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Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: WindStorm Books
ISBN-10: 0988455609
Type: Fiction
Pages: 328
Copyright: January 27, 2013
ISBN-13: 9780988455603
Price: $4.99 (eBook)
Ex-detective Saul Becker learned the hard way not to get involved in the troubles of beautiful women. But what else can he do when a barefoot, catatonic Jayne Doe turns up practically in his backyard?
Who is the beautiful Jayne Doe? And why does someone want to kill her?
Ex-detective Saul Becker learned the hard way not to get involved in the troubles of beautiful women. But what else can he do when a barefoot, catatonic Jayne Doe turns up practically in his backyard? Who is she, and what is she so afraid of?
Jayne Doe doesn't remember anything about her life before she crawled into a hollow tree at the lake next to Sual's home. All she knows is that she's afraid of something -- or someone.
Together, Saul and Jayne set out to uncover her past. But they are in more danger than they know, and it will take all of Saul's skill and training to track down the past that's stalking them.
Excerpt
Prologue
She huddled on damp earth, knees to her chest, back pressed against something rough and wet, comforted by the smallness of her retreat. A thin cold film of moisture enveloped her skin. Why? When had that happened?
Honking geese broke the silence, reminded her that a bigger world still thrived, outside.
Dew. That’s what the film of moisture was.
She didn’t want the night to end, wanted to stay in the quiet, alone in the darkness, the smallness. She heard splashes, a duck’s quack, piercing yips that passed and faded into the distance.
Each sound scraped against her nerves.
Wet drops traced down her checks. Fat drops. Not dew. She heard a sob and realized it was hers.
Someone called out, “Hello?”
She gasped.
“Are you okay?”
She needed a new place to hide, one where morning couldn’t reach her. Without moving, without thinking, she escaped to a safer, even smaller place.
Chapter 1
Saul Becker surfed the wasteland of early morning television, one of his more successful tactics for overcoming insomnia. When that didn’t work, he sat for hours in the dark, thoughts tumbling through his head like clothes in the dryer.
He’d finally achieved a kind of mental numbness he would have happily called sleep when a shrill noise brought him out of his chair.
He yanked a pistol from the end table before the phone rang a second time. Feeling like an idiot, he glanced at the clock as he picked up the receiver. It was seven-thirty.
“What?” he said, his voice like gravel.
It was his elderly neighbor, Mrs. Blackstone. Her voice sounded an octave higher than normal as she rattled off something he didn’t quite follow.
“Say again?”
He slid his custom Colt Series 70 M1911A1 back into the drawer.
“Get down here,” she said. “There’s a lady crying inside the tree.”
Saul took a moment to stretch in the cool August morning before jogging down to the lake behind his townhome. He could see the Rocky Mountains on the western horizon, the early morning air north of Denver still clear enough to make the foothills seem closer than they really were.
He worked hard to stay in shape, proud to still be lean and muscled as he edged over forty. He had fair skin, sky-blue eyes, and sandy hair with hints of red. Add his freckles, and he looked a stereotypical Irishman.
The townhomes were built on top of a hill and he kept his stride short as he ran down the trail to the lake.
When he got close, he saw Mrs. Blackstone pacing beside a huge cottonwood tree. Two patrol cops watched from fifty feet away. They jerked around at the sound of his approach, hands moving toward the service pistols at their waists. Saul braked to a walk, holding his hands up, palms out.
When he was close enough to identify who it was, presuming they could now do the same, he lowered his hands and called out a greeting.
“Roan. Mathews. Been a while.”
Roan’s height made Saul’s 6’4” look short and he was built to intimidate. Mathews was barely 5’10” and looked more like a geek than a cop, right down to the thick glasses hanging on the bottom of his nose.
“Becker.” Roan rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. His palm didn’t hide a slight frown. “What’re you doing here?”
“That’s my neighbor.” Saul nodded at the white-haired woman next to the tree, who interrupted her pacing to dab at her eyes with the edge of a thick shawl. “She called me, I told her to call you.”
“So we’ve got you to thank for this end-of-shift call,” Roan said.
“Thank the woman she found. You seen her yet?”
Mathews rolled his eyes. “We were just wondering if your neighbor isn't quite right in her head. Maybe what we really need here is the loony toon squad.”
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