Camy Tang's Blog, page 149

Prayer and Incense

I'm over at Girls, God, and the Good Life today:

Camy here! Thanks so much for praying for me a couple weeks ago. I finished my manuscript on time and thought it turned out rather well, if I do say so myself. :)



While I was writing, I totally could feel the prayers of people for me. I don't know how to explain it. I just knew people were praying. I really felt God's supernatural power working in me to help me get my book done.

Read the rest at http://girlsgodgoodlife.blogspot.com/2011/07/prayer-and-incense.html



Come join me!

Thoughts on my new Nook

Captain's Log, Stardate 07.26.2011



My old Nook had a crack in the plastic right over the forward page button on the right side, and I kept forgetting to NOT use the button so the crack was getting worse (as in, the plastic was pulling even further apart and leaving a gaping hole).



So, Captain Caffeine bought me the new B&W touchscreen Nook for an early birthday present.



The new Nook has so much I really like about it. It's extremely light, it's touch screen is extremely responsive (the touch screen on my old Nook was just really not very responsive at all), and the battery life is amazing.



What I didn't realize is that unlike the old Nook, the new Nook does not support .pdb files.



This is not as much a problem for the books I've bought from Barnes and Noble. All the books are automatically downloaded to my Nook (via wireless) from my BN.com library as .epub files and I don't have to do anything except click the little cover.



However, there are two problems.



A) Being extremely paranoid, I download a copy of all my ebooks onto my computer, which is a Mac. I didn't realize until I read this article by Paul Biba that when Mac users download their purchased books, the BN.com website automatically sends the books in the .pdb format, but when PC users download their books, the BN.com website sends them the books in .epub format.



So extremely not fair and annoying!



The only workaround is to change your user agent in your web browser. I am using Firefox, so I Googled it and found this helpful article by Chris Hoffman. I had to download a Firefox add-on, restart Firefox, and then go into Tools to change my user agent settings (I changed it to Internet Explorer 8). It worked fine and now I can download ebooks from BN.com in .epub format, and it's very easy to change back and forth from Mac to PC user agent setting.



B) The other problem is that I have older books I purchased from Fictionwise.com that were in .pdb format, so now I either have to redownload them in .epub format (if they were not DRM protected) or I can only read the ebooks on my computer OR on my iPad or iPhone using the eReader app or Stanza.



How much suckage is that????



The good thing is that most of the ebooks I bought from Fictionwise that are .pdb format were bought a long time ago, and I've read most of them already.



So … a bit annoying but not impossible to (mostly) fix situations A and B. However, I do wish I'd known especially about situation A a few weeks ago when I was diligently downloading all my files from BN.com to my computer so I'd have a backup.



Am I sad I bought my Nook? No, not really, since most of the ebooks I buy these days are from BN.com. I am a little peeved that BN.com downloads .pdb files to Mac users when the Nook doesn't even read .pdb files, but that might be a glitch they'll fix eventually either on the website or the Nook itself. I know there was a bunch of stuff added to my old Nook in various software updates, so it might be possible.



If you want to know the difference between the new Nook and the Kindle, there's a CNET prizefight video below. I didn't quite agree with their assessment of features because if I wanted to listen to an audiobook, I'd get an MP3 player rather than wasting space on my ereader, and the text to speech isn't something I'd use, so I don't see the lack of audio capabilities as something important on the Nook, and I don't use my ereader to surf the web or play games.



I want to say that I'm not knocking on the Kindle. I think the Nook and Kindle are pretty much the same.



Ultimately, I think that it really depends on what ebooks you've already bought--whether they're mostly .azn or .pdb/.epub format--to determine which ereader you get. I already had tons of .pdb/.epub format ebooks, which I could only read read on the (old) Nook, so it didn't make sense for me to get a Kindle. The few .azn books I've got, I can read on my computer or my iPad or iPhone. So far, when I compare what books are available on BN.com versus Amazon.com, they're almost identical. The only differences might be that Amazon has some small presses and self-pubbed ebooks that BN.com doesn't have, but I don't read many of those anyway.

Excerpt - Her Guardian by Sharon Dunn

Her Guardian

by

Sharon Dunn



Julia Randel was thirteen when she was kidnapped by a cult leader.



It took her seven years to escape. Two years later her captor's trial is about to begin—and so are threats from his loyal followers. Julia is relieved when her father hires bodyguard Gavin Shane, but she's furious when he rushes her to a safe house. After years under lock and key, she doesn't want to be forced into hiding again. But with cultists seeking to stop Julia's testimony at any cost, it'll take both Julia and her determined protector to set her free for a new life—and new love.



Excerpt of chapter one:



Professional bodyguard Gavin Shane glanced around the small department store as a sense of foreboding spread through him. He looked at the young woman he had been hired to protect. His client, Julia Randel, picked up a bottle of tester perfume and sprayed it onto her thin wrist. A smile graced her pretty face. She didn't seem alarmed.



The other shoppers whirled benignly through the store. Yet everything in Gavin's training told him it had been a mistake to stop here, to let Julia out in public. Mentally he kicked himself for his poor judgment. He should have said no when she had looked at him with large blue eyes and asked to stop on their way to the secure location. Her request had held a tone of desperation, as if stopping to shop at this tiny department store meant the world to her.



Julia showed him the perfume bottle, her expression bright. "I think I would like to get this one."



Gavin stepped toward her. The citrus scent of the perfume she had just sprayed hung in the air. As he scanned the faces of the other customers, he couldn't pinpoint his reason for unease…something just felt off. If he had learned nothing else in his ten years as a bodyguard, it was to trust his instincts.



He leaned close and whispered, "We need to go."



"What?" She shook her head as the exuberance he'd seen a moment before disappeared. She turned a half circle, studying the people around her, disbelief clouding her features. "No, it can't be."



Julia was coping with the threat she was under through denial. He'd seen it before. She was shutting down. He had to push her past it. "Put the perfume back. Let's get out of here."



"Elijah's followers couldn't have found me that easily." She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "They couldn't have." Her voice faltered.



"I don't think we should take chances." He didn't want to feed into the constant anxiety she must be under, but to be on the safe side, they had to leave immediately.



One of the customers caught Gavin's attention. A man dressed in a dated suit circled closer to Julia through the cosmetic section. How peculiar. Men usually didn't shop for lipstick and mascara. Gavin maintained a surface calm, but adrenaline charged through his muscles as he prepared to grab Julia and run.



Go, now, go.



Julia had been held captive for seven years by the cult leader Elijah True. Now two years after her escape, she was ready to testify against him. That meant his followers had ramped up their efforts to make sure she didn't set foot in a courtroom.



"Put the perfume back." Struggling to keep the sense of urgency out of his voice, he gripped her arm above the elbow.



"All right, if that's what we have to do." A tone of despair colored her words. She set the perfume on the display shelf. Her hand brushed over the top of the bottle. "I wish I had time to get this."



Why was she so fixated on getting such a small thing as perfume?



The man in the suit moved down the aisle toward them. He didn't have that vagueness in the eyes or long hair and beard that was common to male cult members, but the way he narrowed his eyes at Julia made alarm bells go off in Gavin's head.



"We gotta move, now." As gently as he could, he hooked his arm through hers and pulled her toward the door. She allowed herself to be directed out to the street. The winter cold of February in Montana hit them as he pulled his keys from his pocket. Julia rubbed her bare arms. She'd left her coat in the SUV.



He could be totally wrong about the threat, but it wasn't a chance he was willing to take. He looked directly into her blue eyes, hoping to shake her from her inertia. "Please trust me when I say we have to go."



The man in the suit came out on the sidewalk. Julia pulled free of Gavin's arm and stared blankly at him.



The denial was paralyzing her. He had to break her free of it. "Your father hired me to protect you. Do what I say. Get in the car." He enunciated each word.



Her lips drew into a tight, hard line. She shook her head, but she complied. As he slipped behind the wheel of the SUV, he checked his rearview mirror. The man in the suit was talking on his cell phone and casting furtive glances in their direction. It was possible he was only phoning a friend. All the same, Gavin was reminded of the mantra his boss down in Florida had repeated over and over. It was always better to be paranoid than dead.



Gavin pulled away from the curb and sped up as soon as he reached the city limits.



"When I say we need to go, we need to go." He shifted into fourth gear and revved the engine. He took in a deep breath. Being upset with her wouldn't do either of them any good.



Julia stared straight ahead. "It would have only taken a minute to get that perfume."



Why was she bringing up the perfume again? There was something deeper going on here. "It was a minute we didn't have," he said.



Frustration rose up in her voice. "Are you sure they were there? I didn't see anybody."



She still didn't want to believe that they were after her again. "Your father told me that you might not recognize all the cult members." He checked the rearview mirror. "A lot of them don't live at the compound anymore. They've fanned out into the surrounding towns, but they are still loyal to Elijah." A dark blue van had eased in behind them. When Gavin let up on the accelerator, the van remained behind them instead of passing.



"That's true." She combed her fingers through her long, blond hair. "I didn't even get to know many of the cult members at the compound." Her voice was a harsh whisper filled with pain. "Elijah mostly kept me in his house." She shook her head. "How did they find us so easily?"



"I don't know." If it had just been the man in the suit, he would have dismissed the incident as him being overly cautious. But the van was clearly tailing them, which meant his instincts had been right. "They must have been watching your father's house for days waiting for us to leave. That's the only way they could have found us."



Elijah's followers had been a concern since his arrest, but they had done nothing overt enough for the police to justify spending tight funds on protection. Though he could not prove a clear connection to Elijah, Julia's father had become alarmed when strange cars were parked outside their house, and it had looked as though someone might be going through their garbage. With the trial less than a month away, William Randel had hired Gavin and decided to move his daughter to a safe and unknown location.



Now as he watched the van edge closer, Gavin realized that all of William Randel's suspicions were confirmed.



In his peripheral vision, he could see that Julia's cheeks had turned crimson. She was growing more agitated as the reality of her situation sank in.



"What's going on?" He spoke as gently as he could manage.



"It's like that monster still has me in a prison even though I got away from him. I did what Elijah ordered me to do for seven years. Then I did what my father and the counselor said for two years. Now I have to listen to you." Her voice broke. "I just feel…like I'll never be free…that's all."



Gavin's glance bounced from the road and back to Julia. Sympathy washed through him as he comprehended why she was so upset. He'd known her for less than a week, and their conversations at the house had been brief. All the abuse and loss she had been through made any words of comfort he could come up with sound trite.



She laced her hands together. "Sorry, I know this is the way it has to be. I'm…it's just hard sometimes. Nine years is a long time."



The van was nearly touching his bumper. They'd have to talk later. He pressed the accelerator. "I've got to lose these guys."



Julia craned her neck and then turned back around, sinking in her seat. "That's them, isn't it?" A tinge of fear colored her words.



"I thought we took enough precautions." He kept his voice neutral, not wanting to add fuel to the panic she must be feeling. This wasn't her doing, it was his. They never should have gone into that store. Gavin pressed the accelerator. The car hugged the curves as the needle pressed past one hundred. The SUV didn't handle like a race car, but it would do.



Julia gripped the door. "Do you always go this fast?"



"Only when I'm trying to lose someone." The distance between the van and the SUV increased. "Let's just get you to that safe house your father set up."



"If we don't crash first, right?"



"Julia, would you trust me? I've done this before." Maintaining the same high speed, he drove for a few more miles. No sign of the van. He hit the blinker and veered toward an exit ramp.



She sat up straighter. "This isn't the way we need to go."



He came to a small town and zigzagged through the streets. "I can't take you directly to the secure location until we are sure we're not being followed." If the van could tail them through all this, he'd be impressed.



She pushed her head against the back of the seat. He could sense her rising frustration in the car's confined space. "I understand," she said softly, as though she was resigned to the conditions she had to live with.



"We'll just drive around for a while." He injected a false cheerfulness into his voice as he pulled back out on to a two-lane road. "These back roads can be kind of nice to look at."



She turned her head away from him. He drove without talking for an hour. He had to remind himself that her frustration wasn't because of something he had done, though he was the target. Even before he had been hired by William Randel, he'd known who Julia was. Two years ago, her face was splashed across the tabloids. Julia had been abducted at thirteen by Elijah True. Elijah had been born Leonard Reef but had changed his name, called himself a prophet and founded what he called the True Church.



Seven years later, after witnessing Elijah murder another cult member, Julia had slipped away from the cluster of houses that had been built in the remote Badlands of Montana. He'd seen the news photos of the compound—rows of trailers and modular homes surrounded by barbed wire. In an effort to ease their dependence on the outside world, the cult members grew much of their own food and kept goats and sheep.



Gavin suspected that the lawyers had had something to do with the lack of details about the murder charges against Elijah in the news stories. Most of the coverage had focused on Julia's captivity and escape. She had run five miles in winter conditions to a small town to get help. It had taken two years to put together the murder and kidnapping charges. Only Elijah and one other follower had been aware of the kidnapping. Elijah had told the other cult members that Julia was a niece he'd received custody of.



Even though they had not been a part of the kidnapping, the forty or so families at the compound viewed Julia as the enemy who had betrayed their innocent leader.



The True Church, which borrowed bits and pieces of theology from almost every other religion, seemed to be based around a distrust of the government. Their hypocrisy showed though, in that they had no problem collecting welfare checks. A belief that they were special and all outsiders were woefully misled also came out in the interviews that had been done with ex-cult members.



The words of Julia's father as he briefed Gavin floated back into his memory. "My daughter has had two years of counseling and she is doing much better, but she is still.fragile. We initially thought we would hire a much older man, but your experience is quite impressive for someone so young. I trust you won't think Julia is romantic material."



Though it seemed an odd request, William's protec-tiveness of his daughter was understandable; Gavin had given his word. After William Randel's description of his daughter, Gavin had expected a shrinking violet. The woman with the white-blond hair falling past her shoulders and intense blue eyes had exuded poise and strength as she reached out to shake Gavin's hand the first time he met her. The newspaper pictures hadn't done her justice. She was a stunning woman.



So far, he had seen none of the fragility William had referenced. Anyone who could run that far in freezing conditions, avoiding capture, had to be strong and smart. He admired that.



Still, he needed a level of cooperation from her if he was to do his job. He tried to understand her point f view. She was tired of confinement, tired of taking orders. He got that. She'd come this far; it was only a month until the trial now. With the end in sight, maybe all the emotion she had pushed down was rising to the surface.



Gavin focused on his driving. Ice covering the trees that lined the two-lane highway made them look as if they were made of crystal. At least the roads were clear. He checked his mirrors one more time. Nobody behind them. No cars had passed them in the last thirty minutes.



"We can stop if you like," he said. Julia turned back toward him. "I don't need to stop."



"I just thought maybe you would like to get some fresh air." He infused his voice with as much pleasantness as he could muster. They didn't have to be best friends, but he needed her to trust his judgment. They had gotten lucky with this incident. Next time, her hesitation could cost her her life. "It's only a month until the trial, Julia."



He caught a flash of hurt in her expression before she jerked in her seat and bent her head allowing her hair to fall over her face.



He pulled over on a shoulder of the road and killed the engine. They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, he pushed his door open. "You can stay here if you want. I'm going to stretch my legs."



He got out of the car and walked a few feet away. In the distance, two horses gamboled through a snowy field. The sky was a robin's-egg blue. He'd missed winter. Florida had been nice, but five years away from Montana was too long. When he exhaled, his breath was visible. Behind him, the car door opened and slammed.

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Excerpt - The Innocent Witness by Terri Reed

The Innocent Witness

by

Terri Reed



Faith sustained Vivian Grant through her horrible childhood and loveless marriage, but how much more can she take? Her husband has been killed. Her autistic son is the only witness. And someone is twisting the evidence to place the blame on her. Viv has no one to trust—and danger is closing in.



A failed protection detail cost former Secret Service agent Anthony Carlucci his job—and his self-confidence. He's not going to fail anyone under his care again. Anthony will risk anything to keep Viv and her son safe…including his heart.



Excerpt of chapter one:



One o'clock in the morning.



Her son's bed was empty. Anxiousness jump-started Vivian Grant's frozen blood.



"Mikey?" she called out as she frantically searched her eight-year-old's closet, under the bed and in the connected bathroom. Empty.



A thud had awoken her.



This wouldn't be the first time he'd tried to escape the house in the middle of the night. The locator monitor!



She raced back to her room and groped for the wall light switch, then flipped it on. A soft glow filled the room, casting shadows on her antique four-poster bed. The Wanderer Alert receiver sat atop her dresser. She grabbed it. The locator screen showed that Mikey or at least the ankle bracelet he wore was still within the set parameters of the house. She wouldn't breathe a sigh of relief, though, until he was in her arms. Palming the device, she ran downstairs.



Searching all his normal hiding spots proved fruitless. Not in the kitchen. Not the living room or the playroom. She passed the empty dining hall and hurried toward her husband's quarters. Had Mikey gone to see his father?



A normal desire for any eight-year-old boy, even one with autism.



In her head, she could hear Steven's snarled complaint that she couldn't control her son. Mikey had stopped being their son the minute they'd received the autism diagnosis.



She clenched her fist as she entered her husband's sacred domain. For more years than she could remember this part of the house had been off-limits to her and Mikey. Steven liked his privacy. But mostly he didn't want anything to do with them, his family. Except when it served his burgeoning political career.



Steven's sitting room was empty. So was the bedroom. His bed was still made up. She flipped on the light in the connecting bath. No one. Where were they?



A horrible thought streaked across her mind. Had Steven finally had enough and taken Mikey to a home? Every time Steven perceived some offense on her part, he yanked her chain with the threat.



The very idea of losing Mikey choked her with rage and fear.



Dread slithered through her veins. Steven had seemed even more furious than normal earlier because Mikey had interrupted his dinner by throwing a fit when a baseball game preempted his favorite television show. She'd chalked up Steven's overreaction to his campaign heating up. Election time always increased the stress around their home.



No. He wouldn't send Mikey away, she rationalized. If he did, what would Steven have left to hold over her?



Smoldering anger and terror spurred her toward Steven's study. Light leaked from beneath the door. Steven hated when she came to his study uninvited, but right now she didn't care. She'd put up with his wrath for her son. She flung the door open. Her gaze swept the room. No Mikey. Her heart sank.



Steven sat at his desk, his chair twisted away from her so she could only see the top of his salted dark head over the high back of his red leather chair. Working, as usual.



"Steven, have you seen Mikey?"



Steven didn't respond. Annoyed at being ignored yet again, she rounded the chair and sucked in a sharp breath. Steven's head lolled back, his eyes open and unseeing. A large ornamental knife—the knife she'd bought him for their first anniversary while on a trip to China—protruded from his chest. A crimson stain spread over his white dress shirt.



Shock siphoned the blood from her brain. The world tilted. Her knees buckled. She clutched the desk to keep from hitting the floor. A sob escaped.



She reached out with a shaky hand and pressed two fingers to the spot where his pulse should beat. Nothing.



Revulsion and horror swept through her. Someone had violently murdered Steven. In their home.



Panic gripped her heart. Where was Mikey? He had to be here. Please, Lord, she prayed, trying not to lose complete control. "Mikey?"



Eerie silence settled around her, sending chills down her spine. Nearly hysterical, she grabbed the phone and fumbled to dial 911. It seemed to take forever for the emergency operator to answer. "What is your emergency?"



"My son!" A sob broke through. "Someone's taken my son and…killed my husband, Senator Grant."



From deep in the shadows of a blooming cherry tree growing near the patio of the Grant's Woodley Park home, the man watched Vivian Grant through the study window with interest. He'd barely made it out the sliding door before she'd burst into the room.



He hadn't thought he and Steven had made enough noise to draw her attention. But there she was, looking beautiful as usual. Even in the middle of the night, Viv was a sight to see. All curves beneath her silky pajamas, her long blonde hair cascading down her back, her big blue eyes filling with tears. Her pretentious mother had known what she was doing when she'd named the future beauty queen after the Gone with the Wind movie star.



Steven hadn't deserved such a woman. He'd come from nothing and ended up with everything. Or at least he'd thought he had.



The upstart had had the nerve to try blackmailing him. Ha!



He'd shown Steven Grant just what he thought of the extortion threat. He hadn't come here tonight with murder on his mind. He'd come expecting to reason with Steven. But no go. The idiot wouldn't listen.



Steven really should have heard him out. Now it was too late.



Frustrated rage had overtaken his good sense. The decorative knife sitting on the mantel had been within arm's reach. And years spent throwing knives at birch trees as a boy had made wielding the knife too easy. His fists clenched. Grant had driven him too far.



And now he couldn't search for the evidence Steven had claimed to have.



He saw Viv pick up the phone. Calling for help, no doubt. Time to leave and act properly shocked when news of the murder became public knowledge.



He'd make arrangements for the premises to be searched tomorrow.



As he began to turn away, movement inside Grant's home office froze him in place.



A thin, young boy, clutching a teddy bear, climbed out from beneath the massive mahogany desk. Viv dropped the phone as she sank to her knees and gripped the boy tight.



The man gritted his teeth. How had he not known the child was there? Steven must have been protecting the kid.



And the brat could possibly identify him.



Viv lifted her head, her gaze boring straight at him through the window. He jerked back farther into the shadows. Logically he knew she couldn't see him, she couldn't know he was here. Didn't matter. She and the child both posed a threat that would need to be removed. Quickly.



As he left the scene, he plotted the best way to eliminate Vivian Grant and her son, Mikey.



* * *



Relief flooded through Viv as she clung to her son. "Thank you, Lord."



She placed a kiss on Mikey's bent head, breathing deep the scent of powder-fresh shampoo clinging to his dark curls. Quickly, she checked to see that he was unhurt. His thin shoulders bowed inward as he hugged his tattered bear to his chest and his pj's hung on his small frame, but he didn't appear injured.



She lifted his chin with her finger and tried to make eye contact. His midnight-blue eyes looked everywhere but at her. Not unusual even in the best of circumstances. Focusing on personal interaction took energy and concentration. "Mikey, what are you doing down here?"



"Daddy." The single word came out whisper-soft. He dropped the bear. His right hand grasped his left index finger and began to twist, the skin growing red with the exertion. A sign of his growing agitation.



"I know, baby, I know." She needed to get him out of the room and away from the macabre scene.



Was the killer still in the house? Could she and Mikey make it to the secret passageway in the dining room that came out next to the detached garage?



The distant wail of a siren filled her with relief. The police would handle this. They'd protect her and Mikey.



Taking Mikey by the arm, she urged him toward the study door. The quicker they got to safety the better.



He dug in his heels. "Bear!"



She scooped up the stuffed toy. "Come, sweetie. We need to go."



She ushered him swiftly toward the front door. Decorum dictated she stop at the entryway closet long enough to grab a long wool coat to cover her pajamas. She slipped on a pair of rain boots, the only footwear available in the closet. Taking Mikey's jacket off the hanger, she slung it over her arm. Figuring she should have her ID on her, she snagged her hobo-style carryall bag from the entryway table and slipped the monitor and the bear inside before shepherding Mikey out onto the porch.



She knelt beside Mikey and pulled on his coat. "Can you tell Mommy what you saw?"



Could he identify Steven's killer? She held her breath, waiting for Mikey to reveal something. "Mikey? I need you to tell me what you saw."



He abandoned twisting his finger in favor of flapping his hands, a sign that a fit was brewing. Whatever he'd seen was locked up inside his head. Pushing him would only drive him further away.



The loud screech of tires combined with flashing red-and-blue lights sent Mikey into a full-blown agitated fit. He batted at his ears and made a high-pitched noise echoing the siren's wail even after it was turned off. Viv's heart pitched. At the moment she couldn't do anything to help him. He would continue on until the chaos ended. Which might take a while. She kept one hand on his shoulder, more for her comfort than his.



Two police cruisers pulled into the driveway. Four officers jumped out of the cars.



"Mrs. Grant?" An older officer stepped close as the others hung back.



"Yes. I'm Vivian Grant. I'm so glad you're here."



"Officer Peal," he said, his gaze sliding to Mikey. "We had a call that your son was missing and your husband.killed?"



She nodded. "My son was hiding. His father… Senator Grant is dead." She pointed toward the house. "In the study."



Peal gestured with his head. Two officers entered the house, hands on their holsters. The third officer moved toward the back of the house.



Peal gestured toward the cars. "Ma'am, can I have you and your son take a seat inside my car? Just until we know for sure the scene is secure."



She gestured to the flashing lights on top of the police cars. "Could you turn off the lights first? They're bothering my son."



"Sure thing, ma'am." Peal vaulted down the porch steps to the nearest cruiser. A second later the flashing light went dark.



"Let me take care of the other car," he said as he walked around the front of the vehicle. A moment later the second cruiser's lights went out.



Mikey calmed almost immediately. His high-pitched whine dimmed to a small whimper. He went back to worrying his index finger.



Viv maneuvered Mikey into the back passenger seat of the nearest cruiser. The car smelled of stale coffee and body odor, but at least it was less conspicuous than standing on the porch in the summer night air. And safer.



A metal grate separated them from the front seats. Mikey grabbed a hold and shook the metal. The deafening rattle bounced around the interior of the vehicle.



Now Viv knew how criminals must feel, like caged animals. A familiar helpless, vulnerable sensation slithered up her spine, reminding her of her childhood.



Taking deep breaths to harness her rising anxiety, she silently repeated in her mind, This too shall pass.



Peal squatted next to her, bracing one elbow on the back wheel well, and removed a small notepad from his shirt pocket. His pen poised over the paper. "Ma'am, can you tell me what happened?"



"A noise woke me. I thought it was Mikey needing something. But he wasn't in his bed so I went to ask Steven if he'd seen Mikey. I found Steven… He'd been stabbed." Bile rose as the image of Steven's death filled her brain. "I called 911, then I found Mikey hiding just as you arrived."



Peal nodded encouragingly. "Did you see anyone else in the house?"



She shook her head. "No."



"Homicide will have more questions for you."



The sound of more vehicles arriving floated into the car through the open door. Viv twisted around to look out the back window. Two men dressed in dark suits climbed out of a black SUV and made their way toward the cruiser. It didn't take a genius to know who these guys were. Viv had seen enough of them during her years as a politician's wife to recognize the swagger of the FBI.



She wasn't surprised the FBI had been called. Steven was a junior senator, after all, and had just declared his intent to run for the presidency.



Mikey drew her attention when he began combing her hair with his fingers. One of his calming rituals.



Officer Peal greeted the two men as they stopped beside the police car. Viv leaned forward to listen.



The men flashed credentials. "I'm Agent Jones, this is Agent Thompson."



"Homicide hasn't arrived yet," Peal said. "I've got two men inside and one searching the perimeter."



Agent Jones slanted a glance at Peal. "Good work, Officer. We'll take care of the witnesses."



Thompson leaned into the open door of the cruiser. His puggish face with round probing eyes sent goose bumps prickling Viv's skin. "Mrs. Grant, we need you to come with us."



"Where?"



He grasped her by the elbow and tugged. "We're to escort you to the WFO."



She stiffened. She didn't like being manhandled.



"WFO?"



"Washington Field Office."



"I want to see your badges," she demanded.



Each agent let her inspect their credentials. The official-looking identification appeared in order. She handed them back. "Shouldn't we wait for Homicide?"



"They can question you at headquarters. It's safer this way," Agent Jones supplied as he also reached in to help pull her from the vehicle. He was a big man with a scar on his chiseled chin. She was no match for the two of them.



"All right, already," she snapped and climbed out of the cruiser. "Can I get a change of clothes?"

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My Self-Publishing experience

Weddings and Wasabi available in both print and ebook

Captain's Log, Stardate 07.07.2011



I just found out (like a few days ago) that the ebook version of Weddings and Wasabi, is now available! This is the fourth book in my Sushi series. What's even better is that it's only $2.99!





After finally graduating with a culinary degree, Jennifer Lim is pressured by her family to work at her control-freak aunty's restaurant. But after a family dispute, Jenn is determined to no longer be a doormat and instead starts her own catering company. Her search for a wine merchant brings John into her life—a tall, dark, handsome biker in form-fitting black leather, who's Hispanic to boot. It would be wonderfully wild to snag a man like that!



Shy engineer Edward tentatively tries out his birthday present from his winery-owner uncle—a Harley-Davidson complete with the trimmings. Jennifer seems attracted to the rough, aggressive image, but it isn't his real self. Is she latching onto him just to spite her horrified family? And if this spark between them is real, will showing her the true guy underneath put it out?



And what's with the goat in the backyard?



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Excerpt - Lawman-in-Charge by Laura Scott

Lawman-in-Charge

by

Laura Scott



Former crime-scene investigator Megan O'Ryan helped convict the St. Patrick's Strangler, who killed Megan's sister. Now she's trying to heal in a small Wisconsin town. But a copycat killer is at work in Crystal Lake, and Sheriff Luke Torretti needs Megan's help…on the case and at home, where the widower's troubled teenage son has become a suspect. The boy claims he's innocent—and Megan believes him. Because the more she and Luke investigate, the more Megan becomes convinced that her own past has brought the killer to Crystal Lake. And without Luke's help, the next victim will be her.



Excerpt of chapter one:



Megan O'Ryan kept a wary eye on the black sedan staying two cars behind her. She'd noticed the sedan the moment she'd hit the highway, and the driver had kept pace with her all the way into the small town of Crystal Lake.



A nagging itch settled between her shoulder blades. She'd felt the same sensation of being followed just two days ago. Was someone really tailing her?



With an abrupt move, she cranked the steering wheel to the right and pulled into the first vacant parking space on Main Street.



Moments later, the black car passed her by. Wrenching her neck to peer after it, she noticed the driver kept his head averted, but not before she saw the usual dark T-shirt and baseball cap. The tag number was nothing but a blur by the time she switched her attention from the driver to the license plate.



Megan climbed out of her car and stood for a moment, pretending to debate where she should go but really tracking the black car out of the corner of her eye as it pulled into the Gas N Go station located a few blocks north on Main Street.



No way could this be a coincidence. Not again. Not



after experiencing the same thing for the third time in the past week. The cars weren't always the same make or color, but the guy behind the wheel invariably wore dark clothing and a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes.



Megan stifled a surge of alarm as she turned toward Rose's Cafe. She wasn't hungry, but Rose's was always packed with people, especially in the summer with tourists aplenty, and she could at least get a cup of coffee while she tried to figure out why on earth anyone in Crystal Lake would want to follow her. Three months wasn't long enough to have made enemies. Especially considering she'd been holed up in her cabin most of the time, leaving only to go to work and back. She'd spoken to just a handful of people.



Megan! Wait up!



Katie? The young voice was so much like her sister's that she spun toward the sound, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She blinked against the brightness of the sun to see a lithe young woman with long, silky blond hair walking toward her. Her heart stopped. She couldn't breathe. Hoarsely she called, Katie? Is that you?



Teagan, wait up. Didn't you hear me? The blond-haired girl changed directions, moving toward another girl, this one a petite redhead. The blonde caught up and gave the red-haired girl's shoulder a playful shove. There's no rush. It's not like the guys are going to leave without us.



Not Katie. Her vision blurred as the loss hit with the force of a tsunami, sucking every bit of oxygen from her lungs. Katie hadn't been calling her name because Katie was gone.



Megan blinked, forcing her vision to clear, and watched the girls cross the street heading toward a group of boys who stood waiting on the grassy bank of Crystal Lake. She focused on a scowling boy who held himself aloof, dressed head to toe in black with long dark hair that could have used a comb. He looked like trouble with a capital T. Someone she was tempted to warn the young girls about. Except he wasn't her problem.



Blindly, she turned her attention back toward Rose's Cafe, her stomach tight with nausea, as if she'd been sucker punched.



Katie wouldn't be heading off to her sophomore year at college in the fall, or hanging around with undesirable boys. Katie was dead.



Murdered.



Logically, she knew her younger sister was gone. Yet in that one brief moment when she'd imagined she'd heard Katie calling her name, she'd wanted so badly to believe Katie's death was nothing more than a horrible nightmare.



But it wasn't. Katie was gone.



Her church pastor tried to tell her Katie was in a much better place, but she didn't buy that theory. The real question was why hadn't God stopped her sweet sister from being murdered? Why hadn't he taken her, instead?



Desperately trying to get a grip on her rioting emotions, she paused outside Rose's Cafe and glanced once again toward the Gas N Go station, where the black car had pulled in. There was no sign of the vehicle now. With a frown, she scanned the entire area, including the various businesses.



The black sedan had disappeared.



Or she'd imagined the whole thing, just like she'd imagined she'd heard Katie.



Exhausted and shaken, Megan slumped against the building, putting a hand to her throbbing head, and swallowed hard against another wave of nausea. No. No way. I absolutely refuse to be crazy.



You refuse, huh? A tall man stepped forward, blocking her view of the sun. He stood with his arms crossed over his uniformed chest, looking down at her with an arched brow. So how's that working for



you?



She grimaced, realizing she'd spoken out loud. Wasn't it true that insane people didn't believe they were crazy? Shaking off the bitter fear that plagued her, Megan straightened and belatedly noticed the crisp tan uniform along with the shiny badge pinned to the stranger's chest.



A cop. Great. This was not what she needed in the middle of her nervous breakdown. She strove for a light tone. So far, it's working fine, thanks. Excuse me. She ducked past him, seeking refuge in Rose's Cafe.



She slid onto the only vacant stool at the counter, figuring she wouldn't be there long. The main reason she'd come at all was to get a good look at the guy driving the black car.



What can I get for you, sweetie? Josie, the middle-aged waitress, called all her customers sweetie. Megan suspected Josie thought the term was easier than trying to remember so many names, especially in the height of the tourist season.



A cup of coffee, please. She glanced back in time to see that the cop who'd followed her into the diner had joined another officer in one of the booths that lined the



wall. She turned her attention back to Josie. She wasn't paranoid enough to think he'd followed her inside to keep an eye on her. Cops had to eat too. Cream, no sugar.



Is that all? Josie arched an exasperated brow, propping a hand on her plump hip. Sweetie, you picked the middle of the lunch rush to order a measly cup of



coffee?



Josie obviously wasn't pleased she'd taken a seat that an otherwise paying customer may have occupied. Since Megan wasn't sure her legs could hold her weight if she left, she tried to recall the menu. Ah, I almost forgot. I'll take a grilled chicken sandwich too.



Coming right up. Josie poured her coffee, pushed a container of cream at her, and then disappeared to give her order to the cook.



Megan sipped her coffee, trying not to notice how several of the locals stared at her with obvious suspicion. Since she'd taken over her aunt's property, a small cabin on the north shore of Crystal Lake, her status was barely one step above the tourists, but not by much. She'd moved here from Chicago, and people in the town of Crystal Lake, Wisconsin, seemed to carry a grudge against people from Illinois. She should be used to the sensation of being the unwelcome newcomer by now.



Crystal Lake wasn't a large town, but it was right in the middle of Hope County, which made it the hub of all county activities. The courthouse, the post office and the sheriff's department headquarters, to name a few. Her tiny log cabin was located ten miles outside of town on a very deserted road with an awesome view of the lake, nice and private, the way she preferred. So what if the



general population of Crystal Lake considered her little more than a weird hermit? She didn't care.



Except when she was being followed.



She turned her head to peek at the pair of cops seated behind her. The taller of the two had impossibly broad shoulders and black hair kept military-short, which did nothing to soften his broad, rugged features. His square jaw was strong and firm, but his nose looked as if it may have been broken at one point. He had dark eyes and tanned skin that made his teeth look shockingly white when he smiled. He was definitely attractive, if you appreciated a tall man in uniform. Since the other cop was much older and shorter and had a slight paunch around his middle, she knew it was the taller man who'd overheard her talking to herself outside. With the sun glare in her eyes, she hadn't gotten a very good look at him.



What would he say if she went over to announce she thought she was being followed? Probably not much, since she'd also practically told him she was insane.



So how's that working for you?



Her cheeks burned and she ducked her head, deciding not to bother. There was no point when she hadn't even managed to get a simple license plate number. Once she had something solid to give them, she'd go to the authorities.



She took another sip of her coffee, reveling in the warmth of the mug despite the sunny day outside. A group from the back of the diner passed behind her on their way out. An elbow hit her hard in the back, causing her to spill her coffee down the front of her green blouse.



'Scuse me, a gruff male voice muttered as the group



left.



She clenched her teeth against a wave of annoyance



and dabbed at the stain. A moment later, Josie set her chicken sandwich in front of her.



Need anything else, sweetie? Josie asked, automatically refilling her coffee cup.



No, thanks. She forced a smile and gave up on her blouse. Josie slapped her bill upside down next to her plate and sashayed away to attend to her other customers.



She didn't want to believe the jab to her back had been done on purpose, but she couldn't help but think so. Why she'd become a target, she had no idea. She wasn't hurting anyone. She wasn't even in town very often. She was either in her cabin or working her part-time and rather mundane job of processing DNA samples at the State Crime Lab in Madison.



Obviously, her level of paranoia was already several standard deviations from the mean. Picking at her chicken sandwich, she took only a few bites before pushing her plate away.



Post-traumatic stress disorder. Diagnosed by her psychologist after she'd testified against the serial killer who'd strangled Katie as his last victim. PTSD brought on from being the lead crime scene investigator in a series of murders that included her sister's. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Katie's body lying sprawled on the asphalt with the bright orange hollow-braided rope wrapped around her neck.



The image would haunt her forever.



Her boss had forced her to step back from being the lead investigator, but she'd continued working on the case in the lab until she'd gathered enough evidence to nail the man who'd killed her sister. It was small consolation to know Paul Sherman was serving a life



sentence in a high-security Illinois prison as a result of her work.



Megan sighed and scrubbed a hand over her eyes. She needed to get a grip. She wasn't being followed. The people of Crystal Lake weren't out to get her. And Katie, the sister she'd raised since their parents had died in a tragic car wreck, wasn't ever coming back.



She'd come to Crystal Lake to heal. To take a break. To find herself. Somehow, she needed to get over her loss. Now that the trial was over, she couldn't seem to find something to focus on. She tossed down some cash to cover her tab and Josie's tip before sliding off the stool and heading toward the door.



She really, really didn't want to believe she was going crazy.



Because if that were truly the case, sheer determination might not be enough to prevent the inevitable.



Lucas Torretti watched the petite woman, her shoulder-length red hair glinting brightly in the sun as she left the diner. She was pretty, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. Must be the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her cute nose. And when she'd looked up at him, her bright eyes had been almost mesmerizing. He caught Frank's gaze and lifted his chin in her direction. Do you know her? Or is she one of the summer tourists?



Deputy Frank Rawson followed Megan's lean figure as she climbed back into her car. Out of the group of guys working for the sheriff's department, Frank was one of the few who didn't begrudge Luke's position as interim sheriff. Mainly because Frank had never wanted the job for himself. Frank was serving the last



two years of his duty before taking a well-earned retirement. Yeah, that's Megan O'Ryan. Moved into the old Dartmouth place. Lucille Dartmouth was her mother's sister.

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Grace Livingston Hill

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Join in the discussion!

Excerpt - Behind the Badge by Susan Sleeman

Behind the Badge

by Susan Sleeman



A killer is threatening the life of rookie cop Sydney Tucker's sister—unless Sydney turns over evidence from a drug bust. But she doesn't have the evidence. Not that the thug believes her. Now she and the sibling in her care are under the watchful eye of Logan Lake police chief Russ Morgan…but will his protection be enough? The killer is closing in, picking off the people and places that mean the most to Sydney. A list that now includes Russ. To protect her loved ones, will she pay the ultimate price—her life?



Excerpt of chapter one:



Gunshots split the inky darkness.



Deputy Sydney Tucker hit the cold ground, a jagged rock slashing into her forehead on the way down. She reached for her service weapon. Came up empty-handed. She'd stopped after work to check on the construction of her town house and left her gun and cell phone in the car.



Dumb, Sydney. Really dumb. Now what're you gonna do?



Inching her head above knee-high grass, she listened. The keening whistle of the wind died, leaving the air damp and heavy with tension. Silence reigned.



Had she overreacted? Could be nighttime target practice. Hunters did crazy things sometimes.



Footfalls pounded from below. It sounded like two people charging through the brush. Maybe a chase. Then she heard a loud crash and branches snapping.



"What're you doin', man?" A panicked male voice traveled through the night. "No! Don't shoot! We can work this out."



Three more gunshots rang out. A moan drifted up the hill.



Not target practice. Someone had been shot. Sydney lurched to her feet, dizziness swirling through her. Blood dripped into her eyes. She wiped it away, blinked hard and steadied herself on a large rock while peering into the wall of darkness for the best escape route.



Heavy footfalls crunched up the gravel path.



"I know you're here, Deputy Tucker," a male voice, disguised with a high, nasal pitch, called out. "We need to talk about this. C'mon out."



Yeah, right. Come out and die. Not hardly.



Praying, pleading for safety, she scrambled deeper into the scrub. Over rocks. Through grass tangling her feet. Her heart pounded in her head, drowning the prayers with fear.



"I'm losing patience, Deputy," he called again in that strange voice. "You're not like Dixon. He had it coming. You don't."



Dixon? Did he mean the man she'd arrested for providing alcohol to her teenage sister and for selling drugs? Was that what this was about?



Rocks skittered down the incline. The shooter was on the move again. No time to think. She had to go. Now!



Blindly she felt her way past shrubs, over uneven ground. Dried leaves crunched underfoot. Branches slapped her face and clawed at her arms, but she stifled her cries of pain.



"I hear you, Deputy."



She wrenched around to determine his location. A protruding rock caught her foot, catapulting her forward. She somersaulted through the air. Her knee slammed into the packed earth and she crashed down the hill. Wrapping her arms around her head for protection, she tumbled and then came to a stop, breath knocked out of her, lying flat on her back in a thick stand of weeds.



"So you want to play it that way, do you, Deputy? Fine. Just remember, you can run, but you can't hide. I will find you. This will be resolved, one way or another." His disembodied laugh swirled into the night.



The darkness pressed closer. Blinding. Overwhelming. Terrifying.



She rose to her knees, but pain knifed into her knee, keeping her anchored to the ground.



Lord, please don't let me die like this. Give me the strength to move. I need to live for Nikki. She's only seventeen. She has no one.



Sydney uncurled and came to a standing position. Taking a few halting steps, she tested the pain. Nearly unbearable. But she had to do this for her sister.



Thinking of Nikki, she gritted her teeth and set off, moving slowly, taking care not to make a sound.



Out of the darkness, a hand shot out. Clamped over her mouth.



Screams tore from her throat, but died behind fingers pressed hard against her lips.



A muscled arm jerked her against a solid chest and dragged her deep into the brush.



God, please, no.



She twisted, arched her back, pushing against arms that held her like iron bands.



She dug her heels into the ground, but he was too strong. He kept going deeper into the brush before settling them both on the ground behind a large boulder.



"Relax, Sydney, it's Russ Morgan," her assailant whispered, his lips close to her ear.



Russ Morgan? What was Logan Lake's police chief doing here?



"Sorry to grab you." His tone said she was nothing more than a stranger instead of someone he'd known for years. "I didn't want you to alert the shooter with a scream. I'm gonna remove my hand now. Nod if you understand me."



She let all of her relief escape in a sharp jerk of her head. His fingers dropped away.



"Once the shooter rounded that curve, you would've been a goner," he whispered while still holding her firmly. "Good thing a neighbor reported gunshots."



Sydney started to shiver and inhaled deeply to steady her galloping pulse. Air rushed into her lungs. She was alive, but barely. No thanks to her own skills.



"You okay?" he asked, his breath stirring her hair.



"Yes." She willed her body to stop shaking and eased out a hiss of disappointment at her job performance. "How long have you been here?"



"Long enough to hear the shooter claim he's hit Dixon and is coming after you next," he whispered again, but urgency lit his voice and rekindled her fear. "This have to do with your arrest of Carl Dixon the other day?"



"I don't know," she whispered back. "I just stopped to check on the construction of my town house on my way home from work."



"Off duty, huh? Explains why you don't have your weapon drawn."



"I left my duty belt in my car." She waited for his reaction to not carrying, but he simply gave a quick nod as footfalls grated against gravel.



"Shh, he's about to pass us." Russ leaned forward and drew his gun with his free hand, but didn't release his hold on her.



Crunching steps came within a few feet of their location. Halted.



"Can you feel me breathing down your neck, Deputy? I'm inches from finding you." He didn't know the accuracy of his words.



She felt Russ pull in a deep breath, upping her concern and washing away the brief blanket of security his arms provided. Adrenaline urged her to move. To keep from panicking, she focused on Russ's unwavering weapon.



The shooter took a few steps closer. Her heart thumped, threatening to leave her chest. Russ tightened his hold as if he knew she wanted to bolt.



The shooter spun, sending gravel flying, then headed up the path.



As his footsteps receded, she tried to relax taut muscles.



The warmth from Russ's body helped chase out her fear and the chill of the night. Thank God Russ was here. Who knows what would've happened if he hadn't come….



She refused to go there. God had watched over her. Provided rescue, just not in the form she'd have chosen.



Not only was Russ the head of the city's police force—a team often in competition with the county sheriff's department, where she worked—but he was a man she'd had a crazy crush on in high school. A man whose rugged good looks still turned women's heads.



She let out a long sigh.



"I know this is awkward," he whispered, "but hang tight for a few more minutes. We need to wait for him to head back down the hill."



She wanted to protest and suggest they flee now, but Russ thought clearly. Taking off now gave the killer the advantage of higher ground, making them moving targets. They'd have to sit like this until he passed them again.



If they made it out of here, which the approaching footfalls told her wasn't at all certain.



The shooter's steps pounded closer. He moved at a quick clip this time, as if he thought she'd gotten away and he was in hot pursuit. Or maybe he was heading to her car to lie in wait for her.



As the footsteps receded again, she felt Russ's arm slacken.



"Time to roll," he whispered. "Stay here."



"But I—"



"You have a backup?" He meant a backup gun that most officers carry on the job. She shook her head.



"Then wait here." He gave her the hard stare that'd made him famous around town, and crept toward the path.



She leaned against the boulder and wrapped her arms around the warm circle on her waist where he'd held her.



Without his warmth, she couldn't quit shaking. The reality of the night froze her inner core.



She should listen to Russ. Lie low. Wait until he apprehended the killer.



That was the safe thing to do.



The easy thing to do.



The wrong thing to do.



As an officer of the law, letting a shooter escape without trying to stop him wasn't an option. Even if that shooter had her in his sights, she'd make her way to her car for her gun and help Russ stop this maniac before he hurt anyone else.



Near the ditch, Russ came to a stop and fought to catch his breath. The taillights of a mud-splattered dirt bike vanished up the trail. He'd warned the suspect to stop, but short of shooting him in the back, Russ couldn't stop him from fleeing into the dark.



At least he'd accomplished his primary objective—to protect Sydney and keep her alive. Now he needed to alert his men and the sheriff's office to the suspect's whereabouts.



He lifted his shoulder mic and ordered a unit from his office to stake out the end of the trail for the motorcycle and to send an ambulance in case Dixon survived. Then he asked dispatch to patch him through to the county sheriff's department to make sure they knew he'd taken charge of the scene so none of their hotshot deputies arrived with the hope of usurping control.



He turned on his Maglite and headed up the hill. The beam of light skipped over gravel and lush plants lining the winding path. Midway up, rustling brush stopped him cold. He'd left Sydney higher up. Nearer the lake.



Was a second shooter hoping to ambush him?



He flipped off his light and sought protection behind a tree. His breath came in little pulses in the cold air—unusual for fall in Oregon. Adrenaline, with little time to ebb away, came roaring back, but even as the noise grew louder, he resisted the urge to take action.



Maybe it was Sydney. The girl he used to know wouldn't have listened to his directive and stayed put. She'd trounce down the hill, her chin tilted at the same insolent angle as when he told her he didn't return her crazy crush her freshman year of high school. Not that he'd wanted to send a beautiful, lively girl like her away. He could easily have dated her, but he was four years older, in college. With their age difference, it wouldn't have been right.



Bushes at the path's edge shook, then parted. Slowly, like a sleek panther, Sydney slipped out. He watched until she stood tall on those incredibly long legs he'd admired since she was sixteen before lowering his gun and aiming his flashlight at her.



She jumped and then peered up at him, an impudent look on her face. This was the Sydney he'd known as a teen and, heaven help him, in just minutes, she'd sparked his interest again.



"Care to shine that somewhere other than my face?" She shaded her eyes, warding off the glare.



He moved the light, but not before he caught a good look at a gaping wound running from her hairline to her eyebrow, covered in congealed blood. He lifted his hand to check out her injury, but stopped. He wouldn't probe a wound on one of his men's faces. As a fellow LEO—law enforcement officer—he wouldn't treat Sydney any differently.



"I told you to stay put." He infused his words with authority.



"I wanted to help." She held out blood-covered hands. "Wish I'd listened… I tripped over the body." Her eyes watered as if she might cry.



Man…don't do that. Don't fall apart. He couldn't remain detached if she started crying. He'd have to empathize, maybe give her a reassuring pat on the arm. Maybe feel her pain



and resurrect all the reasons he'd left his homicide job in Portland.



Changing his focus, he nodded at the brush. "Show me the body."



As the faint whine of sirens spiraled in the distance, she limped into tall grass, a grimace of pain marring her beautiful face. He followed, illuminating the area ahead of her. About ten feet in, she stopped suddenly.



Diffused rays slid over a young male lying on his back. Russ swung the beam to the man's face, landing on open eyes staring into the blackness above.



Sydney gasped and swung around him. She rushed toward the main path. Even though Russ knew it was a lost cause, he bent down to check for a pulse. As he suspected, this man hadn't made it and he ID'd him right away. Carl Dixon, a man every officer in the area knew from his frequent blips on the police radar, including his most recent arrest, for selling drugs.



All that ended with three gunshots to the chest at close range, from what Russ could see with his flashlight. Once they thoroughly processed the scene, he'd know more. But first, they needed to vacate the area before further contaminating the scene.



He found Sydney near the path, gaze fixed in the distance, hands clasped on her hips, exhaling long breaths as if trying to expel what she'd just seen.



Haunted eyes peered at him. "He's dead, right?"



"Yeah."



"And what about the killer?"



"Couldn't catch him. He took off on a dirt bike."



Disappointment crowded out the fear on her face. "Did you at least see him?"



"From the back. He was my height or a little taller, but lean. Wore a black stocking cap. The bike has a plate so it must be street legal. I caught the first few digits."



"That's something, then."



Russ didn't want to tell her it would do little for them in terms of searching DMV records, as three digits would return thousands of bikes, but he didn't think she could take any more bad news so he kept quiet. "Let's head down to the parking lot."



He gave her the flashlight and urged her to take the lead down the steep hill. Once on solid concrete, she handed it back to him. Holding it overhead, he watched her closely for dizziness or other impairments from her fall. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, but a head injury could mean a concussion. He'd have the EMTs check her out when they got there.



He pointed at a rough-hewn bench. "Maybe you should sit down."



"I'm fine." Her voice cracked and she seemed embarrassed about overreacting to the murder.



"It's okay to be upset, Syd. A horrible thing happened tonight."



"I'm fine, really. I'll be back to a hundred percent by morning."



"Don't expect too much too fast."



"I said I'm fine." She straightened her shoulders into a hard line. "It may be my first year on the job, but I can handle this."



"You just witnessed a homicide. If you're like other officers, you're probably feeling guilty for not preventing it."



"I deserve the blame," she said, her eyes overflowing with guilt. "I should've been carrying. Now a person is dead and a killer is running free. What if he hurts someone else?"

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