No one knew that better. He had seen first hand the unyielding
power of the reaper’s will. It wasn’t the reaper who tugged at
him now, however. It was the deadly toxin that was being rapidly
absorbed into his digestive tract. The cold wind flattened his
pant legs against his shins. An icy ache rankled his teeth. He
jerked the edges of his coat tightly around his middle. His
heart battered a rabbit-quick rhythm against his chest. Pain
ripped up through his abdomen and brought him to a stand still.
With panic stricken eyes, he looked around for help.
He couldn’t remember where
he was or why he was there. There was one thing he could
remember, though. He thought of his life before it went cold
and empty, before Martha died. She was warm with the comfort
and feeling of home. They had lived simply, with little need
for material things, and they were happy that way.
It was the tumor that took her from him. A tiny,
unreachable, ticking bomb he was powerless to defuse. Oh,
how he longed to see her smile, to touch her hand. One gaze,
one last touch.
Suddenly, he heard her calling to him. He stopped and
listened. She called again. She was just across the street.
All he had to do was cross over and he could be
In the Rough
The printer whirred, as it reproduced the screen
image. Beckard snagged it and walked across the floor of
the small apartment. He sat down at the white wicker
dining set and inspected the documents on the table,
driver's license, dental records, passport and a tattered
looking birth certificate. It wouldn't be long now; he
would be enjoying a new life and a new identity.
The knock at the door was barely audible.
"Where the hell have you been?" Beckard asked impatiently.
There was a moment of silence as he held open the door.
"I was doing what you told me to do," Benjamin answered,
stepping into the room.
"I don't remember telling you to disconnect your phone, or
to quit your job, for that matter," Beckard said. “It
makes you look suspicious to quit after only two months.”
"Look, I got paranoid; I don't want to go to jail over
"So, you drop by my apartment when you know I'm under
surveillance? Smart move, Ben."
Benjamin’s head jerked around, as if he was expecting to
see a couple of agents break through the door to sweep him
off to some fat creep lockup tank.
"Okay, you’re right, this was a stupid idea, but I can't
stop thinkin' about Eve. I feel like we’ve betrayed her."
"That feeling will go away when you have that large chunk
of cash in your pocket. Remember? That's why we did this
in the first place."
Benjamin stared into Beckard’s eyes and shifted his weight
from foot to foot like a captured animal.
"Look, I've been thinking,” Benjamin, offered. “Maybe Eve
doesn't have to disappear. I know it's chancy, but I was
hoping maybe you could just let her go be with her sister.
I mean maybe…"
"Are you nuts?" Beckard put his hand on Benjamin's
shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make him wince. "Don't
wimp out on me now. Not when we're so close to the finish
line. We've planned this for months, and don't forget how
much you're involved. You even planted the tracer on her
car for God's sake!" Beckard eased his grip. "Okay?” His
voice lowered. "If we can keep her from finding out, then
maybe we can let her go, but you have to think of the plan
Dead on the
Dead on the
Money, picks up where Initials For Murder,
left off, ensnaring Tom and Olivia in yet another dangerous and
Tom Trask is basking in the glow
of his recent engagement to H. Olivia Tully, but without
warning, his elation turns to shattering danger when a ruthless
convict shows up and begins to stalk them. He is believed to be
the son of a bank robber who, Uncle Charlie, in his prior police
years, sent up the river.
Olivia has learned just enough
about police investigation from Tom, to teeter-totter between
being a public nuisance and a threat to herself. She unwittingly
sets a series of events into motion, which puts Uncle Charlie in
grave danger. Now it is up to Tom to untangle the mystery
surrounding this shadowy stalker, and he is forced to set out on
an unplanned trip up to Half-Moon Bay.
Why does Tom’s heart clench at
the thought of leaving Olivia alone in Los Angeles? It could be
that he is well aware of Olivia’s tendency to dabble in her own
brand of investigation. A tendency that always leads her to
trouble with a capital T.
Tom must race to find the
ruthless adversary before he can silence Uncle Charlie, and
return to Los Angeles before Olivia’s overblown curiosity kills
the proverbial cat.
The Beals live in a upper middle class
neighborhood in the mid 1960's. Frank is a jingle writer who is having more than
a little trouble coming up with a shoe polish jingle. Trying to keep up with the
neighbor's expensive tastes is a full time job in itself. But when Frank butts
heads with a Voodoo practicing Brazilian gardener, he gets much more than he
bargains for, especially when he is distracted by all the spells flying back and
forth, with a force strong enough to turn his wife into a love-starved siren and his children into well-behaved angels.
Frank felt an
apologetic grin tug the corner of his mouth. “You
know what I mean,” he whispered as he closed the
space between them and continued to plant hot kisses
down her throat. “Frank, do you think I’m old?” He
kissed his way up to her ear knowing when he arrived
he had to be very careful with his words. But he
didn’t want to use words. He wanted to show her that
she excited him just as much now as she did eighteen
years ago when they were making out at the drive in
movies. He smiled, cupped her face in his hands and
put his mouth on hers. Embers that had merely glowed
in his gut jumped into flames. His kisses went from
sweet to searing, and he gathered her close hoping
to evoke the same feelings in her.