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T.B. O'Neill
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Create Space
ISBN-10: 1497396034
Type: Fiction
Pages: 534
Copyright: Julyl 25, 2017
ISBN-13: 9781497396036
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
A complex thriller seeped in genuine courtroom drama and high intensity action.
“Murder or the attempt thereof often occurs while others sleep.” And thus begins a story where danger insinuates itself into the course of ordinary lives. Rod Cavanaugh was in fact a regular guy. Suited for his job as a criminal lawyer, he adores his girls and loves his scotch.
When the bottom fell out of his marriage and his family splintered he thought he had enough to deal with – mistakes of his doing that needed to be corrected – but that was before he became the target of a client, in a deadly game that put what was left at risk.
Who he thought he was, his place in the scheme of things, will be challenged by a killer who stalks and bides his time. Only Cavanaugh can stop the carnage, uncover the evil. But the price to pay may be innocence itself.
Excerpt
He needed to get ready for Randal’s early arraignment and get his discovery motions filed. A hollow feeling hit the pit of his stomach. The boy didn’t have it in him to do what they say he did; of that Rod was certain.
The phone receiver was still in his hand, smudged gray from use. He had chosen to continue this work, knowing it tied him in knots, knowing that innocent clients that made him nervous. He stuffed the anxiety, hung up the phone, and shuffled over to the farm sink, bending forward to look out at the river, feeling the cool of porcelain on his thighs.
Winter’s chill seeped through the window frame. He cranked the knob open a tad so he could hear and feel the morning’s bluster. Wet winter leaves rattled from the riverbank and slapped the side of the house. Piercing rain blasted under the window with the sweep of machine gun fire. Cottonwood and vine maple on the riverbank, spent of all but the most persistent of leaves, bent against the gusts, limbs turning into shaking fists and cursing the cold.
But there was a freshness to this air, and recently, breaks between the rain. Sunrise came earlier too, promising longer daylight, dryer days. Rod breathed it in.
The Jack Russell terrier from the house next door was hunting near the bank. She was after something. Her pint-sized body seized rigid and her front paws furiously dug under a native grouseberry bush. Over the wind she growled a terrier’s growl. But she did not bark. She barked mainly at night, roughing him awake.
He needed more rest, but couldn’t fall asleep without the help of his friend, Mr. Glenlivet––that smooth, single malt that turned vice into virtue with each sip. Scotch helped him endure regret, helped him forget the pain he caused his daughters. But when the divorce was over, and things were settled, he would no longer need the nighttime companionship. He was sure of that.
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