Michele Scott's Blog, page 6
November 17, 2011
Chapter Twelve of Covert Reich
I hope everyone is having a wonderful week! Here is Chapter Twelve. Also, if you didn't get a chance to click over to the YouTube link to watch the book trailer, no worries. I have posted it here today. Those of you who know me, know that many of my books include a horse or two. Thisbook is no exception. :) Here it is:CHAPTER TWELVE
Stunned, Kelly mindlessly flipped through the channels on her TV trying to find a distraction. But the only thing that seemed to help was her cat, Stevie T (short for Stephen Tyler). He was curled up on her lap, purring away. Kelly stroked the long yellow fur on the tabby whose only purpose in life was to sleep, eat, and soak up attention. She scratched behind his ears. "Wish I was you," she said. The cat opened his green eyes slightly and let out a soft meow, likely in protest that Kelly had spoken. "Sorry."
She finally settled on HRTV to watch some horse racing. Horses were in her blood. She had been around them all her life, and even had one—Sydney, a mare—that she kept at the LA Equestrian Center. She tried to ride at least three days a week, when her busy schedule permitted.
Kelly had been born in Puerto Rico where her father worked as a groom and breezing race horses in the hopes of becoming a jockey. An opportunity came along when she was three and Raul moved his family to Lexington, Kentucky. In Lexington, he was able to work his way up from grooming race horses to training them. Now he trained and managed his own small stable. With any luck, he could end up with a future winner in his barn.
As a teen, Kelly breezed horses on the track before dawn. She'd thought long and hard about vet school vs. medical school, but in the end, she knew healing humans would be easier on her than trying to heal animals. She'd always formed attachments more easily to animals than people. However, as she'd grown in her role as a pediatrician, she realized being a human doctor was as tough as she'd thought being a vet would be. Emotions were emotions and they could get the better of her if she let them.
This train of thought led her right back to Baby Salazar lying in the NICU, and then to Jake. She tried to focus on the race—mud flying everywhere under pounding hooves, spraying like bullets into the eyes of the jockeys and horses.
Jockeys were an interesting lot. They worked so hard to make weight. They did everything from working out, starving themselves, taking diet pills, and even using cocaine to sharpen their focus and reaction time. Cocaine addiction amongst jockeys was high. It was one of the things her father did not like about racing. He'd recently fired one of the best jockeys to come through his stable for drug use.
Addiction. It would have been so easy for Kelly to piece all of this together if Lupe Salazar had been addicted to something. Kelly could treat addiction. She would know exactly what she was dealing with and how to handle it.
She needed to figure out the missing pieces. But as the emotions of the day finally caught up with her, she began to shut down. As she listened to the announcer and pounding hooves on the TV, she dozed off. Tomorrow she would see what she could figure out. She would do what she always did when she needed answers—make an early morning visit to the L.A. Equestrian Center, and, if time permitted, take Sydney out for a short trail ride before work. Syd had a way of helping her see things in a different light. Now it was time for sleep.
Stunned, Kelly mindlessly flipped through the channels on her TV trying to find a distraction. But the only thing that seemed to help was her cat, Stevie T (short for Stephen Tyler). He was curled up on her lap, purring away. Kelly stroked the long yellow fur on the tabby whose only purpose in life was to sleep, eat, and soak up attention. She scratched behind his ears. "Wish I was you," she said. The cat opened his green eyes slightly and let out a soft meow, likely in protest that Kelly had spoken. "Sorry."
She finally settled on HRTV to watch some horse racing. Horses were in her blood. She had been around them all her life, and even had one—Sydney, a mare—that she kept at the LA Equestrian Center. She tried to ride at least three days a week, when her busy schedule permitted.
Kelly had been born in Puerto Rico where her father worked as a groom and breezing race horses in the hopes of becoming a jockey. An opportunity came along when she was three and Raul moved his family to Lexington, Kentucky. In Lexington, he was able to work his way up from grooming race horses to training them. Now he trained and managed his own small stable. With any luck, he could end up with a future winner in his barn.
As a teen, Kelly breezed horses on the track before dawn. She'd thought long and hard about vet school vs. medical school, but in the end, she knew healing humans would be easier on her than trying to heal animals. She'd always formed attachments more easily to animals than people. However, as she'd grown in her role as a pediatrician, she realized being a human doctor was as tough as she'd thought being a vet would be. Emotions were emotions and they could get the better of her if she let them.
This train of thought led her right back to Baby Salazar lying in the NICU, and then to Jake. She tried to focus on the race—mud flying everywhere under pounding hooves, spraying like bullets into the eyes of the jockeys and horses.
Jockeys were an interesting lot. They worked so hard to make weight. They did everything from working out, starving themselves, taking diet pills, and even using cocaine to sharpen their focus and reaction time. Cocaine addiction amongst jockeys was high. It was one of the things her father did not like about racing. He'd recently fired one of the best jockeys to come through his stable for drug use.
Addiction. It would have been so easy for Kelly to piece all of this together if Lupe Salazar had been addicted to something. Kelly could treat addiction. She would know exactly what she was dealing with and how to handle it.
She needed to figure out the missing pieces. But as the emotions of the day finally caught up with her, she began to shut down. As she listened to the announcer and pounding hooves on the TV, she dozed off. Tomorrow she would see what she could figure out. She would do what she always did when she needed answers—make an early morning visit to the L.A. Equestrian Center, and, if time permitted, take Sydney out for a short trail ride before work. Syd had a way of helping her see things in a different light. Now it was time for sleep.
November 16, 2011
Chapter Eleven COVERT REICH
Here is Chapter Eleven of COVERT REICH my friends. This chapter involves one of my favorite characters in this book--Gem Michaels. To me Gem is savvy, fun, and the kind of woman I would want to be friends with. I hope you enjoy! Have a great Wednesday!
Cheers,
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Georgia Michaels—Gem for short—ran her fingers through her pixie cut, wondering how many grays were hidden beneath the Clairol Golden Blonde she'd been using since she was twenty-one and first spotted one of those nasty buggers. That was eighteen years ago, and she had no doubt the stress of raising two teenage boys—not to mention the strain of her job—had turned her hair snow white by now. There was a time, before she'd had the boys, when she'd wanted to become an international correspondent. But her hopes and dreams of interviewing and producing stories for CNN were dashed when her first son came along. She'd taken mothering as seriously as she'd taken anything in her life, and although Austen hadn't been planned, she'd fallen in love with him at first site and loved being a mom.
But kids grow up, divorces happen, and finances dwindle. For the past few years, she'd gotten back into reporting and her dreams were alight again with possibilities for the future. Probably too middle-aged and not pretty enough to be on television, but she still had brains and brawn, and could sniff out a good story and hunt down information like nobody's business.
Gem stared at the computer screen in front of her. Deadline, deadline, deadline. Jesus, it's just another homicide. Write the damn thing, and get it to Stu before he hunts you down.
But God it was hard getting back into the swing of things. Gem had just returned from a week in Puerto Vallarta. Finally! Vacation. With a handful of forty-something divorcees drinking a shit-load of margaritas and eating way too much good food. Five pounds heavier and craving salt, lime, and tequila…the last thing Gem wanted to do right now was her job.
Homicide, schmomicide. They were all the same. So-and-so was killed at such-and-such location, by whomever using whatever—if they even knew that much. At least this one had some intrigue to it. It wasn't the typical boy-meets-girl, fall in love, girl falls out of love, boy goes psycho and blows her brains out story. No. This time one of the top pathologists in the state had been offed right in the middle of County Hospital. Whoever toasted this guy was a total nut job or at least had some real balls. Or was some kind of hired hand. Maybe the doctor owed the wrong people some cash? Could be anything.
Gem was checking into the ex-wife. From what she'd heard, the split between Dr. Hamilton and his ex had been messy. The wife made off with most of his money and was living large. Of course the death of her ex meant those alimony checks were going to stop rolling in. On the other hand, if she had an insurance policy on the doc, or if he had failed to change his beneficiary over on an existing policy, well, then…that could certainly be reason enough for murder.
Or maybe it wasn't about money. Gem had done enough checking into this thing to discover Dr. Hamilton had eyes for a pretty pediatrician who ran the neo-natal intensive care unit at County—a Dr. Morales. Gem wondered who had instigated the divorce between the Hamiltons. The ex could have a whopping jealous streak.
She looked at the blank screen that stared unforgivingly back at her. One would think this wouldn't be a problem to write. This was her place, her people. Noises from the newsroom, people dashing about, crazed writers high on caffeine or nicotine (or both) typing away as their minds raced at a clip their bodies could certainly never keep up with, always poised to pounce on the next big story...Jesus, she should be able to write this story in her sleep.
Big story. This one had the feel to it, like a lion hiding in his den waiting to come out for the hunt. The photo of the guy was really all she had at the moment other than the usual rumor and conjecture from a handful of hospital employees—all filled with speculation. She had insiders at the police station, but the strange thing was, no one was talking. At all. The cops had given a brief statement, and that was it. Detective Pazzini, who Gem thought was a decent cop and a helluva good-looking one, told the media once forensics was finished investigating, the press would receive clearance from the hospital and get a detailed report. Great. A lot of good that did her right now.
Her phone buzzed and snapped her back to the here and now. "Yeah?"
"It's Goldman." She cringed. It was her boss, Stuart Goldman. "How's your story coming? About finished? It's a front pager. We have to go to press in a couple of hours."
"Just about. Without the police saying much, it's a little on the light side."
"Well, you have to give me something. This guy was an important member in the community. Loved and respected. Go on that."
"Right," she replied, holding out her hands and looking at the light pink, chipped polish on her fingernails. The call from the boss was the motivation she'd needed. Gem turned off everything else around her and went to work, pounding out the best story she could. Once finished, she opened up her e-mail and attached the story to send to Goldman. She buzzed his office and let him know it was on the way.
Before heading out for the evening, she figured she'd better take a look and see if she had anything interesting in her inbox. She really was back now. E-mails aplenty. Her numero uno rule while down in Mexico was no computer and no cell phone.
Ah. L.A. was too far from Puerto Vallarta.
She scrolled down and saw the typical story pitches, lots of forwards from her book club friends, who she had consistently asked to stop sending her those damn jokes and chain letters. There was a short e-mail from her mom reminding her to make reservations early for her and the boys to fly back to New York for Christmas. The usual stuff. Except…one e-mail caught her eye. It was from ChemMadderhorn@gmail.com. At first she figured it was one of those skanky ads for Viagra or Cialis. God knew she received a ton of those, even with the filters on, but it was the subject line that grabbed her. "Your Neighbor, Chad."
She opened the e-mail and read the short note. Watch your neighbor. Three years ago, San Diego, Ca., Petersen family.
"Oh my God," she heard herself whisper. "What is this?" She knew about the Petersen family. Everyone in Southern California and pretty much in the U.S. had heard of them. And Gem had met her neighbor, Chad. But there was no way he'd been connected to that grisly, horrible crime. No way. She went to delete the e-mail, thinking it was some sick joke, but something held her back—her gut, her instinct, her sixth sense. She wasn't sure what, but she closed her e-mail and opened her documents on the Petersen family.
Cheers,
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Georgia Michaels—Gem for short—ran her fingers through her pixie cut, wondering how many grays were hidden beneath the Clairol Golden Blonde she'd been using since she was twenty-one and first spotted one of those nasty buggers. That was eighteen years ago, and she had no doubt the stress of raising two teenage boys—not to mention the strain of her job—had turned her hair snow white by now. There was a time, before she'd had the boys, when she'd wanted to become an international correspondent. But her hopes and dreams of interviewing and producing stories for CNN were dashed when her first son came along. She'd taken mothering as seriously as she'd taken anything in her life, and although Austen hadn't been planned, she'd fallen in love with him at first site and loved being a mom.
But kids grow up, divorces happen, and finances dwindle. For the past few years, she'd gotten back into reporting and her dreams were alight again with possibilities for the future. Probably too middle-aged and not pretty enough to be on television, but she still had brains and brawn, and could sniff out a good story and hunt down information like nobody's business.
Gem stared at the computer screen in front of her. Deadline, deadline, deadline. Jesus, it's just another homicide. Write the damn thing, and get it to Stu before he hunts you down.
But God it was hard getting back into the swing of things. Gem had just returned from a week in Puerto Vallarta. Finally! Vacation. With a handful of forty-something divorcees drinking a shit-load of margaritas and eating way too much good food. Five pounds heavier and craving salt, lime, and tequila…the last thing Gem wanted to do right now was her job.
Homicide, schmomicide. They were all the same. So-and-so was killed at such-and-such location, by whomever using whatever—if they even knew that much. At least this one had some intrigue to it. It wasn't the typical boy-meets-girl, fall in love, girl falls out of love, boy goes psycho and blows her brains out story. No. This time one of the top pathologists in the state had been offed right in the middle of County Hospital. Whoever toasted this guy was a total nut job or at least had some real balls. Or was some kind of hired hand. Maybe the doctor owed the wrong people some cash? Could be anything.
Gem was checking into the ex-wife. From what she'd heard, the split between Dr. Hamilton and his ex had been messy. The wife made off with most of his money and was living large. Of course the death of her ex meant those alimony checks were going to stop rolling in. On the other hand, if she had an insurance policy on the doc, or if he had failed to change his beneficiary over on an existing policy, well, then…that could certainly be reason enough for murder.
Or maybe it wasn't about money. Gem had done enough checking into this thing to discover Dr. Hamilton had eyes for a pretty pediatrician who ran the neo-natal intensive care unit at County—a Dr. Morales. Gem wondered who had instigated the divorce between the Hamiltons. The ex could have a whopping jealous streak.
She looked at the blank screen that stared unforgivingly back at her. One would think this wouldn't be a problem to write. This was her place, her people. Noises from the newsroom, people dashing about, crazed writers high on caffeine or nicotine (or both) typing away as their minds raced at a clip their bodies could certainly never keep up with, always poised to pounce on the next big story...Jesus, she should be able to write this story in her sleep.
Big story. This one had the feel to it, like a lion hiding in his den waiting to come out for the hunt. The photo of the guy was really all she had at the moment other than the usual rumor and conjecture from a handful of hospital employees—all filled with speculation. She had insiders at the police station, but the strange thing was, no one was talking. At all. The cops had given a brief statement, and that was it. Detective Pazzini, who Gem thought was a decent cop and a helluva good-looking one, told the media once forensics was finished investigating, the press would receive clearance from the hospital and get a detailed report. Great. A lot of good that did her right now.
Her phone buzzed and snapped her back to the here and now. "Yeah?"
"It's Goldman." She cringed. It was her boss, Stuart Goldman. "How's your story coming? About finished? It's a front pager. We have to go to press in a couple of hours."
"Just about. Without the police saying much, it's a little on the light side."
"Well, you have to give me something. This guy was an important member in the community. Loved and respected. Go on that."
"Right," she replied, holding out her hands and looking at the light pink, chipped polish on her fingernails. The call from the boss was the motivation she'd needed. Gem turned off everything else around her and went to work, pounding out the best story she could. Once finished, she opened up her e-mail and attached the story to send to Goldman. She buzzed his office and let him know it was on the way.
Before heading out for the evening, she figured she'd better take a look and see if she had anything interesting in her inbox. She really was back now. E-mails aplenty. Her numero uno rule while down in Mexico was no computer and no cell phone.
Ah. L.A. was too far from Puerto Vallarta.
She scrolled down and saw the typical story pitches, lots of forwards from her book club friends, who she had consistently asked to stop sending her those damn jokes and chain letters. There was a short e-mail from her mom reminding her to make reservations early for her and the boys to fly back to New York for Christmas. The usual stuff. Except…one e-mail caught her eye. It was from ChemMadderhorn@gmail.com. At first she figured it was one of those skanky ads for Viagra or Cialis. God knew she received a ton of those, even with the filters on, but it was the subject line that grabbed her. "Your Neighbor, Chad."
She opened the e-mail and read the short note. Watch your neighbor. Three years ago, San Diego, Ca., Petersen family.
"Oh my God," she heard herself whisper. "What is this?" She knew about the Petersen family. Everyone in Southern California and pretty much in the U.S. had heard of them. And Gem had met her neighbor, Chad. But there was no way he'd been connected to that grisly, horrible crime. No way. She went to delete the e-mail, thinking it was some sick joke, but something held her back—her gut, her instinct, her sixth sense. She wasn't sure what, but she closed her e-mail and opened her documents on the Petersen family.
November 15, 2011
Chapter Ten of COVERT REICH
I finally finished the book last night! I am sooooo happy. Right now I have three readers doing a read through for anything I missed or messed up on. I know I keep moving the date back on releasing the book but I want it to be as good as it possibly can be (especially after some of the lashings I received in UK amazon reviews for Mommy, May I? Yeah--remember that bad? When I uploaded a first draft version by mistake. Face palm! Big time! Word to the wise--when you name your files make sure it's really clear which draft it is.
So, until I get the book out I am continuing to upload chapters. Hope you are enjoying.
DISCLAIMER * This chapter (book) is rated R and is not suitable for audiences under 17. :)
Have a wonderful Tuesday.
Michele
A.K. Alexander
CHAPTER TEN
Mark Pritchett loved watching the pretty doctor. Everyone loved watching pretty Dr. Morales. But he was by far the most skilled at watching without her ever knowing. Hell, he'd been watching her long before he'd gotten word only a few hours earlier to keep an eye on her.
That's who he was—a watcher.
He couldn't wait until he got the go-ahead to take care of her. They would want that, wouldn't they? The Brotherhood wouldn't just want him to keep an eye on her and then do nothing about it.
Mark wanted so badly to prove himself to The Brotherhood. He was tired of being a peon. He was worthy of so much more. He could do so much more for the cause. He knew he could. If only they'd give him the chance.
For now, Mark would bide his time. It wasn't as if his assignment was a bad one. Keeping an eye on certain docs was easy, and he'd been doing a damn fine job of it. Watching them and reporting back in. Smooth as silk. He knew he should be happy they trusted him. There were not many of them who had been placed in a position like this. Out of all of the guys who could have been chosen, they'd chosen him.
There had been a handful of doctors on his list to watch, and then he was told to watch Dr. Morales. Closely. He'd about split a nut. She was gorgeous. But an ice-cold bitch. Like they all were. Women. From his mother to his fat-assed sister to the ex-girlfriend he should have killed for being the most annoying, pain in the ass on Earth.
Then there was Dr. Morales. Kelly…
Damn, he would have loved to see her face when the bad-ass detective told her about Hamilton. Priceless. He wondered what Hamilton had done to get himself iced. One thing he knew for sure was when you fucked with The Brotherhood, they didn't mess around. Obviously.
Mark snuck inside a supply room and stuck his hand inside his elastic-waist pants, wrapping his palm around his already hard cock. He looked down. The tattoo above his navel made him smile—his identity.
Everything that swastika stood for, he stood for.
Thinking about the various ways he would destroy Dr. Morales excited him. He tightened his grip and moved his hand faster. Little Miss Big Shot doctor. Now that would be something, wouldn't it? That would really be proving himself. Death. Murder. Yes. With the good doctor, he would look right into her eyes. He would make it a slow, torturous. A begging-for-mercy kind of thing. He would so enjoy that.
He thought more about Dr. Morales and the things he was going to do to her. It was pure ecstasy. He leaned against the wall, slid down to the floor, and finished himself off. He couldn't wait much longer. But waiting was a must because Mark knew no matter how bad he was, the people he worked for were far worse.
So, until I get the book out I am continuing to upload chapters. Hope you are enjoying.
DISCLAIMER * This chapter (book) is rated R and is not suitable for audiences under 17. :)
Have a wonderful Tuesday.
Michele
A.K. Alexander
CHAPTER TEN
Mark Pritchett loved watching the pretty doctor. Everyone loved watching pretty Dr. Morales. But he was by far the most skilled at watching without her ever knowing. Hell, he'd been watching her long before he'd gotten word only a few hours earlier to keep an eye on her.
That's who he was—a watcher.
He couldn't wait until he got the go-ahead to take care of her. They would want that, wouldn't they? The Brotherhood wouldn't just want him to keep an eye on her and then do nothing about it.
Mark wanted so badly to prove himself to The Brotherhood. He was tired of being a peon. He was worthy of so much more. He could do so much more for the cause. He knew he could. If only they'd give him the chance.
For now, Mark would bide his time. It wasn't as if his assignment was a bad one. Keeping an eye on certain docs was easy, and he'd been doing a damn fine job of it. Watching them and reporting back in. Smooth as silk. He knew he should be happy they trusted him. There were not many of them who had been placed in a position like this. Out of all of the guys who could have been chosen, they'd chosen him.
There had been a handful of doctors on his list to watch, and then he was told to watch Dr. Morales. Closely. He'd about split a nut. She was gorgeous. But an ice-cold bitch. Like they all were. Women. From his mother to his fat-assed sister to the ex-girlfriend he should have killed for being the most annoying, pain in the ass on Earth.
Then there was Dr. Morales. Kelly…
Damn, he would have loved to see her face when the bad-ass detective told her about Hamilton. Priceless. He wondered what Hamilton had done to get himself iced. One thing he knew for sure was when you fucked with The Brotherhood, they didn't mess around. Obviously.
Mark snuck inside a supply room and stuck his hand inside his elastic-waist pants, wrapping his palm around his already hard cock. He looked down. The tattoo above his navel made him smile—his identity.
Everything that swastika stood for, he stood for.
Thinking about the various ways he would destroy Dr. Morales excited him. He tightened his grip and moved his hand faster. Little Miss Big Shot doctor. Now that would be something, wouldn't it? That would really be proving himself. Death. Murder. Yes. With the good doctor, he would look right into her eyes. He would make it a slow, torturous. A begging-for-mercy kind of thing. He would so enjoy that.
He thought more about Dr. Morales and the things he was going to do to her. It was pure ecstasy. He leaned against the wall, slid down to the floor, and finished himself off. He couldn't wait much longer. But waiting was a must because Mark knew no matter how bad he was, the people he worked for were far worse.
November 14, 2011
Chapter Nine of COVERT REICH and New Book Trailer
Happy Monday! I think there should be three day weekends. Two days is just not enough. But it is only two days, so I am back to work and I am sure you are as well. I have the draft of the new book trailer of COVERT REICH now available. Hope you will check it out and let me know your thoughts. Here is the link. Once it goes permanently live I will cut and paste into the blog and on my site. http://youtu.be/iGkcXr8og-c
And, here is Chapter Nine of the book. As I promised, I will keep uploading new chapters until the book becomes available. At this rate you might get the entire book before I can have it exactly the way I want it. Just kidding. It will be out before Thanksgiving and I am hoping readers will purchase for their e-readers or order the paperback. As mentioned before this book is an adult book! There is a lot of violence, a lot of swearing from some very evil characters, and it is never my intention as a writer to offend. Therefore, if this kind of thriller is not your thing then please pick up a Nikki Sands book or my novel Happy Hour. They are all light, fun, and with no real violence, swearing and all that stuff.
Have a wonderful Monday.
Cheers,
Michele
CHAPTER NINE
Redding sat back in the plush leather seat inside the chartered jet, waiting for take off. He swirled the ice around in his scotch and soda. He was headed back home, his work done in Germany. Hopefully. Something worried him about Horner though. He couldn't put a finger on it. Other than the chemist still hadn't produced what they wanted. They were on a timeline. Next year was an election year and it was vital to stay on schedule. Would Horner be able to get the job done? Redding sensed the guy was struggling. Maybe losing it. Peter sighed heavily. There were always going to be problems with a project like this. It was staying on top of the problems that mattered. Staying organized.
He remembered his father—Tim Redding. The Reddings had adopted him when he was three –years old and George had loved him and been an amazing teacher. He was the one who had explained the order of things. "You have to keep your soldiers in line, Petie. Here is the thing: when fighting a war—and trust me, we are fighting a war—you have your minions down on the bottom. Now they may not seem all that important. But they are. They're like fleas—they can be disposed of and most easily replaced within the ranks. But the problem is, they can also be broken down the easiest by the enemy. They will almost always talk when push comes to shove, so it's very important to be sure you have a solid foundation.
"Next are your henchmen. These guys recruit the minions. Minions do little jobs. You can control their minds. Henchmen do more difficult jobs. They have to be discrete, trustworthy. Then there are the helpers. They are your confidantes and partners. Then there's you—the leader, son. You are a leader."
Peter took a sip from his drink. "Yes, Dad, I am," he muttered. His cell phone rang. It was a henchman calling. A very important henchman with very important connections. Connections who put a lot of money into Frauen Pharmaceuticals and Peter's back pocket.
"Our little problem taken care of?" Peter asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Good." He leaned back in his leather chair and sighed. "And the girlfriend?"
"I don't think she knows any more than what we heard, but we can't be too sure."
"No, we can't. No loose ends. I want to know her every move."
"Anything else, sir?"
"No. Money will be wired to your account. Good work."
"Thank you, sir. Good night."
Peter hung up the phone. The jet engine roared down the runway. Hamilton. The good doctor. A minion. Not one who believed in the cause, though. A minion by force, just like Horner. There were only a few of those who Peter kept a close eye on. They could ruin everything he'd worked so hard for. Everything his dad would have been so proud of. Men like Hamilton and Horner scared him, but he needed them—or guys like them. Hamilton was easy to dispose of. Dumb fuck should've realized his office would be wired. Horner was another story. Once the job was finished on the chemist's end, Peter would feel much better when they'd gotten rid of him.
He took another long sip off his drink. He didn't like setbacks and these bumps in the road were definitely setbacks. This Dr. Morales better not be a problem. He didn't want to have her killed, too. He didn't need a body count adding up. Body counts alerted cops and cops sniffing around anything was never good. The Hamilton case would never be solved. The henchman who had taken care of the doctor was good at taking care of problems. He'd proven it when he had been involved with the Petersen fiasco. The young man had orchestrated the whole thing. A job well done.
But God how Redding had hated all of that bad business, however, he'd soon realized that when Andrew Petersen had blown him off that he would need to make a strong and definite impression on his next victim—Dr. Horner. Yes, the young man had done a nice job there, and now with getting rid of Hamilton he'd once again proven he had the grit to get things done. His name was Chad Wentworth and he was vital to the cause at the moment. He had connections Redding had tapped into. Nice political connections. And to think Chad had been discovered guarding the double doors outside The Brotherhood meeting in Valencia only four years ago. He had come a long way. And so had Chad's major connection. Redding smiled and held his drink in the air, cheering himself.
"So fuck it," he said aloud. "Fuck it! This little setback is good for the character." However, Redding knew any setback—minor or major—was not good for this project. Peter hated problems and loose ends. Hopefully Dr. Morales would keep her nose out of things. She would be much better off that way. The lights flickered from the city below, growing more distant as the plane reached cruising altitude. The alcohol began to ease tension from his shoulders and from his mind. But he couldn't relax completely. He knew too many casualties would quickly alert the calvary, and the goddamn calvary was not invited to this war, because Peter Redding was determined to win.
And, here is Chapter Nine of the book. As I promised, I will keep uploading new chapters until the book becomes available. At this rate you might get the entire book before I can have it exactly the way I want it. Just kidding. It will be out before Thanksgiving and I am hoping readers will purchase for their e-readers or order the paperback. As mentioned before this book is an adult book! There is a lot of violence, a lot of swearing from some very evil characters, and it is never my intention as a writer to offend. Therefore, if this kind of thriller is not your thing then please pick up a Nikki Sands book or my novel Happy Hour. They are all light, fun, and with no real violence, swearing and all that stuff.
Have a wonderful Monday.
Cheers,
Michele
CHAPTER NINE
Redding sat back in the plush leather seat inside the chartered jet, waiting for take off. He swirled the ice around in his scotch and soda. He was headed back home, his work done in Germany. Hopefully. Something worried him about Horner though. He couldn't put a finger on it. Other than the chemist still hadn't produced what they wanted. They were on a timeline. Next year was an election year and it was vital to stay on schedule. Would Horner be able to get the job done? Redding sensed the guy was struggling. Maybe losing it. Peter sighed heavily. There were always going to be problems with a project like this. It was staying on top of the problems that mattered. Staying organized.
He remembered his father—Tim Redding. The Reddings had adopted him when he was three –years old and George had loved him and been an amazing teacher. He was the one who had explained the order of things. "You have to keep your soldiers in line, Petie. Here is the thing: when fighting a war—and trust me, we are fighting a war—you have your minions down on the bottom. Now they may not seem all that important. But they are. They're like fleas—they can be disposed of and most easily replaced within the ranks. But the problem is, they can also be broken down the easiest by the enemy. They will almost always talk when push comes to shove, so it's very important to be sure you have a solid foundation.
"Next are your henchmen. These guys recruit the minions. Minions do little jobs. You can control their minds. Henchmen do more difficult jobs. They have to be discrete, trustworthy. Then there are the helpers. They are your confidantes and partners. Then there's you—the leader, son. You are a leader."
Peter took a sip from his drink. "Yes, Dad, I am," he muttered. His cell phone rang. It was a henchman calling. A very important henchman with very important connections. Connections who put a lot of money into Frauen Pharmaceuticals and Peter's back pocket.
"Our little problem taken care of?" Peter asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Good." He leaned back in his leather chair and sighed. "And the girlfriend?"
"I don't think she knows any more than what we heard, but we can't be too sure."
"No, we can't. No loose ends. I want to know her every move."
"Anything else, sir?"
"No. Money will be wired to your account. Good work."
"Thank you, sir. Good night."
Peter hung up the phone. The jet engine roared down the runway. Hamilton. The good doctor. A minion. Not one who believed in the cause, though. A minion by force, just like Horner. There were only a few of those who Peter kept a close eye on. They could ruin everything he'd worked so hard for. Everything his dad would have been so proud of. Men like Hamilton and Horner scared him, but he needed them—or guys like them. Hamilton was easy to dispose of. Dumb fuck should've realized his office would be wired. Horner was another story. Once the job was finished on the chemist's end, Peter would feel much better when they'd gotten rid of him.
He took another long sip off his drink. He didn't like setbacks and these bumps in the road were definitely setbacks. This Dr. Morales better not be a problem. He didn't want to have her killed, too. He didn't need a body count adding up. Body counts alerted cops and cops sniffing around anything was never good. The Hamilton case would never be solved. The henchman who had taken care of the doctor was good at taking care of problems. He'd proven it when he had been involved with the Petersen fiasco. The young man had orchestrated the whole thing. A job well done.
But God how Redding had hated all of that bad business, however, he'd soon realized that when Andrew Petersen had blown him off that he would need to make a strong and definite impression on his next victim—Dr. Horner. Yes, the young man had done a nice job there, and now with getting rid of Hamilton he'd once again proven he had the grit to get things done. His name was Chad Wentworth and he was vital to the cause at the moment. He had connections Redding had tapped into. Nice political connections. And to think Chad had been discovered guarding the double doors outside The Brotherhood meeting in Valencia only four years ago. He had come a long way. And so had Chad's major connection. Redding smiled and held his drink in the air, cheering himself.
"So fuck it," he said aloud. "Fuck it! This little setback is good for the character." However, Redding knew any setback—minor or major—was not good for this project. Peter hated problems and loose ends. Hopefully Dr. Morales would keep her nose out of things. She would be much better off that way. The lights flickered from the city below, growing more distant as the plane reached cruising altitude. The alcohol began to ease tension from his shoulders and from his mind. But he couldn't relax completely. He knew too many casualties would quickly alert the calvary, and the goddamn calvary was not invited to this war, because Peter Redding was determined to win.
November 11, 2011
Chapter Eight
Today Alex and I race up to LA (the word race should make you laugh if you know Southern California Freeways at all). It typically takes us three hours up and three hours back on a Friday. It just is what it is. However, the good news is that he is doing very well. The bad news is, I am still trying to finish the last minute edits on the book. Should be next week.
Here is Chapter 8 of COVERT REICH. Hope you enjoy!
Kelly was now following the man toward a private room to talk. Following the detective. Tony Pazzini. Her heart raced and every nerve pumped adrenaline. He still hadn't told her anything other than he needed to speak with her in private. However, her gut told her what was coming.
This was about Jake. It had to be.
As they headed down the hall, they passed an orderly who dropped a handful of charts. Kelly bent down to help pick them up. The detective grabbed her arm. "I think he can handle that."
"I was only trying to help."
He touched her shoulder. "I understand but what we need to discuss is important."
She turned to him, hands on her hips. "I'm not going any further until I know what this is about." She needed to know. She needed to hear it.
"Look, I just need to ask you some questions. I'd like to do it in private."
Anger, fear, and confusion stirred a vicious brew inside her. Kelly was terrified of what he was about to tell her. She nodded.
"Follow me."
Once inside the doctor's lounge, she turned and faced him, crossing her arms. "Okay. Now can you tell me what is going on here?"
"Did you have an appointment with Dr. Jake Hamilton this evening?"
"I did. We were supposed to have dinner together."
"He didn't show up," the detective stated.
Kelly closed her eyes for a second. "No. I was on my way downstairs to see him when you came off the elevator." Beads of perspiration formed on her top lip.
"I am sorry, but Dr. Hamilton was found murdered about an hour ago."
Blood drained from her face as her stomach twisted into a knot that made her want to vomit, leaving a sour burn in the back of her throat. She gagged from the wine that came back up. Her hands shook, and a cold descended upon her, chilling her whole body. The detective reached out and took her elbow as she collapsed onto the yellow sofa. She put her face in her palms, too stunned to cry. Too stunned to think.
Only one thought came to mind: She was the reason Jake was dead.
She knew that with the most painful certainty.
The detective poured her a glass of water. "Do you think you can answer a few more questions for me?" he asked. "I'm sorry to do this now, but it's necessary."
She nodded. "I'll try."
"Okay. Thank you. So, you did plan to meet with Dr. Hamilton this evening?"
"I did." She was tearing up again.
"What time was your dinner set for?"
"Seven-thirty," she answered, barely audible.
"Where were you meeting?" He jotted a note down on his pocket pad.
"Tuscany's."
"Was this a date?"
"No. Dr. Hamilton and I were friends." Her gaze fell to the ground. She didn't want him to know she had considered the possibility of being more, but now…
"So you were not romantically involved with Dr. Hamilton?"
She hesitated. "No I just told you that it wasn't a date." She took a sip of her water and ran her fingers through her light brown hair. She eyed him. He'd hit a hot button. He gave her a weak smile. "We planned to meet for dinner because we needed to discuss some patient cases we were working on."
"A dinner date to discuss business, then?" He decided to ignore the edge in her answer.
"Yes. Some patients, as I said."
"Did you plan on going home with him?"
She frowned. "No. That actually had not crossed my mind, Detective." Heat was rising in her face.
"Were you sexually involved with Dr. Hamilton?"
She frowned, her eyes narrowing. "I am not that kind of woman, and I don't see the relevance to that sort of questioning. I told you, he was a colleague and a friend."
"I'm working a murder case. Everything is relevant. I don't judge what kind of woman you are, Doctor. Honestly. I am only trying to establish facts. Friends and colleagues can mean one thing to one person and a something else to another. And then once you quantify it as a relationship, we are at another level."
"What are you, a detective or a relationship expert?"
This got a slight laugh out of him. "Well, actually, in my line of business you become a little bit of everything, I guess."
She frowned. "I still don't understand your questions."
He paused for a second. "I'm gonna lay it on the line."
"I wish you would."
"When I have a murder case, I have to flesh everything out. I'm sure you can appreciate that. And the thing is, I can't discount anything. Many times these cases wind up being crimes of passion or at least the victim knew the assailant."
She crossed her arms, the frown on her face deepening. "Wait a minute, are you suggesting I murdered Jake?" She let out a soft cry. "Oh my God! As I said our relationship was a friendship and one of mutual respect. I liked him. I liked him a lot." The tears welled in her eyes again. "He was an excellent doctor and a decent man. He was also my friend." She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and tried hard to contain her emotion. "We were not intimate. We've never been. I don't know where things were headed, Detective. But what I can tell you is there is no way in hell I killed Jake." She shook her head vehemently.
"Hey, I'm sorry if I offended you. I am only doing my job. What do you say we get back to the questions and I can let you go home?"
"Fine. Ask away."
"Where were you between seven-fifteen and eight-fifteen this evening?"
"I left the hospital, drove to the restaurant, and waited there for Jake. When he didn't show up, I came back here. I think you know the rest." She stated it matter-of-factly and wiped the last of her tears away.
"Can someone verify they saw you at the restaurant?"
"I assume so. A hostess seated me. A waiter waited on me."
"Okay, good."
"Are we finished? I would really like to go home now."
"Yes. I'll probably need to speak to you again. Some time tomorrow. I may have more questions."
"I will be here." She left after that, holding back more tears, choking back emotion, feeling harassed, and convinced she had in some way caused her friend's murder.
Here is Chapter 8 of COVERT REICH. Hope you enjoy!
Kelly was now following the man toward a private room to talk. Following the detective. Tony Pazzini. Her heart raced and every nerve pumped adrenaline. He still hadn't told her anything other than he needed to speak with her in private. However, her gut told her what was coming.
This was about Jake. It had to be.
As they headed down the hall, they passed an orderly who dropped a handful of charts. Kelly bent down to help pick them up. The detective grabbed her arm. "I think he can handle that."
"I was only trying to help."
He touched her shoulder. "I understand but what we need to discuss is important."
She turned to him, hands on her hips. "I'm not going any further until I know what this is about." She needed to know. She needed to hear it.
"Look, I just need to ask you some questions. I'd like to do it in private."
Anger, fear, and confusion stirred a vicious brew inside her. Kelly was terrified of what he was about to tell her. She nodded.
"Follow me."
Once inside the doctor's lounge, she turned and faced him, crossing her arms. "Okay. Now can you tell me what is going on here?"
"Did you have an appointment with Dr. Jake Hamilton this evening?"
"I did. We were supposed to have dinner together."
"He didn't show up," the detective stated.
Kelly closed her eyes for a second. "No. I was on my way downstairs to see him when you came off the elevator." Beads of perspiration formed on her top lip.
"I am sorry, but Dr. Hamilton was found murdered about an hour ago."
Blood drained from her face as her stomach twisted into a knot that made her want to vomit, leaving a sour burn in the back of her throat. She gagged from the wine that came back up. Her hands shook, and a cold descended upon her, chilling her whole body. The detective reached out and took her elbow as she collapsed onto the yellow sofa. She put her face in her palms, too stunned to cry. Too stunned to think.
Only one thought came to mind: She was the reason Jake was dead.
She knew that with the most painful certainty.
The detective poured her a glass of water. "Do you think you can answer a few more questions for me?" he asked. "I'm sorry to do this now, but it's necessary."
She nodded. "I'll try."
"Okay. Thank you. So, you did plan to meet with Dr. Hamilton this evening?"
"I did." She was tearing up again.
"What time was your dinner set for?"
"Seven-thirty," she answered, barely audible.
"Where were you meeting?" He jotted a note down on his pocket pad.
"Tuscany's."
"Was this a date?"
"No. Dr. Hamilton and I were friends." Her gaze fell to the ground. She didn't want him to know she had considered the possibility of being more, but now…
"So you were not romantically involved with Dr. Hamilton?"
She hesitated. "No I just told you that it wasn't a date." She took a sip of her water and ran her fingers through her light brown hair. She eyed him. He'd hit a hot button. He gave her a weak smile. "We planned to meet for dinner because we needed to discuss some patient cases we were working on."
"A dinner date to discuss business, then?" He decided to ignore the edge in her answer.
"Yes. Some patients, as I said."
"Did you plan on going home with him?"
She frowned. "No. That actually had not crossed my mind, Detective." Heat was rising in her face.
"Were you sexually involved with Dr. Hamilton?"
She frowned, her eyes narrowing. "I am not that kind of woman, and I don't see the relevance to that sort of questioning. I told you, he was a colleague and a friend."
"I'm working a murder case. Everything is relevant. I don't judge what kind of woman you are, Doctor. Honestly. I am only trying to establish facts. Friends and colleagues can mean one thing to one person and a something else to another. And then once you quantify it as a relationship, we are at another level."
"What are you, a detective or a relationship expert?"
This got a slight laugh out of him. "Well, actually, in my line of business you become a little bit of everything, I guess."
She frowned. "I still don't understand your questions."
He paused for a second. "I'm gonna lay it on the line."
"I wish you would."
"When I have a murder case, I have to flesh everything out. I'm sure you can appreciate that. And the thing is, I can't discount anything. Many times these cases wind up being crimes of passion or at least the victim knew the assailant."
She crossed her arms, the frown on her face deepening. "Wait a minute, are you suggesting I murdered Jake?" She let out a soft cry. "Oh my God! As I said our relationship was a friendship and one of mutual respect. I liked him. I liked him a lot." The tears welled in her eyes again. "He was an excellent doctor and a decent man. He was also my friend." She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and tried hard to contain her emotion. "We were not intimate. We've never been. I don't know where things were headed, Detective. But what I can tell you is there is no way in hell I killed Jake." She shook her head vehemently.
"Hey, I'm sorry if I offended you. I am only doing my job. What do you say we get back to the questions and I can let you go home?"
"Fine. Ask away."
"Where were you between seven-fifteen and eight-fifteen this evening?"
"I left the hospital, drove to the restaurant, and waited there for Jake. When he didn't show up, I came back here. I think you know the rest." She stated it matter-of-factly and wiped the last of her tears away.
"Can someone verify they saw you at the restaurant?"
"I assume so. A hostess seated me. A waiter waited on me."
"Okay, good."
"Are we finished? I would really like to go home now."
"Yes. I'll probably need to speak to you again. Some time tomorrow. I may have more questions."
"I will be here." She left after that, holding back more tears, choking back emotion, feeling harassed, and convinced she had in some way caused her friend's murder.
Today Alex and I race up to LA (the word race should make...
Today Alex and I race up to LA (the word race should make you laugh if you know Southern California Freeways at all). It typically takes us three hours up and three hours back on a Friday. It just is what it is. However, the good news is that he is doing very well. The bad news is, I am still trying to finish the last minute edits on the book. Should be next week.
Here is Chapter 8 of COVERT REICH. Hope you enjoy!
Kelly was now following the man toward a private room to talk. Following the detective. Tony Pazzini. Her heart raced and every nerve pumped adrenaline. He still hadn't told her anything other than he needed to speak with her in private. However, her gut told her what was coming.
This was about Jake. It had to be.
As they headed down the hall, they passed an orderly who dropped a handful of charts. Kelly bent down to help pick them up. The detective grabbed her arm. "I think he can handle that."
"I was only trying to help."
He touched her shoulder. "I understand but what we need to discuss is important."
She turned to him, hands on her hips. "I'm not going any further until I know what this is about." She needed to know. She needed to hear it.
"Look, I just need to ask you some questions. I'd like to do it in private."
Anger, fear, and confusion stirred a vicious brew inside her. Kelly was terrified of what he was about to tell her. She nodded.
"Follow me."
Once inside the doctor's lounge, she turned and faced him, crossing her arms. "Okay. Now can you tell me what is going on here?"
"Did you have an appointment with Dr. Jake Hamilton this evening?"
"I did. We were supposed to have dinner together."
"He didn't show up," the detective stated.
Kelly closed her eyes for a second. "No. I was on my way downstairs to see him when you came off the elevator." Beads of perspiration formed on her top lip.
"I am sorry, but Dr. Hamilton was found murdered about an hour ago."
Blood drained from her face as her stomach twisted into a knot that made her want to vomit, leaving a sour burn in the back of her throat. She gagged from the wine that came back up. Her hands shook, and a cold descended upon her, chilling her whole body. The detective reached out and took her elbow as she collapsed onto the yellow sofa. She put her face in her palms, too stunned to cry. Too stunned to think.
Only one thought came to mind: She was the reason Jake was dead.
She knew that with the most painful certainty.
The detective poured her a glass of water. "Do you think you can answer a few more questions for me?" he asked. "I'm sorry to do this now, but it's necessary."
She nodded. "I'll try."
"Okay. Thank you. So, you did plan to meet with Dr. Hamilton this evening?"
"I did." She was tearing up again.
"What time was your dinner set for?"
"Seven-thirty," she answered, barely audible.
"Where were you meeting?" He jotted a note down on his pocket pad.
"Tuscany's."
"Was this a date?"
"No. Dr. Hamilton and I were friends." Her gaze fell to the ground. She didn't want him to know she had considered the possibility of being more, but now…
"So you were not romantically involved with Dr. Hamilton?"
She hesitated. "No I just told you that it wasn't a date." She took a sip of her water and ran her fingers through her light brown hair. She eyed him. He'd hit a hot button. He gave her a weak smile. "We planned to meet for dinner because we needed to discuss some patient cases we were working on."
"A dinner date to discuss business, then?" He decided to ignore the edge in her answer.
"Yes. Some patients, as I said."
"Did you plan on going home with him?"
She frowned. "No. That actually had not crossed my mind, Detective." Heat was rising in her face.
"Were you sexually involved with Dr. Hamilton?"
She frowned, her eyes narrowing. "I am not that kind of woman, and I don't see the relevance to that sort of questioning. I told you, he was a colleague and a friend."
"I'm working a murder case. Everything is relevant. I don't judge what kind of woman you are, Doctor. Honestly. I am only trying to establish facts. Friends and colleagues can mean one thing to one person and a something else to another. And then once you quantify it as a relationship, we are at another level."
"What are you, a detective or a relationship expert?"
This got a slight laugh out of him. "Well, actually, in my line of business you become a little bit of everything, I guess."
She frowned. "I still don't understand your questions."
He paused for a second. "I'm gonna lay it on the line."
"I wish you would."
"When I have a murder case, I have to flesh everything out. I'm sure you can appreciate that. And the thing is, I can't discount anything. Many times these cases wind up being crimes of passion or at least the victim knew the assailant."
She crossed her arms, the frown on her face deepening. "Wait a minute, are you suggesting I murdered Jake?" She let out a soft cry. "Oh my God! As I said our relationship was a friendship and one of mutual respect. I liked him. I liked him a lot." The tears welled in her eyes again. "He was an excellent doctor and a decent man. He was also my friend." She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and tried hard to contain her emotion. "We were not intimate. We've never been. I don't know where things were headed, Detective. But what I can tell you is there is no way in hell I killed Jake." She shook her head vehemently.
"Hey, I'm sorry if I offended you. I am only doing my job. What do you say we get back to the questions and I can let you go home?"
"Fine. Ask away."
"Where were you between seven-fifteen and eight-fifteen this evening?"
"I left the hospital, drove to the restaurant, and waited there for Jake. When he didn't show up, I came back here. I think you know the rest." She stated it matter-of-factly and wiped the last of her tears away.
"Can someone verify they saw you at the restaurant?"
"I assume so. A hostess seated me. A waiter waited on me."
"Okay, good."
"Are we finished? I would really like to go home now."
"Yes. I'll probably need to speak to you again. Some time tomorrow. I may have more questions."
"I will be here." She left after that, holding back more tears, choking back emotion, feeling harassed, and convinced she had in some way caused her friend's murder.
Here is Chapter 8 of COVERT REICH. Hope you enjoy!
Kelly was now following the man toward a private room to talk. Following the detective. Tony Pazzini. Her heart raced and every nerve pumped adrenaline. He still hadn't told her anything other than he needed to speak with her in private. However, her gut told her what was coming.
This was about Jake. It had to be.
As they headed down the hall, they passed an orderly who dropped a handful of charts. Kelly bent down to help pick them up. The detective grabbed her arm. "I think he can handle that."
"I was only trying to help."
He touched her shoulder. "I understand but what we need to discuss is important."
She turned to him, hands on her hips. "I'm not going any further until I know what this is about." She needed to know. She needed to hear it.
"Look, I just need to ask you some questions. I'd like to do it in private."
Anger, fear, and confusion stirred a vicious brew inside her. Kelly was terrified of what he was about to tell her. She nodded.
"Follow me."
Once inside the doctor's lounge, she turned and faced him, crossing her arms. "Okay. Now can you tell me what is going on here?"
"Did you have an appointment with Dr. Jake Hamilton this evening?"
"I did. We were supposed to have dinner together."
"He didn't show up," the detective stated.
Kelly closed her eyes for a second. "No. I was on my way downstairs to see him when you came off the elevator." Beads of perspiration formed on her top lip.
"I am sorry, but Dr. Hamilton was found murdered about an hour ago."
Blood drained from her face as her stomach twisted into a knot that made her want to vomit, leaving a sour burn in the back of her throat. She gagged from the wine that came back up. Her hands shook, and a cold descended upon her, chilling her whole body. The detective reached out and took her elbow as she collapsed onto the yellow sofa. She put her face in her palms, too stunned to cry. Too stunned to think.
Only one thought came to mind: She was the reason Jake was dead.
She knew that with the most painful certainty.
The detective poured her a glass of water. "Do you think you can answer a few more questions for me?" he asked. "I'm sorry to do this now, but it's necessary."
She nodded. "I'll try."
"Okay. Thank you. So, you did plan to meet with Dr. Hamilton this evening?"
"I did." She was tearing up again.
"What time was your dinner set for?"
"Seven-thirty," she answered, barely audible.
"Where were you meeting?" He jotted a note down on his pocket pad.
"Tuscany's."
"Was this a date?"
"No. Dr. Hamilton and I were friends." Her gaze fell to the ground. She didn't want him to know she had considered the possibility of being more, but now…
"So you were not romantically involved with Dr. Hamilton?"
She hesitated. "No I just told you that it wasn't a date." She took a sip of her water and ran her fingers through her light brown hair. She eyed him. He'd hit a hot button. He gave her a weak smile. "We planned to meet for dinner because we needed to discuss some patient cases we were working on."
"A dinner date to discuss business, then?" He decided to ignore the edge in her answer.
"Yes. Some patients, as I said."
"Did you plan on going home with him?"
She frowned. "No. That actually had not crossed my mind, Detective." Heat was rising in her face.
"Were you sexually involved with Dr. Hamilton?"
She frowned, her eyes narrowing. "I am not that kind of woman, and I don't see the relevance to that sort of questioning. I told you, he was a colleague and a friend."
"I'm working a murder case. Everything is relevant. I don't judge what kind of woman you are, Doctor. Honestly. I am only trying to establish facts. Friends and colleagues can mean one thing to one person and a something else to another. And then once you quantify it as a relationship, we are at another level."
"What are you, a detective or a relationship expert?"
This got a slight laugh out of him. "Well, actually, in my line of business you become a little bit of everything, I guess."
She frowned. "I still don't understand your questions."
He paused for a second. "I'm gonna lay it on the line."
"I wish you would."
"When I have a murder case, I have to flesh everything out. I'm sure you can appreciate that. And the thing is, I can't discount anything. Many times these cases wind up being crimes of passion or at least the victim knew the assailant."
She crossed her arms, the frown on her face deepening. "Wait a minute, are you suggesting I murdered Jake?" She let out a soft cry. "Oh my God! As I said our relationship was a friendship and one of mutual respect. I liked him. I liked him a lot." The tears welled in her eyes again. "He was an excellent doctor and a decent man. He was also my friend." She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and tried hard to contain her emotion. "We were not intimate. We've never been. I don't know where things were headed, Detective. But what I can tell you is there is no way in hell I killed Jake." She shook her head vehemently.
"Hey, I'm sorry if I offended you. I am only doing my job. What do you say we get back to the questions and I can let you go home?"
"Fine. Ask away."
"Where were you between seven-fifteen and eight-fifteen this evening?"
"I left the hospital, drove to the restaurant, and waited there for Jake. When he didn't show up, I came back here. I think you know the rest." She stated it matter-of-factly and wiped the last of her tears away.
"Can someone verify they saw you at the restaurant?"
"I assume so. A hostess seated me. A waiter waited on me."
"Okay, good."
"Are we finished? I would really like to go home now."
"Yes. I'll probably need to speak to you again. Some time tomorrow. I may have more questions."
"I will be here." She left after that, holding back more tears, choking back emotion, feeling harassed, and convinced she had in some way caused her friend's murder.
November 10, 2011
Waiting and Waiting...What Would You Do?
Have you ever been stood up? You know--you wait and wait for someone at a restaurant and the other person never shows. You might order a glass of wine to kill the time. You call the person's cell phone and they don't answer. Has this ever happened to you? If so, do you worry, get mad, feel miserable thinking that the person doesn't like you? Well, in this next chapter of COVERT REICH Kelly is waiting for Jake. If you read yesterday's chapter then you know that Jake is not going to show. He has been brutally murdered.
I am still tweaking and fixing and doing some revising to this book, but I will keep posting the chapters daily until I get the book out there.
Hope you enjoy!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kelly finished her Chardonnay and glanced around for any sign of Jake. None. She wasn't a big drinker, but after his strange behavior, she'd had a feeling the wine might calm her nerves. He was fifteen minutes late already, and her patience was running thin. A voice inside told her something was wrong, but she pushed the thought out of her mind and took another sip of the wine. She would give him ten more minutes. She'd called his cell phone twice already, but it'd gone straight to voicemail. Jake almost always picked up so either his battery had died or…something else had kept him.
She thought about their discussion earlier. He was a straight shooter—not evasive and not one to play games. But this felt like a game to her, and she didn't like it at all. She would've never left the hospital to meet him for dinner if she'd known he was going to blow her off. It was so unlike him. And because it was so unlike him, she knew something was terribly wrong. The sinking feeling in her stomach worsened. Five more minutes ticked away, and she decided to pay for the wine and head back to the hospital. Once in the car, she tried to reach Jake again by cell phone. She drove by his house, only a few minutes from the hospital. No lights were on and his car wasn't in the driveway. Good. Maybe he was still at the hospital, and he could explain what was going on. She wasn't leaving until he told her everything. Whatever everything was. Clearly when he'd said this was dangerous, he'd gotten her attention. What the hell could be so dangerous it would cause him to be so adamant and upset?
She pulled into the hospital parking lot and scanned it before getting out of her car. Her days at USC had taught her one could never be too careful. Walking toward the building, she noticed there were several police cars out front. She shook her head. Must've been another gang-related shooting or something.
With steeled determination, she headed to the elevator. Jake was obviously avoiding her, and she wasn't going to put up with that. He'd better be there because she planned to give him a piece of her mind. How could he drop a bombshell and not show up to explain everything?
She would find out why he had stood her up if it killed her.
There was a noticeable buzz filling the halls, a surreal tension. Something was out of whack. She spotted another policeman by the elevator. Kelly stopped an intern passing by who was reading over a report on his clipboard. "Hey. What's going on? Why all the police? Something major happening in the ER?"
He studied her for a second, his silence indicating he was deciding whether or not she was entitled to know. She flashed her credentials from the chain around her neck. His eyes widened. "Oh sorry, Doctor. I didn't realize you were staff." She nodded. "No. It's not in the ER. I don't know exactly what's up, but rumor has it there was a murder downstairs."
"What? Downstairs as in the morgue?"
"Yes."
Kelly's breathing changed, her body tensing. "Who?"
He shrugged and looked back down at his clipboard. "Sorry, I don't know. I have a patient waiting."
"Yeah, sure." Her racing thoughts took a giant turn for the worse. She tried hard to push them away, but they wouldn't budge.
She headed toward the elevator. Before she could ask the officer what was going on, the doors opened. A man with dark hair and piercing brown eyes stepped out. He glanced at Kelly. He straightened his navy and teal striped tie against his button down. "Excuse me?" she said.
He looked at her. "Yes?"
"I'm a doctor here on staff." She showed him her ID. "Could you tell me what has happened?"
"Dr. Morales."
"Yes," she said.
"You're exactly who I've been looking for."
I am still tweaking and fixing and doing some revising to this book, but I will keep posting the chapters daily until I get the book out there.
Hope you enjoy!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kelly finished her Chardonnay and glanced around for any sign of Jake. None. She wasn't a big drinker, but after his strange behavior, she'd had a feeling the wine might calm her nerves. He was fifteen minutes late already, and her patience was running thin. A voice inside told her something was wrong, but she pushed the thought out of her mind and took another sip of the wine. She would give him ten more minutes. She'd called his cell phone twice already, but it'd gone straight to voicemail. Jake almost always picked up so either his battery had died or…something else had kept him.
She thought about their discussion earlier. He was a straight shooter—not evasive and not one to play games. But this felt like a game to her, and she didn't like it at all. She would've never left the hospital to meet him for dinner if she'd known he was going to blow her off. It was so unlike him. And because it was so unlike him, she knew something was terribly wrong. The sinking feeling in her stomach worsened. Five more minutes ticked away, and she decided to pay for the wine and head back to the hospital. Once in the car, she tried to reach Jake again by cell phone. She drove by his house, only a few minutes from the hospital. No lights were on and his car wasn't in the driveway. Good. Maybe he was still at the hospital, and he could explain what was going on. She wasn't leaving until he told her everything. Whatever everything was. Clearly when he'd said this was dangerous, he'd gotten her attention. What the hell could be so dangerous it would cause him to be so adamant and upset?
She pulled into the hospital parking lot and scanned it before getting out of her car. Her days at USC had taught her one could never be too careful. Walking toward the building, she noticed there were several police cars out front. She shook her head. Must've been another gang-related shooting or something.
With steeled determination, she headed to the elevator. Jake was obviously avoiding her, and she wasn't going to put up with that. He'd better be there because she planned to give him a piece of her mind. How could he drop a bombshell and not show up to explain everything?
She would find out why he had stood her up if it killed her.
There was a noticeable buzz filling the halls, a surreal tension. Something was out of whack. She spotted another policeman by the elevator. Kelly stopped an intern passing by who was reading over a report on his clipboard. "Hey. What's going on? Why all the police? Something major happening in the ER?"
He studied her for a second, his silence indicating he was deciding whether or not she was entitled to know. She flashed her credentials from the chain around her neck. His eyes widened. "Oh sorry, Doctor. I didn't realize you were staff." She nodded. "No. It's not in the ER. I don't know exactly what's up, but rumor has it there was a murder downstairs."
"What? Downstairs as in the morgue?"
"Yes."
Kelly's breathing changed, her body tensing. "Who?"
He shrugged and looked back down at his clipboard. "Sorry, I don't know. I have a patient waiting."
"Yeah, sure." Her racing thoughts took a giant turn for the worse. She tried hard to push them away, but they wouldn't budge.
She headed toward the elevator. Before she could ask the officer what was going on, the doors opened. A man with dark hair and piercing brown eyes stepped out. He glanced at Kelly. He straightened his navy and teal striped tie against his button down. "Excuse me?" she said.
He looked at her. "Yes?"
"I'm a doctor here on staff." She showed him her ID. "Could you tell me what has happened?"
"Dr. Morales."
"Yes," she said.
"You're exactly who I've been looking for."
November 9, 2011
Chapter Six
I will be short and sweet today as I am working through last minute copy edits on this book! So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy Chapter Six of COVERT REICH.
Cheers,
Michele
CHAPTER SIX
Jake glanced at his watch. He was running late to meet Kelly. Shit. Why was he so easy to read? He couldn't lie to her. She was so damn on top of it. It was one of the things he liked about her, but at this moment, her intellect wasn't making things easy. She was involved now whether she knew it or not, and he'd have to find a way to protect her.
Well, he could just not tell her the truth. That was one idea. But then what would he tell her? And how would he convince her he wasn't lying? Her bullshit meter was too sensitive for that. It was an impossible situation. There was one thing Jake knew for sure, though: the people behind all of this were bad. Really, really bad. What choice did he have? Kelly would be relentless until she got the truth out of him. He knew that. Hell, maybe he even needed her help. Letting her in might be a good thing. Maybe there was a way the two of them could work together, figure out exactly who these people were.
Figuring out what to do about it once they knew, however, would be another story entirely.
Jake picked up the picture of his daughter again and traced the outline of her face with his fingertip. "Oh Beth, what have I gotten myself into?" He remembered a time when his little girl had complete and total faith in him, trusted him implicitly. Daddy could do no wrong. But if she knew how much danger he had put her in, she'd hate him. No. He could not tell Kelly. He would have to think of something. Send her down a dead-end path. The threats they had made about what they would do to his daughter if he breathed a single word to anyone made him shake.
He set the photo down, determined to come up with a story to pacify Kelly. He took his coat from the back of the chair and pulled it on. He walked across the hall to shut the lights off in the morgue. Ty had already gone home for the day. He glanced around the room to make sure everything was status quo and flipped the switch. "My briefcase," he said out loud. He couldn't forget that. His mind was not working the way it usually did. He was consumed by the mess he was in. He had to find a way out of it. Get back on track. This place and this situation were going to eat him alive.
He had to find a way out.
He took another step back towards his office, totally unprepared for the blow to his head.
He hadn't heard a thing, but now a warm sensation oozed down his back, the pain immense as he collapsed to the ground. A groan escaped from between his lips. His head smacked hard against the cold floor, making a loud thud. He tried to pick himself up, only to collapse again. The pain grew more intense with each labored breath. His vision blurred. He knew the warm blood trickling from the back of his neck would soon run cold.
They knew. God damn it. They knew he'd talked.
Oh God, Kelly.
His daughter!
He prayed someone would find him before he died. He had to get to her before they did. Impossible, though.
Footsteps along the floor, passing him. "Really fucking stupid. At least for your sake, we decided you are dispensable, my friend. If you weren't, I'd be killing your kid right now. Lucky for her."
Jake felt another sharp pang beginning on one side of his neck traveling across to the other. The pain numbed with the realization his throat had been cut. He attempted to bring his hands up to stop the bleeding. No chance.
He closed his eyes. An image of his daughter flashed through his mind.
Then nothing.
Cheers,
Michele
CHAPTER SIX
Jake glanced at his watch. He was running late to meet Kelly. Shit. Why was he so easy to read? He couldn't lie to her. She was so damn on top of it. It was one of the things he liked about her, but at this moment, her intellect wasn't making things easy. She was involved now whether she knew it or not, and he'd have to find a way to protect her.
Well, he could just not tell her the truth. That was one idea. But then what would he tell her? And how would he convince her he wasn't lying? Her bullshit meter was too sensitive for that. It was an impossible situation. There was one thing Jake knew for sure, though: the people behind all of this were bad. Really, really bad. What choice did he have? Kelly would be relentless until she got the truth out of him. He knew that. Hell, maybe he even needed her help. Letting her in might be a good thing. Maybe there was a way the two of them could work together, figure out exactly who these people were.
Figuring out what to do about it once they knew, however, would be another story entirely.
Jake picked up the picture of his daughter again and traced the outline of her face with his fingertip. "Oh Beth, what have I gotten myself into?" He remembered a time when his little girl had complete and total faith in him, trusted him implicitly. Daddy could do no wrong. But if she knew how much danger he had put her in, she'd hate him. No. He could not tell Kelly. He would have to think of something. Send her down a dead-end path. The threats they had made about what they would do to his daughter if he breathed a single word to anyone made him shake.
He set the photo down, determined to come up with a story to pacify Kelly. He took his coat from the back of the chair and pulled it on. He walked across the hall to shut the lights off in the morgue. Ty had already gone home for the day. He glanced around the room to make sure everything was status quo and flipped the switch. "My briefcase," he said out loud. He couldn't forget that. His mind was not working the way it usually did. He was consumed by the mess he was in. He had to find a way out of it. Get back on track. This place and this situation were going to eat him alive.
He had to find a way out.
He took another step back towards his office, totally unprepared for the blow to his head.
He hadn't heard a thing, but now a warm sensation oozed down his back, the pain immense as he collapsed to the ground. A groan escaped from between his lips. His head smacked hard against the cold floor, making a loud thud. He tried to pick himself up, only to collapse again. The pain grew more intense with each labored breath. His vision blurred. He knew the warm blood trickling from the back of his neck would soon run cold.
They knew. God damn it. They knew he'd talked.
Oh God, Kelly.
His daughter!
He prayed someone would find him before he died. He had to get to her before they did. Impossible, though.
Footsteps along the floor, passing him. "Really fucking stupid. At least for your sake, we decided you are dispensable, my friend. If you weren't, I'd be killing your kid right now. Lucky for her."
Jake felt another sharp pang beginning on one side of his neck traveling across to the other. The pain numbed with the realization his throat had been cut. He attempted to bring his hands up to stop the bleeding. No chance.
He closed his eyes. An image of his daughter flashed through his mind.
Then nothing.
I will be short and sweet today as I am working through l...
I will be short and sweet today as I am working through last minute copy edits on this book! So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy Chapter Six of COVERT REICH.
Cheers,
Michele
CHAPTER SIX
Jake glanced at his watch. He was running late to meet Kelly. Shit. Why was he so easy to read? He couldn't lie to her. She was so damn on top of it. It was one of the things he liked about her, but at this moment, her intellect wasn't making things easy. She was involved now whether she knew it or not, and he'd have to find a way to protect her.
Well, he could just not tell her the truth. That was one idea. But then what would he tell her? And how would he convince her he wasn't lying? Her bullshit meter was too sensitive for that. It was an impossible situation. There was one thing Jake knew for sure, though: the people behind all of this were bad. Really, really bad. What choice did he have? Kelly would be relentless until she got the truth out of him. He knew that. Hell, maybe he even needed her help. Letting her in might be a good thing. Maybe there was a way the two of them could work together, figure out exactly who these people were.
Figuring out what to do about it once they knew, however, would be another story entirely.
Jake picked up the picture of his daughter again and traced the outline of her face with his fingertip. "Oh Beth, what have I gotten myself into?" He remembered a time when his little girl had complete and total faith in him, trusted him implicitly. Daddy could do no wrong. But if she knew how much danger he had put her in, she'd hate him. No. He could not tell Kelly. He would have to think of something. Send her down a dead-end path. The threats they had made about what they would do to his daughter if he breathed a single word to anyone made him shake.
He set the photo down, determined to come up with a story to pacify Kelly. He took his coat from the back of the chair and pulled it on. He walked across the hall to shut the lights off in the morgue. Ty had already gone home for the day. He glanced around the room to make sure everything was status quo and flipped the switch. "My briefcase," he said out loud. He couldn't forget that. His mind was not working the way it usually did. He was consumed by the mess he was in. He had to find a way out of it. Get back on track. This place and this situation were going to eat him alive.
He had to find a way out.
He took another step back towards his office, totally unprepared for the blow to his head.
He hadn't heard a thing, but now a warm sensation oozed down his back, the pain immense as he collapsed to the ground. A groan escaped from between his lips. His head smacked hard against the cold floor, making a loud thud. He tried to pick himself up, only to collapse again. The pain grew more intense with each labored breath. His vision blurred. He knew the warm blood trickling from the back of his neck would soon run cold.
They knew. God damn it. They knew he'd talked.
Oh God, Kelly.
His daughter!
He prayed someone would find him before he died. He had to get to her before they did. Impossible, though.
Footsteps along the floor, passing him. "Really fucking stupid. At least for your sake, we decided you are dispensable, my friend. If you weren't, I'd be killing your kid right now. Lucky for her."
Jake felt another sharp pang beginning on one side of his neck traveling across to the other. The pain numbed with the realization his throat had been cut. He attempted to bring his hands up to stop the bleeding. No chance.
He closed his eyes. An image of his daughter flashed through his mind.
Then nothing.
Cheers,
Michele
CHAPTER SIX
Jake glanced at his watch. He was running late to meet Kelly. Shit. Why was he so easy to read? He couldn't lie to her. She was so damn on top of it. It was one of the things he liked about her, but at this moment, her intellect wasn't making things easy. She was involved now whether she knew it or not, and he'd have to find a way to protect her.
Well, he could just not tell her the truth. That was one idea. But then what would he tell her? And how would he convince her he wasn't lying? Her bullshit meter was too sensitive for that. It was an impossible situation. There was one thing Jake knew for sure, though: the people behind all of this were bad. Really, really bad. What choice did he have? Kelly would be relentless until she got the truth out of him. He knew that. Hell, maybe he even needed her help. Letting her in might be a good thing. Maybe there was a way the two of them could work together, figure out exactly who these people were.
Figuring out what to do about it once they knew, however, would be another story entirely.
Jake picked up the picture of his daughter again and traced the outline of her face with his fingertip. "Oh Beth, what have I gotten myself into?" He remembered a time when his little girl had complete and total faith in him, trusted him implicitly. Daddy could do no wrong. But if she knew how much danger he had put her in, she'd hate him. No. He could not tell Kelly. He would have to think of something. Send her down a dead-end path. The threats they had made about what they would do to his daughter if he breathed a single word to anyone made him shake.
He set the photo down, determined to come up with a story to pacify Kelly. He took his coat from the back of the chair and pulled it on. He walked across the hall to shut the lights off in the morgue. Ty had already gone home for the day. He glanced around the room to make sure everything was status quo and flipped the switch. "My briefcase," he said out loud. He couldn't forget that. His mind was not working the way it usually did. He was consumed by the mess he was in. He had to find a way out of it. Get back on track. This place and this situation were going to eat him alive.
He had to find a way out.
He took another step back towards his office, totally unprepared for the blow to his head.
He hadn't heard a thing, but now a warm sensation oozed down his back, the pain immense as he collapsed to the ground. A groan escaped from between his lips. His head smacked hard against the cold floor, making a loud thud. He tried to pick himself up, only to collapse again. The pain grew more intense with each labored breath. His vision blurred. He knew the warm blood trickling from the back of his neck would soon run cold.
They knew. God damn it. They knew he'd talked.
Oh God, Kelly.
His daughter!
He prayed someone would find him before he died. He had to get to her before they did. Impossible, though.
Footsteps along the floor, passing him. "Really fucking stupid. At least for your sake, we decided you are dispensable, my friend. If you weren't, I'd be killing your kid right now. Lucky for her."
Jake felt another sharp pang beginning on one side of his neck traveling across to the other. The pain numbed with the realization his throat had been cut. He attempted to bring his hands up to stop the bleeding. No chance.
He closed his eyes. An image of his daughter flashed through his mind.
Then nothing.
November 8, 2011
If We Could All Just Get Along... &Chapter Five of Covert Reich
Hatred and intolerance is a world-wide evil. We don't live in a world where we all "just get along." Wouldn't that be nice? Think of it. If human beings allowed other human beings to be, as long as no one was hurting anyone. People and our governments around the world have been destroying various cultures and races since the beginning of time for either religious reasons, political reasons, greed, power, race, and sex. I know that I wake up everyday and am grateful that as a woman I was born in this country. I can not even imagine the duress that so many women in the world survive under.
It's this type of hatred and the people who govern and fuel it that the theme of COVERT REICH is based on. However, on the flip side the book is also about those people in the world ready to fight against ignorance and intolerance. It is a story that comes down to the basic good vs. evil. Here is Chapter Five. I hope you enjoy!
Cheers,
Michele
CHAPTER FIVE
After another sleepless night, Ryan decided to get up at 5:00 a.m. and head to the lab. If they were watching, they'd see how dedicated he was. And most importantly, they'd hopefully assume the brain washing had worked and he—good, all-American white boy—had truly joined their ranks.
He'd been watching his back. He had to. If The Brotherhood knew his background and his true feelings, Ryan knew what they could do. He had to act as if he had been converted.
How he hated these men and what they stood for. How he hated himself. He was a white man. A goddamned white man.
A goddamned white man raised in a good home by good people. His father was a teacher, his mother a nurse, and their best friends were the Martins. The Martins always had a little more money than the Horners, but that didn't matter to Ryan or his parents because the Martins were cool, decent people who were gracious, kind, and fun to be around. And although they might have had it better than Ryan's family, in some ways the Martins had it worse. The Martins were black.
Darnell Martin was Ryan's best friend, and Darnell's sister, Tonya, had been his first real girlfriend.
Then life happened.
The Martins moved to Aspen. The Horners stayed in Boston. Ryan went to BU. Darnell to UCLA. Ryan became a chemist and Darnell went into politics. They remained friends, but life carried them in different directions. Boy had it ever. Ryan shook his head as he sped down the immaculate four-lane highway, trying to erase the memories. He could never contact Darnell now. If he did, they would know.
And they knew everything. They had him by the short hairs. Ryan sighed heavily with memories of his old friend and his old life pervasive in his head. He pulled into the garage at Frauen Pharmaceuticals—a privately owned company based in Germany with headquarters in Los Angeles. Frauen had some very influential investors, and was an up and comer in the women's pharmaceuticals market. They produced pills for menopause, anxiety, depression; they were even working on a Viagra-like pill that would heighten sexuality for women. But Ryan didn't develop any of those drugs. Not by a long shot.
He parked the Audi and got out his pass key. After getting through security, he went up to his office, and then into the lab where he stopped in his tracks.
"Good morning, Ryan."
It was Peter Redding. Redding was the CEO of Frauen Pharmaceuticals. He was also much, much more.
"Good morning, Mr. Redding. I didn't know you were flying in."
A crooked smiled spread across Redding's face. His blue eyes held an unpleasant light. Ryan was pretty certain the man was Satan himself. He was handsome, by most people's standards. Peter was of average height, but well built. He obviously spent a lot of time in the gym. Redding was probably closer to fifty than forty, but it didn't show. His salt and pepper hair sparkled under the fluorescent lights. "I came to see you. Only you. Come with me."
Ryan's stomach sank. They had found out. They knew about the e-mail.
"What's this about, sir?"
"I will explain in my office."
Ryan's stomach twisted. Wished he'd gone in and kissed the twins' cheeks goodbye that morning. Oh God. The twins. Jeanine! What if they were there now, with them? What if they were hurting his family? Killing them? The memory of Frederick Färber holding a gun to his head while he witnessed the torture and murders of The Petersens vividly flashed in his mind. What if that bastard Färber was in his home? Sweat slicked his back. He thought he might throw up.
Redding opened two double-wide Mahogany doors and Ryan followed him inside. "Sit down," Redding pointed to a chair at the conference table and picked up a TV remote, turning on a screen in front of them.
Ryan closed his eyes for a second, knowing what was coming next. His stomach sank.
"Do you see this, Horner?"
Ryan opened in his eyes and a wave of relief hit him. It was a baby hooked up to all sorts of IV's and monitors. He nodded and with trepidation answered, "Yes."
"And how about this?"
A young woman—a girl really—Hispanic…dead on a slab.
"Yes."
Redding turned off the TV. "This is not what I fucking want! This is not what we want, Horner! We want aborted fetuses, we want sterile women. Dead women alert people. They make people scratch their heads and wonder why, why, why?! This is fucked up! Do you understand what we are doing here? Do you?!"
"Yes, sir." He tried to keep his hands from shaking.
"I am not sure you do." Redding turned the TV back on and now the screen showed his beautiful wife in their kitchen drinking coffee. Then it changed to show his five years old daughters eating cereal in front of the TV in his family room.
"No," he whispered.
"No what?"
They had cameras throughout his house. Why was he even surprised by this? "Please don't hurt them."
"I don't want to, Ryan. I really don't. You have a lovely wife. Cute kids. I like you. I heard you were the best. That's why you got the job. And of course, Petersen turned it down." He frowned and it was obviously forced. Redding paused a beat, then his frown turned upward into a wicked smile. "Yes. I like you and I am going to give you another chance to make things right. Fix it. Fix the problem. I have a fucking race to purify, and I can't have people asking questions about dead girls. Isolate and fix the problem so you can continue to go home every night to your lovely wife and cute kids. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. You have two weeks. Start testing those fucking rats and monkeys of yours and get me the results I want."
Ryan looked up at the TV as Redding turned it off. His wife. His daughters. Ryan would do whatever Redding wanted. He would find a way.
It's this type of hatred and the people who govern and fuel it that the theme of COVERT REICH is based on. However, on the flip side the book is also about those people in the world ready to fight against ignorance and intolerance. It is a story that comes down to the basic good vs. evil. Here is Chapter Five. I hope you enjoy!
Cheers,
Michele
CHAPTER FIVE
After another sleepless night, Ryan decided to get up at 5:00 a.m. and head to the lab. If they were watching, they'd see how dedicated he was. And most importantly, they'd hopefully assume the brain washing had worked and he—good, all-American white boy—had truly joined their ranks.
He'd been watching his back. He had to. If The Brotherhood knew his background and his true feelings, Ryan knew what they could do. He had to act as if he had been converted.
How he hated these men and what they stood for. How he hated himself. He was a white man. A goddamned white man.
A goddamned white man raised in a good home by good people. His father was a teacher, his mother a nurse, and their best friends were the Martins. The Martins always had a little more money than the Horners, but that didn't matter to Ryan or his parents because the Martins were cool, decent people who were gracious, kind, and fun to be around. And although they might have had it better than Ryan's family, in some ways the Martins had it worse. The Martins were black.
Darnell Martin was Ryan's best friend, and Darnell's sister, Tonya, had been his first real girlfriend.
Then life happened.
The Martins moved to Aspen. The Horners stayed in Boston. Ryan went to BU. Darnell to UCLA. Ryan became a chemist and Darnell went into politics. They remained friends, but life carried them in different directions. Boy had it ever. Ryan shook his head as he sped down the immaculate four-lane highway, trying to erase the memories. He could never contact Darnell now. If he did, they would know.
And they knew everything. They had him by the short hairs. Ryan sighed heavily with memories of his old friend and his old life pervasive in his head. He pulled into the garage at Frauen Pharmaceuticals—a privately owned company based in Germany with headquarters in Los Angeles. Frauen had some very influential investors, and was an up and comer in the women's pharmaceuticals market. They produced pills for menopause, anxiety, depression; they were even working on a Viagra-like pill that would heighten sexuality for women. But Ryan didn't develop any of those drugs. Not by a long shot.
He parked the Audi and got out his pass key. After getting through security, he went up to his office, and then into the lab where he stopped in his tracks.
"Good morning, Ryan."
It was Peter Redding. Redding was the CEO of Frauen Pharmaceuticals. He was also much, much more.
"Good morning, Mr. Redding. I didn't know you were flying in."
A crooked smiled spread across Redding's face. His blue eyes held an unpleasant light. Ryan was pretty certain the man was Satan himself. He was handsome, by most people's standards. Peter was of average height, but well built. He obviously spent a lot of time in the gym. Redding was probably closer to fifty than forty, but it didn't show. His salt and pepper hair sparkled under the fluorescent lights. "I came to see you. Only you. Come with me."
Ryan's stomach sank. They had found out. They knew about the e-mail.
"What's this about, sir?"
"I will explain in my office."
Ryan's stomach twisted. Wished he'd gone in and kissed the twins' cheeks goodbye that morning. Oh God. The twins. Jeanine! What if they were there now, with them? What if they were hurting his family? Killing them? The memory of Frederick Färber holding a gun to his head while he witnessed the torture and murders of The Petersens vividly flashed in his mind. What if that bastard Färber was in his home? Sweat slicked his back. He thought he might throw up.
Redding opened two double-wide Mahogany doors and Ryan followed him inside. "Sit down," Redding pointed to a chair at the conference table and picked up a TV remote, turning on a screen in front of them.
Ryan closed his eyes for a second, knowing what was coming next. His stomach sank.
"Do you see this, Horner?"
Ryan opened in his eyes and a wave of relief hit him. It was a baby hooked up to all sorts of IV's and monitors. He nodded and with trepidation answered, "Yes."
"And how about this?"
A young woman—a girl really—Hispanic…dead on a slab.
"Yes."
Redding turned off the TV. "This is not what I fucking want! This is not what we want, Horner! We want aborted fetuses, we want sterile women. Dead women alert people. They make people scratch their heads and wonder why, why, why?! This is fucked up! Do you understand what we are doing here? Do you?!"
"Yes, sir." He tried to keep his hands from shaking.
"I am not sure you do." Redding turned the TV back on and now the screen showed his beautiful wife in their kitchen drinking coffee. Then it changed to show his five years old daughters eating cereal in front of the TV in his family room.
"No," he whispered.
"No what?"
They had cameras throughout his house. Why was he even surprised by this? "Please don't hurt them."
"I don't want to, Ryan. I really don't. You have a lovely wife. Cute kids. I like you. I heard you were the best. That's why you got the job. And of course, Petersen turned it down." He frowned and it was obviously forced. Redding paused a beat, then his frown turned upward into a wicked smile. "Yes. I like you and I am going to give you another chance to make things right. Fix it. Fix the problem. I have a fucking race to purify, and I can't have people asking questions about dead girls. Isolate and fix the problem so you can continue to go home every night to your lovely wife and cute kids. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. You have two weeks. Start testing those fucking rats and monkeys of yours and get me the results I want."
Ryan looked up at the TV as Redding turned it off. His wife. His daughters. Ryan would do whatever Redding wanted. He would find a way.
