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Everyone who loves a good mystery--whether it's real or fiction.
THE GIFTS
A Jacody Ives Mystery
ISBN: 1-59080-462-7 BUY NOW AT AMAZON.COMTORTURED-RAPED-EXECUTED No matter how much he drank, Gavin McAllister couldn't get the headline out of his head. Just words. He was a writer, made his living with words. The impact of the words directly correlated to the emotions of the reader. Words could be twisted, knives to open up wounds long hidden; maneuvered to evoke buried nightmares. Bare the soul, expose the wound, and you had a best seller. Make them laugh. Make them cry. Above all, make them feel something. He was an expert at manipulating words for emotion.But he'd seen the body. It wasn't a story this time. This time it was personal. The demon of his nightmares had no name, but now he knew where to look for him. Glade Springs had secrets. And no one uncovered secrets better than Jacody Ives.PROLOGUE Corrine Larson bit her lip, stifling a scream as she turned slightly, struggling to open her eyes. She'd never heard a death rattle, but she recognized it now, deep inside her chest, with each shallow, painful breath. Her body was begging to shut down. She didn't know if he had beaten her for one hour or six. She was dying, but the son-of-a-bitch wouldn't get the satisfaction of knowing she wanted to die.
Corrine managed only a narrow slit with her left eye, just enough to stare at him, convey her hatred. He'd used her, and because of her, others would die. She fought the thoughts threatening to overwhelm her, concentrating instead on the new pain caused by the salty tears coursing down her face. Her tortured mind honed in on her one satisfaction, that one ray of light in the darkness: She hadn't told him everything.
He whistled softly, a haunting rendition of I Saw the Light as he loaded the gun. Corrine drew in one last ragged breath, closed her eye, and allowed the feel of the cool damp concrete to soothe her burning body. It was almost over.
Her thoughts turned to Sarah and her child. She'd written an article once about a psychic who believed your dying thoughts could travel across time and space, influencing the outcome of events to come. She hoped the psychic was right. Maybe she could at least undo some of the damage she'd done, warn Sarah.
Rough hands jerked at her hair, raising her from the bloody warehouse floor. She felt the cold steel pressed against the back of her head, heard the sound of the gun cocking. Funny, she had always thought her dying thoughts would be of Rob or Gavin; instead, she could think of nothing but Sarah and her child. As the bullet shattered her brain, she held the image of Sarah in her mind and silently screamed, He's coming Sarah. He wants to destroy you.
* * *
Murder is a sin. You'll go to hell.
It wasn't murder;it was self-defense.
He hated the voice in his head. She was always bitching at him. Always butting in. Preaching. A cruel smile twisted his handsome features. Today it didn't matter. Today was a day of celebration. Soon he'd have what was rightfully his. All the years of waiting would be over. Whistling softly, he pulled away from the dumpster and parked the car. Just a few little things to finish. He pulled the police cap down low as he entered the apartment building.
"Evening officer, can I help you?"
"Just delivering some luggage to Ms. Larson."
The security guard checked the register. "Looks like Ms. Larson is out this evening."
"Yeah, I know. She gave me a key and told me to set it inside the door. Working on some big story and needed to meet the mayor or somebody. Don't know why the city wants to waste the taxpayers' money and use me as her damn courier, but here I am."
The guard grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean." Shrugging in sympathy, he turned his attention back to the crossword puzzle. "Go on up."
He walked slowly, taking his time. The bitch had been tougher than he'd thought. She'd cost him a whole fucking day. He wouldn't rush things now, though. Everything had to play out just right. All he had to do was make it look like she'd never left town.
What if she told someone?
The thought enraged him. He cursed softly as he slipped the key into the lock. That was the trouble with women–they talked too damn much. He frowned as the pain in his groin started again. No satisfaction. He hadn't even wanted her. Too old. He liked them young; firm, breasts just starting to bud. The throb increased as he thought about the young girl he'd glimpsed just inside the alleyway on his way into the building.
And she wouldn't scream, would she?
He clenched his fists. The bitch just wouldn't scream. Unclenching his fists, he ignored the voice. It didn't matter. He had what he wanted. After setting the luggage inside the door, he relocked it and pulled out the faded snapshot from his shirt pocket. She would scream. It was all her fault. Six long years. But time had given him a bonus. Oh, yes, a definite bonus. Maybe he'd let Sarah live and just take the child. He liked that idea.
The throbbing in his groin increased, reminding him he had a mission to complete. Checking his gun, he screwed the silencer into place. The cameras had seen only what he wanted them to see, but the guard would have to be dealt with. He chortled. Everyone knew about the corruption in the police ranks. The bitch had actually written an article on it. By the time they stopped chasing that lead, he'd be long gone.
The security guard glanced up as the elevator doors opened. "Everything okay, buddy?"
"Everything is just fine now," he said, raising the gun. He snickered at the look of surprise that crossed the guard's face, right before the bullet pierced his heart. The world was full of stupid people.
Murder is a sin.
"I told you, it's not my fault. She's the reason I have to kill."
You like killing.
He whistled as he exited the building and glanced at the dumpster. He didn't like killing. He was just cleaning up the trash.
Clouds hung low in the sky, threatening to open up any minute. He listened to the whimpers coming from the alley. She was still there. An omen. It really was his lucky day. He approached her slowly, his voice low and gentle. "Aren't you a little young to be out this late at night?" The girl stopped her whimpering and looked at him. He saw the fear reflected in her deep blue eyes slowly dissipate as she looked at the uniform. She nodded. Smiling, he held out his hand. "Come on, I'll take you home."
Excitement coursed through his body as she placed her small hand in his. This one would be a screamer. Whistling softly, he buckled her in and brushed the blonde curls away from her face. "Did you know tomorrow is Mother's Day?" BUY NOW AT AMAZON.COMBuy the eBook at
