MerryJones
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Oceanview
ISBN-10: 1608091164
Type: Fiction
Pages: 271
Copyright: 2014
ISBN-13: 9781608091164
Price: $5.38 (eBook)
Elle Harrison and her pals go to Mexico where one of them is having elective plastic surgery (It's less expensive there.) As soon as they arrive, the plastic surgeon's patients begin to die, and Elle and her friends find themselves stalked by a killer.
Elle Harrisoni goes to Mexico, where her friend Jen is having low priced plastic surgery to tuck her tummy, puff her lips and straighten her nose.
The first night they are there, Elle finds the woman in the suite next to theirs hanging by her fingers from her balcony. Elle risks her life trying to save her, and fails. She learns that the woman was a patient of Jen's doctor.
Jen has her surgeries, and while she'd recovering, other patients die suspiciously.
Elle is courted by the doctor. For the first time since the death of her husband two years before, Elle finds herself attracted to someone and she begins to date him, only to realize that someone is trying to kill her and Jen, as well.
Who is killing the patients and why? Who is after Elle? The answers come in surprising twists in this page-turning suspense novel.
Excerpt
Don't look down. Don't look down.
I kept repeating those three words, a singsong mantra to steady myself and get through time, pushing through seconds and minutes until it would be afterward and this nightmare would be over.
Don't look down.
But I didn't have to look. I knew what was beneath me. I could picture what was lying six stories down on the concrete beside the kidney-shaped swimming pool, near the mouth of the alligator water slide. Under the glowing light of sunrise, I imagined a widening crimson puddle. A clump of arms and legs. A shattered bone protruding through flesh. Tangled hair matted into a cracked skull.
Don't look down, I said again, and I didn't. Instead, I aimed my eyes straight ahead, focusing not on the brick wall in front of me, but on the air surrounding my head. I stared into it, straining to see my aura, looking for stains, for splotches of darkness. Was it possible to see your own aura? Was there even such a thing? If there was, I couldn't see it, saw only inches of emptiness between me and the bricks, and at the periphery of my vision, the railing. For the briefest moment I had a lapse. I almost turned my head, almost looked at my hand. Don't look, I chanted. Looking would mean moving my head. And if I moved it--if I moved anything at all, I'd disrupt my balance and slip, and then, with a thud, there would be two blobs of bones planted beside the pool.
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