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When Amanda's lying, cheating,
scam-artist husband, Charley, saves her life in a near-fatal motorcycle
accident, she can almost forgive him for dragging his feet on their
divorce. Then she discovers he'd been dead for several hours at the time
she thought he rescued her. And not just dead…murdered.
On the good side, at least they are no longer married.
But
she's the primary suspect in Charley's murder and, as if that isn't bad
enough, Charley's ghost shows up in her apartment. He was rejected,
kicked back, not allowed to go into the light. The situation was bad
enough when he was alive and trying to charm his way back into her life,
but now he claims to be unable to go more than a few yards away from
her. She can't even be certain he isn't peeking when she undresses for
bed.
Even death did not them part.
As Amanda puts her
life in danger in an effort to bring Charley's murderer to justice and
send him into the light or the dark or anywhere away from her, she
learns her knowledge of Charley's misdeeds is only the tip of a toxic
iceberg. Charley blackmailed his murderer, blackmailed Amanda's father,
lied about his family being dead when he is actually related to half the
town of Silver Creek, Texas, and, with his treachery, has stirred up
secrets that will change Amanda's life.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Amanda
accelerated around a sharp curve, leaning her shiny black Harley
Night Rod so low, the toe of her boot touched the road. Coming out of
the curve, she watched as the speedometer climbed…70…75.
She
leaned forward, letting the wind flow over her rather than against
her, savoring the sharp curves of Highway 259 as it wound upward
through the Kiamichi Mountains, letting the thrill of speed and
danger crowd out anger, desperation and frustration.
Eighty-five…and
still climbing. The trees along the roadside flew by in a rush of
green.
Too
fast.
She
knew that.
Ninety.
It
was better than getting drunk to escape her problems. No hangover the
next day.
She
could handle the speed. She'd been riding since she was a teenager.
She could handle the motorcycle and her demanding mother and her
ditzy sister. She could handle everything life had thrown at her
except Charley Randolph, her almost-ex-husband. He'd held that title
for fifteen months and counting. Today his scumbag lawyer had
finagled another postponement of the final divorce hearing for his
scumbag client.
Charley
had sworn he'd never let her go, and she was beginning to believe
that could be the only time in their two-year marriage when he'd told
the truth.
She
veered around a particularly sharp curve, leaning so far over, she
fancied she could feel the heat of the pavement through her thick
leather pants. Adrenalin suffused every cell in her body. This was
great. Another hour or two and maybe she'd calm down enough to stop
plotting Charley's demise.
She'd
planned this weekend getaway to a log cabin nestled deep in the
Kiamichi Mountains to celebrate the divorce she thought would happen
and mourn the marriage that had never really happened. Now she could
only hope the peace and serenity of the mountains coupled with the
exhilarating ride getting there would soothe her murderous anger.
She
gave the throttle another twist.
Ninety-five.
One-hundred.
Blow
out the cobwebs, focus on the joy of speed, of the wind rushing past
her and the trees along the roadside turning to a green blur.
A
sharp curve twisted to the left just ahead. She pushed gently on the
foot brake, and a chill darted down her spine. The pedal was mushy.
The bike didn't slow. Something was wrong.
Not
a good time or place for the brakes to go out. Her muscles tensed as
she feathered the hand brake. The bike gradually slowed as she swept
into the curve. She let out a long breath and relaxed. Everything was
fine. The hand brake controlled ninety percent of the braking anyway.
No,
everything wasn't fine.
The
back wheel wasn't gripping the road the way it should.
She
hadn't noticed any sand or oil on the highway, no irregularities in
the smooth surface. This shouldn't be happening.
But
it was.
Halfway
through the curve, Amanda held steady, slowing as quickly as she
dared, making a Herculean effort to maintain control of herself and
the bike.
It
wasn't enough. The bike slid toward the side of the road, the side of
the mountain.
She
lost control—of the motorcycle and of her own pounding heart.
She
slid toward the side of the mountain.
The
adrenalin was gone. The euphoria was gone. Even her anger at Charley
was gone. Her entire focus became survival. A blanket of calm fell
over her, shutting out sound, scenery, bringing her world down to
nothing but the bike and her.
Seeming
to move in slow motion, she thrust away from the cycle, leaving the
beloved bike to roll on its own, down the hill, anywhere but on top
of her body.
And
then she was tumbling, freefalling down the mountain, blue sky
replaced by green grass replaced by blue sky, over and over. Her
shoulder slammed into a tree, the velocity of her impact bouncing her
on a different course, and a large mossy rock filled her vision. She
ducked her head, but the collision was unavoidable, and even through
the safety helmet, she felt excruciating pain before she gratefully
embraced the enveloping blackness.
***
"Amanda!
Wake up, damn it! Do you hear me? Get up! You have to get up!"
Charley.
Of course it was Charley. Who else would be demanding that she wake
from the pleasant dream she was having?
"Go
'way," she grumbled.
"No,
I won't go away until you get up. You have to get to the highway."
The
highway?
"No,
I don't." She tried to go back to her dream, to the most amazing
bright light she'd ever seen, a light that seemed to promise the
fulfillment of all her dreams, but Charley continued to yell.
And
now he'd ruined it all. She was awake and her head ached abominably.
In fact, her whole body hurt.
She
put a hand to her head, a gloved hand that touched something smooth
and hard instead of flesh and hair.
She
opened one eye and, through a fog, peered at her hand. Motorcycle
gloves. And she was wearing her helmet which had fogged from her
breathing with the faceplate closed and no air being forced through
as she rode.
Why
had she gone to sleep in her riding gear?
"Get
up, Amanda. You're hurt. You've got to get help."
"I'll
hurt a lot less if you'll leave me alone and let me go back to
sleep."
"No!
You can't do that! Listen to me. Look at me and listen to me."
She
pushed her faceplate up and lifted her gaze to see him kneeling
beside her, streaked blond hair shining in the sunlight, blue eyes
concerned, his khakis and white Polo shirt immaculate as always. In
the background, she saw trees and rocks and grass and sky.
Huh?
Where the hell was she and why had she been sleeping outside in her
riding gear?
The
accident.
She'd lost control of her bike, skidded going around that last curve,
skidded as if she'd hit sand or oil.
She
lifted herself painfully on one elbow. "What are you doing here?
I knew you
had something to do with it! You were following me, weren't you? This
is your fault! Somehow, this has to be your fault!"
"I
didn't. I wasn't. I swear. I think I'm here to save your life. You've
got to make it back to the highway so you can get help."
Amanda
blinked and looked around her, trying to focus through the fog inside
her brain that couldn't be dispelled by anything as simple as opening
a faceplate.
"All
right," she finally agreed, as she had learned to do when
Charley was making some irrational demand. Agree to anything just to
shut him up then do as she pleased. "Okay. I need to get to the
highway."
"Good."
He rose and stepped backward.
"Go
on," she urged. "I'll be there later."
"Damn
it, Amanda, this is no time to be stubborn! You're hurt! You'll die
if you don't get help!"
Amanda
had to admit, she didn't feel so hot. She'd taken quite a tumble, and
her desire to go back to sleep probably wasn't a good sign
considering how hard her head had hit that rock. With a sigh, she
tugged open the zipper of her jacket pocket and fumbled for the cell
phone. "Call 911," she said, offering it to Charley.
"Great
idea!" He reached eagerly then drew back with a strange sad
look. "I can't."
"Oh,
for crying out loud!" She started to punch in the numbers, but
of course there was no signal this far into the mountains. She shoved
the phone back in her pocket.
"Fine.
You get your way again. I'll walk back to the highway." She
tried to rise, but pain shot through her left ankle, and she fell
back with a groan. "I'm just going to lie down here for a minute
and take a short nap, and then I'll have the energy to walk."
"No!"
Charley shouted. "You'll die!"
"And
you can't stand for me to escape from you even in death! Well, I
can't walk. I think my ankle might be broken."
"You
may have to crawl," Charley conceded.
Familiar
fury rose in Amanda's throat. "You could give me a hand!"
she snapped. "You could carry me! You could at least let me lean
on your shoulder!"
Charley
grinned, looking like a mischievous boy. Which he was. A 32-year old
child. "You always want to be independent. You're always saying
you don't need any help. Guess you'll have to prove it now." He
took another step backward, up the mountain.
"Why,
you worthless—" Her words ended in a groan as she again tried
to get to her feet. Every muscle and bone in her body protested,
registering their complaints with sharp stabs of pain.
"Worthless
what?" Charley taunted, moving farther away and still
grinning—triumphantly, she thought. "Come on, Amanda, you can
do better than that. Remember the time I hocked our wedding rings to
pay off my gambling debt? You had some pretty colorful names for me
then."
Amanda
unleashed a few heart-felt invectives, but Charley continued to step
backward.
"What?
I can't hear you. Did you say you still love me?"
"You
are the most despicable creature on this earth! I only thought I
hated you before this! What kind of monster forces an injured woman
to crawl?" But she was crawling, or something like it. Using her
arms and her uninjured leg, she inched her way toward him, every
movement an agony. Each time she gripped something with her right
hand, a pain knifed through her shoulder. Fortunately, her anger at
Charley provided something of an anesthetic.
"You're
going to pay for this, Charley Randolph." The rock she'd wedged
her right foot against gave way, and she clung to a small tree with
only her right hand, the pain in her shoulder excruciating. Blackness
crept around the corners of her mind, but she shoved it away,
replacing it with righteous fury.
"All
deals are off," she panted when she'd stabilized her position.
She reached upward, dragging herself along, as Charley continued to
move backward, away from her, up the hill. "I'm no longer
offering to give you two-thirds of the property just to get away from
you. I'm taking half of everything and all of my business. I earned
ninety percent of everything anyway! I'll fight you in court if it
takes another ten years!"
"I
won't sign the divorce papers, Amanda. I won't give you half. I won't
let you divorce me. If you keep trying, you'll end up with nothing.
Not even the cat." And still he smiled that infuriating smile.
"Damn
you to hell! Damn you to living with my mother and never going deaf
for all eternity!" The bush she grabbed hold of had stickers so
sharp they pierced her glove and her palm, but she ignored that
relatively minor pain and continued to move. "We don't even have
a cat! That's just like you to take something we don't even have! I
hope the next woman you sleep with gives you leprosy!"
"What
was it you threatened to do with that rusty serrated knife when you
caught me with Becky? Cut some flowers for a bouquet?"
"Cut
off your penis and put it down the garbage disposal! And it was
Megan! I didn't know about Becky until now!"
Charley
continued to taunt her, and Amanda continued to climb, determined to
reach him and throw him back down the mountain. So much for moving
past her desire to kill him.
Then
after an eternity, he stopped, and she realized the highway was
inches from her face. With a gargantuan effort, she pushed herself
erect, careful not to put much weight on her left ankle.
Charley
beamed. "You made it, babe! I knew you could do it!"
She
lunged for him—and fell onto the surface of the highway.
"Amanda,
wake up. We have to talk about something," he said, his tone
suddenly serious, but she was already drifting into the blackness,
her last ounce of energy expended. "Amanda! You almost died! He
tried to kill you! He'll try again! You're in danger!"
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