The 13th Victim - #TuesdayTease

It's been a long time since I had two books coming out back to back.  The 13th Victim is now in the hands of the final editors and should be available by late October or early November.  The beginning and I hope not the end of a new series starring Andi Carter, an investigative reporter, and Shamus O'Conner, her apprentice.  The relationship between Andi and Shamus was a true joy to write, and no it isn't a romantic relationship.  Here's a little teaser to wet your appetite. As any author knows, this may change slightly after the final edits and proofreads.

PROLOGUE

“Tell me what I want to know and I won’t hurt you again.”

Andi Carter stared into the deep green eyes of Richard Thomas as she tried to collect enough saliva to swallow.  Pain had dulled her senses, and her throat was raw from screaming. She wasn’t sure she could speak, or if she did somehow manage to utter a few words if they would be coherent.  “I don’t…I don’t know what you want…to know,” she whispered.

Thomas sighed as he followed her gaze to the door leading out of the basement. “Still think Jerry is going to barge through that door and save you, Andi? He isn't, you know. In fact, dear old Jerry is the reason you're here. He's the one who told me what you were up to.”

A burning river of rage flowed through her, much like the sensation from the whiskey he kept feeding her, but instead of dulling her senses it cleared her mind.  He's going to kill me anyway. “Jerry Palano is a good cop. Scum like you would never understand that. If he told you anything it was because he was your partner and he trusted you.”

Even white teeth flashed, but the green of his eyes darkened. “That's my Andi, spirited and loyal to the end. Would you like a drink?” He reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table. “If you spill it, you know it’s going to hurt.” He inserted the tip of the bottle between her lips. “Drink up now, like a good girl. Then we’ll talk some more.”

Andi tilted her head back, guzzling the alcohol. Tears ran freely down her face as a tiny stream of alcohol dripped from her chin onto the raw blistered flesh of her legs. The pain was excruciating and she struggled not to scream as she continued to drink, praying for oblivion.   

Only when the bottle was empty did Thomas pull it away and pick up the scalpel. “Tell me what I want to know and I won’t hurt you again.”

“Gambini!  Gambini was running young girls. I was going to expose him.” Her words began to slur, and came from a long way off.  “Please.  Please just kill me.”

Thomas began to laugh, his roar filling the damp, musty room. “I can't believe that crap actually works.” He leaned in close, his breath hot on her cheek as he whispered, “I'm not going to kill you, Andi, but you're going to wish I had.”

His threat seeped through the alcohol induced fog as bile rose in her throat. A tiny pinpoint of satisfaction surged through her as she opened her mouth and spewed vomit on both of them.

“Son of a bitch.” Thomas leapt up, knocking over his chair. “You'll pay for that, Carter.”

Andi tried to smile, but the acidity of the vomit had reignited the pain from her cuts and burns. She began to tremble, her breath coming in short gasps as she watched his hands clench and unclench. Three days as his captive had convinced her of one thing—Thomas was crazy. His moods swung from euphoric enjoyment of torturing her physically and mentally to angry depression and occasionally to apologetic sympathy for having caused her pain. I don't really want to die.

Thomas pushed the table bearing his torture instruments into her view and lit the blowtorch. “You shouldn't have done that, Andi. I was going to let you go.”

“Please don't, Richard. I told you what you wanted to know. You promised you wouldn't hurt me again.” She struggled against the ropes binding her arms and legs.

He studied her, tilting his head to the side. “I did, didn't I?” His lips puckered as he turned off the torch. “Perhaps I'll give you some time to think about your apology.” He leaned in close, staring directly into her eyes. “Your punishment will depend on just how well you can beg.”

Sobs shook her body as she watched him leave, the heavy steel door slamming behind him. The alcohol had dulled the pain in her body, but not the emotional devastation of realizing Jerry wasn't going to save her. He betrayed me.

Time passed as she drifted in and out of consciousness until a scraping noise at the door jerked her wide awake. The door slowly swung open and Stuart Gambini peered inside.

“Jesus.” He crossed the room and knelt in front of her grabbing the scalpel on the table and quickly cutting the ropes around her wrists and ankles. “I'm gonna get you out of here. Can you walk?”

“Why? You’re just going to kill me anyway. Do it here.” Andi croaked out. Her mind was still fuzzy, but she was pretty sure Gambini was the reason she was here.

Gambini frowned, took off his jacket and lifted her from the chair. “We can talk about that later. Here, wrap this around you. Patrick is waiting for us at the top of the stairs.” He slipped her arms through the sleeves and pulled the coat up around her shoulders.

“How did you find me?” Andi leaned against him, taking a step toward the door, a small trail of blood dripping from her swollen feet.

“I've had my girls watching Thomas. This is the only place he kept coming back to.” Stuart placed an arm around her and half lifted, half dragged her toward the door. “We don't have a lot of time.”

Placing her right foot on the first step Andi took a deep breath as she raised her left foot and placed it on the second step. “Where are you taking me?”

“Put your arm around my neck.” Stuart tightened his hold around her waist, placed an arm under her legs and picked her up. “We'll hide you at the boarding house for the time being.”

Andi leaned into him and placed her head on his shoulder. “I need to call the Tribune. I was on a case and they must be going crazy wondering what happened to me.”

“You're old news. They gave up on finding you after the first three weeks.”

“Three weeks? I've only been missing three days.”

Stuart grunted as he took the last step. “Honey, you've been missing for over a month.”

Darkness closed in around her. A month? What the hell did Thomas do to me before he tortured me?

#SundaySample - WIP - Carter

Ever had one of those characters that just gets inside your head demanding a voice?  Well, Andi Carter has really made herself a nuisance lately, especially since I'm working hard on another WIP.  I find her rude, crude and somewhat socially unacceptable, but as her story unfolds I'm beginning to understand where that attitude comes from.  Have a lovely weekend!

CHAPTER ONE

“Carter!”

“The master summons you, lassie. You’d best be hopping to it.”

“Screw you, Irish.” Andi Carter stubbed out the cigarette she’d just lit, sighed and glanced at the editor’s office. I’m not changing one damn word of that article. She stood, smoothed out the wrinkles of her pants, rolled down her shirt sleeves and picked up her jacket.

Shamus O’Conner glanced at her and grinned broadly. “About that offer to screw me, Andi.”

Andi leaned across his desk, placing her hands firmly in front of her, her face only inches from his and whispered, “When hell freezes over….lad.” She waited a second or two for his witty, and usually stupid comeback, but he swallowed hard and looked away from her.

“I was only kidding. Give a lad a break, will you. Today’s me birthday, and I just turned twenty-one. Legal at the pubs now.” He picked up a folder and held it out to her. “Don’t forget your file.”

Andi took the manila folder and studied the curly red hair and freckled face of her newest apprentice. She actually loved his Irish accent, and she had a feeling if asked he’d take a bullet for her. That was the problem, he was just a kid.  “Well, Happy Birthday, Irish, but if you want to live to see twenty-two you’ll tone down that sense of humor, and grow a pair.”

 She glanced longingly at the crumpled cigarette before stalking toward Matt Sinclair’s closed door. All she’d ever wanted to do was be a top-notch investigative reporter with a major newspaper, or television station. So how the hell did I wind up thirty five years old, and still at this shitty hole in the wall?

The answer to that question carried quite a sting—legs too short, hair too stringy and teeth not white enough. Even if she fixed her hair, and whitened her teeth, she’d still look somewhat like a blind dog in a meat market in those short, contoured dresses and high heels. So what if she took a little creative licensure with her articles. She called a spade a spade, and an ass an ass. Sinclair should appreciate that, the readers certainly did. Her articles have increased the circulation of the Daily Drudge by fifty percent in the last six months. Taking a deep breath Andi expelled it and opened the door. “You wanted to see me?”

“Close the door, Carter.” Sinclair glared at her from behind his hundred year old tattered oak desk. “And take a seat.”

Andi pulled up a chair near the desk, and sat down, immediately leaning back, crossing her legs and folding her arms over her chest. She’d studied body language and she’d be damn if she’d let his icy glare intimidate her. “So, what’s up?”

“What’s up!” Sinclair tossed the paperwork he’d been reading across the desk. “You can’t call the mayor’s wife a lush, dressed like a floozy. That’s what’s up.”

Andi felt the twitch and bit down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She’d never wanted to cover the mayor’s political dinner, and had told Sinclair as much.  What she really wanted was something she could sink her teeth into. Something cold, dark and dangerous. “I call it like I see it. That’s why your reader’s love me.”

Sinclair ran a hand over his eyes, sighed and lowered his voice. “Change it, Andi. Comment on her dress, her hair, her makeup. Be creative and give the readers something out of Vogue. As much as we don’t like politics, we have to live with them. The mayor is a powerful man.” He waved a trembling hand at the article. “I can’t print that.”

 The trembling hand and the fact he’d used her first name was a dead giveaway of just how scared he was she’d pack up and walk out before she’d change an article. And I would if I had any other options, but I need this stinking job. “All right, on one condition.”

Sinclair eyed her suspiciously. “What kind of condition? We’re barely making ends meet. I can’t afford to pay you more.”

Andi uncrossed her legs, placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward. “No more political dinners. A ten year old could cover those things. I’ve been listening to the police scanners and I want to cover crime. You agree to that and I’ll change the article.”

“We don’t have a crime section.” Sinclair frowned, avoiding looking at her as he shuffled files on his desk. “What makes you think our readers would even want to read that?”

Andi walked to his trash can and pulled out a paper. “Because ninety percent of the people in this God forsaken city are buying the Tribune. “ She tossed the paper on his desk and grinned. “Even you.” She tapped the front page, a huge article on the influx of drugs and prostitution. “They’re not buying it for the celebrity posts, they’re buying it for this. If you want to make money, then you’ll start competing. And you need an online site. You’re missing out on a lot of sales simply because you’re cheap. It takes money to make money.”  

 Sinclair’s lips puckered, pulling the wrinkles tighter as he tapped a pen against the desk. “You got a story?”

A surge of excitement rushed through her. “Not yet, but the stories are out there. All I have to do is hit the pavement.”

Sinclair was nodding thoughtfully and she knew he was comparing the cost of ink and paper to the giddy idea of increased circulation and money in his pocket. “All right. We’ll try it for one week. If sales don’t improve, you go back to covering local events. If they improve we’ll look into the online site.”

Andi grinned picked up her file and the article. “I’ll have this back to you in five.”

Shamus was watching for her, a concerned look on his face. I guess he figures if I got fired he’d be out of a job too. Andi dropped the article on his desk. “Take out the lush and floozy part and write something flowery.”

“The hell you say, there’s nothing flowery about the wench. If it weren’t for all the liquor in her blood she could be called the ice queen.”

“Come on, Irish, you can think of something I’m sure. Get it back to Sinclair in five, and I’ll buy your first legal drink. We’ve got work to do before morning.”

 “Now you’re talking.” Shamus grabbed the article and turned on his computer.  In minutes his fingers were tapping away at the keys. “How this? The lovely Divina Morgan shined in regal form as she toasted her husband’s supporters with exuberance, dressed in a form fitting piece of pure magic.”

Andi laughed, shook her head and stuffed a note pad in her purse. “It sucks, but Sinclair will love it. Print it, give it to him and grab your jacket.”

He was back in seconds pulling on his coat. “Are you really taking me to a pub?”

“O’Reillys, down on Fifteenth.”

Shamus frowned. “Isn’t that where all the Garda hang out?”

 “Yep, and that’s where the best stories are.” Andi strolled out in front of him. “Listen, Irish,  you need to get your language right. It’s bars in America, and we call them cops or the police.”

He moved ahead of her to open the door. “My name’s not Irish, it’s Shamus O’Conner.”

Andi brushed past him. “A broken nose would ruin that pretty face of yours, so if you want to hang out with me, learn the language.”

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The Ones Who Stayed Behind--A short story WIP

I started this last night, and it's actually a spin off from Tell Me Your Dreams, which I hope to enhance in the near future. I'd love your opinions on what you think of this. It's not my normal genre, although there will be a mystery aspect. It's also slipstream, which is something I've never tried before. All crits and comments are definitely welcome.

THE ONES WHO STAYED BEHIND

"Goodnight, Ms. Barnes."

"Goodnight, Jamie. Have a great weekend, and don't bother locking up I'm shutting down early tonight myself."

Closing the file on Sylvia Scott, Jenna Barnes breathed a sigh of relief and satisfaction. Contrary to what most people believed, nightmares weren't always just dreams. Some became real, terrifying and deadly. The human psyche had an amazing ability to create things. Things that could actually manifest. Things that could not only scare you, but trap you forever in the nightmare of your dreams.

Leaning back she closed her eyes, allowing the quiet to relax the stiff muscles around her neck and shoulders. She felt it then. The slight chill in the room. Another amazing aspect of the human psyche. The subtle ability to sense what we can't see. The physical reaction to an unknown mental stimulation. The room grew colder. She could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck. The slight increase in heartbeat accompanied by shorter breaths. A surge of adrenaline creating a strange sensation in her bowels that slowly spread upward, down her arms, causing a slight tremor in her hands as they gripped the arms of the chair. Someone was watching her.

Opening her eyes she watched as her breath formed a small stream of mist. He was standing in the doorway, watching her with huge pale eyes the color of a cold morning grey mist. He was young. Five, maybe six. Sandy blonde curls were tousled as if he'd just woken. His clothing was period, but it was his feet that bothered her most. Barefoot and covered in mud that left small impressions on her Rose colored carpet. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. I'm Dr. Jenna Barnes. And you are?"

"Matthew. My friends call me Mattie." He took a step into the room. "Are you the dream lady?"

"Some people call me that. Are you having bad dreams, Mattie?"

He nodded, shuffling one foot in front of him. "She wants to stay with them, but I don't want to."

Moving slowly Jenna reached for a note pad and jotted down several notes. A million questions were racing through her mind, but she knew she had to go slow. He needed to be able to trust her, and she would have to earn that trust. "Would you like to talk about it?"

He nodded, taking one step closer to the sofa. "It's my birthday."

"Really? Well, happy birthday. And that makes you how old?"

Reaching the sofa he rubbed one hand up and down the arm. "Six."

"You can sit down if you'd like, Mattie."

He walked slowly around the sofa, letting one hand slide gently over the fabric. "You can't help me can you?"

Jenna felt her heartbeat quicken as she sensed his retreat. She was going to lose him unless she acted quickly. And she knew she had to be honest with him if she was going to gain his trust. "I think I can, Mattie. Maybe not exactly in the way you really want, but I can help."

"I have to go now." He let his hand slide slowly along the back of the sofa, head bowed as he moved slowly toward the door.

"Would you like to make an appointment to come back? I'd really like to talk to you about your dreams."

He nodded, stopping just inside the doorway. Grabbing her appointment book Jenna turned the page. "How about the same time tomorrow?"

He nodded again, shuffling his feet slowly toward the front door. He turned, hand on the doorknob, pale eyes misty. "You know they're not really dreams, don't you?"

Jenna swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that threatened to choke her. "Yes, Mattie, I know they're not really dreams."

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Love the mystery and suspense of the The Killing? Check out The Jacody Ives Mysteries.

Snakes, Alligators and Voodoo--More of Find Me a WIP

I've really enjoyed working on this book, and the research into things I had absolutely no clue about. Hope you enjoy the excerpt.


Catherine kept her hands inside the boat, but couldn't help being drawn into the beauty of the Bayou as the marsh sparkled in the later afternoon glow. An alligator scampered away from the bank as the canoe approached. Herons, egrets and seabirds flew up from the grasses. The Bayou was certainly wild, beautiful and deadly.

"How far do we have to go?" Catherine asked, noting the shadows were getting longer around them. She really didn't want to be in this water after dark.

Aureole spoke with her grandfather who shrugged and kept paddling. "Grandpa says patience is a virtue."

Catherine bit her lip to keep from cursing out loud. Grandpa hadn't really said anything. It was clear Aureole didn't like her. Yet at times there was something in her eyes. Something very sad. There were so many questions Catherine needed answered and Aureole was her only hope of getting those answers.

"Tell me about Voodoo, and how my mother got involved."

Aureole shifted in the boat, causing it to rock gently and Catherine to reach for the sides.

"There are several religions referred to as voodoo, or voudou. There's also hoodoo which is similar in some respects. Our religion is a combination of Roman Catholic, African animism and Christianity. We believe in one God who is all powerful. Many of our traditional ceremonies are presided over by Roman Catholic priests.

"In the old world we call God "Bondje", meaning "Good God". We reach him/her/it through the spirits. We worship God, and serve the spirits.

"There are twenty-one nations of spirits, called the "lwa-yo". The more important nations of Lwa are Rada, Nago and Kongo. The spirits sometimes come in families such as Ogou, Ezilli, Azaka or Gede.

"Rada sprits are familial and mostly come from Africa. Petwo spirits are native to Haiti and can be more demanding and require more attention to detail. Both can be dangerous if angry or upset, although they are not good or evil. They simply are.

"Everyone has spirits, and each person has a special relationship with one particular spirit who is said to "own their head", but we have many lwa, and the one that owns our head, the "met tet" may or may not be the most active spirit in our life."

Catherine listened to the recitation, which sounded like it came from a history book, but her mind honed in on the twenty-one nations. Each of the victims had been stabbed twenty-one times. Why?

"Do you want to know more, or are you bored yet?" Aureole turned giving her a condescending look, clearly expecting her to be bored.

"I think it's fascinating. Of course, I could have read everything you just said in a textbook. Do you find it that boring?"

Aureole rocked the boat again, this time almost capsizing it, and gaining her a rebuke from her grandfather.

"Sorry," Aureole mumbled, clearly not sorry at all. Unless she was sorry Catherine hadn't fallen out of the boat.

" You still haven't told me how my mother became involved in this."

"I can only tell you what my grandfather has told me. Mother Rose was a Catholic nun who served in Haiti for many years. There she met my grandfather, and from there we came to New Orleans. When I say "we" I mean of course the Duprè family. She brought us to the Blanchard plantation where my family worked for yours. When grandfather saw your mother she was surrounded by spirits, and he knew immediately that she was born to be a "manbo" or high priestess. He trained her for many years, although to hear him tell it she trained his as well. She was an amazing woman."

"You knew my mother?" Catherine asked, noting the emphasis Aureole had placed on was an amazing woman.

"I told you, we came over with Mother Rose. We lived with you."

"Catherine. . . . come play with me."

"Were we friends?" Catherine asked.

Aureole turned, leveling her with an angry gaze. "I thought we were."

Catherine remained quiet as darkness closed in around them. The Bayou came alive with strange noises, and ravenous bugs. Thank God she had on jeans and long sleeves, but she found herself constantly swatting giant mosquitoes from her neck and face. Surely they didn't have much further to go.

Almost as if Grandpa had read her mind the canoe slowed and they approached the bank. Taking off her shoes Aureole jumped into the murky waters and pulled the boat ashore, tying it off to a huge tree.

Catherine followed Grandpa's lead and walked to the front of the canoe, stepping gingerly onto the bank. Once again she thanked God she'd worn boots. Five hundred dollar boots that were now covered in Mississippi mud.

Grandpa disappeared into the trees and Aureole slipped her shoes back on mud covered feet. "We walk from here."

Catherine looked around her, hearing the sound of a huge splash behind her in the water. "It's almost dark, how are we supposed to see where we're going?"

Aureole tied her shoe laces, glancing at the alligator now about ten foot from shore. "Guess you'd better keep up then hadn't you? The Kayiman looks hungry."

Find Me - A work in Progress

Set up: Cody Allen is a homicide sergeant and Catherine Mans is a psychic consultant for the department. Thanks to Catherine they have just found the body of a young man that has been missing for three weeks. Not everyone in the department agees with the use of a psychic. This is the first draft and a work in progress.
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Cody Allen studied the Timothy Bond witness list as he listened to the sounds of general celebration around him. Finding the body was a major coup for them. Hopefully forensics would now be able to work their magic and give them some clue as to the killer's identity. Still, he couldn't help but feel they'd missed something in the early interviews. Something important.

He glanced up as Jeremy Scalf stopped in front of his desk, a dark scowl clouding his features.

"Something I can do for you, Jeremy?"

"Yeah. I'd like to have my case back. That is unless you want to let your psycho-psychic pull out a name from her mumbo jumbo bag."

The sound of laughter died, as every ear in the station honed in to hear his response. Cody knew most of them supported his work with Catherine. Skeptical at times, but their skepticism was healthy and kept them alert and on their toes.

"Catherine Mans has proven her value to this department more than once, Jeremy. If you've got a problem with that then maybe you need to look into a transfer somewhere else."

"We could have found the body without her," Scalf muttered.

"I don't doubt that," Cody stated raising his voice just slightly as he stood up. He wanted the whole department to hear what he had to say. "Ninety-nine percent of all cases are solved by good solid police work. And yes, we would have found the body eventually. Three months from now. Six months from now. Maybe even a year from now. And by the time we found it any usable evidence would have been long gone. The fact that we found it in three weeks gives us one leg up on the killer, and if we get lucky there'll still be some form of DNA to help us close this case. We can thank Catherine Mans for that. And I don't want anyone in this room to forget that."
Cody allowed his gaze to drift around the room noting those that met his eyes with a slight nod, and those that simply turned away. It was always a good thing to know just who had your back--and who didn't.

Sitting back down Cody picked up the file and handed it to Scalf. "I want every witness on that list re-interviewed. Someone knows something, so let's find out who it is."

He watched Scalf walk away, noting the stiff back, heavy feet. Scalf was harboring a deep anger. It flowed out from him with every step. Anger that strong, that deep could only be borne from hatred. The problem was hatred of what. Him? Catherine? Or psychics in general?



If you enjoyed this excerpt or if you feel it needs something more, please leave a comment below. Critiques are always welcome and help authors to improve.

Rewrite of an old work - Find Me

I wrote this book several years ago but I just wasn't happy with it. Recently I decided to take a new look at it from a different direction. Here's the Prologue.
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PROLOGUE

Abigail Blanchard closed the door to the basement leaning her head against the cool steer barrier. She knew it was just her imagination, but she could still hear the shrieks of her child, the clanging of the chains against the concrete wall. Would it never end? What evil had she committed that was so bad that God would punish her in this way?

She sensed the old woman's presence behind her and without turning shrieked, "Go away!"

"You know what you must do. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diable and will curse us all."

"Fiank-o!" Abigail screamed, ripping her clothing and slipping into her native tongue.

"Mon chere ti chou, you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life. Her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows so does the evil."

Abigail slipped to the floor hugging her knees to her body, rocking back and forth. "She's only five. I have lost one. Must I lose them both?"

The old woman didn't answer. Instead she placed the knife in Abigail's hand. "You can't cure a mad dog, Aggie, you can only put it down."

Abigail rose to her feet. The old woman was gone, but the knife lay heavy in her hand. Much like the heaviness of her heart. And just as cold.

Grasping the knife she opened the door to the basement, descending the steps slowly.


If you liked this, or even if you didn't please leave a comment below. It is my desire to write the best books I possibly can and books my readers would want to read.

Sample Sunday - WIP The Road To Hell

Sunday samples are a great way to get to know new authors, their works and works in progress. I decided this week to share a work in progress instead of an excerpt from one of my published books. Mainly because samples are out there of the printed books, as well as this is something totally different for me. I've never written in first person before so I'm anxious for comments on how you think it's going. I've been told this is somewhat of a combination of the movies Ghost and Constantine with a whole new twist. Perhaps it will make the big screen someday - who knows, I can dream can't I?
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CHAPTER ONE

You grow up poor you've got to wonder if God's got a sense of humor. All the crap life throws at you. And He gives you mothers. It's kind of like that guy Brandon Lee said in the movie The Crow--"Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children."

He got that right. My momma wasn't just a good woman. She was a Saint. Somehow she managed to raise four kids on a waitress' salary. And three of them turned out pretty good. Or would have. But that's another story.

Sometimes when I'm thinking about momma I have to wonder if she knew about God's sense of humor. She read us the good book every night, but she never said nothing about no sense of humor. Still, she had to know something. I mean, after three girls she got me. She had to figure God was up to something.

I’m Jake Savior, and yeah you might as well go ahead and laugh. Everybody else does. My clients are always telling me God's got a sense of humor. The people looking for me weren't looking for a savior. They were mostly searching the want ads for killer for hire. That's me. For the right price I put a lot of people out of other people's misery. Heck, I even done some for free. Some people deserve to die, and being the nice guy I am, I gladly obliged them.

But I'm digressing. Let's get back to God's sense of humor.

I'd a pretty good day. Won a few bucks on the horse races. Did a little charity work by ridding the world of one more piece of garbage. The courts seen fit to let a pedophile go--I didn't. So I was feeling pretty good about myself, except I was out of cigarettes.

Now anyone that knows me knows I love a good smoke. Last count I was up to five packs a day. Momma always said those thing were going to kill me. Turns out she was right.

Only a die-hard smoker goes out at 2:00 a.m. for smokes. Especially since all the safe places close down early, leaving only a few gas stations and convenience stores open at that hour. Still, I was willing to take my chances. It was too damn cold for thieves to bout and I really, really wanted that last cigarette before I turned the lights out and called it a day.

You've probably already concluded that I'm a smart ass bastard that beats my own drum. Some people will smoke anything. Not me. I'm a strict Kentucky Red's Best smoker. Which means whether I liked it or not I was gonna have to hoof it over to Winchester Road at this time of night. Not everybody carried Red's Best.

Being the cautious person I am, I scouted the parking lot and looked inside for milling customers. No cars and only one customer at the counter. I quickly ascertained he was one of the good guys like me, needing that last deep drag to calm his nerves before he called it a night. Boy was I wrong. Wrong place, wrong time and wrong guy. Five minutes after I entered the door of the Shaky Seven Gas to Go bullets started flying.

I've always heard that your life passes before your eyes when you're dying. Trust me, that's all bull. My last vision was that pack of Red's Best I held in my hand, and my last thought was how good that cigarette was gonna taste as soon as I got outside. Of course, that wouldn't have surprised anyone who really knew me. It wasn't any big surprise to me. I was surprised though. Having listened to momma all those years and growing up with three sisters extolling virtues that I never needed or wanted, I was expecting either that bright light to take me to Heaven, or most likely in my case, a little fire and brimstone trail leading to Hell. That didn't happen either.
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Like the sample and want to know more? Check out Karen Cantwell's blog on January 20th where Karen and I will be discussing this work.

Want to sample my current works? Check out The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery and/or Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery.

The Gifts

Sacred Secrets

Also available on Amazon in the UK, as well as B & N, Sony, Kobo, Diesel and Smashwords.

Have a great Sunday and Happy Reading!

If you like this, or even if you didn't--please leave a comment below. All constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

DaSample - Elizabeth Reyes - A WIP - Unspeakable

My guest today is Elizabeth Reyes. Her works include Forever Mine, A Night Owl Review 5 Star "Top Pick". Today Elizabeth is sharing something new. We hope you enjoy it.

Elizabeth Reyes is a self published writer. Her debut YA romance novel Forever Mine is available now on Amazon US, Amazon UK and B&N Nook. It's received great reviews and is the first in the series, The Moreno Brothers. The second in the series is due to be released in the next few months. For more on Elizabeth and to read more samples of Elizabeth's work visit her blog The Beginnings.
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UNSPEAKABLE

Lydia didn’t bother with an umbrella as she rushed out the door pulling the hood of her coat over her head. Panic was beginning to creep in. The last time Tanner had wandered off it’d been almost an hour before they found him and she’d been that close to calling the police but it wasn’t raining then.

The water roared down the street. Would Tanner even be able to get across it? The Manning’s lived on the other side of the street. She made her way through the rushing water soaking her pants almost to her knees and rushed up the Manning’s walkway. She saw someone peek through one of the side windows. She rang the bell and waited. No one answered the door. Someone had obviously seen her. Maybe the doorbell wasn’t working. She knocked three times loudly. Finally someone turned the locks on the door. Rebecca Manning cracked the door open but just enough for her face to show. “Yes?”

The Manning’s had never been the friendliest people in the neighborhood and the two older teens were known to be bullies. So she’d specifically asked Wesley and Bruce to stay away from them.

“Hi, I was just wondering if Tanner was here. We can’t seem to find him and I know he’s wandered over here to play with Kelly before.”

“No,” Rebecca replied. “No, we haven’t seen him.”

Lydia stood there for a moment, not knowing what else to say. She’d been so sure she’d find him there. And Rebecca hadn’t bothered asking anyone else in the house. “Really so you haven’t seen him at all today?”

“Is that Tanner’s mom?” She heard Kelly ask from behind the door.

Rebecca closed the door a little more as if to keep Kelly from looking out. Lydia and Rebecca’s eyes locked for a moment then Lydia answered. “Yes, honey it’s me you haven’t seen him?”

“No she hasn’t.” Rebecca answered closing the door down to a few inches. “I’m trying to keep the cold out. Kelly’s been a bit sick these last couple of days.”

Lydia nodded. “Okay well I’ll let you go then. Please let me know if you do see him.”

She was officially panicked now. She rushed up the street. The boys were at the house next door and David her neighbor was talking to them. Lydia hurried to them.

“Lydia,” David said as she reached them. “I haven’t seen him but if you’d like I can help you look for him. How long has he been missing?”

Missing? Dear God. “I’m not even sure. But I’m really getting worried.” She thought about it for a moment. “About forty minutes maybe?” It seemed like an eternity already.

“Well just relax he’s probably around here somewhere.” He smiled but it did nothing to calm Lydia’s nerves. “We’ll find him. Just let me grab my jacket”

“Thank you so much, David. I’m gonna go home and call Sean.” She started to walk away then turned. “You boys keep knocking on doors. Hurry!”

Lydia gulped hard as she walked in her home. She called out for Tanner a few more times and when he didn’t answer reality sunk in. He was really missing, and in this horrible weather. She picked up the phone and when the call to Sean’s direct line went to voicemail she hung up and picked it up it up immediately. She tried his secretary’s line. Annie, his secretary’s cheery voice greeted her.

“Is Sean there I need to talk to him it’s an emergency.”

“Yes of course let me put you through.”

Sean answered on the first ring. The moment she heard his voice she broke down.
“Sean, Tanner’s missing!” She sobbed.

“What? What do you mean missing? Since when?”

Lydia struggled to speak clearly. “About forty minutes but he’s nowhere. We’ve looked all over the house the neighbors, the boys are out there looking now so is David from next door, and it’s pouring out there. I don’t know what to do!”

“Did you check Kelly’s house?”

“Yes, he’s not there. They haven’t seen him. What do I do Sean?”

“Wait.. It’s only been forty minutes. I’m leaving now if you haven’t found him by the time I get there we’ll call the police. Are you sure he’s didn’t fall asleep somewhere like in a closet or something?”

“I’ll check again.”

As soon as she hung up she ran to the bedrooms. “Tanner baby, mommy’s really scared now. If you’re hiding please, please come out!”

She checked all the closets and under all the beds she ran through the back yard checking the shed and even in the dog house. Standing on her tip toes she looked over the back fence and her heart nearly gave out the stream was almost to her fence. What if – she stopped her thoughts. She wouldn’t even consider the possibilities.

The sliding door to the patio opened. Lydia spun around it was Wesley. “Did you find him?”
He shook his head. “No. Where do you think he’s at, mom?”
“I don’t know! But we have to keep looking.” She walked toward him

“Are you crying?”

Lydia wiped her face. “No it’s the rain. Did you knock on everyone’s door?”

“Well not everyone’s but all the one’s he’d go to.”

“And no one’s seen him?” Lydia ran her hands through her soaking hair.

“Nope.” Wesley bit his lip. “Mom, the other day…he was asking me about the river.”

Lydia stared at him, terror raced through her veins. “What about it?”

“He wanted to know if I’d ever gone swimming in it. I said no, it was too dirty. But he said he wanted to.”

“Oh no!” Lydia rushed in the house. Sean said they should wait but she couldn’t anymore. She struggled to breathe steady as she dialed.

“Nine one one what’s your emergency?”

“Yes I need to report a missing child!”