Maverick Page 29

  CHAPTER ONE Friday, 6:47 A.M. Glowing silver embers fell from the sky over Chicago and all of her suburbs. The glittery

  flakes spread over the city faster than dawn could shoot its rays of new morning light. Night hung on by her fingernails, the sun trapped behind the horizon for a precious few minutes. The early risers, those who initially believed themselves blessed to witness a miracle, gasped in awe and cried at the unearthly beauty glittering down over them like a billion falling stars.

  Then the screaming began as everything and everyone, nine million people, burned to ash in a matter of minutes.

  Four Days Earlier…6:47 AM

  Silence hovered over the water and a few moments of peace settled over Tim like a cool blanket on a hot July day. He grinned and finished tying the spinner on his line. The softly lapping water, smell of wet vegetation, and honking geese gliding around the edges of Hendrick Lake were as far from the desert sand and gunfire as he could get. Monday morning meant most people were back at work, leaving the lake and the best fishing spots empty…just the way he liked it.

  Bandit curled up in her bed on the floor of the nine-foot aluminum boat, content to sleep for a few more hours. The tiny Pekingese mix was used to his routine. Fish. Work. Fly. She did it all. When he’d flown home to bury his parents, she’d been a four-month old puppy he could fit inside his combat boot. The puppy had been his mother’s whim and a completely spoiled lapdog. The tiny pooch had lived a life of luxury traveling in his mother’s purse everywhere she went. He’d considered giving the pup away after the funeral, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. That was nine months ago. The little girl wasn’t much bigger now, a whopping ten pounds soaking wet, but she kept him company, she was smart, she liked to fish, and she was the only family he had left.

  “Let’s see what we can catch today, girl.” Tim cast his line out over his favorite fishing spot and let the spinner sink a few inches before slowly reeling it back in. The rhythm and monotony chased away the last of his lingering nightmares. Sand. Bitter cold. Death.

  Bandit growled low in her throat and got to her feet, rumbling like a tiny electric toy stuck in the “On” position. The hair on her body started to rise, forming a round fluffy brown and white snowball with huge brown eyes. Bandit looked like a cartoon character. Tim would’ve laughed, but the hair on his arms and head crackled with static electricity as well and rose to attention like a thousand tiny soldiers. The water puckered as if it were being hit by raindrops, but there were no clouds. No rain. No thunderstorms on the horizon waiting to zap him and his boat into oblivion with a stray bolt of lightning.

  Tim reeled in his line and stashed the fishing pole in its spot along the side of his seat. Bandit stood at rigid attention on her pillow and continued to growl, a steady little rumble of warning that set his teeth on edge. They were too exposed on the water, too out in the open. He clenched his jaw to keep the stream of expletives from rolling off his tongue. Whatever this was, it wasn’t normal. His silence came as automatic as breathing. He didn’t start the small trolling motor. He took out an oar and paddled smoothly for the tree line behind his house. Two minutes, perhaps three, and he’d be under cover.

  The electrical buzz building in the air continued to grow stronger until he could hear the slight hum around him. His skin prickled and the water on the side of the boat rose around him, forming hundreds of fluid stalagmites rising, bursting, and sinking back into the water faster than he could track them.

  Earthquake? E.M.P? What the hell?

  The electric charge shocked him with static build-up every time he moved. Time to get off the water before whatever was happening cooked him in place or worse.

  He glided into the reeds only a few feet from shore and tried to figure out how he could get off the boat without touching the supercharged water. Any second now he expected stunned or dead fish to start popping to the surface. Maybe the Fish and Game boys were doing this for a count or culling of the lake. He couldn’t imagine why they would, but damn it, they should’ve posted a warning!

  Bandit yelped and sunk to her belly, whimpering and shivering. A thunderous boom filled the air and a burst of silver light to his right blinded him. Instinct drove him to the bottom of his boat for cover and his mind raced with possibilities.

  A bomb? Lightning?

  Whatever it was ruined a perfectly good fishing trip.

  As suddenly as it all began, it was over. The super-charged air dissipated like it had never been and his hair returned to its usual resting place. His clothes stopped crackling. The water, roiling moments ago, returned to a serene and placid lapping against the side of his small boat. The geese took up their honking as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Bandit suddenly leaped to her feet and jumped onto the bench seat he’d just dived off of. Her curled tail wagged fiercely as she yapped at something just out of his sight.

  Ears still ringing from the blast of lightning, he pulled his knife from its sheath at his waist and lifted his head just enough to see over the edge of the boat.

  An unconscious woman floated, face up, at the water’s edge. Naked. Her head was toward shore in no more than three or four inches of water, leaving the rest of her long, willowy body floating alongside his boat. Was she dead? That’s all he needed. Dead body, 9-1-1 call, and fifteen hours at the police station saying, “I don’t know,” until his tongue was bleeding.

  Shit. He didn’t dare get in the water and risk immediate electrocution. Bandit had no such inhibitions.

  “No!”

  Too late. The little wet rat swam happily to the woman’s side and sniffed her hair, sopping wet tail wagging like a mop waving him into the water.

  “You little turkey.” With a sigh, he jumped over the side after his crazy dog into knee deep water then leaned over the woman, feeling for a pulse. His shoulders relaxed when the steady Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm as No lacerations. No bumps on the head or beat of her heart thrummed beneath his fingertips. if she were in a deep, dreamless sleep. No blood. obvious injury.

  She was, in a word, perfect.

  But who was she, and how did she end up here?

  Book 2 – Timewalker Chronicles: Silver Storm now available Book 1 – Timewalker Chronicles: Red Night now available

  Excerpt from Killing Secrets Karen Docter

  Copyright 2012 by Karen Docter

  Four weeks. Two days. Sixteen hours. ‘Til death. The first time he’d laid eyes on her, he stood on the threshold of a doorway he dare not cross. He fell into her fathomless dark gaze, unable, unwilling to shake his soul free, and in that one moment he knew.

  She was meant for him to love.

  Untouched by the sordid life that flourished around her, she was sunlight in a gray existence. A smile in a dingy room. A joy such as he’d never known. She was a gift from a cold, unforgiving God. Forever innocent.

  Why God would give him such a precious angel, he didn’t know. But he suddenly knew what he was willing to die for. What he’d kill for.

  In that instant of clarity the monster that lurked in the dark recesses of his mind was freed. A monster designed to kill. To live and die. Over and over again. Until his angel ascended once more to her place in Heaven at God’s feet where he couldn’t reach her.

  ‘Til death parted them, she’d been his and his alone.

  Certain she’d been lost to him forever this time, the shock of spotting her last week in Lodo, a lower downtown section of the city, nearly brought him to his knees. His brain tried to tell him he was mistaken again. Her hairstyle and clothes were different. She had more curves than he remembered. But when she’d smiled at him, his soul recognized her. Somehow, some way, his fractious God had been appeased and given him yet another chance.

  The past seven days had been hell. Watching her. Wanting to take her. Knowing he couldn’t screw up and lose her again. Tonight, his preparations in place, she’d return to his side where she belonged. And this time, he wouldn’t let her go.

 
Breathing slow and measured through the full-face ski mask he’d bought at a thrift store he sucked in a lungful of musty stench. In this uncommon late-May heat wave, he was sweating bullets but the wool soaked it up before it could sting his eyes. The itching would drive him insane, though, if she didn’t come home from work soon.

  The Lodo sports bar where she waited tables closed almost an hour ago. She couldn’t have gone on a date at two o’clock on a Thursday morning, could she?

  Three times he’d entered her ground floor apartment after she’d left for work, and he’d seen no sign she was involved with anyone. No jockey shorts mixed with her panties in the hamper. No extra razor. The food in the refrigerator wasn’t enough to feed a cat, let alone her and a boyfriend, and the only scent on her pillows was floral. The sole message from a male on her answering machine had identified himself as a special research librarian from the Denver Public Library reminding her to pick up the copy of “The Warwick Genealogy” she’d requested.

  That didn’t mean she wasn’t still involved with him, the almighty scion of Thorne Enterprises. Did she still crawl into his bed like a whore?

  Screams.

  Blood.

  Death.

  No! That was a mistake!

  Was it? The insidious whisper lashed him from the dark place in his pounding skull.

  He rejected the monstrous voice, the vivid images. Think of something else. Anything else. Forgetforgetfor—

  A car alarm screamed in an outlying parking lot and dragged him out of his fugue. His eyes cleared. The pain behind them eased to a level he’d learned to carry over the years.

  Soon, he would kill the nightmares forever. Patrick Thorne would die and the secrets with him.

  He hadn’t punished Thorne enough yet though. He’d ruin the contractor’s reputation, his livelihood, and destroy everything he loved most in the world. Just as Thorne had destroyed his life. Then, the man would die.

  Retribution was almost at hand, but not tonight. This night was about her.

  Where the hell was she?

  There! Her tennis shoes slapped the sidewalk as she approached. He caught a flash of uniform—shorts and sports shirt, both too tight for decency. Then she walked out of the weak light that pooled across the commons into the dark well that led to her door. Her building superintendent had replaced her broken porch light this morning, but he’d smashed it again. He smiled when she cursed someone named Ronnie.

  With a jingle of keys, she passed the niche he’d carved for himself in the shrubs. A punch of adrenaline surged through him, made him lightheaded with anticipation. He shook the buzz from his head and crashed out of the bushes with more noise than he intended.

  Her head snapped left. She shot a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. She lunged for the safety of her door.

  He chased after her, grabbed her by the throat. A squeeze of her windpipe cut off her scream. He didn’t want to damage her too much. He just needed to get her alone.

  To atone. To give him another chance.

  With her soft body pressed against him, he groaned with pleasure. It had been so long! For a moment he forgot his purpose, lost in the new scent of her, in the innocent softness of her curves against him. Her breasts were full beneath his forearm. Her ass cradled his stiff penis. With another groan, his grip relaxed.

  She screamed. Struggling, she broke loose of his hold.

  Shit! Reaching out, he snagged her long ponytail and yanked her back hard. With his other hand, he strangled her next scream into a whimper. “Do that again,” he grated out, “I’ll use my knife.” The honed blade was secure in his pocket but she didn’t know that.

  “I have money,” she croaked. “Three hundred. Tips. In my pocket. Please! Don’t—”

  “Shh. Don’t fight me. Shhh,” he crooned into her hair. He tugged a chloroform-laced rag from his pants pocket and fitted it over her nose and mouth. “Just give me another chance, Angel, and everything will be fine.”

  This time she’d make the right choice because, God only knew, he’d truly go insane if he had to kill her all over again.

  Join Karen Docter on the dark side of danger and romance with Killing Secrets, the first in her Thorne’s Thorns romantic suspense series. Coming soon!

  www.karendocter.com

  Excerpt from Gnome on the Range By Jennifer Zane Chapter One

  “I’m not sure which one I want. I didn’t realize there were so many choices!” The woman wasn’t on the hunt for a new car or juice boxes at the grocery store. Nope. She wanted a dildo. I called her type a Waffler. Someone who contemplated all options before even attempting to make a choice. Because of Miss Waffler, I had ten different dildo models spread out across the counter. Glass, silicone, jelly and battery powered. She needed help.

  That’s where I came in. My name is Jane West and I run Goldilocks, the adult store my mother-in-law opened back in the seventies. Story goes she named it after the fairytale character when a mother bear and her two cubs walked down Willson right in front of the store the week before it opened. She called it fate. Or it could have been because her name is Goldie, so it made sense. I started working for her when my husband died, a temporary arrangement that helped her out. Three years later, things had turned long-term temporary.

  The store was tasteful considering the offerings. The walls were a fresh white, shelves and displays just like you’d find at the typical department store. Then tasteful made way for tacky. Gold toned industrial carpet like you’d see in Vegas, a photo of a naked woman sprawled artfully across a bearskin rug over the counter. A sixties chandelier graced the meager entry. Goldie had to put her unique stamp on things somehow.

  It wasn’t a big store, just one room with a storage area and bathroom in back. Whatever she didn’t have in stock—although you'd be amazed at the selection Goldie offered in such a small space—we ordered in. Montanans were patient shoppers. With few options store-wise in Bozeman, most people ordered everything but the basics from the Internet. There’s one Walmart, one Target, one Old Navy. Only one of everything. In a big city, if you drove two miles you came across a repeat store. Urban sprawl at its finest. Not here, although there were two sets of Golden Arches. One in town and one off the highway for the tourists who needed a Big Mac on the way to Yellowstone. The anchor store of the town’s only mall was a chain bookstore. No Nordstrom or Bass Pro Shop out here. You shopped local or you went home.

  In the case of the woman in front of me, I wished she’d just go home.

  Don’t get me wrong, I liked helping people and I’m comfortable talking sex toys with anyone. But this time was definitely different. Big time. Behind Miss Waffler stood a fireman. A really attractive, tall, well muscled one wearing a Bozeman Fire T-shirt and navy pants. Can you say hot? A hot man in uniform? Yup, it was a cliché, but this one was dead-on accurate. He’d come in while I was comparing the various dildo models before I went into the perks of having rotation for best female stimulation. The first time.

  “Can you explain the features of each one again?” Miss Waffler had her fingers on the edge of the glass counter as if she were afraid to touch them. Petite, she was slim to the point of anorexic. Her rough voice said smoker, at least a pack a day. Her skin was weathered, either from cigarettes or the Montana weather, and wrinkles had taken over her face. She’d be pretty if she ate something and kicked the habit.

  I gave her my best fake smile. “Sure.” I darted a glance at the fireman over the woman’s shoulder. Sandy hair trimmed military short, blue eyes, strong features. Thirties. A great smile. He seemed perfectly content to wait his turn. If the humorous glint in his eye and the way he bit his lip, most likely to keep from smiling, was any indication, he was clearly enjoying himself. A radio squawked on his belt and he turned it down. Obviously my lesson on sexual aids was more important than a five-alarm fire.

  Miss Waffler was completely oblivious of, and unaffected by, the fireman. I now knew why she wanted a dildo. I picked up a bright blue model. “This on
e is battery powered and vibrates. Three settings. Good for clitoral stimulation.” I put it down and picked up another. “This one is glass. No batteries, so it’s meant for penetration. The best thing about it is you can put it in the freezer or warm it and it provides a varied experience.”

  The woman made some ah sounds as I gave the details. I went through all the possibilities with her one at a time. I got to the tenth and final model. “This one is obviously realistic. It’s actually molded from the erect penis of a porn star. It’s made of silicone and has suction cups on the base.”

  Fireman peered over the woman’s shoulder as I suction cupped the dildo to the glass counter. Thwap.

  “You can attach it to a piece of furniture if you want to keep your hands free.” Both fireman and Miss Waffler nodded their heads as if they could picture what I was talking about. “I’ll take that one,” she said as she pointed to number ten. The eight inch Whopper Dong. “Good choice.”

  I rang up Miss Waffler’s purchase and she happily went off to take care of business. And there he was. Mr. Fireman. And me. And dildo display made three.

  “Um…thanks for waiting.” I tucked my curly hair behind an ear.

  “Sure. You learn something new every day.” He smiled. Not just with his mouth, but with his eyes. Very blue eyes. Right there, in the middle of my mother-in-law’s sex store, dildos and all, there was a spring thaw in my libido. It had long since gone as cold as Montana in January. Who could have blamed it with all of my dead husband’s shenanigans? But right then I felt my heart rate go up, my palms sweat from nerves. The fireman didn’t seem the least bit phased by my little sex toy talk. I, on the other hand, was having a hot flash like a menopausal woman just looking at him.

  “I’m Jane. What can I help you with today?” Hi, I’m Jane. I’m thirty-three. I like hiking in the mountains, cross-country skiing, I’m a Scorpio, and I want to rip that uniform off your hot body. I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts.