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When
CC dis In a strange twist of fate, she arrives in Africa and soon finds herself flying helicopter gunships over the savannah, gunning down poachers. Not one to turn down free transportation, she uses her free time following clues that lead her closer to her friend’s location. Her gunner, Carter, an ex-DEA agent with an instinct for discovering secrets, tracks her every move—both in the air and in bed. CC
must maintain the delicate balance between her friend’s life, the
kidnapper’s demands and Carter’s suspicious questions. Time is running out
and each clue leads her further across
Excerpt: CC was about to discover something horrible. She knew because her stomach churned like a mixer full of nails and an invisible tourniquet across her chest tightened with each breath—just like the night her mother died in a restaurant fire while dining with friends. Her father had called it childish fears. She called it crappy intuition. Either way, the next few minutes would definitely suck. CC eased up the driveway toward Robert’s gleaming black BMW. It stood sentry in the cool night air, reflecting the full moon in its spotless inky paint. As she skirted the vehicle, she caught her likeness in the driver’s tinted window. The muted light gave her an otherworldly appearance and made her gray eyes glow like glistening steel. She continued to the house but hesitated on the top porch step. The front door to Debra’s two-story home stood open a good three inches, the interior of the house dark. She waited in the glaring illumination of the porch light, trying to decide whether to go in or phone the police. “Debra?” she called as she nudged the door open. It gave a slight squeak as it swung on its hinges, deepening her apprehension. “Hello. I’m here.” When no one answered, she stepped inside and flipped a nearby switch, flooding the foyer with light. “Guys?” Her neck hairs stood on end. She should go back outside and call the police. She stood in the doorway, gripping her cell phone. What if she was wrong? She didn’t want to embarrass her friend on a day meant for celebration. But what if she was right? CC laid the brightly wrapped CD she had purchased for Robert on the foyer table, a birthday gift for her best friend’s husband. “Guys? You here?” She eased down the short hallway, switching on lights as she went. She paused in the living room doorway while her mind tried to make sense of what she saw. Two feet protruded from behind the couch. One wore a man’s brown tasseled loafer while the other sported a navy dress sock. The loafer-less foot hung at an awkward angle, suspended in midair. CC shuffled backward, her stomach clenching. She fumbled with her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. “Yes, I, uh.” She felt short of breath, dizzy. She sank into a nearby chair. “I, uh, think there’s been an accident or something. I think we need an ambulance. Police.” CC rattled off the address, said she’d wait then flipped the phone closed. She eased back to the living room doorway, then crept toward the feet. As she drew near, the same thought kept going through her brain. People would be showing up soon for the party. What was she supposed to do about that? CC moved around the end of the couch. It was Robert. His arms and legs had been strapped to one of the dining room chairs that now lay on its side. Blood stained the carpet beneath him. She knew he was dead. His eyes had a glassy appearance, the life gone from them. The scent of copper filled her nose as she leaned down to check his pulse to make sure. Nothing. His face was swollen and bruised, blood matted his sandy blond hair and his nose angled off to one side. Her eyes slid over his shoulders and torso, taking in his bloodstained shirt. It looked like someone had beaten him with a baseball bat. Then CC saw his hand. It remained strapped to the arm of the chair, covered in blood. The three center fingers were missing. Only the thumb and pinky remained. “Oh shit,” she breathed as she stumbled away from the body. She took deep gulps of air and looked away, trying not to throw up. “Debra,” she whispered, realizing her best friend was probably somewhere in the house. “Oh my God, Debra.” CC left Robert, taking two steps toward the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. Her hand hovered near the light switch. What if? CC took a breath and decided not knowing was worse. She flipped the switch. Light flooded the spacious country-style kitchen, the white tiled counters gleaming. On the center island sat a white cake box. Next to it, a bag of groceries lay on its side, bread, crackers and cheeses spilling out. CC eased around the island, her mind and heart warring. She wanted to know but she didn’t want to know. What if Debra had been beaten and mutilated like Robert? What if she was dead? After already losing so many in her life, she didn’t think she could stand adding her best friend to the list. “Oh my God.”
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