down the emergency stairs.

Cassie was shaking. Delayed shock. She collapsed on the couch and switched on the table lamp. She looked around at the contents of the room. Trying to get her eyes to focus. To get her brain back to the present. Everything was just as she’d left it the day before. Except for one thing. The stone ruler was gone. Stolen by the man from her nightmare.

She got up weakly and crossed the room to a bombé chest that held a telephone. When she picked up the receiver to dial 911, she noticed an envelope underneath the base of the phone. It had been hand-addressed. All she could see was the initial letter “C”. Putting the receiver down, she slid the packet out from its hiding place. In Sybil’s script, the letters “C-A-S-S-I-E” were scrawled across the front. Her hands were trembling as she ripped the envelope open.

***

Erik could hear footsteps ahead of him at the bottom of the stairwell. He waited until the man had gotten to the ground floor before he moved forward. He didn’t want Cowboy to know he was being followed.

Once the exit door slammed shut, he raced forward. Outside he saw Cowboy climbing into a red pickup parked across the street from the highrise. It tore away from the curb, heading north. Erik noted the license plate number. Shouldn’t be too hard to follow. He jumped into his car and tailed the thief, careful to keep several vehicles between them. With all the early evening traffic on the roads he didn’t think he’d been spotted. Cowboy got on the northbound expressway. He drove past the looming shadows of downtown highrises, past the suburban bedroom communities, past the overcrowded shopping malls, past the point where any expressway lights remained to illuminate the road. It was almost an hour before the pickup took a westbound exit that led to nothing but farm land. Erik knew it would be harder to keep from being noticed out in the middle of nowhere. He got behind a semi-trailer that was going in the same direction. Cowboy drove on for another half hour through pitch black countryside then turned right onto a side road marked with a yellow Dead End sign. Erik couldn’t follow him in there. It would be too obvious.

He pulled his car off to the shoulder and got out, hoping he wouldn’t find one of those “Do Not Park Here” stickers plastered on his windshield when he got back. He started walking. Fortunately, lights appeared in the distance almost immediately. The road turned out to be a very, very long driveway. The building at the end of it couldn’t be more than a quarter mile away. Erik kept to the shoulder, in the shadows.

The road ended in front of a pair of iron gates about ten feet high. Each of the gates was decorated with a capital letter P with an X through the middle of it. Erik didn’t know anyone with that monogram. He noticed the guard shack with security cameras mounted on either side of the gates and quickly ducked farther into the shadows. A ten foot chain link fence topped with razor wire surrounded the property. Company was clearly not welcome in this place.

He couldn’t be sure how long the fence was but he could guess it stretched around several acres. Beyond the gate at the far end of the gravel drive, Erik could see Cowboy’s car. Somebody had been expecting his visit.

Erik headed for the trees that bordered the fence to the east where more of the layout was visible. He focused his attention on the house, if you could call it that. The building was as big as a castle, or maybe “fortress” would be a better word. It looked as if it could withstand a siege. The design was squat and square with a flat roof, like a massive cinderblock. Towers flanked the building on either end. Erik guessed there might be two on the back end as well. The building was studded with tall narrow windows recessed deep into the walls. Light glowed through drawn curtains making it impossible to tell how many people were inside. Floodlights bleached the limestone façade to a blinding whiteness.

Aside from the main building, Erik counted at least eight other structures around the perimeter–smaller replicas of the main house. Then he noticed an odd assortment of sheds, garages and trailers that must have been used for storage. A compound. He smiled to himself. It had to be them. Nobody else would live like this. Now he knew for certain who had hired Cowboy to steal Sybil’s find. The only thing he still couldn’t figure out was why.


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