$3.99
Amazon
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
Book 2 in Charley’s Ghost series
Amanda
was in the process of divorcing her lying, cheating husband Charley
when he was murdered, so she’s stuck with his last name. And even worse,
she’s stuck with his ghost.
She can’t seem to get rid of his
ghost, but at least she is able to go to court and get rid of his name.
Elated at the small victory, she returns to her motorcycle repair shop
ready to celebrate. But her assistant, Dawson, is having a meltdown
because his younger brother has been kidnapped.
Amanda can see
the obvious pain Dawson is in, but in the two years he’s worked for her
he’s never mentioned a brother. Is this brother real or only an avatar
from one of the computer games he loves to play? Charley thinks Dawson
is losing it. Amanda thinks Charley lost it a long time ago.
Dawson
produces an e-mail from johndoe666@e-mail.com demanding computer code
written by Dawson’s father as ransom for the boy. That seems a little
odd. Don’t kidnappers typically want large sums of money in unmarked
bills as a ransom?
When Dawson tells Amanda his name isn’t
really Dawson Page and that, since his parents were murdered two years
ago, he and his brother have been living under false identities
bequeathed to them by their father, she really begins to worry about
him.
Then she talks to his next door neighbor to find out if he
saw anything, and the man wearing a tin foil hat tells her he’s never
seen Dawson’s brother, but if somebody’s missing, aliens undoubtedly
took him to work in the crystal mines on Alpha Centauri.
Though
the kidnappers have warned Dawson not to bring in the police, Amanda
decides the situation has gone beyond her ability to help by offering a
cold Coke and soothing words. She calls Jake Daggett, the detective who
saved her life a couple of months before. Charley isn’t happy about
that. He claims she only called Daggett because she wants to see him
again. That really isn’t the only reason, but he does look nice in his
T-shirt stuffed with bulging biceps, pecs and deltoids.
In case
the kidnappers are watching when he arrives and might identify him as a
cop, Amanda greets him as cousin Jake and throws her arms around him in a
friendly cousin sort of way which Charley finds completely unnecessary.
Will
the kidnappers believe Jake is her cousin? Do the kidnappers even
exist? Is Grant only an Avatar? Will Amanda ever find a way to torture
Charley? Will she give up her trademark Coke for a Pepsi? Will Global
Warming melt Amanda’s Magnum Double Chocolate ice cream bar?
Okay, you need to test that last question for yourself, but the answers to everything else are in this book!
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Amanda
Caulfield walked out of the Dallas County Courthouse into the warm
July morning feeling as if she was floating down the sidewalk on
gossamer wings rather than clomping along in a pair of scuffed
motorcycle boots.
She’d
entered that intimidating building half an hour ago as Amanda
Randolph, estranged wife and widow of Charley Randolph, then emerged
as Amanda Caulfield, the name she was born with.
Her
father wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “You okay, Mandy?”
She
looked up at him, smiled and returned his hug. When Emerson Caulfield
sat in his own courtroom, his stern, no-nonsense demeanor quelled the
rowdiest defendant. On the bench he looked every inch a district
court judge with his stubborn jaw, strong nose and steel-gray hair,
but now his gaze was soft, his parental concern for her obvious.
“I’m
fine, Dad. Really. Getting rid of Charley’s name makes me feel like
a new woman, like the last few years never happened.”
“That’s
just great, Amanda,” Charley said. “Not bad enough I got
murdered, but now my wife gets rid of my name and says she feels like
a new woman and I never existed. You sure know how to hurt a guy.”
Amanda
grimaced and glanced past her father to the slightly translucent
figure floating a few inches above the ground and scowling. Other
than the translucence, Charley looked much as he had in life—tall
with streaked blond hair and bright blue eyes. He still wore the tan
khakis and white Polo shirt he’d died in two months ago. Apparently
people didn’t sweat or get dirty in the afterlife.
Ridding
herself of Charley’s last name had been a simple matter requiring
the completion of a few forms and a quick appearance in court. If
only she could get rid of Charley’s ghost that easily.
She
shot him a glare then continued walking down the street with her
father toward the parking lot where his car and her motorcycle
waited. “Thanks for going to court with me, Dad. It was kind of
cool that you were on a first name basis with my judge.”
Her
father laughed. “A name change hearing is a formality, just a
matter of signing the decree. I was only there for moral support.”
“That
counted for a lot.”
“Coming
by for dinner tonight?” It would have been a tempting invitation if
Amanda hadn’t already made plans. Her mother always hired good
cooks, her definition of assuring that her husband and family were
well fed. “Your sister and David will be there. Your mother wants
to make plans for the baby shower you’re going to give for Jenny.”
That took the temptation out of the invitation.
“Golly
gee, Dad, I’d just love to be there and talk about which engraver
to use for the invitations because remember what a terrible job
Ludlow’s did on poor Amy Cresswell’s wedding invitations—how
embarrassing that they used ecru instead of ivory—but Hamilton’s
has only been in business ten years and can you really trust such a
newcomer, and should we stick with cardboard for the cake flavor or
be avant-garde and go for lemon cardboard?”
Her
father tried to give her his courtroom-stern expression, but he
smiled in spite of himself. “You know you might as well give in and
get it over with. Your mother is relentless. Eventually you’re
going to have to deal with the baby shower details.”
Amanda
rolled her eyes. “I know, but I’ll avoid it as long as possible.
Anyway, this afternoon Sunny and I are going for a bike ride and then
out to dinner to celebrate my name change.”
Her
father nodded, his expression tightening slightly but otherwise
unchanged. “I’m glad you’re spending time with Sunny, getting
to know her.”
Amanda
had only recently learned that her mother and her birth mother were
not the same person, that Sunny Donovan and her father had a brief
relationship thirty-three years ago that resulted in her. Once she
recovered from the initial shock, Amanda accepted her changed
parentage without trauma. She’d always adored her father, always
felt close to him, but she and her mother had clashed from her first
memory.
Sunny
made no attempt to take her mother’s place but had immediately
become her best friend, a role no one had filled in Amanda’s life
since Billie Jean Bennett moved to Florida in the second grade.
Overall, the situation was a good one. Her parents and Sunny seemed
to still feel a bit of tension when discussing it, but they’d get
over it eventually.
The
traffic light turned green and she and her father crossed the street
to the parking lot.
“Tell
Mom I’ll be over soon with a bottle of two dollar champagne to
celebrate Jenny’s future baby and my old name.”
Her
father laughed. They both knew her very proper mother would not
approve of a celebration of such an unorthodox event as ditching her
dead almost-ex-husband’s last name, and she’d faint if a bottle
of two dollar champagne came through the door of her perfect home in
Highland Park. “Let me know before you do that so I can be out that
evening.”
“Love
you, Dad.” She gave him another hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Love
you too. Ride safe.”
She
strode to her Harley.
Charley
settled himself on the back and looked smug. “You can’t get rid
of me just because you don’t use my name anymore. You’re still my
wife. Our divorce wasn’t final when I died.”
Amanda
groaned and spread her hands in a gesture of frustration. “Think
about what you just said. You died. What part of till
death do us part do you not
understand?”
“I’m
still here so I guess death didn’t part us.”
“It’s
not my fault you got kicked back. You’re definitely dead. Your
family and I buried you.”
Charley
flinched. “That suit was terrible.”
“Get
off my bike. You don’t need to ride. You can fly. Everybody wants
to fly. You can do it but you choose to annoy me by riding on the
back of my Harley.”
“C’mon,
Amanda,” he whined. “You know how I used to love to ride
motorcycles. This has been a traumatic day for me. It really hurts
that you got rid of my name. At least let me ride.”
Like
she had a choice. She strapped on her helmet, fired up the bike and
roared away. No point in trying to throw him off or give him a rough
ride. Until he completed the mission he’d been sent back to
complete or got his karma balanced or whatever he needed to do to be
allowed into the light, she was stuck with him. Letting him ride on
the back of her bike was a minor irritation compared to the other
things she had to tolerate from him.
*~*~*
Twenty
minutes later she pulled into the parking lot of her shop, Amanda’s
Motorcycles and More, in the northwest section of Dallas off Harry
Hines Boulevard.
“You
ride too fast,” Charley complained as she got off the bike.
Amanda
yanked off her helmet and looked at him. “Really? Are you worried
I’m going to have a wreck and you’ll get hurt? Next time, walk.”
With
her helmet under one arm and the folder containing her official
documents under the other, she turned and strode toward the wide
doors of her shop. Charley had put a damper on her good mood, almost
made her feel guilty about getting rid of his name. But a few minutes
with her assistant and friend Dawson Page would restore it. He’d
been with her through the last year of her tumultuous marriage and
her futile attempts to obtain a divorce. He’d appreciate what this
day meant to her. They might very well share a two dollar bottle of
champagne.
“Dawson,
I’m Amanda Caulfield again!” She walked across the large open
area, stepping around motorcycle parts as well as bikes in various
stages of repair and detailing. She’d expected to find him working
on a paint job, his specialty and favorite thing to do other than
work on the computer. But he was nowhere in the main area.
She
finally found him sitting at a battered wooden desk in one of the
smaller rooms she’d designated as an office. Not surprisingly his
attention was focused on a computer, though not the desktop she had
for office work. He’d brought in his own laptop, something he often
did because her computer was, to quote Dawson, antiquated.
She
stepped inside the room. “There you are! Did you hear me?”
Dawson
jumped, looked at her over his laptop, blinked a couple of times and
pushed his glasses up on his nose. “That’s great, Amanda.” He
sounded distracted, but he often sounded distracted. Dawson gave his
complete attention to everything he did.
Even
so, Amanda was a little disappointed he didn’t show more enthusiasm
about her triumph.
Charley
darted past her to stand beside Dawson. “He probably thinks a
married woman should keep her husband’s name.”
Amanda
gritted her teeth, biting back her response since Dawson couldn’t
see or hear Charley and would think she was talking to herself.
Instead she stepped over to the desk and swiped the file folder
containing her name change documents through Charley’s midsection.
“That
hurt, Amanda,” Charley protested. “Okay, maybe not physically but
emotionally. You’ve got a mean streak.”
In
life Charley had been a liar, cheater and blackmailer, so Amanda
thought he had the roles reversed, that he was the one with the mean
streak, but again she bit her tongue and saved her rebuttal for later
when they were alone.
She
slapped the folder onto the desk. “Dawson, could you put this
somewhere safe? It contains very important papers. I don’t want to
lose them.”
She
shifted her attention from Charley to her young assistant and
realized for the first time that he didn’t look so good. As a
certified nerd Dawson always had more computer pallor than Texas tan,
but now his face was pasty pale. His short dark hair looked as if it
hadn’t been combed in a while, and even through the lenses of his
glasses she could see that his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles
underneath.
A
stab of guilt shot through her. She’d been completely wrapped up in
her own world and had failed to notice that something was wrong with
her friend. “Are you okay?”
“What?
Yes. I’m fine.” He picked up her folder and set it down again.
His eyes darted to the computer screen then back to her.
Amanda
frowned. “What’s going on? What are you working on?”
“Nothing.”
That
was totally not like Dawson. A college student majoring in computer
science, he usually took every opportunity to explain anything
related to computers in excruciating, convoluted detail, his
enthusiasm blinding him to the fact that Amanda’s eyes were glazing
over while he talked.
She
moved around the desk to look at the screen.
Dawson
closed the laptop, blinked and looked guilty.
Something
was very wrong. He wasn’t the type to hide things from her and
she’d never before seen him look guilty. “Dawson, I don’t care
if you were playing solitaire or looking at nude women.” She
couldn’t imagine him doing either but couldn’t imagine any other
reason he’d shut down the display so she couldn’t see it.
“Amanda,
you know I wouldn’t do that.” He sounded a little hurt and
indignant that she’d accuse him of such things.
“It
wasn’t pictures of women or a computer game or anything normal,”
Charley said. “It didn’t have any of those little things you can
click on, just lots of numbers and letters.”
Okay,
so not porn or computer games. Amanda felt helpless. Obviously
something was wrong and it somehow involved whatever he’d been
doing on the computer.
How
could she help him when she didn’t know what the problem was? She
fell back on Texas tradition. When in doubt, offer food and drink.
Dawson already had an open Coke sitting on his desk so she couldn’t
offer that. “It’s nearly eleven which is nearly noon so why don’t
you take a break and grab an early lunch?”
Dawson
shook his head, the movement uneven, half nod, half shiver. “I’m
not hungry. You go ahead.”
Dawson
never passed up a chance to eat. Apparently it took a lot of calories
to operate a keyboard and mouse because he remained thin in spite of
eating like a quarterback during training season. If he wasn’t
hungry, he must not feel well. A bad case of the flu would explain
the pallor and dark circles.
“If
you’re sick, go home. It’ll be tough, but I’ll get along
without you for a day or two.”
Dawson
stood abruptly, shoving back his chair. “I’m not sick.” He
strode across the room and out to the main area then sat down beside
a bike with an intricate flame design half completed. He picked up a
brush and a small pot of paint but didn’t open it.
Amanda
glanced at Charley who shrugged. This was totally unlike the amiable,
easy-going Dawson.
Amanda
reached down and opened the laptop. The screen was blank. She looked
at Charley and mouthed, Turn it
on. In his current condition,
Charley’s abilities were severely limited, but he was able to
influence electronics—turn on the TV in the middle of the night,
read Amanda’s e-mail when she wasn’t looking, set off the alarm
system she had installed after Roland Kimball broke into her
apartment.
“Turn
what on?” Charley asked.
“Dawson’s
computer,” she whispered.
“No
problem. But I hope you remember this the next time you get all upset
because I read a few of your e-mails. I’m not the only one who’s
nosy.”
“Just
do it, okay?”
He
made an elaborate show of waving his hands around and through the
laptop as if he were a stage magician performing a trick. Finally he
proclaimed, “Ta-da!”
The
screen sprang to life.
Charley
had told the truth about the display. Numbers and letters in some
sort of raw data format. Definitely not a user-friendly Windows
program. Why had Dawson been so anxious to hide this? Amanda wouldn’t
be able to make sense out of it if she had the rest of her life to
study it.
“He’s
coming back,” Charley warned.
Too
late. Dawson stood beside her.
“I’m
sorry,” Amanda began, but he interrupted her.
“I’m
glad you know.” He sank into the chair with an enormous sigh and
put his head in his hands. “What should I do?”
Amanda
looked from the screen to Dawson to Charley. What was it she was
supposed to know from that strange display? If she didn’t know what
it meant, she certainly didn’t know what Dawson should do about it.
“I
have no idea what you’re talking about. That stuff is gobbledegook
to me.”
Dawson
lifted his head. His glasses sat slightly askew, but Amanda could see
his eyes clearly enough to tell they had a strange look. The only
word that came to mind was haunted.
Haunted?
Dawson was quiet, intense, OCD, but—haunted?
She
knelt on the floor in front of him. “You’re starting to freak me
out. What’s going on?”
Dawson
clenched his lips and his fists, looking very young and vulnerable, a
little like a child holding in horrible secrets.
Secrets
and Dawson just didn’t go together, but apparently he had a few.
Impossible
images raced through Amanda’s mind.
Dawson
the mild-mannered nerd—a secret life as a bank robber?
Nah.
A
spy who sold government secrets?
Certainly
not.
A
career as a writer of erotica?
Probably
not.
He
sat straight in the chair, squared his shoulders, and drew in a deep
breath. “They took my brother. They’re going to kill him if I
don’t give them a program my dad wrote, and I don’t have the
program.”
No comments:
Post a Comment