Adventures N Writing

Michaela Tries Her Hand at 3 Day Eventing in next Mystery

2012-01-22T08:58:00.000-08:00

Just as I posted a first chapter of the next Nikki book, I thought I would go ahead and put the first chapter of the next Michaela book up. Readers write me weekly asking when there will be new books in both of these series. I assure those readers that they are coming! For anyone who does not know, I did switch my Michaela books from writing them under my name to my pen name A.K. Alexander. I did that so I would have some room to make them a bit more thrillerish. In this next book Michaela is going to try her hand at 3-day eventing with a new horse. As usual there will be murder and heart ache, and maybe a few laughs caused by a pregnant Camden! No more tequila for that lady! (I write lady laughingly, if you know the character, then you know what I mean).

Hope you enjoy this first chapter, and if you have not read the series, the print books are still available with my name, or get them for your kindle as an A.K. Alexander book. If any of that is confusing, e-mail me and tell me I'm a nut. We all know that anyway!

Have a happy Sunday.

Michele

CHAPTER ONE

Michaela Bancroft had to be crazy. What in the world had she been thinking? Who in the heck decides to get married during the holidays? Whose idea had that been? Oh yeah, hers and Ethan’s. What was their thinking? Wouldn’t it be great to get married on New Year’s after all they’d been through? Right? It was starting over. Starting fresh. She smacked herself in the head. Yes, brilliant. She set the box of Christmas ornaments aside, hearing Josh’s whimper through the baby speaker. “I’m coming, baby,” she said out loud.

Her best friend Camden was to blame for this Holiday wedding idea. If she hadn’t insisted on that margarita bar for her wedding out in paradise and if Michaela hadn’t caught the bouquet—although she was damn glad she’d caught it, and even happier to see the grin on Ethan’s face when she turned to look at him. Then the slow dancing and the kissing, and back in their suite at the resort, a New Year’s wedding in that moment sounded perfect. Now what sounded good was a good old fashioned Vegas wedding. Hmm…couldn’t do that. Ethan had already been there and done that with the mother of his son. But Summer had decided not too long after having Josh that marriage and motherhood was not her forte and ran off with some other guy. Michaela had tried to save her childhood friend Ethan—the same childhood friend she’d been secretly, madly in love with since she was a girl—she’d tried to convince him that Summer was bad news and always would be. But although, it was kind of obvious to those in the know that Ethan didn’t exactly love Summer, he was a good man, a man of his word and he made good on it by marrying the witch, after she’d told him she was pregnant

And, the witch lived up to her reputation and boy was Michaela glad she had. So, in reality, when she thought about it, A New Year’s wedding was a grand idea and all the holiday trappings would go along smoothly. They just would. Sure.

Michaela picked up Josh and cuddled the eighteen month old tyke who now called her Mama, and by every standard besides the biological one, Michaela had become his mother. Life was good.

“I’m here,” Camden’s voice rang out from below. “Where’s my God son?”

Michaela carried a sleepy, dark haired, big blue eyed boy down stairs to see Camden.

Camden’s latest hair color was bleached blonde and frequently worn pulled straight back. She’d also taken to wearing Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots and a silver belt buckle. Being married to Michaela’s right hand man at her ranch Dwayne had turned high fashioned, high falootin’ Camden into a regular old cowgirl. She even rode on a regular basis—something Michaela never expected to see.

The other funny thing that Michaela never expected from Camden was her adoration for Josh. Yes, Josh was an adorable baby and hard not to love, but Camden was not exactly maternal. Her idea of a home cooked meal was Hamburger Helper, packaged salad and a frozen margarita. But Dwayne had domesticated the divaesque Camden quite a bit. She’d fallen for Josh and she’d started cooking some—albeit, the food wasn’t exactly, hmmm, how to be tactful—gourmet.

Josh appeared to love his Godmother as much as she did him, as he reached out to her while she cooed his name, “Joshy, Joshy boy, come to Auntie Cam.”

They both held out their arms. “I’m feeling a little second fiddle here,” Michaela said.

“Don’t be silly. He knows who his mommy is.” Camden’s eyes locked on Michaela’s. Neither one said what they were both thinking. Michaela was hoping to adopt Josh after Ethan and her were married. She knew Summer didn’t want to be his mother. She’d abandoned Josh. But all the same, when it came to signing away any rights to the little boy, Michaela wondered if she would do it. “He knows exactly who his mommy is.” Camden tickled Josh’s tummy who let out a squeal of delight.

Michaela smiled. “Okay, well I should be home by lunch time. I’m going to run over to Winsor and take a look at that horse Devon Winsor called me about, and then swing by the florist. If I have time after that I was going to try and get some more Christmas shopping done.”

“Oh honey, it’s eight already. You’re going to need more than four hours to do all that.”

Michaela raised an eyebrow. “I thought you knew me better than that. I don’t need four hours to make decisions on whether or not a horse will fit for my program, what color flowers or types I need for my wedding, and as far as Christmas shopping, I have an idea already of what I’m buying everyone. I’ll be in and out in a gif.” She snapped her fingers. “I know if it was you, it’d be a whole ‘nother story.”

Camden shrugged. “What can I say? Auntie Cam likes to shop. Josh doesn’t think it’s a problem. Do you Joshy?”

The baby giggled.

Michaela kissed him on the cheek. “Okay, be back in a bit. Do not let him watch those reality TV shows you like.”

“Oh come on, he likes The Housewives of the OC. But he really likes the L.A. broads. Crazy!” She rounded her index finger in a continual circle by the side of her head.

“No. I mean yes, I am certain they are crazy and so are you. No on the watching of that stuff,” Michaela replied. “PBS or Discovery Kids. I’d prefer no TV time. Play with him.”

“You know I will.”

“Thank You.”

Michaela headed out and did a quick walk through the breezeway of the barn. Her three-year-old Leo had cast himself the other night in his stall and she’d had to poultice and wrap him to help sweat out the swelling. She knew Dwayne would have already checked him and likely had already rewrapped him when he’d fed that morning, but it was rare for Michaela to leave her home in the mornings without a quick hello and if she was leaving—a goodbye to her horses. Today was Monday, which meant a day off for everyone. The horses, Michaela’s students and herself.

Michaela trained horses with an emphasis on reining but she’d ventured out her comfort zone recently when one of her clients had brought over an appendix filly that she wanted to be trained as a hunter jumper. Michaela had done some jumping throughout the years but explained to the owner that it wasn’t what she was the best at. The owner didn’t care. She’d heard wonderful things about Michaela, going so far as to call her a horse whisperer, which kind of made Michaela cringe. She just did what she did best—train horses using empathy and kindness but setting boundaries where needed. One could never forget that horses were very strong animals--much stronger than Michaela’s one hundred twenty pound frame.

Leo stuck his had out of his stall as he heard his “mom” approaching. “Yes I do have a treat for you.” She rubbed his face and kissed his nose, his hot breath sniffing for the treat. She reached into the front of her jeans pocket and took out the horse treat. He nuzzled the palm of her hand as he sucked up the treat. “You’re not a horse. You’re a piglet. My piggy boy.” She undid the latch on his stall and went inside. The woodsy smell of shavings mixed with earth and horse smelled better to her than any floral type perfume ever could. She bent down and checked Leo’s wraps. As suspected Dwayne had beat her to the job.

Dwayne was probably already back in bed. He also took Mondays off and Camden revealed that his Mondays were about lying in bed and watching reruns of old shows like Gilligan’s Island, Three’s Company, and I Love Lucy. She said that he laughed all day and nothing made her happier than to hear him laugh.

Michaela closed Leo’s stall door behind her and headed on her way. Immediately the young horse started banging against his with his hoof--obviously he’d learned to beg. “No more. Knock it off,” she scolded him. His ears pricked forward and his eyes widened. She shook a finger at him. “You heard me.”

Michaela then proceeded down the breezeway that held twelve horses giving each one a treat and a kiss on the nose. Some were there in training and some were there for her lesson program. She gave lessons to kids, and also had developed a program for autistic children. She was busy but nothing gave her more joy than to be part of a moment when a kid had a breakthrough because of the horse. Horses happened to be gentle souls who for the most part understood how to help a person, grow, heal and be nurtured.

After her brief visit with the horses, she headed out to Winsor Riding Academy. Winsor was a high school prep academy and riding school close by that educated both local kids and kids who came from all over the country. It was a place for kids whose families had endless amounts of cash. Most of the kids at the school, trained in three day eventing, which Michaela loved to watch but didn’t know if it was an area of riding she would venture into. Especially the cross country jumping. Those riders had some serious cajones. Galloping through their course and jumping over stationary obstacles—usually wooden logs that when a horse hit, the log wasn’t going to go anywhere.

One of the owners at Winsor, Devon Winsor was an acquaintance and had given Michaela a call the other day about an older gelding they had in their stable. Apparently he was also an appendix—half Quarter horse, half Thoroughbred—and although he’d been an excellent 3 day event horse and a good school master, he was at an age where he needed to be taken off the jumps. Devon felt the horse would be a perfect fit for Michaela’s program. Michaela liked the idea of adding a gentle soul to the barn, one who could teach the beginners and also be great for her handicapped kids. This horse did sound like a good fit, but to now for sure, Michaela wanted to get over to Winsor Farms a little bit earlier than Devon and her agreed upon. She didn’t know Devon well enough to know how honest of a horse woman the lady was, and before she plunked down a few thousand dollars on a lesson horse she wanted to take a peek at him herself. Devon had told her that the horse was stabled in barn three, and that his name was Silverado. Michaela knew that the horses had name tags on their stall doors, so she figured it wouldn’t be a problem locating the horse.

Driving along the long driveway that led up to the academy, she noticed how empty the place was. Most of the kids had gone home for the holiday break. There were probably a few of the local kids that boarded their horses at the academy around, but Michaela didn’t really see anyone. Well it was a Monday before nine o’ clock.

Michaela smiled as she pulled up in front of the barns. Dr. Grace Morgan’s truck was out front. A friendly face. Dr. Grace was Ethan’s partner. He’d bought into her practice recently when he’d decided to make a move from his old partnership. Ethan had felt his former partner wasn’t willing to learn new techniques. He was grounded in an old way of thinking and veterinary medicine was changing all the time. The guy’s bedside manner was not pleasant as Ethan had heard from clients. That was enough for him to buy the guy out and find a new partner. So, when Dr. Grace wound up going through a divorce and somehow cutting her ex-husband who was also a vet out of the practice, Ethan thought it was a good opportunity.

Michaela agreed. Grace was well respected and well renowned in Indio and even in other parts of California and the nation. Grace was a cutting edge vet who did a lot of lab work and looked deeper than most for mysterious causes that ailed horses. She cared deeply for the animals and it showed.

Maybe if Michaela liked Silverado and since Grace was obviously already there, she could vet the horse for her. She called out Grace’s name as she entered barn three. No answer, so she hollered out into each one of the barns. She still didn’t get a response from anyone. Maybe Grace was up at the main house with Devon, but it was a long way to walk. Michaela checked her watch and realized she only had a few minutes to take a look by herself at Silverado.

She found the grey gelding down the aisle of barn three. He stuck his nose out to greet her. “Oh you are a cute guy, aren’t you?”

The horse in the stall opposite of Silverado kept banging against the door just as Leo had done earlier that morning for treats. “Ah, another begger,” she said, turning around to see what she figured to be a Dutch Warmblood. He was huge. At least seventeen hands, and had a wild look in his eye, as the whites showed through. He snorted and weaved back and forth.

Michaela turned back to the grey gelding. “Looks like your friend has some emotional issues to work through. But you, on the other hand look very sweet.” She liked his soft, kind eye. Devon told her that he was eighteen, but there was no sway to his back. He had great muscle tone and a very pretty face. She’d have to ride him to see how his disposition was with her on him. But so far so good.

The wild guy across the way though—he was something else as he became more animated with her standing there talking to the other horse. She finally took a step toward the large animal and spoke in calm tones. “Hey, hey there.” She squinted to read his name plate. Geronimo. Should’ve known. “Hey Geronimo. It’s okay. It’s alright, bud.”

The horse blew out another snort and held his head high and out of reach as she went to try and stroke him on the neck. It was then that she caught a glimpse of what was making him crazy. She took a step closer and the horse backed away. She closed her eyes and shook her head. This could not be. She swallowed hard.

“Oh my God,” she uttered, but she wasn’t even sure that the words came from her. It didn’t sound or feel like her. If Michaela could have guessed who was seeing this horrible scene, who was speaking, who was feeling, she would have prayed that it wasn’t her. But the second time she repeated the words, “Oh my God,” she knew that it was her and she was looking at Dr. Grace on the floor of Geronimo’s stall--dried blood all around her.

A New Nikki is on the Way!

2012-01-20T10:06:00.000-08:00

I get readers e-mails and I read each one of them. I want to assure my readers who have been sending me e-mails on a regular basis about Nikki and the gang that there is another Wine Lover's Mystery in the works! The book will be out from ZOVA this summer. I'm going to give you a sneak peek here. This is the very, very rough draft of chapter one. I am not sure we have decided on the cover or title but this is one a friend did for me. I hope you enjoy!

Also, anyone who has not read THE CARTEL and you own a Kindle,there is a free version available for the next 24 hours!

Enjoy!
Michele

Chapter one

“Guess where we’re going?” Derek Malveaux snuck behind his wife Nikki and wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear.

She set down the lettuce she was getting ready to rinse off to fix for dinner and turned around. “Are you taking me to dinner?” She smiled.

“Oh it’s so much better than that. Come on.” He took her hand. “Let’s go sit outside on the patio and I’ll tell you.

“Better than dinner out?” She giggled. “This must be good. Should I get us a bottle of wine?”

“Already on the table outside, and so is your sweater. It’s a little chilly.”

“Hmm, you’ve thought of everything. My interest is picqued.”

“Good.”

They went outside onto the back porch of their ranch style farm house that crested the top of a knoll where below them was a large pond, and beyond that rows of grapevines that had been cultivated for years in order to produce some of the best wines to come out of Napa Valley. Their Rhodesian Ridgeback Ollie followed them out and flopped his large self down at Nikki’s feet. A couple of ducks flew overhead and landed on the pond, a ripple effect spreading out across the water on the cool early December evening. “Ooh it’s cold out here,” Nikki said.

“It is December,” Derek replied with a grin. “And did you know we’re expecting rain next week.”

Nikki made a face. “Good for the vines.”

“It is, but cold Christmas. Brrr.” He ran his hands up and down his arms and then wrapped them around Nikki. “It’s no coincidence I asked you to come outside into the cold and told you about the rain on the way.”

“You’re acting weird.”

He reached into his back pocket and handed her a brochure.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“This is where we’re going for the holidays.”

“What?” Nikki looked at the cover of the brochure and then opened it. “Puerto Vallarta? Oh my gosh! Really?”

He nodded. “Yes. Remember the other night when we had dinner at Costa Azul and we were talking about how delicious the food is and the margaritas and how nice it would be to just get away and sit in the sun somewhere.”

“Yes.” She smiled.

“I took it to heart and got on the phone the next day and started making arrangements.”

“You are the best husband ever.” She wrapped her arms tightly around him and looked up at him. He planted his lips down on hers.

“Yoo hoo. Okay makey out session time is up. It’s time to get all rated G again, people. Little person on the premises. And what in the world are you two doing out here in the freezing cold?”

“Simon,” they said in unision.

“You’re favorite brother at your service, and tiny tot,” Derek’s brother stated.

His two-year-old daughter Violet reached out for Nikki. “Hello baby girl. Come see Aunt Nikki. You are getting so big. Where’s your Poppy?” she asked referring to Simon’s partner Marco. Violet called Simon Daddy and Marco “Poppy.”

“Poppy had to make a trek into the city. He says he had a doctor’s appointment, but he is such a bad liar. He went for Christmas presents. I just know it. Oh what do we have here?” He pointed to the brochure in Nikki’s hand and then grabbed it. “Puerto Vallarta, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “So when we going?”

“We are not going,” Derek said. “We…” he pointed at Nikki and then himself, “Are going on a holiday vacation. Alone.”

Simon’s lower lip sunk into an immediate pout. “Wait a minute. You’re going away for the holidays?” He shook his head. “Uh uh. No I don’t think so. This is the first year that tiny tot even remotely understands who St. Nicholas is.”

“Santa Claus.” Violet laughed and clapped her hands. “Santa, Santa.”

“That’s right, sweetie girl, Santa,” Simon said. “But it looks like Uncle Derek and Auntie Nikki will be doing tequila shooters down south, and missing you getting the goodies out of your stocking.”

“Stocking. Tequila. Santa,” Violet said.

“Hmmm, somehow that doesn’t all work together. Look what you two made her say.”

Nikki looked at Derek imploringly. “Oh no. No. No,” he said. “I know that look. This is about you and me. Going away. Some sunshine. Fun. Fiesta time. Siesta time.”

“I know,” she said.

“You can still have all that,” Simon interrupted.

“It is Christmas, honey, and I don’t know. It just, well, it just wouldn’t really feel like Christmas without family.”

“That’s the point,” Derek said.

“Bah humbug,” Simon said.

Nikki now pouted.

“Oh God. I think I’m being ganged up on,” Derek replied. “Fine. We’ll all go.”

Simon hugged him. “You are so wonderful. Oh piñatas and tacos and what do you think they call Santa in Mexico?”

“Santa Claus,” Nikki said.

“Santa Claus,” Simon repeated with a Mexican accent. “I was going to mooch some dinner off the two of you but I think I’ll order a pizza and go see if I can find my pancho.”

“Pancho?” Derek asked.

“It’s gorgeous. It’s green and red with a little splash of yellow. Very festive.”

“Hmm. I can’t wait to see it.”

“You’ll love it. Tah tah. Call me with the details, Snow White. Say bye-bye to Aunt Nikki and Uncle Derek.”

Violet waved and her little voice said, “Bye bye.”

As Simon walked off the patio, Derek turned to Nikki and mouthed the word, Pancho.

She shrugged.

“What did you just commit me to?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, honey. I really love being around family and Violet is so precious. We will have our alone time. We will.”

“This is my brother we’re talking about.”

“I know, but it’ll be great. You’ll see. Promise. Now let’s get out of this cold, start a fire and find a way to celebrate.”

“Any ideas?” he asked.

“A few. Oh and they include a pancho and a little salsa dance.”

“Oh Senora, I like the way you think.”

Why a Serial Killer?

2012-01-06T09:10:00.000-08:00

I thought I would write a bit about one of my thrillers today and why I wrote the book that I did. MOMMY, MAY I? is a book that either readers seem to love or hate. There aren't too many who are in between about it. I think those who love it are fascinated by the development of a serial killer, and those who hate it abhor such a topic. I do warn readers that it is graphic and disturbing. It is about a serial killer!

When I wrote the book I had recently finished a handful of thrillers that focused on the killer, but the thing that left me questioning always was; WHY? How does someone become so heinous, so evil? Are they born that way? Does their environment create them? I didn't know the answers, so I started doing a ton of research. It was disturbing research and the answers were equally disturbing. Environment seemed to play a lot into what creates a serial killer.

I read books and essays, watched documentaries and even discovered there was a serial killer in my family's genealogy, who I don't really want to name as the guy is still alive and has tried to contact my uncle several times. YUCKY SCARY!

Anyway, after all of this I decided to write a book that intertwined the lives of some good characters with this horrible killer. The most important aspect for me was to detail out how this killer grew into what he did. It is disturbing. It is compelling form my point of view. It is a combination of research and imagination that make up the bulk of the book. It is certainly not a book for everyone. There is some animal cruelty in it, which was extremely difficult for me to write because if you know me then you know that I am a huge animal lover and have a bunch of animals who I treat like family. However, many of these types of killers begin their spree on innocent animals. That is the reality of it. There is a reference to incest. Again--not easy to write but a reality that many of these killers were abused as kids. And, I am certain what is most offensive is the fact that the killer in the story is a necrophiliac. Yes--disturbing, but not something I just pulled out of a rabbit hat.

Serial killers are sick, disturbed and completely heinous individuals. Writing a book with a character like this was not easy, but the story did come to me and the good characters in it are heroic and show the other side of humanity. There is plenty of evil in the world, but I also believe it to be true that there is more good.

I hope you have a wonderful weekend. If you have not read my thriller COVERT REICH or my children's fantasy THE CLOVER SIBLINGS AND THE EVIL OF DESMAL, both books are available through Sunday for free for Kindle owners.

Cheers,
Michele

Looking for a Few Good Writers

2011-12-28T09:31:00.000-08:00

I guess it is obvious by now that I love to write. I love to sit down at my kitchen table with my laptop and create stories that I really hope people will find entertaining and allow them a place to go and escape into for a few hours.

Right now I am currently working on three different books (Haunted Hills, a new Nikki book, and a new Michaela book). I also have several books outlined waiting for me to get to them. All of these ideas gave me a thought. I'm curious if there might be a couple of writers out there who would like to collaborate on a couple of projects. One of the books that I really want to get out there is a YA with horses (of course) and a little paranormal activity. The other book (series) is a group of thrillers with both some paranormal stuff and a little romance thrown in there, and finally I have another mystery series set in Hawaii (road trip?).

My idea of working with another writer would be a serious collaboration. This would not be ghost writing on anyone's part. Think Child & Preston. If anyone is interested in this and wants to know more of what I am thinking about, please e-mail me at michele@michelescott.com and we can go from there.

I am also going to put an excerpt from each of these projects here. This is all unedited, first draft work so keep that in mind.

The first excerpt is from INTO THE RING (this is the YA idea and it would be helpful if you liked horses :) for this book):

CHAPTER ONE

My name is Vivienne Taylor and I don’t like being afraid. The really dumb thing is I have been totally freaked out over something that I really shouldn’t be. Well, maybe I kind of have a right. I am moving fifteen hundred miles away from my family, my friends and my horses. But it’s to have a chance to finally live out my dream. So, I would think I’d be a little more excited and a little less totally messed up in the brain—like a swirly, twirl of colors blending in a circle until I get dizzy kind of messed up. I toss up my arms, shrug my shoulders and say, “Whatever.” My mom says it’s just nerves and that’s normal. But my mom and I both know that I am so not normal. And if the kids at my new school, or I mean Academy find out how not normal I am, it could be really not very good. Yup. Dizzying, colorful swirls not good.

I’m not idiotic enough to think that I am going to walk into the Fairmont Riding Academy for Young Equestrians and be welcomed with open arms by all of the rich kids there. Kids with horses that cost more than our house. Kids who drive cars from Germany. Kids that think Target is something they shoot at while out on expensive weekend hunting vacation with their fathers, not a place where people can buy comforter sets that include sheets for under fifty bucks, cool T-shirts and some very pretty smelling candles. That would be crazy.

I have to face it, I am different from them. My mom is a single parent of my seven-year-old brother and myself. She’s worked her butt off as a large animal vet to make sure that I have had the proper training as a three-day eventer, because like me, my mother is a dreamer. And she knows how important my dream of one day being an Olympic rider is. Thus, the working her butt off. And now all her hard work and mine seems to be paying off.

A month ago, I received the letter from the Fairmont Academy letting me know that I was the recipient of their annual scholarship. Me? Me! I am one of the lucky few who will ever get this opportunity. Kids like me don’t have the kind of money to attend Fairmont, and the only chance I would ever have is through the scholarship. So, I should be totally excited and not so freaked. But I am dizzily, swirlied screwed up and I have been unable to sleep very well since getting the letter. And I know, I know so bad that I am really going to miss home—even my pain of a little brother.

I will especially miss Dean.

“Sweetie, wake up. I need your help.” My mom’s voice filled with tension as she walked into my room in the middle of the night. I knew immediately what she needed. “I’m sorry, Vivvie? You awake?”

“No worries, Mom. I was up. Just thinking.” I picked up my jeans off the floor and pulled them on over the boxers I liked to sleep in (they originally belonged to Austin Giles—long story, which I will tell later and I am pretty sure I can guarantee that it’s not what you’re thinking) turned on my light to find my Thomas Jefferson High sweatshirt. “What about Cole?” I asked about my brother.

“I’ve put Sadie and Georgia in his room with him. I wish Grandma was here, but something tells me the two Rotties will be better protection than your grandma would should trouble arise. I’ll meet you in the truck. Lock the door behind you, Shnoopy,” she said, calling me her favorite pet name for me, which I’d finally just accepted after seventeen years of her calling me it. Admittedly I do kinda like it, but wouldn’t share that feeling with just anyone.

“What do we have?” I asked as I climbed into the truck

“Thirteen-year-old mare down out in Albany. Owner went to bring her in from pasture for the night and noticed she was severely bloated and seemed to be having problems breathing.”

“That could be a number of things.” I zipped up my sweatshirt and pulled my hood on. It was cold for a late August night, or maybe that was just me. I tend to always be a bit chilled.

My mom glanced at me at me as she punched in the horse owner’s address on the GPS, her blue eyes looking weary. “That’s why I’m bringing you.”

I nodded. I reached into the back seat and grabbed a Diet Pepsi that I knew I’d find amidst reports, bandages, books, junk food, dog leashes and their toys. Being a large animal vet kept my mother on the run, and although she could detail a report to clients like nobody’s business, she didn’t always have the best organizational skills in the world when it came to keeping the house or her truck clean. I made an effort to do both for her once a week. “Want one?” I asked holding up the soda can.

“I’m good on the caffeine. I was actually up late working on some reports and had a couple of cups of coffee to keep me going. I had a feeling about tonight. Why were you still awake?”

*The next excerpt is from the paranormal type of thriller. I've tentatively titled it HEAR NO EVIL.

CHAPTER ONE

Eleven-year-old Hope Mitchell was running for her life. She should’ve listened to her mother, listened to the rules…and now they’d found her. But God, being holed up in the compound. Day in. Day out. Her mother always crying. The doctors. “What do you hear Hope?” “If you focus here and listen, do you get anything?” No I don’t get anything. Leave me alone. Leave me alone was what she always wanted to shout. Then the teachers. “You can do better than that, Hope. Here’s the correct way to write the character in Chinese. No, that’s not how you say it in French.”

She thought she had them fooled. Thought if she played dumb, they’d let her and her mom go. They had with that other kid—Joey Reynolds. Or at least, she saw them all get into a car one day and leave. One of the doctors and a teacher and Joey and his mom. Everyone knew that Joey didn’t have the gift. It didn’t take much or long to figure that out. Did they drop him and his mom off somewhere with a house and a pool and a neighborhood with normal kids who didn’t see or hear or know things that no one else did?

Feet pounded behind her and her heart raced. She couldn’t let them catch her. Tears started to cloud her vision. No. Don’t cry. Can’t cry. Keep running. Get safe and tell someone. Tell them where mommy is. Would anyone believe her? It didn’t matter. They had to.

“Hope. Stop. Come on. You’re a little girl. You’ll get lost out here. There’s hungry animals,” one of the men yelled.

Bushes scraped against her legs, scratching them. The smell of sage tickled her nose. She hated that smell—sweet, sour, strong. The teachers burned it all the time in the meditation room saying it was good for to clear out any negativity. Negativity? Who were they kidding? They had to burn a lot of sage for that in that stupid place.

The mountain ahead of her was huge. How could she climb it?

The men continued shouting. “It’s okay. Stop, Hope. Stop. We won’t hurt you. Your mother wants you to come home. She could get sick without you.”

One of the voices came closer. The tears started again and this time they wouldn’t be shoved down. What if they hurt her mom? But if she didn’t find help, if she didn’t tell someone, then Mom and her would be trapped in that place forever. She could see it in her mom’s eyes—the fear, like her own. Her mom tried to act like it was all good, like they were normal and that they should feel lucky they were so well taken care of, but her mother wasn’t kidding anyone, least of all Hope. She wasn’t exactly a stupid kid. No. She had to find a way out to save her mom.

The feet were right behind her. She sped up and ran as fast as she could. Don’t let them get me. I’m faster. I can do it. I can beat them and get my mom and then we’ll be okay. We’ll get a house. We’ll get a dog. I’ll go to a real school.

She pushed ahead and the voices grew farther away, still yelling for her. If she could get over that mountain she knew, she just knew she’d find somewhere safe to go because on the other side of that mountain was a highway. She knew it was there because she could hear people sometimes in their cars talking to each other, listening to the radio, or speaking on their cell phones.

Her chest ached and her stomach hurt so bad. Don’t barf. Can’t barf. Keep running.

She hadn’t fooled them at all. Had she? Trying to play dumb, getting bad grades, sitting in the headmaster’s office being punished. They told her to stop it, they knew what she was doing and they knew she wasn’t dumb at all. If she helped them she could go back to her apartment and be with her mom. But if she didn’t help them… They never said what would happen, except that she might not ever see her mom again, and so she told them everything she’d heard. It was scary. She didn’t understand it, but after she told them, they let her go back and be with her mom and she was so happy to see her and be held by her. Mom smelled like peaches and vanilla from this lotion she bought at the compound store, and that night she’d made Hope tacos—her favorite. Then they’d laughed and watched Survivor on TV. That’s what she was now—a survivor—and she’d win. She had to. It was worth way more than a million dollars.

And now, since she’d told them, they wanted more and more from her. But she was smart. Wasn’t she? She’d watched, waited and planned how to get out and away.

No alarms had gone off. No dogs. Nothing. She’d done it, made it under that super small space she’d seen in the fence the other day when she’d walked home with her friend Teresa Spiro. And then, ten minutes later, the men shouting and running after her. How did they know? How did they find her?

When she’d crawled under the fence it cut into her back. The pain meant nothing now. Not compared to the blood flowing in her ears, making it sound like a river was rushing through them, and her heart still racing and her feet thudding along the ground. No, pain did not matter. Freedom mattered. Hope understood that a price couldn’t be put on freedom. The voices were yet farther away. She was halfway up the mountain. She was getting out. She was going to make it!

“Where is she?” one of the men yelled. Then lights, bright flashlights scanned the side of the mountain. “There. Right there. Get her.”

Keep running. Don’t look back. But she did. She looked back, and then she tripped.

A fierce hot pain shot through her leg like nothing she’d ever felt—not like a bruise or a scrape. A white flash rushed in front of her eyes. Her mind dizzied into a swirl of bright lights, shouting voices and her own voice telling her to get up and run. Keep going. She got to her knees. Oh God. It hurt. Her leg twisted up and would not follow directions. Stupid leg. “Mom, Mom, Mommy?” The tears came freely as a man stood above her and knelt down.

“You’re okay. We’ll have that fixed up soon.” He lifted her up and walked toward three other men.

She didn’t recognize these men. They weren’t any of the guards she was so afraid of. Maybe they were here to save her. That had to be it. Thank God. Yes. The man was so nice. That’s why they were here. She sighed and even with the shooting pain soaring up her leg and throughout her body she breathed a sigh and leaned against the man’s chest. His heart thumped through his army green shirt.

Then her relief suddenly changed when she heard one of the other men already inside his car speaking into a cell phone. “We’ll have her on the helicopter in fifteen. She’s hurt. Looks like a broken leg. Have a doctor meet us at the airstrip. Yes, we’ll be in Malta by tomorrow.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and started to squirm.

“Hey, some sedation over here. She’s agitated.” Another man joined them. They kept walking at a fast clip. The man held on tight to her as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. His voice raised, not so gentle this time. “Knock it off kid.”

They rolled up her sleeve. Alcohol burned her nose as someone rubbed it onto her arm with a cotton swab. Then the sting of the needle. The pain in her leg lessened, a tickle fluttered and settled through her body, numbing it. Closing her eyes, she knew that these men were not from the compound. She would’ve been so much better off if they had been.

Hope Mitchell was quite aware that the one thing she’d been warned of, that all of the kids had been warned could happen to them if they ever tried to leave, had happened to her.

*** Finally, this next excerpt is from the mystery that I have no title for yet. :)

Chapter one

“We can’t live here! This place is disgusting. I can’t believe you brought me here. You’re such a jerk. I hate you!” Leila’s fifteen-year-old daughter Taylor shouted at her and then stormed away toward the beach,

Leila Reynolds stood there staring after her child, arms crossed in front of her. She sighed heavily. She’d heard worse onslaughts than that in recent times. She was on a few people’s hate list. Had been called bitch and a few other callous words by her mother and her daughter—and the names her ex-husband had called her, well, no need to go there… so jerk and being hated, hmmm, well not so bad. Now as far as their new home, Taylor was sort of right and this was more upsetting then her teenager’s angst.

The forty-two-year old mother had so looked forward to arriving back here on the big island of Hawaii and starting over in her Aunt Kiki’s bed & breakfast—a place that held many fond memories from her childhood for Leila. She’d pretty much spent every summer from the time she was six-years-old in Hawaii with her aunt. And now Kiki was gone and guilt washed over Leila as the fact that she hadn’t been to see her Aunt in twelve years reminded her how quickly time passed, and how much things can change in such a short amount of time. Things like falling in love, having a child with the one you are so deeply in love with, working at a career so hard and being at the top of the game…and then bham—all changed in one moment, one instant. One sentence. “I don’t love you anymore.” Well two really. The one that followed was something like, “I’m on love with someone else.” Leila shut her eyes tightly for a brief second and with the shake of her head attempted to rid herself of that one moment in time—only six months ago. She was pretty sure it was a moment she would never forget.

Leila had gotten married, lived the high life in New York building her reputation as a top chef and she’d had Taylor. The demands of day to day life had kept her away but she’d talked to Aunt Kiki every week and not ever—ever—did her favorite aunt let on that things had been rough for her. Apparently they had been. Obviously.

Leila took in a deep breath and surveyed the grounds of the property before venturing into the house. The view was still there—with the Pacific Ocean just down a pathway. The carefree breeze coming off the ocean carried with it a freshness of salt and water, earth and wind, so pure and natural that a breath truly felt like one of fresh air.

The B&B sat just high enough to make the ocean appear as a never ending line of blue. She turned back toward the house where she’d spent days exploring and feeling carefree as a girl. It looked like something out of a ghost story now—haunted and morose. Weeds surrounded it. The rose bushes were dormant and dry, but stood tall against the house. Plumeria was out of control but gave off that amazing floral scent that when she closed her eyes she could envision the home in a better light—painted crisp butter color, a swing on the cottage style place that was reminiscent of old Hawaii. Now the paint was chipping off, the place overgrown and the swing only hanging from one chain. “What happened, Kiki?” she whispered. “What happened to this place? What happened to you?”

She walked around to the back side where she spotted the barn not too far off in the distance. The once tucked away but illustrious vacation spot had been known for accommodating trail rides for the occupants. She spotted about ten horses out in the pasture. The barn appeared to be pretty much in the same state as the house. Leila shook her head again trying to imagine what had gone on with Kiki. Was she depressed? Was she flat broke and too prideful? Was she sick? That thought horrified Leila and the guilt consumed her yet again.

“Hey you? Need a room?” A slight looking man walked out the front door and stood on the porch. He brought his hand up to cover his eyes from the sun. Leila walked toward him. He took a few steps down off the porch.

“Hi. I’m Leila Reynolds.” She took him in. He was anywhere between fifty and eighty—either a man who hadn’t aged well or who had done decently. He was average height, thin, bald, hazel eyes and hunched over slightly. He looked like he was at least part Hawaiian.

“Hmm,” he grunted.

“And you must be?”

“Jones,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes. Jones. The attorney informed me that you are the ranch manager. Right?”

“Uh huh.” He shrugged.

This was definitely going places. Like nowhere—quickly. “Yeah. Did you get my messages? I called the main line and left messages and I had a phone number for you as well but it just rang and rang.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Guess you should come on inside then. Place is yours.” He turned his back and climbed the steps, opening the screen door. Leila didn’t move, she was so taken aback by him. Without turning around, Jones grumbled, “You coming or what?”

“Uh yes. Thank you.” Leila followed in behind him.

She took a step inside and caught her breath as memories flooded her. The place smelled exactly as it had when she was a child—tropical with a little age to it, and the coastal sea air blending into the mix. The furniture was a bit worse for wear—she was pretty sure that had also remained the same for nearly thirty-five years. There were dust bunnies along the hard wood floors that Leila knew were original Koa. This place had once been so pristine. What had happened here? “How many guests come here, a month?” she asked.

Jones shrugged. “Maybe two, three.”

Her jaw dropped. “What? What happened to business?”

He shrugged again. “Lots of fancy, big resorts to stay in now. No bother to come out here.”

“Sure there is. That’s the attractiveness of this place. It always has been. It’s off the beaten path with amazing views. It’s charming, plus there are the horses and Kiki always made such delicious food.”

“Kiki stopped cooking some time ago.”

“She did?” Leila couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was Aunt Kiki who had inspired her to become a chef in the first place. She’d made extraordinary dishes that people from all over raved about and came up to the place just to eat and stay for a night. Even the locals would do so. “Why? Was she sick?”

“No. She stopped cooking. Look, you know where the bedrooms are. Have your pick. I sleep out at the barn. I have to go and feed the animals. I will see you in the morning.” With that Jones slipped out the back kitchen door. Leila watched him make the trek to the pasture and begin bringing the handful of horses into the barn. She could also see three dairy cows grazing.

She shook her head and tried to take it all in. First off, Jones was a strange man, and she had a feeling he knew more about what had been going on with Kiki before she died. Leila couldn’t swallow the pill that her ant had just given up her cooking, a favorite past time and on top of that allow this place to become so run down.

“What happened here, Kiki?” she said aloud. “What happened to you?” Leila knew in her gut that the answer to those questions were not good.

So, if anyone out there is interested in getting together and working on one of these projects with me, let me know. Otherwise, I'm going to keep on at the pace I am and eventually the ideas will all make it out there. :)

Cheers,
Michele
P.S. All of you new Kindle owners, many of my e-books are at rock bottom prices right now. Happy Hour is at .99 and all the A.K. Alexander books are between .99 and 1.99. The Nikki books are still at the publisher pricing. Sorry. I have no control over that.

We All Need a Little Help

2011-12-15T08:44:00.000-08:00

As with most professions, we need others to help us in what we do. Doctors need nurses, techs, etc. Lawyers need paralegals, assistants, etc. Jockeys need grooms, vets, owners, etc. Writers need editors, copy-editors, etc...

I am pleased to have a wonderful woman and talented editor/copy-editor here to guest blog today: Jennifer Meegan. I have had the pleasure now of working with Jennifer on two of my books (THE CLOVER SIBLINGS AND THE EVIL OF DESMAL, which is a YA fantasy written under my name, and my latest release COVERT REICH written under my pen name). Jennifer did a great job on both books. I am not easy to work with from the standpoint that I make a gazillion mistakes when I write. I don't know how to type. I hunt and peck, so you can imagine the typos. I am terrible with grammar. I will admit it. I know when my good friend Jessica Park *FLAT OUT LOVE fame reads this blog she cringes when she sees all the grammatical errors. I tend to write fast and furious when writing a story. I love to story tell, so for me an editor and a copy editor are essentials.

Therefore, without further ado, let me introduce you to Jennifer:

My name is Jen Meegan and I've been lucky enough to edit two of Michele's draft manuscripts, including her most recent, "Covert Reich", published under her A. K. Alexander pseudonym. I've been providing editing services to ebook writers since 2010 although I don't formally advertise my services (no web site, no blog -- yet). Most folks find out about me via word-of-mouth or author blogs like this one. I stumbled into this gig when one of my favorite YA ebook authors -- Amanda Hocking -- posted a request for editing help on her blog for her first zombie novel, "Hollowland". I volunteered to help her out...free of charge...and had so much fun, I decided to see if I could find additional paid editing opportunities. And the rest, as they say, is history.

My background? I've been editing and copy writing for high tech companies (Yahoo!, SAP, and lots of startups) for over 15 years. This included everything from web sites to blogs to ads to marketing collateral...you name it. High-tech freelance editing/writing definitely pays well but, let's be honest, it's boring as hell. I'm a voracious reader with a literature background and a huge anal-retentive streak that serves me well in my editing role. I'm also a speed reader...which is pretty handy when a project requires a fast turn.

Word on the street is my fees are very reasonable considering the quality of work I do. I typically charge between $100-500 per manuscript, from start to finish, depending on the length of the book and how rough the draft is and the amount of time I'm given to work my magic. Some folks simply use me to scrub a final draft (fix punctuation, spelling, basic grammar errors), others use me to whip a rough draft into shape and provide structure, improve flow, and insert suggestions. I've even been known to do a partial "ghost write" of a book. I can be as hands off/hands on as an author wants me to be.

A few other tidbits: I live in the Silicon Valley with my Irish husband, two little girls, a high school exchange student from Belgium, and two cats. I'm bi-lingual (French/English) and well traveled. I am a HUGE history buff and a foodie. I love to read just about any type of book but I seem to be getting a lot of editing request for YA urban fantasy (vampires, werewolves, fairies, etc), thrillers, and chick lit/romance.

Anyway, if you or someone you know are looking for an editor who can take your work from good to great (without blowing your entire self-publishing budget), drop me a line: jennifer.meegan@gmail.com.

--
Jen Meegan
Freelance Copywriter and Copyeditor
Low costs, high quality, fast results

Links to:
COVERT REICH http://tiny.cc/p23tw (.99 cent holiday special for Kindle owners)
THE CLOVER SIBLINGS AND THE EVIL OF DESMAL (also only .99 for the holidays) http://tiny.cc/w506o

FLAT OUT LOVE by Jessica Park: http://tiny.cc/514i1

A Few of My Faves and a Chance to Win a Kindle Fire!

2011-12-03T11:37:00.000-08:00

It's been a few days since I've posted. I have been in plotting mode for the next book and am happy to say that as of yesterday I now have a 16 single-spaced detailed outline and 50 pages on the new book (Haunted Hills). This one has some of the same kind of humor as a Nikki book, which for those of you waiting for a new Wine Lovers' Mystery, you will be pleased to know that there will be Book #7 out in early July!

Today, I am giving some "Plugs" for a few things (favorite books, favorite blog, and new e-reader), so if you feel like I am trying to sell you on some stuff, well, fine. I am. The first things is for you writers out there. A friend called me this week as she is in the middle of writing her first novel. She told me that she felt stuck and that she isn't sure where the book is going and that she keeps rewriting pages over and over. I asked her, "Do you have an outline?" She does not. My suggestion to her was to pick up any of James Frey's book on writing. Each time I start a new book, I take a little refresher on writing with one of his books. The current one I'm using is HOW TO WRITE A DAMN GOOD MYSTERY. I Love this book! Here is the link to it on amazon. http://tiny.cc/4o7pq . Frey has books on How to Write a Damn Good Novel, Thriller, etc. I now have his library on my Kindle Fire, which is definitely one of my most favorite new things in the world! I never thought I would say that as I figured I would remain a dinosaur and only read print books. I was wrong. I bought the original Kindle and liked it, but now with the Kindle Fire I can see photos in my cookbooks (Love any cookbook by Giada and Rick Bayless), it is light and easy to travel with. Because I love this book so much and because I would love to see my books hit the top ten Kindle Sales list this month, I am offering a Kindle Fire to one lucky winner if either COVERT REICH or DADDY'S HOME hits the top ten list (DH is in the top 30 for pyschological thrillers right now)! Just keep checking to see, and anyone who writes in the blog comment section that they bought a copy is automaticallly entered. This is an honor system, so I will trust you when you say you purchased it. I can't say I got this idea myself. Actually my good friend and a huge supporter of my work Lori Gondelman from http://www.lorisreadingcorner.com/ (for readers this a must blog to follow) gave me the idea as she so kindly surprised me this morning by offering an Ipod shuffle to her readers and touting Jessica Park's amazing book FLAT OUT LOVE and COVERT REICH. If you have not read Jessica's book, it is excellent and not one to miss. It has been on the top 10 Kindle Book Sales List for a couple of weeks now and it deserves to be #1! Check it out for yourself. http://amzn.to/tGQdWC. For those of you readers who Love humor, you can't miss anything by my friend Gayle Carline. This lady is hysterical and also a horse lover like myself. Her Peri Minneopa Mysteries are fun, funny, and are excellent mysteries. Check her books out! http://amzn.to/vtHvFr. And for those of you who love Noir type of mysteries you can't miss Jeff Sherrat. http://amzn.to/tGnijL. Anyone who enjoys to have the pants scared off of them needs to read a horror novel by my friend and for many years freelance editor Mike Sirota. http://amzn.to/ugE7Wg His book FIRE DANCE kept me turning pages and scared to death! And finally one last book of mine to plug :). For you readers of women's fiction, check out a copy of HAPPY HOUR. This book has received stellar reviews and is the kind of book that will make you laugh, cry, get a little angry, etc. It is the kind of book that will remind you of what is really important in life. It's a must read for the women in your life. And, for a very short time the publisher of this book ZOVA has graciously agreed to lower the price to .99 cents for Kindle and e-book readers. http://amzn.to/s3yjXF

So, there you go! A few of my favorite books and a cool contest. You in?

Enjoy your weekend.

Cheers,
Michele
http://www.michelescott.com/

The Cast of COVERT REICH

2011-11-21T18:02:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone had a great weekend! Mine was a bit crazy. My horse Will had a mild colic, which kept me from much sleep. I got up every couple of hours to check on him. I am happy to say that he is much better and all systems are working (horse people will know what I mean--if not, you probably don't want the details). I also worked like crazy to format COVERT REICH, which I have to admit has left me a bit drained. I write, not format for all of the various e-readers. It is not easy! My hats off to all the techies out there.

I am pleased to say though that release day is finally here. The Kindle version is up now for .99. The Nook, Ipad and print versions will be available very soon.

Now, for the fun stuff! When I write a book I like to think about who might play in the movie or TV show. Yes, I am aware that this is very wishful thinking but it is still fun. So, I have casted a few roles for COVERT REICH. I am still trying to figure out who would play Eric and Julio. See if you agree with my current cast of characters. And, I am posting Chapter Fourteen. If you have not had a chance to read the chapters that are up already I hope that you will, and that it entices you to get a copy. Kindle Purchase Links: http://www.amazon.com/Covert-Reich-ebook/dp/B006BHWSJM/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_2 and the U.K. Link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Covert-Reich-ebook/dp/B006BHWSJM/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_1

Here is my all star-cast for COVERT REICH:

Dr. Kelly Morales--Jennifer Lopez

Detective Tony Pazzini

Gem Michaels

Peter Redding

Detective Simmons

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Pazzini sat behind his desk, blinking eyes that had gone blurry. He attempted again to focus on the overload of paperwork. What a night. The murder at County was one he knew would be eating at him for a while. Bizarre cases always did. He suddenly felt much older than his forty-two years.

But being a cop was what he knew best. He lived for the job and his son, Luke. And the job took away from time with his kid. It wouldn’t be so hard if Anna were still here. But she wasn’t, and even with the help of his parents, he still felt he was in some way cheating Luke.

He took a large gulp of Coke and a sharp spear of burning acid shot through his stomach. Pazzini instantly regretted the decision to put jalapenos and onions on the hot dog he’d devoured earlier, after wrapping the hospital crime scene.

The stress of the job, plus the onions and hot peppers—which in all honesty, he could never get enough of—didn’t do much for the ulcer his doctor had warned him about. The burning sensation in his gut never left him alone these days. This morning it was much worse than usual.

“Jeez, Pazzini, what’d ya do? Hit Cotija’s Taco Shop last night?” Simmons taunted.

“Nah, wise ass. I had a dog with a heap of the good stuff on it.” He looked up from the paperwork and smoothed down his slightly wavy black hair, thinking he should probably comb it. He winced when his palms hit the back of his head. He could’ve sworn there had been more hair there a few months ago.

“Oh, man, that’ll do it every time. Wish I had some antacids for you. But I got a message instead.” Simmons winked at him, smacking on the tobacco chew Tony swore never left the side of his cheek. His stained teeth substantiated that theory.

“What’s that?” Tony asked, irritated by Simmons’ twang, which could only come from a cowboy wannabe. Simmons swore he was Texas born and raised. It was his story, but Tony knew the truth. He was really from Nebraska. Tony stared at the idiot for a few seconds, his annoyance growing at Simmons’ ridiculous overgrown goatee that was eons out of date. It wouldn’t hurt if he trimmed his shoulder length hair and took the earring out as well. Freaking Rhinestone Cowboy. Please.

“Boss man wants to see you, dude.”

“Dude? Seriously Simmons, you gonna catch some waves now?”

Simmons ignored him, “What d’ya do now, Paz?”

“Hey, dude, shut the hell up. Don’t call me Paz. It’s Pazzini. I can spell it for you if you like.”

Simmons held up his hands. “Hey, man, sorry. You know, no offense. Didn’t know it bugged you. Note to self.”

Tony nodded and slid out of his desk chair, heading toward his boss’s office.

“Dragging your feet a little, aren’t ya?” Simmons laughed.

That stopped the exhausted detective in his tracks. He faced Simmons. “Dude, this isn’t Texas, Nebraska, or Bum Fuck Egypt. This is L.A., and in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s you, not ya. And another thing, do you think you could lose the look? Your look? It went out with disco.”

Simmons abruptly stormed out of the room lined with desks and detectives. The place reminded Tony of a classroom, except it was far more cluttered, and instead of sweaty kids, it smelled of sweaty adults and stale air. At the moment, only a few actual detectives were sitting at their desks, mulling over reports, doing the tedious work. They had all stopped to watch the scene.

“Oh come on, Pazzini, sure the kid is an odd duck but do you have to be such a hard ass?” Barkley commented. He was an older detective who had been on the force for thirty years and was inching close to retirement.

“I just think people should be who they really are. FYI, Simmons isn’t even from Texas. He’s from fucking Nebraska!” Tony yelled back as he reached the chief’s office. Barkley was probably right. Maybe he was being too hard on Simmons, but he was exhausted and his nerves were on edge.

Standing outside Linden’s door, he couldn’t help the pang in his stomach, which he knew wasn’t entirely due to his earlier lunch. Pretty much every time he stepped into this office, his boss had a bone to pick with him. Usually, Tony had to admit, the chief was right. He had a hot button and had been known to rough up a few dope dealers and scumbags here and there. Linden always covered his ass, but not before he tore him a new one. But Pazzini couldn’t think of anything he’d done lately to warrant the usual warning…unless it had to do with Dr. Morales. He might have been a little rough on her, but he would have figured her too tough to call in a complaint about him. In any case, he’d just been doing his job. But had he pushed the doctor too hard? He didn’t think she was a killer, but those questions had to be asked. Then again, beauty could blind people from the truth. And Kelly Morales was definitely good looking.

He turned the handle on the door and peered inside Linden’s cramped quarters. The office reminded him of his grandfather’s fishing cabin up in the Sierras. At least in the way it smelled—musty, old.

Linden lifted his head up off his desk. His blue eyes were bloodshot.

“Hey, boss. Simmons said you wanted to see me.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m getting some shut-eye. Tired these days.” He rubbed his bleary eyes. “Think I’m fighting a flu bug. Carol is home with it.”

“That’s too bad.” Tony didn’t buy the flu thing at all.

“Anyhow, I wanted you in here because I need to know what happened at the hospital last night. I’m getting some heat from upstairs and from the mayor’s office. That sort of thing. Hospital people are upset, and the CEO over there is going nutso. I got some broad calling me every hour asking if there’s any news. I told her as soon as I know something, I’d give her a ring. And I don’t even want to talk about the media. That pain in the ass Gem Michaels from The Times has been calling about a statement and information.”

Tony tried not to smile. Gem was a tough as nails reporter, and she could be a pain but Tony liked her. She was honest. No hype. Just the facts.

“Not good, Chief.”

Tony sat down in the cracked vinyl chair across from his boss. Kind of a joke, really. The only reason the guy still had any real power was because his dad was good buddies with the commissioner. It wasn’t a secret Linden was burnt out. However, he still did merit some respect. At one time, he’d been one of the finest. He’d solved more homicides than anyone else on the force. But then he was shot while on duty and now could walk only with the help of a cane. That explained the ever-present alcohol—self-medication. He’d been put behind a desk and Tony knew it had nearly killed him.

“Any suspects?” Linden asked, the faint smell of whiskey wafting off of him.

Tony took note of the coffee cup resting on Linden’s desk and wondered what was really in it. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m checking into the usual things. The ex-wife, colleagues, friends, anyone associated with him who might hold a grudge. Nothing stands out at the moment.”

“No one saw anything?”

“No one coming forward, anyway. We’re still questioning people, obviously. This is going to take some time, sir.”

“We don’t have time, Pazzini. You’re telling me no one in that entire hospital spotted anything out of the ordinary? Some doc gets rubbed out in the middle of a busy hospital like County, and no one sees a thing?”

“He wasn’t in the middle of the hospital, sir. He was in the morgue, and I don’t think it’s quite as bustling as the rest of the building. I’m working on it. If anyone did see anything, they aren’t talking yet. Forensics is still over there this morning. I just received a roster of everyone who was working during those hours. But like I said, this is going to take time. We are questioning everyone. Then there were visitors in the building until eight o’ clock. We need to look at the sign-in sheets. At this point, the killer could be anyone. Oh, and we’re also checking all security cam footage.”

Linden rubbed his eyes again. He looked wiped out…or very hung over.

“What we know, or can surmise at this point, is the suspect was alone and locking up for the evening. The morgue is on the bottom floor of the hospital. The perp came from behind and zapped him with a silencer. Then slit his throat. Our big problem is how many people are in and out of that place daily—dead or alive. DNA is everywhere. It’s a hospital. The crime scene was contaminated before we even walked in the door.”

Linden nodded and leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands together and placed them under his chin. “You spoke with a woman doctor.” He looked down at some notes. “Dr. Morales? I understand she had a dinner date with the vic.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about her.”

“Her story checks out. She was at the restaurant waiting for him. Busboy confirms seeing her. She claims they had some patients to discuss.”

Linden made a face. “What? This guy is the morgue man and she’s in the NICU. What patients could they have in common?”

“I would assume an infant...or mom. It happens. Maybe she needed to talk pathology with him. I don’t know. It seemed plausible to me.”

“Guy is taking her to Tuscany’s to talk business? He’s gonna fork over that kind of cash on a business meeting? I don’t buy it. He was looking to get a piece of ass.”

“I think he might have been looking in the wrong place,” Tony replied.

“Ice queen?”

“No. I think she’s respectable, is all. I think they were friends. Seems like there was a mutual attraction between them and if the poor guy hadn’t been killed, they may have wound up in a relationship. But at the stage they were at, it wasn’t happening yet.”

Linden studied him and clucked his tongue. “She must be a looker.” Tony didn’t respond.

Tony understood his boss’s implications. “Please. I am a professional. Dr. Morales answered my questions and was cooperative. That’s the bottom line.” He sighed and thought carefully about what he was going to say next. He wanted to prove to Linden he hadn’t been blinded by the doctor’s good looks. “I did get the feeling, though, that she could be hiding something.”

“Why do you say that?” Linden He picked up his mug and took a swig.

“Just a hunch, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well, you need to trust hunches. Sometimes gut reactions solve cases. Stay with her a little longer.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “I want an arrest on this, Pazzini. And soon. My oldest kid just got accepted at USF. Place is not cheap. My youngest needs braces, and my wife wants to go on a European vacation. She seems to forget I’m not Donald Trump. And between us, I am ready to retire from this place. But before I do, I need to go out on a high note, if you know what I mean.”

“Right.”

“Get back to me as soon as you have something. I’ll make some calls, see if I can keep the politics at a minimum. You’re working with Simmons on this.”

“What?” Pazzini asked. “You’re kidding, right? You can’t do that to me. Come on…”

“Does it look like I’m kidding? You’re going to need a partner on this one.”

“I do my best work alone.”

“Not this time,” Linden said. “He’s a good cop. He’s a little different, but he’s sharp. You can tolerate his idiosyncrasies.”

Tony rolled his eyes and walked out of the office. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. He had a front-page homicide with no real leads, and now he had to work side-by-side with the urban cowboy.

Chapter Thirteen of COVERT REICH

2011-11-18T08:01:00.000-08:00

Since Thanksgiving is next week and I am already having issues with my jeans (I swear they must have shrunk in the wash), I am heading out to the YMCA where they are offering a ZUMBA class. I am sure I will be completely coordinated and and will not drop after three songs. I am positive. Wish me luck.

In the meantime, here is Chapter Thirteen of COVERT REICH

Have a wonderful weekend.

Cheers,
Michele

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Kelly locked the house up behind her. She’d fed Stevie T and left a light on in the entry and kitchen since she planned to get home late. Her shift would start at nine and go for 12 hours. Leaving at 6:00am would give her enough time to visit her horse, and maybe get some perspective out on the trail.

The rich scent of earth, dew, and freshly cut hay hit her as she stepped out of her Land Rover. Nickers and whinnies echoed across the grounds from the equestrian center. It was breakfast time and the horses were definitely ready to eat. She knew her timing wasn’t the greatest, but it was the only time she had until the weekend to visit.

Kelly let out a low whistle as she walked down the barn aisle. A big bay mare popped her head out and turned to face Kelly. Sydney nickered a gentle hello. Kelly smiled. “I’m happy to see you, too.” In fact, she was more than just happy…she was relieved. Tears welled in her eyes. She was exhausted and reeling from Jake’s horrible death. This was the only place she could come and find peace, even if only for a short while.

“Hey big girl.” Kelly slid a hand down Syd’s face. She reached in her pocket and brought out the apple slices she’d prepped at home. Syd took it eagerly. “I hope this makes you feel a bit better about being late for breakfast.” Kelly knew it wasn’t kosher to take Sydney off her feed schedule, but she’d only be an hour behind by the time Kelly was finished with her.

She took Syd out, put her in the cross-ties, and quickly groomed her. After tacking the mare up and putting on her helmet and gloves, she led her out to the mounting block and got on. A few minutes later, Kelly and Syd were walking along at a leisurely pace on one of the back trails behind the equestrian center. Tree branches reached across the wide path, leaves blowing gently in the slight breeze. The sun shone strong overhead with only a puff of cloud here and there, dotting the powder blue sky. For the first time in 24 hours, Kelly felt like she could breathe again. And, more importantly, think.

In the 30 minutes it took her to arrive back at the center, Kelly had gone over the current situation multiple times. She needed to get a hold of the charts on the two other women who died like Lupe Salazar. Unfortunately, Jake had been her primary connection in the morgue. She really didn’t know the other pathologists well, and she had been out on the days those women came in. She may have a difficult time getting access to their charts. God she wished that Dr. Pearson was around. He was a far more amicable man to deal with than Pierce Brightman. Joe Pearson was a good doctor. He was nearing retirement so it was kind of surprising he was now on vacation. However, as a doctor and especially one who worked the NICU Kelly understood the pain one endured when a little one was lost, and Pearson had apparently lost two within a week.

She wondered if the chief had suggested Pearson take time off, as Eric had indicated. Brightman had been OBGYN on both Lupe Salazar’s case and one of the other young women. One thing was certain, she would need to speak with him. Amicable or not. Kelly knew she needed to have a chat with Brightman to get his take on all of this. Would he have the same strange reaction Jake had with her? The reaction Kelly was sure had gotten him killed. How much did she want to look into this? Paranoia was beginning to get the best of her.

However, there was right and there was wrong. And it was right to find out what had happened to Lupe so at the very least she could help Baby S. And then there was Jake.

Kelly played Jake’s conversation with her over and over in her mind. She thought about Lupe Salazar and Baby S and what the reports detailed. She would need to see if the other women and baby charts matched up in any way. Kelly sifted through her theories, most of which were conspiratorial and bizarre. But at the end of the trail, she was no further into making sense of anything, leaving her frustrated and confused.

She put Syd away and headed toward her car, when she spotted a familiar face—Dr. Tamara Swift, her vet. Tamara was tall, very thin with long blonde hair, which was always pulled back and tucked under a ball cap. She had warm hazel eyes and a golden glow, likely due to her time spent outdoors in the sun. If she hadn’t been a vet, Kelly was certain she could’ve made one heck of a volleyball player. The moment Kelly saw Tamara, an idea began to form. “Hey Tam,” she said, quickening her pace.

“Hey there.” Tamara took a step back. “Wow, Kel. You okay? You look a little…”

“I know,” Kelly said holding up her palms. “I can’t go into it right now. Um, but I need a favor.” Tamara had become more than just Kelly’s vet over the years, she was also a friend. Kelly had actually introduced the vet to her now husband who Kelly had interned with. She’d been in her wedding. They had barbeques together, drank wine, enjoyed each other’s company.

“Sure,” Tamara replied.

“It’s dicey.”

“How do you mean?”

“I need some blood work sent in for some tox reports.”

“Something wrong with Syd?”

“No,” Kelly replied.

“What are you talking about then?”

Kelly sighed. “Okay, I can’t go into details here, but if I can get you the blood, can you help me?” For a second she started to rethink her request. Could she get her friend into any trouble? Or worse, would she be putting her in any kind of danger? She shook her head. “You know what, Tam, never mind. It’s silly. I never…” Kelly closed her eyes and fought back tears.

Tamara put an arm around her. “Hey, hey, Kelly? What’s going on? It takes a lot to make you cry. Hell, I remember last year when you broke two of your ribs after Syd dumped you going over that double oxer?” Tamara pointed to the jump arena. Kelly couldn’t help but laugh. “No tears then, right? I mean you kept saying how you were fine and you could get right back on, until you nearly passed out.”

“That hurt like hell.” Kelly smiled.

“Okay, so what’s this all about?”

“I don’t really know to be honest with you.”

“Let’s start with why you want the tox reports.”

Kelly knew if she was going to ask Tamara for help on this, she owed it to her to tell her everything she did know.

“So, your friend Jake, the pathologist, he was murdered after he basically warned you there was something sinister that caused this girl’s death?”

Kelly nodded. “Yes.”

“What about the police? Did you tell the detective who interviewed you last night about any of this?”

“I told him we were going to meet and discuss some patient cases.”

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell him about this?” Tamara asked.

“Because it sounds crazy, doesn’t it? The detective was kind of, I don’t know…not a jerk, but also not exactly gentle. I mean he was prying and asking things about my sex life.”

“Why?”

“He thought I was hooking up with Jake, I guess. Look, I know I need to tell the police, but I needed a sounding board first to hear me out and let me know if it is as crazy as it sounds.”

“It does sound a bit strange, but you’re a grounded person, Kelly. You’re a good and respected doctor. The police might find it odd, so I can understand where you’re coming from.”

“Do you see why I want some kind of proof there is something behind the deaths of these pregnant women, something that got Jake killed?”

“And you think the tox reports may show something more?”

Kelly shrugged. “After hearing Jake talk about this, I don’t know if I can trust the tests that were already run, and I don’t know if everything was done thoroughly. I mean inconclusive means simply that.”

Tamara nodded. “I’ll do it for you.”

“Please be careful. I have no clue what we’re dealing with.”

Tamara gave her a hug and said, “Hopefully, we’ll find out.”

Chapter Twelve of Covert Reich

2011-11-17T07:54:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone is having a wonderful week! Here is Chapter Twelve. Also, if you didn't get a chance to click over to the YouTube link to watch the book trailer, no worries. I have posted it here today. Those of you who know me, know that many of my books include a horse or two. Thisbook is no exception. :) Here it is:CHAPTER TWELVE

Stunned, Kelly mindlessly flipped through the channels on her TV trying to find a distraction. But the only thing that seemed to help was her cat, Stevie T (short for Stephen Tyler). He was curled up on her lap, purring away. Kelly stroked the long yellow fur on the tabby whose only purpose in life was to sleep, eat, and soak up attention. She scratched behind his ears. “Wish I was you,” she said. The cat opened his green eyes slightly and let out a soft meow, likely in protest that Kelly had spoken. “Sorry.”

She finally settled on HRTV to watch some horse racing. Horses were in her blood. She had been around them all her life, and even had one—Sydney, a mare—that she kept at the LA Equestrian Center. She tried to ride at least three days a week, when her busy schedule permitted.

Kelly had been born in Puerto Rico where her father worked as a groom and breezing race horses in the hopes of becoming a jockey. An opportunity came along when she was three and Raul moved his family to Lexington, Kentucky. In Lexington, he was able to work his way up from grooming race horses to training them. Now he trained and managed his own small stable. With any luck, he could end up with a future winner in his barn.

As a teen, Kelly breezed horses on the track before dawn. She’d thought long and hard about vet school vs. medical school, but in the end, she knew healing humans would be easier on her than trying to heal animals. She’d always formed attachments more easily to animals than people. However, as she’d grown in her role as a pediatrician, she realized being a human doctor was as tough as she’d thought being a vet would be. Emotions were emotions and they could get the better of her if she let them.

This train of thought led her right back to Baby Salazar lying in the NICU, and then to Jake. She tried to focus on the race—mud flying everywhere under pounding hooves, spraying like bullets into the eyes of the jockeys and horses.

Jockeys were an interesting lot. They worked so hard to make weight. They did everything from working out, starving themselves, taking diet pills, and even using cocaine to sharpen their focus and reaction time. Cocaine addiction amongst jockeys was high. It was one of the things her father did not like about racing. He’d recently fired one of the best jockeys to come through his stable for drug use.

Addiction. It would have been so easy for Kelly to piece all of this together if Lupe Salazar had been addicted to something. Kelly could treat addiction. She would know exactly what she was dealing with and how to handle it.

She needed to figure out the missing pieces. But as the emotions of the day finally caught up with her, she began to shut down. As she listened to the announcer and pounding hooves on the TV, she dozed off. Tomorrow she would see what she could figure out. She would do what she always did when she needed answers—make an early morning visit to the L.A. Equestrian Center, and, if time permitted, take Sydney out for a short trail ride before work. Syd had a way of helping her see things in a different light. Now it was time for sleep.

Chapter Eleven COVERT REICH

2011-11-16T06:10:00.000-08:00

Here is Chapter Eleven of COVERT REICH my friends. This chapter involves one of my favorite characters in this book--Gem Michaels. To me Gem is savvy, fun, and the kind of woman I would want to be friends with. I hope you enjoy! Have a great Wednesday!

Cheers,
CHAPTER ELEVEN

Georgia Michaels—Gem for short—ran her fingers through her pixie cut, wondering how many grays were hidden beneath the Clairol Golden Blonde she’d been using since she was twenty-one and first spotted one of those nasty buggers. That was eighteen years ago, and she had no doubt the stress of raising two teenage boys—not to mention the strain of her job—had turned her hair snow white by now. There was a time, before she’d had the boys, when she’d wanted to become an international correspondent. But her hopes and dreams of interviewing and producing stories for CNN were dashed when her first son came along. She’d taken mothering as seriously as she’d taken anything in her life, and although Austen hadn’t been planned, she’d fallen in love with him at first site and loved being a mom.

But kids grow up, divorces happen, and finances dwindle. For the past few years, she’d gotten back into reporting and her dreams were alight again with possibilities for the future. Probably too middle-aged and not pretty enough to be on television, but she still had brains and brawn, and could sniff out a good story and hunt down information like nobody’s business.

Gem stared at the computer screen in front of her. Deadline, deadline, deadline. Jesus, it’s just another homicide. Write the damn thing, and get it to Stu before he hunts you down.

But God it was hard getting back into the swing of things. Gem had just returned from a week in Puerto Vallarta. Finally! Vacation. With a handful of forty-something divorcees drinking a shit-load of margaritas and eating way too much good food. Five pounds heavier and craving salt, lime, and tequila…the last thing Gem wanted to do right now was her job.

Homicide, schmomicide. They were all the same. So-and-so was killed at such-and-such location, by whomever using whatever—if they even knew that much. At least this one had some intrigue to it. It wasn’t the typical boy-meets-girl, fall in love, girl falls out of love, boy goes psycho and blows her brains out story. No. This time one of the top pathologists in the state had been offed right in the middle of County Hospital. Whoever toasted this guy was a total nut job or at least had some real balls. Or was some kind of hired hand. Maybe the doctor owed the wrong people some cash? Could be anything.

Gem was checking into the ex-wife. From what she’d heard, the split between Dr. Hamilton and his ex had been messy. The wife made off with most of his money and was living large. Of course the death of her ex meant those alimony checks were going to stop rolling in. On the other hand, if she had an insurance policy on the doc, or if he had failed to change his beneficiary over on an existing policy, well, then…that could certainly be reason enough for murder.

Or maybe it wasn’t about money. Gem had done enough checking into this thing to discover Dr. Hamilton had eyes for a pretty pediatrician who ran the neo-natal intensive care unit at County—a Dr. Morales. Gem wondered who had instigated the divorce between the Hamiltons. The ex could have a whopping jealous streak.

She looked at the blank screen that stared unforgivingly back at her. One would think this wouldn’t be a problem to write. This was her place, her people. Noises from the newsroom, people dashing about, crazed writers high on caffeine or nicotine (or both) typing away as their minds raced at a clip their bodies could certainly never keep up with, always poised to pounce on the next big story...Jesus, she should be able to write this story in her sleep.

Big story. This one had the feel to it, like a lion hiding in his den waiting to come out for the hunt. The photo of the guy was really all she had at the moment other than the usual rumor and conjecture from a handful of hospital employees—all filled with speculation. She had insiders at the police station, but the strange thing was, no one was talking. At all. The cops had given a brief statement, and that was it. Detective Pazzini, who Gem thought was a decent cop and a helluva good-looking one, told the media once forensics was finished investigating, the press would receive clearance from the hospital and get a detailed report. Great. A lot of good that did her right now.

Her phone buzzed and snapped her back to the here and now. “Yeah?”

“It’s Goldman.” She cringed. It was her boss, Stuart Goldman. “How’s your story coming? About finished? It’s a front pager. We have to go to press in a couple of hours.”

“Just about. Without the police saying much, it’s a little on the light side.”

“Well, you have to give me something. This guy was an important member in the community. Loved and respected. Go on that.”

“Right,” she replied, holding out her hands and looking at the light pink, chipped polish on her fingernails. The call from the boss was the motivation she’d needed. Gem turned off everything else around her and went to work, pounding out the best story she could. Once finished, she opened up her e-mail and attached the story to send to Goldman. She buzzed his office and let him know it was on the way.

Before heading out for the evening, she figured she’d better take a look and see if she had anything interesting in her inbox. She really was back now. E-mails aplenty. Her numero uno rule while down in Mexico was no computer and no cell phone.

Ah. L.A. was too far from Puerto Vallarta.

She scrolled down and saw the typical story pitches, lots of forwards from her book club friends, who she had consistently asked to stop sending her those damn jokes and chain letters. There was a short e-mail from her mom reminding her to make reservations early for her and the boys to fly back to New York for Christmas. The usual stuff. Except…one e-mail caught her eye. It was from ChemMadderhorn@gmail.com. At first she figured it was one of those skanky ads for Viagra or Cialis. God knew she received a ton of those, even with the filters on, but it was the subject line that grabbed her. “Your Neighbor, Chad.”

She opened the e-mail and read the short note. Watch your neighbor. Three years ago, San Diego, Ca., Petersen family.

“Oh my God,” she heard herself whisper. “What is this?” She knew about the Petersen family. Everyone in Southern California and pretty much in the U.S. had heard of them. And Gem had met her neighbor, Chad. But there was no way he’d been connected to that grisly, horrible crime. No way. She went to delete the e-mail, thinking it was some sick joke, but something held her back—her gut, her instinct, her sixth sense. She wasn’t sure what, but she closed her e-mail and opened her documents on the Petersen family.

Chapter Ten of COVERT REICH

2011-11-15T08:26:00.000-08:00

I finally finished the book last night! I am sooooo happy. Right now I have three readers doing a read through for anything I missed or messed up on. I know I keep moving the date back on releasing the book but I want it to be as good as it possibly can be (especially after some of the lashings I received in UK amazon reviews for Mommy, May I? Yeah--remember that bad? When I uploaded a first draft version by mistake. Face palm! Big time! Word to the wise--when you name your files make sure it's really clear which draft it is.

So, until I get the book out I am continuing to upload chapters. Hope you are enjoying.

DISCLAIMER * This chapter (book) is rated R and is not suitable for audiences under 17. :)

Have a wonderful Tuesday.

Michele
A.K. Alexander

CHAPTER TEN

Mark Pritchett loved watching the pretty doctor. Everyone loved watching pretty Dr. Morales. But he was by far the most skilled at watching without her ever knowing. Hell, he’d been watching her long before he’d gotten word only a few hours earlier to keep an eye on her.

That’s who he was—a watcher.

He couldn’t wait until he got the go-ahead to take care of her. They would want that, wouldn’t they? The Brotherhood wouldn’t just want him to keep an eye on her and then do nothing about it.

Mark wanted so badly to prove himself to The Brotherhood. He was tired of being a peon. He was worthy of so much more. He could do so much more for the cause. He knew he could. If only they’d give him the chance.

For now, Mark would bide his time. It wasn’t as if his assignment was a bad one. Keeping an eye on certain docs was easy, and he’d been doing a damn fine job of it. Watching them and reporting back in. Smooth as silk. He knew he should be happy they trusted him. There were not many of them who had been placed in a position like this. Out of all of the guys who could have been chosen, they’d chosen him.

There had been a handful of doctors on his list to watch, and then he was told to watch Dr. Morales. Closely. He’d about split a nut. She was gorgeous. But an ice-cold bitch. Like they all were. Women. From his mother to his fat-assed sister to the ex-girlfriend he should have killed for being the most annoying, pain in the ass on Earth.

Then there was Dr. Morales. Kelly…

Damn, he would have loved to see her face when the bad-ass detective told her about Hamilton. Priceless. He wondered what Hamilton had done to get himself iced. One thing he knew for sure was when you fucked with The Brotherhood, they didn’t mess around. Obviously.

Mark snuck inside a supply room and stuck his hand inside his elastic-waist pants, wrapping his palm around his already hard cock. He looked down. The tattoo above his navel made him smile—his identity.

Everything that swastika stood for, he stood for.

Thinking about the various ways he would destroy Dr. Morales excited him. He tightened his grip and moved his hand faster. Little Miss Big Shot doctor. Now that would be something, wouldn’t it? That would really be proving himself. Death. Murder. Yes. With the good doctor, he would look right into her eyes. He would make it a slow, torturous. A begging-for-mercy kind of thing. He would so enjoy that.

He thought more about Dr. Morales and the things he was going to do to her. It was pure ecstasy. He leaned against the wall, slid down to the floor, and finished himself off. He couldn’t wait much longer. But waiting was a must because Mark knew no matter how bad he was, the people he worked for were far worse.

Chapter Nine of COVERT REICH and New Book Trailer

2011-11-14T08:47:00.000-08:00

Happy Monday! I think there should be three day weekends. Two days is just not enough. But it is only two days, so I am back to work and I am sure you are as well. I have the draft of the new book trailer of COVERT REICH now available. Hope you will check it out and let me know your thoughts. Here is the link. Once it goes permanently live I will cut and paste into the blog and on my site. http://youtu.be/iGkcXr8og-c

And, here is Chapter Nine of the book. As I promised, I will keep uploading new chapters until the book becomes available. At this rate you might get the entire book before I can have it exactly the way I want it. Just kidding. It will be out before Thanksgiving and I am hoping readers will purchase for their e-readers or order the paperback. As mentioned before this book is an adult book! There is a lot of violence, a lot of swearing from some very evil characters, and it is never my intention as a writer to offend. Therefore, if this kind of thriller is not your thing then please pick up a Nikki Sands book or my novel Happy Hour. They are all light, fun, and with no real violence, swearing and all that stuff.

Have a wonderful Monday.

Cheers,
Michele

CHAPTER NINE

Redding sat back in the plush leather seat inside the chartered jet, waiting for take off. He swirled the ice around in his scotch and soda. He was headed back home, his work done in Germany. Hopefully. Something worried him about Horner though. He couldn’t put a finger on it. Other than the chemist still hadn’t produced what they wanted. They were on a timeline. Next year was an election year and it was vital to stay on schedule. Would Horner be able to get the job done? Redding sensed the guy was struggling. Maybe losing it. Peter sighed heavily. There were always going to be problems with a project like this. It was staying on top of the problems that mattered. Staying organized.

He remembered his father—Tim Redding. The Reddings had adopted him when he was three –years old and George had loved him and been an amazing teacher. He was the one who had explained the order of things. “You have to keep your soldiers in line, Petie. Here is the thing: when fighting a war—and trust me, we are fighting a war—you have your minions down on the bottom. Now they may not seem all that important. But they are. They’re like fleas—they can be disposed of and most easily replaced within the ranks. But the problem is, they can also be broken down the easiest by the enemy. They will almost always talk when push comes to shove, so it’s very important to be sure you have a solid foundation.

“Next are your henchmen. These guys recruit the minions. Minions do little jobs. You can control their minds. Henchmen do more difficult jobs. They have to be discrete, trustworthy. Then there are the helpers. They are your confidantes and partners. Then there’s you—the leader, son. You are a leader.”

Peter took a sip from his drink. “Yes, Dad, I am,” he muttered. His cell phone rang. It was a henchman calling. A very important henchman with very important connections. Connections who put a lot of money into Frauen Pharmaceuticals and Peter’s back pocket.

“Our little problem taken care of?” Peter asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He leaned back in his leather chair and sighed. “And the girlfriend?”

“I don’t think she knows any more than what we heard, but we can’t be too sure.”

“No, we can’t. No loose ends. I want to know her every move.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“No. Money will be wired to your account. Good work.”

“Thank you, sir. Good night.”

Peter hung up the phone. The jet engine roared down the runway. Hamilton. The good doctor. A minion. Not one who believed in the cause, though. A minion by force, just like Horner. There were only a few of those who Peter kept a close eye on. They could ruin everything he’d worked so hard for. Everything his dad would have been so proud of. Men like Hamilton and Horner scared him, but he needed them—or guys like them. Hamilton was easy to dispose of. Dumb fuck should’ve realized his office would be wired. Horner was another story. Once the job was finished on the chemist’s end, Peter would feel much better when they’d gotten rid of him.

He took another long sip off his drink. He didn’t like setbacks and these bumps in the road were definitely setbacks. This Dr. Morales better not be a problem. He didn’t want to have her killed, too. He didn’t need a body count adding up. Body counts alerted cops and cops sniffing around anything was never good. The Hamilton case would never be solved. The henchman who had taken care of the doctor was good at taking care of problems. He’d proven it when he had been involved with the Petersen fiasco. The young man had orchestrated the whole thing. A job well done.

But God how Redding had hated all of that bad business, however, he’d soon realized that when Andrew Petersen had blown him off that he would need to make a strong and definite impression on his next victim—Dr. Horner. Yes, the young man had done a nice job there, and now with getting rid of Hamilton he’d once again proven he had the grit to get things done. His name was Chad Wentworth and he was vital to the cause at the moment. He had connections Redding had tapped into. Nice political connections. And to think Chad had been discovered guarding the double doors outside The Brotherhood meeting in Valencia only four years ago. He had come a long way. And so had Chad’s major connection. Redding smiled and held his drink in the air, cheering himself.

“So fuck it,” he said aloud. “Fuck it! This little setback is good for the character.” However, Redding knew any setback—minor or major—was not good for this project. Peter hated problems and loose ends. Hopefully Dr. Morales would keep her nose out of things. She would be much better off that way. The lights flickered from the city below, growing more distant as the plane reached cruising altitude. The alcohol began to ease tension from his shoulders and from his mind. But he couldn’t relax completely. He knew too many casualties would quickly alert the calvary, and the goddamn calvary was not invited to this war, because Peter Redding was determined to win.

Chapter Eight

2011-11-11T06:46:00.000-08:00

Today Alex and I race up to LA (the word race should make you laugh if you know Southern California Freeways at all). It typically takes us three hours up and three hours back on a Friday. It just is what it is. However, the good news is that he is doing very well. The bad news is, I am still trying to finish the last minute edits on the book. Should be next week.

Here is Chapter 8 of COVERT REICH. Hope you enjoy!

Kelly was now following the man toward a private room to talk. Following the detective. Tony Pazzini. Her heart raced and every nerve pumped adrenaline. He still hadn’t told her anything other than he needed to speak with her in private. However, her gut told her what was coming.

This was about Jake. It had to be.

As they headed down the hall, they passed an orderly who dropped a handful of charts. Kelly bent down to help pick them up. The detective grabbed her arm. “I think he can handle that.”

“I was only trying to help.”

He touched her shoulder. “I understand but what we need to discuss is important.”

She turned to him, hands on her hips. “I’m not going any further until I know what this is about.” She needed to know. She needed to hear it.

“Look, I just need to ask you some questions. I’d like to do it in private.”

Anger, fear, and confusion stirred a vicious brew inside her. Kelly was terrified of what he was about to tell her. She nodded.

“Follow me.”

Once inside the doctor’s lounge, she turned and faced him, crossing her arms. “Okay. Now can you tell me what is going on here?”

“Did you have an appointment with Dr. Jake Hamilton this evening?”

“I did. We were supposed to have dinner together.”

“He didn’t show up,” the detective stated.

Kelly closed her eyes for a second. “No. I was on my way downstairs to see him when you came off the elevator.” Beads of perspiration formed on her top lip.

“I am sorry, but Dr. Hamilton was found murdered about an hour ago.”

Blood drained from her face as her stomach twisted into a knot that made her want to vomit, leaving a sour burn in the back of her throat. She gagged from the wine that came back up. Her hands shook, and a cold descended upon her, chilling her whole body. The detective reached out and took her elbow as she collapsed onto the yellow sofa. She put her face in her palms, too stunned to cry. Too stunned to think.

Only one thought came to mind: She was the reason Jake was dead.

She knew that with the most painful certainty.

The detective poured her a glass of water. “Do you think you can answer a few more questions for me?” he asked. “I’m sorry to do this now, but it’s necessary.”

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. Thank you. So, you did plan to meet with Dr. Hamilton this evening?”

“I did.” She was tearing up again.

“What time was your dinner set for?”

“Seven-thirty,” she answered, barely audible.

“Where were you meeting?” He jotted a note down on his pocket pad.

“Tuscany’s.”

“Was this a date?”

“No. Dr. Hamilton and I were friends.” Her gaze fell to the ground. She didn’t want him to know she had considered the possibility of being more, but now…

“So you were not romantically involved with Dr. Hamilton?”

She hesitated. “No I just told you that it wasn’t a date.” She took a sip of her water and ran her fingers through her light brown hair. She eyed him. He’d hit a hot button. He gave her a weak smile. “We planned to meet for dinner because we needed to discuss some patient cases we were working on.”

“A dinner date to discuss business, then?” He decided to ignore the edge in her answer.

“Yes. Some patients, as I said.”

“Did you plan on going home with him?”

She frowned. “No. That actually had not crossed my mind, Detective.” Heat was rising in her face.

“Were you sexually involved with Dr. Hamilton?”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “I am not that kind of woman, and I don’t see the relevance to that sort of questioning. I told you, he was a colleague and a friend.”

“I’m working a murder case. Everything is relevant. I don’t judge what kind of woman you are, Doctor. Honestly. I am only trying to establish facts. Friends and colleagues can mean one thing to one person and a something else to another. And then once you quantify it as a relationship, we are at another level.”

“What are you, a detective or a relationship expert?”

This got a slight laugh out of him. “Well, actually, in my line of business you become a little bit of everything, I guess.”

She frowned. “I still don’t understand your questions.”

He paused for a second. “I’m gonna lay it on the line.”

“I wish you would.”

“When I have a murder case, I have to flesh everything out. I’m sure you can appreciate that. And the thing is, I can’t discount anything. Many times these cases wind up being crimes of passion or at least the victim knew the assailant.”

She crossed her arms, the frown on her face deepening. “Wait a minute, are you suggesting I murdered Jake?” She let out a soft cry. “Oh my God! As I said our relationship was a friendship and one of mutual respect. I liked him. I liked him a lot.” The tears welled in her eyes again. ”He was an excellent doctor and a decent man. He was also my friend.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and tried hard to contain her emotion. “We were not intimate. We’ve never been. I don’t know where things were headed, Detective. But what I can tell you is there is no way in hell I killed Jake.” She shook her head vehemently.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I offended you. I am only doing my job. What do you say we get back to the questions and I can let you go home?”

“Fine. Ask away.”

“Where were you between seven-fifteen and eight-fifteen this evening?”

“I left the hospital, drove to the restaurant, and waited there for Jake. When he didn’t show up, I came back here. I think you know the rest.” She stated it matter-of-factly and wiped the last of her tears away.

“Can someone verify they saw you at the restaurant?”

“I assume so. A hostess seated me. A waiter waited on me.”

“Okay, good.”

“Are we finished? I would really like to go home now.”

“Yes. I’ll probably need to speak to you again. Some time tomorrow. I may have more questions.”

“I will be here.” She left after that, holding back more tears, choking back emotion, feeling harassed, and convinced she had in some way caused her friend’s murder.

Waiting and Waiting...What Would You Do?

2011-11-10T09:25:00.000-08:00

Have you ever been stood up? You know--you wait and wait for someone at a restaurant and the other person never shows. You might order a glass of wine to kill the time. You call the person's cell phone and they don't answer. Has this ever happened to you? If so, do you worry, get mad, feel miserable thinking that the person doesn't like you? Well, in this next chapter of COVERT REICH Kelly is waiting for Jake. If you read yesterday's chapter then you know that Jake is not going to show. He has been brutally murdered.

I am still tweaking and fixing and doing some revising to this book, but I will keep posting the chapters daily until I get the book out there.

Hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER SEVEN

Kelly finished her Chardonnay and glanced around for any sign of Jake. None. She wasn’t a big drinker, but after his strange behavior, she’d had a feeling the wine might calm her nerves. He was fifteen minutes late already, and her patience was running thin. A voice inside told her something was wrong, but she pushed the thought out of her mind and took another sip of the wine. She would give him ten more minutes. She’d called his cell phone twice already, but it’d gone straight to voicemail. Jake almost always picked up so either his battery had died or…something else had kept him.

She thought about their discussion earlier. He was a straight shooter—not evasive and not one to play games. But this felt like a game to her, and she didn’t like it at all. She would’ve never left the hospital to meet him for dinner if she’d known he was going to blow her off. It was so unlike him. And because it was so unlike him, she knew something was terribly wrong. The sinking feeling in her stomach worsened. Five more minutes ticked away, and she decided to pay for the wine and head back to the hospital. Once in the car, she tried to reach Jake again by cell phone. She drove by his house, only a few minutes from the hospital. No lights were on and his car wasn’t in the driveway. Good. Maybe he was still at the hospital, and he could explain what was going on. She wasn’t leaving until he told her everything. Whatever everything was. Clearly when he’d said this was dangerous, he’d gotten her attention. What the hell could be so dangerous it would cause him to be so adamant and upset?

She pulled into the hospital parking lot and scanned it before getting out of her car. Her days at USC had taught her one could never be too careful. Walking toward the building, she noticed there were several police cars out front. She shook her head. Must’ve been another gang-related shooting or something.

With steeled determination, she headed to the elevator. Jake was obviously avoiding her, and she wasn’t going to put up with that. He’d better be there because she planned to give him a piece of her mind. How could he drop a bombshell and not show up to explain everything?

She would find out why he had stood her up if it killed her.

There was a noticeable buzz filling the halls, a surreal tension. Something was out of whack. She spotted another policeman by the elevator. Kelly stopped an intern passing by who was reading over a report on his clipboard. “Hey. What’s going on? Why all the police? Something major happening in the ER?”

He studied her for a second, his silence indicating he was deciding whether or not she was entitled to know. She flashed her credentials from the chain around her neck. His eyes widened. “Oh sorry, Doctor. I didn’t realize you were staff.” She nodded. “No. It’s not in the ER. I don’t know exactly what’s up, but rumor has it there was a murder downstairs.”

“What? Downstairs as in the morgue?”

“Yes.”

Kelly’s breathing changed, her body tensing. “Who?”

He shrugged and looked back down at his clipboard. “Sorry, I don’t know. I have a patient waiting.”

“Yeah, sure.” Her racing thoughts took a giant turn for the worse. She tried hard to push them away, but they wouldn’t budge.

She headed toward the elevator. Before she could ask the officer what was going on, the doors opened. A man with dark hair and piercing brown eyes stepped out. He glanced at Kelly. He straightened his navy and teal striped tie against his button down. “Excuse me?” she said.

He looked at her. “Yes?”

“I’m a doctor here on staff.” She showed him her ID. “Could you tell me what has happened?”

“Dr. Morales.”

“Yes,” she said.

“You’re exactly who I’ve been looking for.”

Chapter Six

2011-11-09T09:29:00.000-08:00

I will be short and sweet today as I am working through last minute copy edits on this book! So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy Chapter Six of COVERT REICH.

Cheers,
Michele

CHAPTER SIX

Jake glanced at his watch. He was running late to meet Kelly. Shit. Why was he so easy to read? He couldn’t lie to her. She was so damn on top of it. It was one of the things he liked about her, but at this moment, her intellect wasn’t making things easy. She was involved now whether she knew it or not, and he’d have to find a way to protect her.

Well, he could just not tell her the truth. That was one idea. But then what would he tell her? And how would he convince her he wasn’t lying? Her bullshit meter was too sensitive for that. It was an impossible situation. There was one thing Jake knew for sure, though: the people behind all of this were bad. Really, really bad. What choice did he have? Kelly would be relentless until she got the truth out of him. He knew that. Hell, maybe he even needed her help. Letting her in might be a good thing. Maybe there was a way the two of them could work together, figure out exactly who these people were.

Figuring out what to do about it once they knew, however, would be another story entirely.

Jake picked up the picture of his daughter again and traced the outline of her face with his fingertip. “Oh Beth, what have I gotten myself into?” He remembered a time when his little girl had complete and total faith in him, trusted him implicitly. Daddy could do no wrong. But if she knew how much danger he had put her in, she’d hate him. No. He could not tell Kelly. He would have to think of something. Send her down a dead-end path. The threats they had made about what they would do to his daughter if he breathed a single word to anyone made him shake.

He set the photo down, determined to come up with a story to pacify Kelly. He took his coat from the back of the chair and pulled it on. He walked across the hall to shut the lights off in the morgue. Ty had already gone home for the day. He glanced around the room to make sure everything was status quo and flipped the switch. “My briefcase,” he said out loud. He couldn’t forget that. His mind was not working the way it usually did. He was consumed by the mess he was in. He had to find a way out of it. Get back on track. This place and this situation were going to eat him alive.

He had to find a way out.

He took another step back towards his office, totally unprepared for the blow to his head.

He hadn’t heard a thing, but now a warm sensation oozed down his back, the pain immense as he collapsed to the ground. A groan escaped from between his lips. His head smacked hard against the cold floor, making a loud thud. He tried to pick himself up, only to collapse again. The pain grew more intense with each labored breath. His vision blurred. He knew the warm blood trickling from the back of his neck would soon run cold.

They knew. God damn it. They knew he’d talked.

Oh God, Kelly.

His daughter!

He prayed someone would find him before he died. He had to get to her before they did. Impossible, though.

Footsteps along the floor, passing him. “Really fucking stupid. At least for your sake, we decided you are dispensable, my friend. If you weren’t, I’d be killing your kid right now. Lucky for her.”

Jake felt another sharp pang beginning on one side of his neck traveling across to the other. The pain numbed with the realization his throat had been cut. He attempted to bring his hands up to stop the bleeding. No chance.

He closed his eyes. An image of his daughter flashed through his mind.

Then nothing.

If We Could All Just Get Along... &Chapter Five of Covert Reich

2011-11-08T07:12:00.000-08:00

Hatred and intolerance is a world-wide evil. We don't live in a world where we all "just get along." Wouldn't that be nice? Think of it. If human beings allowed other human beings to be, as long as no one was hurting anyone. People and our governments around the world have been destroying various cultures and races since the beginning of time for either religious reasons, political reasons, greed, power, race, and sex. I know that I wake up everyday and am grateful that as a woman I was born in this country. I can not even imagine the duress that so many women in the world survive under.

It's this type of hatred and the people who govern and fuel it that the theme of COVERT REICH is based on. However, on the flip side the book is also about those people in the world ready to fight against ignorance and intolerance. It is a story that comes down to the basic good vs. evil. Here is Chapter Five. I hope you enjoy!

Cheers,
Michele

CHAPTER FIVE

After another sleepless night, Ryan decided to get up at 5:00 a.m. and head to the lab. If they were watching, they’d see how dedicated he was. And most importantly, they’d hopefully assume the brain washing had worked and he—good, all-American white boy—had truly joined their ranks.

He’d been watching his back. He had to. If The Brotherhood knew his background and his true feelings, Ryan knew what they could do. He had to act as if he had been converted.

How he hated these men and what they stood for. How he hated himself. He was a white man. A goddamned white man.

A goddamned white man raised in a good home by good people. His father was a teacher, his mother a nurse, and their best friends were the Martins. The Martins always had a little more money than the Horners, but that didn’t matter to Ryan or his parents because the Martins were cool, decent people who were gracious, kind, and fun to be around. And although they might have had it better than Ryan’s family, in some ways the Martins had it worse. The Martins were black.

Darnell Martin was Ryan’s best friend, and Darnell’s sister, Tonya, had been his first real girlfriend.

Then life happened.

The Martins moved to Aspen. The Horners stayed in Boston. Ryan went to BU. Darnell to UCLA. Ryan became a chemist and Darnell went into politics. They remained friends, but life carried them in different directions. Boy had it ever. Ryan shook his head as he sped down the immaculate four-lane highway, trying to erase the memories. He could never contact Darnell now. If he did, they would know.

And they knew everything. They had him by the short hairs. Ryan sighed heavily with memories of his old friend and his old life pervasive in his head. He pulled into the garage at Frauen Pharmaceuticals—a privately owned company based in Germany with headquarters in Los Angeles. Frauen had some very influential investors, and was an up and comer in the women’s pharmaceuticals market. They produced pills for menopause, anxiety, depression; they were even working on a Viagra-like pill that would heighten sexuality for women. But Ryan didn’t develop any of those drugs. Not by a long shot.

He parked the Audi and got out his pass key. After getting through security, he went up to his office, and then into the lab where he stopped in his tracks.

“Good morning, Ryan.”

It was Peter Redding. Redding was the CEO of Frauen Pharmaceuticals. He was also much, much more.

“Good morning, Mr. Redding. I didn’t know you were flying in.”

A crooked smiled spread across Redding’s face. His blue eyes held an unpleasant light. Ryan was pretty certain the man was Satan himself. He was handsome, by most people’s standards. Peter was of average height, but well built. He obviously spent a lot of time in the gym. Redding was probably closer to fifty than forty, but it didn’t show. His salt and pepper hair sparkled under the fluorescent lights. “I came to see you. Only you. Come with me.”

Ryan’s stomach sank. They had found out. They knew about the e-mail.

“What’s this about, sir?”

“I will explain in my office.”

Ryan’s stomach twisted. Wished he’d gone in and kissed the twins’ cheeks goodbye that morning. Oh God. The twins. Jeanine! What if they were there now, with them? What if they were hurting his family? Killing them? The memory of Frederick Färber holding a gun to his head while he witnessed the torture and murders of The Petersens vividly flashed in his mind. What if that bastard Färber was in his home? Sweat slicked his back. He thought he might throw up.

Redding opened two double-wide Mahogany doors and Ryan followed him inside. “Sit down,” Redding pointed to a chair at the conference table and picked up a TV remote, turning on a screen in front of them.

Ryan closed his eyes for a second, knowing what was coming next. His stomach sank.

“Do you see this, Horner?”

Ryan opened in his eyes and a wave of relief hit him. It was a baby hooked up to all sorts of IV’s and monitors. He nodded and with trepidation answered, “Yes.”

“And how about this?”

A young woman—a girl really—Hispanic…dead on a slab.

“Yes.”

Redding turned off the TV. “This is not what I fucking want! This is not what we want, Horner! We want aborted fetuses, we want sterile women. Dead women alert people. They make people scratch their heads and wonder why, why, why?! This is fucked up! Do you understand what we are doing here? Do you?!”

“Yes, sir.” He tried to keep his hands from shaking.

“I am not sure you do.” Redding turned the TV back on and now the screen showed his beautiful wife in their kitchen drinking coffee. Then it changed to show his five years old daughters eating cereal in front of the TV in his family room.

“No,” he whispered.

“No what?”

They had cameras throughout his house. Why was he even surprised by this? “Please don’t hurt them.”

“I don’t want to, Ryan. I really don’t. You have a lovely wife. Cute kids. I like you. I heard you were the best. That’s why you got the job. And of course, Petersen turned it down.” He frowned and it was obviously forced. Redding paused a beat, then his frown turned upward into a wicked smile. “Yes. I like you and I am going to give you another chance to make things right. Fix it. Fix the problem. I have a fucking race to purify, and I can’t have people asking questions about dead girls. Isolate and fix the problem so you can continue to go home every night to your lovely wife and cute kids. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You have two weeks. Start testing those fucking rats and monkeys of yours and get me the results I want.”

Ryan looked up at the TV as Redding turned it off. His wife. His daughters. Ryan would do whatever Redding wanted. He would find a way.

Chapter Four of COVERT REICH and a New Recipe

2011-11-07T12:40:00.000-08:00

Happy Monday! A few things--thank you to everyone who has asked about Alex. We are home and he is doing very well. His sister and I baked him a batch of chocolate chip cookies yesterday, which I think eased the pains some. Nothing like homemade cookies to put a smile on the face. I just downed two cookies myself and now my stomach is saying, "Um excuse me--that will go to your ass, you know?" Whatever. I will exercise more. Sure I will.

On another note I came to a sort of epiphany this past weekend. I received three of the nicest e-mails from readers that I have ever received. They were gracious and encouraging and it helped me realize that even though my books are for pure entertainment and escape that my work does touch people. Not everyone, but I will take the few that I know for sure my books help take someone out of their day to day stuff and be entertained for a bit. To extend my gratitude I am doing a couple of things. The first is I am keeping the .99 cent price point on all A.K. Alexander thrillers through the holidays for Kindle readers. My hope is that if you like my books that you would consider gifting the readers in your life a copy. You can't purchase too many gifts these days for under a buck! I am also gifting everyone who is signed up for my newsletter an e-read copy of DADDY'S HOME. If you are signed up for the newsletter expect to receive this gift via Amazon some time this week. If you are not signed up for my newsletter, it's easy. Just go to my site at http://www.michelescott.com/ where you can sign up for the quarterly newsletter.

Next, I have not added a recipe here in a bit, so I thought I would give you one that I put together last night. It was rainy and cold, so my youngest and I thought Chili sounded good. We had to do it wothout beans though because my husband does not eat beans. I guess you could either call this beanless chili or really it can also be called a Mexican Stew.

Ingredients:
One Leek stalk washed and chopped
Three cans of diced tomatoes
One packet of Chili seasonings (Schillings or Lawrys)
One red bell pepper diced
One green bell pepper diced
2 pounds stewing beef
4 slices of bacon
2 boxes of beef broth
One cup of red wine

Dash of salt

Dash of chipotle powder
Dash of ancho chili powder
Emeril's hamburger seasonings
1 teaspoon oregano
1teaspoon sage
1/4 cup cilantro
sour cream
shredded cheese
limes
tablespoon of olive oil

Season and brown beef in olive oil over medium high with Emeril's seasonings (a few shakes) in chili pot. Dice the bacon and cook until crisp in separate pan, scoop bacon bits into chili pot. Pour in red wine, tomatoes, and broth. Sautee peppers and leek in bacon drippings until soft. Once veggies are soft (about 8 minutes), place into pot. Toss in chopped herbs and dashes of chili pepper powders. Blend and bring to a boil. Turn to low and simmer for two hours. Serve in bowls, squeeze a lime slice in the chili, top with a spoonful of sour cream and sprinkle with shredded cheese. It's even tastier the next day. This one is full of flavor.

Now here is Chapter Four of COVERT REICH. Sorry to say the book release date has been postponed by one week but that gives you a little more time to read on and decide if you want to continue when it comes out.
Cheers,
Michele

CHAPTER FOUR

The elevator doors opened silently and Kelly stepped out. The stale, cool air hit her abruptly. She shivered.

In spite of the charming Dr. Hamilton, this was not one of her favorite places to visit. She generally tried to avoid it if at all possible. She was all about saving lives. Dead bodies were a grim reminder things didn’t always work out.

The morgue hallway was long and dim. Four doors on either side led to various offices. Jake Hamilton’s was the last on the right. Kelly tapped lightly, but there was no answer. She turned the handle. It was unlocked, so she went in and waited.

The cramped office was cluttered with stacks of files on the floor and half-opened cabinets. UCLA and Stanford degrees hung on the wall. The combined smells of mothballs, formaldehyde, and coffee stung her eyes. A photo of Jake’s teenage daughter in a cheerleading uniform stood on his desk. All photos of his wife had been discretely removed, due to their recent divorce.

Jake stepped into the room. “Hey, you!” His green eyes sparkled. Those eyes, nice smile, and sun-kissed blonde hair gave him the air of a pretty boy. But there was a definite edge to Dr. Hamilton. A slightly crooked nose, the scar above his right eyebrow—they were just enough to make a woman wonder what sort of trouble he got into in his spare time. If Kelly had to guess, the scar was an old one, probably from a fall off of his bicycle when he was a kid. “I didn’t expect you down here, but I’m happy to see you. What’s up?”

“What isn’t? Up, I mean.” Kelly smiled, aware of the chemistry growing between them. They’d been colleagues and good friends for years, and it was becoming pretty clear he was interested in her. But at the same time, he was fresh off a divorce and Kelly didn’t want to rush into anything just yet.

“Oh now you’ve piqued my curiosity. What brings you down to the depths of despair?”

“Curiosity.”

“Oh, yeah? About what?” He crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk, his eyebrows raised.

“You received a patient down here in the past hour. Lupe Salazar?”

“I did. I haven’t had a chance to process her yet. Ty is in with her right now prepping the body. I’m backlogged though. It’s been a crazy week.” He paused, tapping his fingers on the desk. “Why the interest in this girl?” He stood and walked over to his coffee machine and held up a cup. “Want some? I splurged and picked up one of those instant espresso machines. Delicious.”

“Yes, thanks. Some liquid fuel would help right now, I think.”

He fiddled with buttons and after 30 seconds of hissing, a freshly brewed cup of espresso streamed into a waiting cup. Jake deftly scooped a heaping spoonful of sugar into it, stirred, and then handed it over. She studied him for a second.

“You wondering how I knew how you liked your coffee?” She didn’t respond. “Because I pay attention, Kel. We’ve had coffee together a few times. When you like someone, you notice things, file them away for future use.” He smiled and raised his cup to her.

Kelly felt heat rise to her cheeks.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

She smiled and took a careful sip of her piping hot, and perfectly sweetened, espresso. “No. Not at all. We’re friends.”

“Yes we are. So before I dig myself in any deeper, let’s talk about this patient.”

“She delivered one of my babies.”

“Tough stuff, I take it?” He took another sip from the small cup.

“Yeah. Strange. She came in here not even three hours ago, and now she’s dead. No family that we can locate. No boyfriend. Nothing. Of course, I start with the stereotypical train of thought, and I’m thinking she’s a runaway and is caught up in some bad things. Brightman was the attending, and he gets on the scene and tries to go chief on me. We were losing the girl, and the baby’s time was running out. I had no idea what we were dealing with since it all happened so fast the labs hadn’t even come back yet. My gut was telling me she’s addicted, got something running through those veins. It was the only thing that made sense.”

“You’re skilled, Kelly. If that was your guess, I’m sure it was a good one.”

“I know. But I’m watching this girl, looking into her eyes, and all I can think is something is off. Lupe wasn’t drugged out, Jake. It would have made sense based on the way she was acting, but she wasn’t. So the girl seizes, codes, and dies. Nothing was going to save her. I’ve never seen anything like this. From everything I can tell, we were dealing with a healthy teenager. Anyway, baby was failing. I had to get her out. We couldn’t bring the mom back. She was gone, so I took over and did a C-section. I’ve got the baby now in NICU with all sorts of problems. I don’t know what to make of any of this. I need that autopsy. Something is wrong here.”

“What are you saying?” Jake asked.

“That so far all of her labs have come back inconclusive for drugs, which makes me wonder if there is something new on the streets we don’t know about. She had no alcohol present either.”

Jake’s eyes widened. She noticed a tic in his left hand that caused his coffee to nearly spill over. He walked around to the back side of his desk and sat down in his chair.

“Are you all right?” Kelly asked.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. It’s just that what you’re telling me sounds, well, unusual.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied.

“I’m not sure what I can do. I won’t have a report ready on this girl for at least forty-eight hours, maybe longer. And you know how long tox can take.” He absentmindedly picked up the photo of his daughter.

“Rumor has it this girl isn’t the only one. In the last week, it’s my understanding that two other women came in, delivered, coded, and died. Both had stillborns. The baby I have upstairs is the only one to survive so far. I haven’t had a chance to look into the mothers’ backgrounds or anything, so I’m only going off what I’ve been hearing in the hallways. I need your help here, Jake. Did you find anything in the autopsies on those other women? It might help me with the baby in the NICU.”

Jake didn’t say anything for a moment. He turned his head to the side as if trying to figure out what to say. He brought his fist up under his nose and looked at her. His eyes closed for a second and then he sighed. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can help in any way.”

“Jake?”

He was quiet for a moment. “There was nothing odd about the autopsies. I mean, no strange chemical makeup or anything. I don’t know. I wish I could help, but…”

“But what? You’re telling me you don’t know how those girls died? Come on. Of course you know. Natural causes? Is that what you’re saying? How can the hospital get around that? Were the mothers healthy or not, Jake? That’s all I’m asking.”

“I can’t…I don’t…”

Kelly didn’t like the evasive tone in his voice. “Jesus, Jake. What is it? What the hell is wrong? You’re freaking me out.” She had asked him a simple question, and he was acting like this?

He grabbed her by the hand. Out of instinct she pulled back. He held on tighter and pulled her close to him, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You have to drop this. Leave this alone, Kel.”

She pulled back again, and this time he let go of her hand. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

He put his hand to his forehead. He was visibly perspiring. “I can’t talk to you about these cases. They’re classified.”

“Classified? Classified?! I’ve got a baby in my unit with a slim chance of surviving, but I certainly can’t help her if I don’t know what I’m up against. If you know something, you need to tell me. I will take this to the chief and the board if I have to.”

He shook his head. “No. You can’t do that. Please. I’m begging you to drop this. You could get hurt.”

“What?” She was furious. And confused. And beyond disappointed. What the hell was wrong with him? He knew damn well she needed information from the autopsies in order to help the baby. It was his duty to tell her. This conspiratorial attitude of his was ridiculous. Not in a million years would she ever have imagined Jake acting like this. “This is insane, Jake. I’m going to save that baby’s life, and you’re going to help me do it. You know that’s the right thing to do, rules or no rules.”

He paused, breathing deeply. “OK. I’ll discuss this with you. Tell you what I know. But not here. It’s dangerous.”

Now Kelly held his stare. She saw genuine fear in his eyes. Oh my God. He’s really serious. There was something going on here, and it obviously involved the death of three pregnant women. But clearly she wasn’t going to get any more information out of him here.

His assistant, Ty, tapped on the door. “Dr. Hamilton, I need a hand. Can I get some help?”

“Sure. Be right there.” He looked at Kelly. “Tuscany’s at seven-thirty. I really wish you would drop this. Trust me.”

“I’ll be there. And you should know me better than that.” She walked out of his office toward the elevator, baffled by what had just taken place. Jake wasn’t just afraid, he was terrified.

Chapter Three COVERT REICH

2011-11-04T08:25:00.000-07:00

I hope everyone has a great weekend. I won't be posting chapters over the weekend, but I will be posting all next week. It looks as if the release date of COVERT REICH needs a few extra days. I don't want to put anything out to readers until I am 100% confidant it's the best book I can do. I hope you are enjoying the chapters that I have been posting. Keep in mind that I will be running a little contest next week for those who read the blog. I'll post a handful of questions from this week's blogs and the reader(s) who get the most answers correct will receive a copy of COVERT REICH.

Another reminder: A.K. Alexander books on sale for .99 for Kindle this week through Tuesday. DADDY'S HOME reached #1 in ALL Kindle book sales this past summer in the U.K. and remained in the top 10 for two months. http://www.amazon.com/Daddys-Home-ebook/dp/B004FN2B1O/ref=pd_rhf_gw_cpp_tab0_p_t_1 I hope you will give one of the books a try. My personal favorite is THE CARTEL. http://www.amazon.com/The-Cartel-ebook/dp/B004PLNH64/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_4

Cheers,
Michele

CHAPTER THREE

“Clear!” Brightman ordered again. Lupe gave no response.

Kelly continued to watch the fetal monitor. “Pierce, we have to get this baby out now. There are no more options left. She’s gone. We’re wasting time.”

“Clear!” Brightman ignored her, acting as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

The baby’s heart rate continued dropping. “Damn it, Pierce, call it or they’ll both be dead!” The helpless feeling she had seconds before was replaced with anger. Adrenaline coursed through her and lit every nerve on edge. Screw this guy!

“I’ll call it when I’m goddamn ready!” Brightman shouted.

She was hit by a surreal of out-of-body moment where she felt oddly detached from the scene unfolding in front of her—white walls, blue curtains, silver instruments, dead mother, dying infant, a frantic medical staff trying to fix the situation. Dr. Brightman was good. Kelly knew this. But she could see he was fighting a losing battle, and she hadn’t lost hers yet. She could save the baby if he would let her.

“Get the hell out of my way, Brightman, and call this patient’s time of death, or I will be the first in line to file a law suit against you.”

Brightman looked at her, took survey of the room, and then stared down at the girl on the gurney. Three seconds later he glanced at the clock and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Time of death, sixteen hundred hours. The baby is all yours, Dr. Morales. And good luck.” He swore under his breath and slipped away behind one of the curtains, off to file his report.

The charge nurse from labor and delivery and the two nurses from the neo-natal intensive care unit waited for the Kelly’s next call. With their help, she went to work with quick and determined efficiency. “Sponge,” she said and wiped down the mother’s stomach with a mixture of alcohol and iodine. “Scalpel.” With proficient hands, she opened up Lupe’s abdomen, retrieving the baby within minutes. A girl. The doctor suctioned the infant’s mouth and nose clear.

The tiny infant resembled an extraterrestrial being, with her transparent skin and spindly limbs. A nurse placed the baby on a radiant warmer. Three others gathered around, gently drying her with warm towels. “Let’s get a heel stick stat and into the incubator immediately,” Kelly said. “This one is going to need to oxygen, among other things, I’m sure. Get her weight and length. What do we have?” She noted the baby’s weight on the scale as a nurse took the blood sample and hurried off. “3.2 pounds and 16.53 inches. She’s a little one.”

Kelly took the baby’s APGAR score to check how well she was doing after her traumatic birth. The score rated the infant’s breathing, heart rate, muscle tone, reflexes, and skin color. At only four, it was not good. She’d take it again in a few minutes to see if things improved.

Kelly and Eric Sorensen, the NICU nurse in charge, transferred the baby to the intensive care nursery. As they rolled the warmer down the hospital hallway, a lab technician came running after them. “I have the mom’s initial blood work back. Here you go.”

Kelly took the reports. “Thank you..” Once inside the unit, the baby was placed inside an incubator, likely her home for the next several days, if not longer. Eric began hooking up the monitors and leads onto the infant. There was a lot to be done: blood gas, chest x-ray, continuous cardiorespiratory monitoring, feeding tube…and a lot to watch for: apnea, anemia, jaundice, respiratory distress, underdeveloped lungs, infection. The list was endless. But Kelly could tackle all of that. She took a step back and opened the mom’s file, figuring she would find Lupe had some kind of drug in her system. What else could explain the scene back in the ER? The more Kelly knew, the better she could help the baby.

“I don’t believe it,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“What?” Eric asked, glancing over at her.

“Inconclusive for any kind of narcotics or alcohol. Nothing apparent in the mother’s system to indicate she was using.” She shrugged. “According to these preliminary reports they are inconclusive as to whether she was using any drug, legal or illegal, in her system. I was so sure. I mean, I have no idea what happened on that table in there. Obviously we have to wait for an autopsy report, but I don’t know what to think. These test results say we are probably dealing with a perfectly healthy sixteen-year-old girl who, for no explicable reason, completely crashed on us.”

“I don’t know what to say, but I need some help here, Doc. I’m having a hard time getting this IV started on her,” Eric said.

Kelly focused back on the baby, scanning her body. The poor thing let out a fragile cry, similar to a puppy’s whimper, as Kelly found a vein on the top of her head and inserted the tiny catheter. God, please help me save her.

The baby girl was hooked up to numerous monitoring sensors in order to regulate heat, oxygen, and carbon monoxide levels as well as her heart and breathing rates. “Okay, I’ll get the tube in, and then let’s get this little one a dose of surfactant,” Kelly told Eric. The baby’s underdeveloped lungs hadn’t had enough time to produce their own surfactant, but thank God Kelly could give it to her. Machines and drugs could do pretty damn well, sometimes almost as well as a mother’s own uterus.

Kelly expertly threaded a tube through the baby’s nose, down the back of her throat, and into her trachea. Eric then connected the tube to the respirator and started the machine, regulating the flow of air, oxygen, and air pressure in and out of the lungs. “Thank you,” Kelly said to Eric, who smiled back at her.

He had a great smile—perfect white teeth and dimples to boot. His grey-blue eyes matched the surgical gowns he wore. His black hair and superb physique caused many women to take second and third looks because the guy could easily have been a Calvin Klein underwear model. It was a shame he was gay. At least for all of those swooning women, anyway.

Eric was fairly private about his sexual preference. The only reason Kelly even knew was because of an embarrassing incident that had occurred at last year’s holiday party. Kelly had gotten a bit smashed and made a complete fool out of herself, telling Eric how hot he was, etc, etc. Frankly, this was pretty out of character for her, but after too many frozen margaritas... And then he’d told her he was gay, and she was mortified. When Monday rolled around, she could hardly look him in the eye.

At lunch time he’d sweetly taken her by the hand and said, “C’mon, Doc, let’s get something to eat.”

Over turkey sandwiches and Diet Cokes, she tried to apologize.

“For what? Are you serious?! First of all, I am flattered.” He leaned in closer, flashing his adorable smile. “Second, if I wasn’t gay, I’d do you in a heartbeat. I actually gave it some serious thought the other night. You looked good enough to eat in that red dress and I momentarily toyed with the idea of giving it a try. Maybe you could have converted me.” He’d winked at her, and they both burst out laughing, causing heads to turn in the cafeteria. From that day forward, their friendship was permanently cemented and they had one another’s backs come hell or high water.

There is no one Kelly would rather have by her side as she tried to help this nameless baby stay alive.

“She is a very sick little girl, isn’t she, Doc?” Eric asked, placing soft cotton bandages over the infant’s eyes, shielding her from the Bilirubin lights.

Kelly nodded. “I’m going to do my damndest to see she makes it. Right now, I’m just concerned with stabilizing her.” She frowned. “I don’t know what to think with the reports. From everything I saw in that ER room and seeing how sick this baby is, I would have assumed there were narcotics involved. I would expect to see some withdrawal signs in this one’s early weeks, but…well, now I don’t know.”

“Huh.”

“What?” Kelly asked.

“You heard about the other cases from last week, right?” Eric asked. They happened while you were off.”

Kelly frowned. “I had heard that a couple of maternity patients passed away, but haven’t had much of a chance to get the full scoop. What happened?”

“I worked both cases. I mean our team was called in for the infant but neither baby survived. They were stillborn. They had heartbeats on them up until a few moments before delivery, but once the mothers died there wasn’t enough time to save them,” Eric replied.

“Who were the attending OB’s and who was on for NICU those days?”

“Dr. Pearson was on both of the cases for NICU. Brightman was the attending OB for both as well.” Eric shrugged as he adjusted an IV. “It seems a little weird. Kind of coincidental, don’t you think?”

“I hear you. I think I’ll track Pearson down and see if he can enlighten me a bit. Something tells me that Brightman may not want to talk to me for awhile after our little showdown in the ER.”

“You may have to wait a while to speak with Dr. Pearson. I heard he left on vacation the day after the second baby died. Rumor is he was pretty distraught. He may have even been forced by the chief to take some time off while all of this was looked at. Someone said he took off for the Mediterranean.”

Kelly sighed. “Interesting…I suppose I could go and see what I might be able to pry from Brightman about the mothers and now what he thinks about this latest patient. He has to think it’s strange as well. God, but I really don’t know if I want to deal with him. Maybe I’ll go down and see Hamilton instead,” she said, referring to the chief pathologist and the only other man in the hospital corridors besides Eric to catch her attention. “Maybe he has some ideas. He can at least tell me what he found in those other women’s autopsies.”

“He might. Not a bad idea. But before you go, why don’t you take a load off and rest some? You look beat. What time is your shift over?”

“God, I don’t know.” Kelly ran her hands through her hair. “I don’t think I care anymore. I feel like I live here. Any time off I typically spend sleeping.”

“You need a life,” Eric said.

“I probably do.” She wiped the perspiration from her forehead.

“Go grab something to drink, take a few. I’ve got things here. I think she’s as stable as we are going to get her for now. I’ll page you if I need you.”

Kelly scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “Mhhm, I don’t know. I don’t want to leave her yet.”

“You can’t keep twenty-four hour vigil, Doc. Get a cup of coffee, think, and breathe for a minute. Regroup and come back. You can’t go very far, so if something goes wrong, I’ll have your ass back here in minutes. I insist.” Eric crossed his arms and gave her one of his no-nonsense looks. He’d make an awesome parent. He had the expression down pat.

“Fine. But page me if anything happens. I don’t care how minor. I mean, even if her lead comes off, page me. Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

Eric was right to send her away. A lot of what they called “the waiting game” was starting now. There would likely be many stressful, difficult moments before they could envision a healthy future for Baby Salazar, and Kelly simply couldn’t be here for every single second. She needed to take a break and recharge to keep her head clear in case something else went wrong.

Kelly walked out the double doors of the NICU and stopped in front of the elevator. She decided to head down to the morgue first to see if she could speak with Dr. Hamilton. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, and her instincts screamed there was something peculiar about Lupe’s death.

The doors to the elevator opened, and she stepped inside. Kelly took her hair out of its elastic band, ran her fingers through, and pulled it back again, hoping she looked somewhat presentable. A quick glance in the mirrored button panel told her she looked like hell. Sleep was in order. When was the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep? Even when she had time for sleep, Kelly had a tough time turning her brain off. In the scheme of things, sleep didn’t matter as much as the lives of her little patients. Sleep could wait. What she really wanted right now were some answers.

Chapter Two of COVERT REICH

2011-11-03T08:09:00.000-07:00

Last Day in the "cages"

Today is a big day in my world. For readers who follow the blog, my oldest son is having his second surgery today. He is currently in surgery now for the next three hours, so to keep me from going out of my mind with worry (cause that is what Mom's do) I am at my laptop in the waiting room doing some writing. The good news is though that Alex will be up and walking again in about a month! This surgery is not as intense as the first one. However, I am always open to a little prayer, good vibes, and positive energy.

I will be posting a chapter daily of COVERT REICH until it is released next week. I hope you enjoy it. It is interesting that this second chapter is about a baby who needs to be placed into the NICU. When Alex was born he spent a couple of weeks there (as mentioned in a previous post). The kid has always been a fighter, so I have all the faith in the world that he will be just fine.

Here we go with chapter two. Also keep in mind that for one week only, all of the A.K. Alexander thrillers are on sale for your kindle for .99!

Have a great day and happy reading.

Cheers,
Michele

CHAPTER TWO

A shrill whistle rang out from the fetal heart monitor as the baby’s heart rate plummeted. The emergency room staff flew into an organized chaos with rubber gloves sliding over doctors’ hands, instruments exchanging sterility for human flesh, and various orders voiced loudly above the other noise.

“Let’s go! Let’s go! He’s crashing. Baby is crashing!” Dr. Kelly Morales yelled. “Watch out for Mom.”

“She scratched me!” a nurse cried out, while placing an oxygen mask over the teenager’s face. The sixteen-year-old thrashed wildly, her arms outstretched. Each fingernail was over an inch long, curving at the end and polished with a skull and crossbones motif. The girl moaned in pain. Or maybe panic or protest. Likely a combination of the three. She was involuntarily doing everything she could to keep the medical staff from doing their jobs. At least she had some fight in her. The only positive sign so far.

“Someone get her arms!” another nurse yelled.

Kelly saw a window and took it. She pinned the girl’s arms down and bent directly over her face, looking into a pair of panicked brown eyes. Jesus, what was going on with this kid!? Kelly didn’t really want to know. She witnessed enough tragedy every day inside the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Untit. But at least in her protected NICU bubble she could make a difference. She’d been the available doctor when Lupe Salazar arrived at the hospital, and so here she was. A sixteen-year-old in severe distress was not Kelly’s specialty. Babies were easier.

Kelly bent over the girl, her face within inches of the teen’s. The girl’s eyes widened, clearly surprised at the lithe doctor’s strength. Dr. Morales lowered her voice to a calm whisper. “Listen to me, Lupe. I want to help you. I need to know if you’ve taken anything. Any alcohol or drugs?”

Lupe focused. She shook her head. “I don’t do drugs!”

“I won’t be angry. I just need to know.”

“No,” the teen managed to say. “I promise. Nothing. Let me go!”

“I can’t. You need to stay calm and listen. Have you been getting regular prenatal care?”

Lupe nodded, crying loudly now.

“Have you had any problems with this pregnancy? Anything your doctors mentioned? High-blood pressure? Any bleeding?”

“Nothing,” Lupe sobbed. “Everything’s been fine. It hurts so much. Make it stop. Just make it stop!”

Witnessing pain was always tough. Kelly hated this part of the job. Despite her skill and ability to keep her emotions in check, watching this girl suffer was not easy. Particularly because Kelly was no closer to figuring out what in the world was going on. So far, Lupe was a medical mystery. And where the hell was Dr. Brightman? He was the head of O.B., and she needed him now.

Kelly lifted her head. A nurse wiped it with a towel. The girl started to struggle again, pushing forcefully against Kelly’s tight grip. “Ten ccs of epi, stat!” Kelly fought back an exhausted sigh. This was too much. Whatever had landed her on the ER table was serious. She was losing her grip on Lupe when suddenly the girl’s eyes rolled back into their sockets.

“Pressure is dropping!” the intern reading vitals called out.

Kelly glanced up at the crew around her…a look that lasted a mere second.

The girl on the gurney started to shake and writhe.

“Seizure.”

The air around them was dense and still, the way it gets when the threat of death enters the room. Kelly understood the stakes and implications in a second. She had been in this situation too many times to count. Her vision narrowed, sounds faded, and everything extraneous drained from her mind. The analysis and course of action took only seconds. Because seconds are all you get when a life is on the line.

It was time to make a tough call. Kelly braced herself.

But before she could say or do anything, Lupe’s body went still. A monotone buzzing echoed through the room.

The girl was flat-lining.

“Goddamn it!” Kelly yelled.

Dr. Gary Brightman pulled back the curtain. He was tall, slender, and handsome in a surfer sort of way. He didn’t really look like a doctor (but he could have easily played one on TV). Kelly had never been so happy to see anyone.

“What the hell is going on?” His normally relaxed face was drawn up in a tense frown.

“I don’t know! Normal pregnancy, from what I can tell. Pressure is dropping. Baby is crashing. Now we’ve got flat-line.” Kelly glanced at the monitor. Dr. Brightman saw the screen. Heard the tone. Everyone did. “We don’t have many options here, Pierce. We’re losing both of them. The baby is thirty-two weeks, and I can probably save it.”

Code Blue in ER number three! The intercom crackled to life as more nurses and techs scurried into the room.

“Epinephrine,” Brightman ordered. He administered the drug, trying to raise Lupe’s blood pressure. There was no response. “More epi! Give me more epi!”

The team hooked up the defibrillators and applied CPR.

“Clear!” The harsh popping sound echoed in Kelly’s ears. The baby was dying inside the young woman. The infant couldn’t take much more. Lupe didn’t have a prayer unless a miracle occurred. Kelly knew it in her gut.

And tonight her gut told her before the night was through, the poor sixteen-year-old lying on the gurney—a child herself still—would be lying in the morgue.

First Chapter COVERT REICH

2011-11-02T06:00:00.000-07:00

Here you go my friends: Chapter One of COVERT REICH

WARNING: This is one of those thrillers where bad words are used (frequently). There are a lot of people who get killed (some violently), and there is even some sexual content. If this were turned into a movie it would most certainly be Rated R. This first scene in particular is pretty disturbing. Therefore, if you like a Michele Scott book where there is some light swearing, murder off the page, and a bit of sexual innuendo here and there then this A.K. Alexander thriller may not be for you. As the author of both "brands" keep in mind they are two different types of books. That "said," read on if still interested and remember the book is out November 8th. Sign up for the newsletter that comes out on the same day and you might win something good. On another quick note: ALL A.K. ALEXANDER THRILLERS ARE ON SALE FOR ONE WEEK ONLY FOR 99 CENTS FOR THE KINDLE! IF YOU HAVEN'T TRIED ONE, NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO DO SO.

Cheers,

Michele

(AKA)

A.K. Alexander

Chapter One

Press it. Just fucking press it! Sweat beaded Ryan Horner’s forehead as he stared at the computer screen. His next move could…no…would impact hundreds of thousands of lives. And his family. And him.

He lifted his right hand off the mouse and took a deep breath. Images of his beautiful wife, Jeanine, their twin girls, Chloe and Taylor, and his gated home in Blankenese, Germany darted through his head. He thought about his mom and dad back in the States, finally living the life of luxury they so deserved—a life he’d been able to provide them. But at what cost?

The sweat trickled down past his temples. Ryan put his finger on the mouse, closed his eyes, and clicked “send”. He felt instantly sick to his stomach and dropped his head into his hands. What had he done? What the hell had he just done?! God, oh God, oh God.

After another deep breath and a quick glance to ensure he wasn’t being watched, Ryan stood, gathered his things, and walked as casually as he could out of the internet café towards his car. He’d driven for over two hours to find this remote spot where he could safely and anonymously send the email. He opened the door to his sleek Audi, stepped in, and started the engine. Once on the Autobahn, he allowed himself to relax slightly and his thoughts drifted back to that fateful day three years ago in San Diego. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it wasn’t and the date was etched into his memory—October 22, 2008.

“Dr. Horner?” Ryan had just reached his SUV after a long lunch at his favorite café, Chez Loma. He was tired and not in the mood for conversation. He looked at the man who called his name. He didn’t recognize him. That should have been his first clue.

“Dr. Ryan Horner?” the man asked again. He was tall, lean, in his early thirties with light brown hair, fair skin, and icy blue eyes. He also spoke with some kind of accent. Ryan thought it was German.

“Yes. I’m sorry, do I know you?”

The man came closer, stuck out his hand. He wore what appeared to be an expensive grey suit and silk tie. “My name is Frederick Färber, and I’d like to speak with you about the Petersens.”

“The Petersens?” Ryan was instantly uneasy. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fiddling with his car keys. “Who are you? I told the police what I knew and honestly, it wasn’t much.”

“I understand. But I need to speak with you about them. Please come with me.”

“No.” Ryan shook his head and opened the car door. “I have nothing further to say about the case and I need to get back to work.”

“You don’t work for Centurion Pharmaceuticals any longer. And as I said, you need to come with me.”

Ryan turned back to face the stranger. “Excuse me?” Suddenly he was grabbed roughly from behind. Someone was inside his car, waiting to grab him while the asshole outside kept him distracted. He felt a sharp jab to his right shoulder—a needle—and then he was shoved into the back seat. The rest was a blur until he woke up. He wished he’d never woken up.

Now all he could think was he’d made a huge mistake sending the email. They paid him well. Gave him shit. Lots of good shit. This car for one thing.

What if he drove into the guard rail? Let the car bounce off? Spin him, round and round until he died on impact? What if? But they would know…

They would know he had made the decision to die.

And his family would suffer as a result.

He prayed to God they didn’t know he had sent the email to the journalist in Los Angeles. He prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in any more that the journalist would read between the lines. Spur an investigation. Research what had happened three years ago and, most importantly, start paying closer attention to her neighbor.

And then what? Then what!? You fucking idiot! He slammed the palms of his hands against the steering wheel. Tears streamed down his face as he recalled the faces on the video they had showed him. The blood. The torture.

The tears blurred his vision and he kept wiping them away, wishing he could clear the memories just as easily. Wishing he could vanish. Or die.

But they had him.

Had him trapped in hell, because of what they had shown him and what they would do to his family if he took the cowardly way out—or worse—told anyone about their plans.

The agony on the faces of the Petersens in that video—from Bren who was only six-years old and had made silly faces with Ryan’s then two-year old twins, to their father, Andrew, who from the brief time Ryan had spent with him seemed like a good guy. It didn’t matter because good or bad, no one deserved what had been done to Andrew and his family. They had bound them. Raped Selena in front of her husband and children. God, Selena. She had been so sweet when they had moved from New Jersey to San Diego. She had brought his wife Jeanine into her fold of friends. They’d gone to yoga together and went for morning coffees. Jeanine had known Selena better than Ryan knew Andrew. The guys were simply colleagues, but the women bonded at a work picnic. Jeanine had been devastated when they were murdered.

Selena’s silent tears were what always popped into Ryan’s mind. She’d been brave and didn’t want the children to hear her pain, although it wasn’t easy to hide. Ryan had seen the horror in their faces. And their father had been purple with pain and rage, tears sliding down his face. All because he had said, “No.” All because he had not believed in what they represented and they’re threats. He had thought it was a joke.

After murdering Selena, the men slit the throats of all four children in front of their father. Ryan could see in Andrew’s eyes how badly he’d wanted to die then—any way they could put him out of his misery, he would have gladly accepted. But they tortured him first. And now, Ryan understood why. It had all been for his benefit. The group who referred to themselves as The Brotherhood needed to be certain there was no way in hell Ryan would refuse them. They had forced him to watch the video. Gun to his head. Wrists and feet bound. A gag in his mouth. No, he could not refuse their offer. But then it wasn’t really an offer, was it? Because offers can always be turned down.

The men put a bullet in every non-fatal place possible in Andrew’s body, until finally they shot him through his stomach and allowed him to bleed to death. All because Andrew was a chemist, like himself—and because Andrew Petersen had said, “No.”

Ryan reprimanded himself again for sending the e-mail. But if there was still a God—the One he had believed in growing up, the One his parents had told him about and he learned about in church—if that God existed, sending the email, no matter the consequences to him and to his family, had been the right thing to do. Because as horrific as The Brotherhood had been to the Petersens, their plans for humanity were even worse.

Dedication for Covert Reich

2011-11-01T10:00:00.000-07:00

When I write a dedication of a book to someone I take some time to think about who the book "belongs" to other than the readers, which I hope that readers know any book I write is always dedicated to them. However, there is always one or two people who I dedicate a book to because they played an important part in having the book come to life. Sometimes the person playing that role may not even be aware of the part they've played.

With my new thriller COVERT REICH out next week, I wanted to post on today's blog who I am dedicating the book to and why. There are two Alex's in my life that this book "belongs" to. The first Alex is my son. If you read yesterday's blog then it's kind of obvious as to why I would dedicate the book to him. The other Alex who I am dedicating COVERT REICH to is actually a friend I met on twitter (of all places). Alex Johnston started following me a few months back. He e-mailed me to let me know how much he enjoyed the A.K. Alexander books. He was also a huge help in providing me with a push to get this book done. If you have read some of the blogs over the past few months then you know it hasn't been easy in my world lately. I had some stuff happen within our family, and then I received some major reamage on both DADDY'S HOME and MOMMY, MAY I? from readers who wrote some real nasty reviews on amazon. To my chagrin when I read over the reviews, I realized that I had uploaded first draft versions of those two manuscripts for Kindle. BIG OOPS! Anyway, the reviews and all the other stuff that went down kind of took the wind out of my sails and made me doubt if I should be writing at all. However, my friend Alex Johnston wrote me and insisted I keep going. He told all of his family and friends to read my stuff, and he Tweets my work all the time. I figured that if I had even just one reader who loved the work as much as Alex does then I am good. I will keep on writing. So, for his kindness to a writer he doesn't even really know and because I feel as if I have met a kindred soul who lives across the pond, this book is dedicated to him. Thank You, Alex, for lifting me up right when I needed it.

Cheers,
Michele

P.S. As promised, here is the back cover copy of COVERT REICH. Come back tomorrow and read the first chapter.

Young, homeless, pregnant minority women and their unborn infants are dying in the emergency rooms in East Los Angeles…

When three pregnant, homeless women die within a week of one another inside the emergency room of County Hospital in East Los Angeles, Dr. Kelly Morales begins to question why and how. When Dr. Morales attempts to question her colleague pathologist Dr. Jake Hamilton he becomes agitated and obviously anxious at her questions. Hours later Dr. Hamilton is murdered.

A cryptic e-mail is sent to journalist Georgia (Gem) Michaels insisting she look into the brutal slaying of a San Diego County family in 2008 that was chalked up to The Mexican Cartel. The e-mail also insists she keeps an eye on her neighbor. At first, Gem thinks the e-mail is nothing but a joke, but her gut tells her that maybe checking out her handsome but odd neighbor is worth her time.

Terrorized and brutalized chemist Dr. Ryan Horner is being held against his will. He knows that if he does not do the bidding of a group who call themselves The Brotherhood that the lives of his wife and children are at grave risk.

In a race against good versus true evil, Dr. Kelly Morales, Gem Michaels, Dr. Ryan Horner, and Detective Tony Pazzini search to uncover the truth and expose it behind the deaths and murders that make up Project Covert Reich.

The Story Behind Covert Reich!

2011-10-31T11:20:00.000-07:00

I have a new thriller out next week under A.K. Alexander name (fingers crossed all goes well). The title of the Book is COVERT REICH, and it's a conspiracy/political thriller. I thought I would give you some tidbits about the book over the next few days before the release, and hopefully you will enjoy them enough to want to read the book.

On release day, which I am shooting for November 8th (one week from tomorrow), I'll post a fun survery/questionaire about the book. Readers who answer the questions correctly will receive a free copy of the book for their e-reader. All answers can be found in the blogs I will post over the next week here at adventurenwriting.

One of the things that I think is interesting about COVERT REICH is that it was the very first book I ever wrote (20 years ago). At the time when I wrote it, my son Alex had just been born. He was a preemie baby who required a two week stay in the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit. When I brought Alex home he needed extra care than the average healthy baby. It was the kind of care where I needed to stay home and be a full time mom, which is exactly what I did. It was during this time at home taking care of my son that I decided to finally write my first book. I had written short stories and half written books before, but it was time for me to commit and get a book completed.

The idea for COVERT REICH started in some ways as a catharsis for me. It was difficult being a young mom with a sick baby and writing was a way to help me get through the tougher times. When Alex had been in the unit I pondered "Why my baby?" I had been healthy, taken good care of myself, etceteras. At one point while in his incubator, Alex was pitching one helluva fit. I mean, this kid was having a full blown temper tantrum, turning bright red and screaming as loud as his tiny lungs would allow. It was pretty upsetting for me to witness. Then, one of the NICU nurses put her arm around me and took me over to another baby's incubator. She commented that the baby was silent, lethargic. "He has no fight in him. His mother came in, gave birth and left. She was addicted to drugs. He will likely become a ward of the state. Now, your baby is a fighter. He knows his mom is here and he wants to go home with you." Those words relieved me and so did the care that the nurse showed Alex and me.

Alex was a fighter and he did come home with me after two weeks. It was not long after he was home that I was watching a 60 Minutes Show on Sunday night. The segment was an interview with Louis Farrakhan and his claims that the U.S. Govt. and the Jewish nation had created drugs, Aids and certain alcoholic beverages to destroy African Americans. I found the interview disturbing on several levels. It was also during that time that I read an article about the ideology of sterilizing welfare recipients. Again, I was disturbed.

Those few months, the articles I read, The 60 Minutes segment and my sons tumultuous beginnings into the world, along with the decency and kindness of the NICU staff at Cedar's Sinai in Los Angeles helped me come up with my very first "what if..." It was: What if a neo-natal intensive care doctor uncovers a plot to annhilate factions of society that an extreme group considers "undesirables."?That what if led to the writing of COVERT REICH, which I initially titled COVERT WOMB, then EXTREME SUPREMACY. For the past six months I have been rewriting the book in its entirety. I've added characters, changed the plot some, and reflected current times. It is not the book I wrote twenty years ago. I would like to think that after twenty years of experience in writing full length fiction and having 16 books published that the book is something I can be proud to publish. I hope you will agree and take a chance on it.

I hope you will check out tomorrow's blog, where I will write about who the book is dedicated to and why. I will also upload a description of the book.

Cheers,
Michele

Pirates, Sharks, Dinosaurs and a Video Game...Oh My!

2011-10-13T10:01:00.000-07:00

For me, I think one of the most difficult aspects of writing isn't, "What am I going to write...," it's more of, "I have a bazillion ideas, what do I write first." Take that one step further and on into genres, branding, and marketing, and I get into all sorts of trouble. I love to write stories, so tying myself into one genre is really difficult to do. All the experts will suggest that you do just that. They say, "Find the market and direct your work toward that market." I agree to an extent, but for some writers we like to jump around a bit, and spread our wings. I wish, wish , wish I could stick to one genre. I do think it would be much easier to "brand" myself, and I also believe by doing so that I would see more sales. The problem with me is that I get an idea and if I like it, I run with it. For me, I have to stay true to my writer self and go in the direction that the "pen", or in this case, the computer leads me.

I've been this kind of writer since I can remember. It's why I write mystery, thrillers, women's fiction, and children's fantasy. Today, I wanted to blog a bit about my children's work, THE CLOVER SIBLINGS AND THE EVIL OF DESMAL. This book started out as a labor of love over eleven years ago when I was pregnant with my little girl. I had just finished writing MOMMY MAY, I? and prior to that THE CARTEL. If you have read either one of those books then you know they are fairly dark. People die in them. Lots of people die and in violent ways in those two books. I didn't want to write serial killers or mafia for the next book.

When I found out that I was having a little girl something inside of me made it to where I had no interest in writing on the dark side. That was compounded by the fact that I was ordered to bed rest. While in bed growing a baby and being catered to by my most amazing mother-in-law, I decided to write a story for my three kids. And that is what I did. I wrote a book about two brothers who were obsessed with video games. They play a game called "Zamora's Ultimate Challenge," where the wicked Queen Zamora is controlling the land of Desmal. Each level of the game has all sorts of challenges and various characters to deal with from pirates to robotic sharks, stinging poisonous fairies, lava monsters, acid poop bombing pteroydactls, Master Souls, etceteras. The game becomes a reality for the brothers when their baby sister is actually sucked into the game by Queen Zamora. It becomes the boys mission to rescue their sister before the queen takes over her soul and is bound to Earth.

I loved writing this book. I think the best part was creating imaginary characters and an imaginary world. It is full of color and life and fun. There are lessons about family and familial bonds in the book that I hoped my kids would take from it. I never intended for the book to be anything more than just for my kids. But my kids started passing it around to their friends who liked it, and I thought that maybe it should be out in the world.

And that is exactly what has happened. The book I once intended only for my fanily has found its way into the hands of many children. It has been an honor to visit schools and classrooms and meet with children, parents and teachers. The book has been "the book of the semester" for three years now at two different schools for 5th grade classes in San Diego County. I have to say that as an author, there is one way to feel like a rock star--surprise 100 kids with a visit and have them ask questions about your book! It is the best. They applaud and they think you are some interesting, wonderful person. I don't bring my own kids with me to tell them the truth, which they would.

Anyway, I am re-releasing this book now where readers can get it electronically. There is a new cover, new title (formerly titled Queen Zamora's Ultime Challenge), and some new additions.

I also want to offer any teachers out there who would like the book in print to contact me, and I will sell them to schools at my cost. I am also always willing to visit schools in the San Diego area. If you aren't local to me, I also Skype with classes and I will Skype with small groups of kids and parents who may choose to read the book as a group. The Clover Siblings isn't just a book for kids. It's one of those books that I have had adults send me e-mails to tell me how much they enjoyed the book. So, take a chance on it. I know that children's books aren't what I typically write, but as I mentioned, I write what moves me. This story moves me. I hope it will interest you and any kid in your life. To set up a Skype with me, just sene me an e-mail and we can set a date and time. Kids always have great questions and input!

If anything, go check out the cover. It's cool! Anthony Sclavi with Brio Books. They rock!

Have a wonderful weekend.

Cheers,
Michele
P.S. The new print version of this book will be available Nov 1. The electronic version is available for your for $2.99 for your Kindle at: http://www.amazon.com/Clover-Siblings-Evil-Desmal-ebook/dp/B005FMK6GG/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1318524467&sr=1-1

Looking for a Title for My New Mystery Series

2011-09-13T19:40:00.000-07:00

I will admit it. Titles are not my thing at all. I am really bad at them. I need your help. I will be debuting my new mystery series (The Delebs--Dead Celebs) in late November, and I need a title. I'm posting the long synopsis of the book and a book trailer here to give yoou an idea about the book/series. To make it a little more fun, if I pick your title, you will recieve a signed copy of the book and a $40.00 gift card to either amazon or Barnes & Noble (your choice), plus some acknowledgement in the book.

Love to hear what you think! And for those readers who are A.K. Alexander fans. the next thriller will be out in October. The title of the book is COVERT REICH.

The Dead Celebs Mystery Series

Michele Scott

Evie Duncan is a haunted soul in more ways than one. First off, Evie hangs out with dead celebs from movie stars to rock stars, she’s surrounded by famous and infamous ghosts. Secondly the unsolved mystery of her sister’s murder sixteen years ago weighs heavily on Evie’s heart who at twenty-eight-years old wants nothing more than closure and peace of mind where her sister Mary is concerned. When Evie was twelve-years-old, Mary at fourteen ran away from home. Mary’s remains were found two months after she left home. She’d been murdered and her killer is still out there somewhere. The memory of Mary is never far from her mind and heart.

Living in small town in the Texas Hill Country selling door to door cosmetics, Evie is an aspiring musician who can play one helluva riff on her guitar, and croon a sweet melody. She has a dream to top the pop charts and prays that one day when she’ll be accepting a Grammy. A little luck and an opportunity present themselves when Evie is given five thousand dollars by a dear friend (Betty La Rue) who at eighty something years old insists Evie hits the road and pursue her dream.

With her dog Mama Cass (half coyote, half lab—possibly Border Collie), her guitar and one suitcase, Evie packs up her 1969 VW Van and leaves Texas behind, headed for The City of Angels. Upon arriving in L.A., Evie discovers rather quickly that five grand won’t get her very far. She takes a job singing week nights at a dive bar (Nick’s owned by washed up child actor Nick Stone), and working days at the cosmetics counter in a department store. But she also needs a place to live because living out of dingy hotels isn’t working for her or Mama Cass.

Her big break comes when she does a makeover one day for the sister of pop star diva Simone (just Simone). The diva is so impressed when her sister comes home looking like a star herself that she has her assistant track down Evie and hires her as her personal makeup artist. Evie feels that this has to be the break she’s been praying for. Now all she has to do is get Simone to listen to her sing.

Along with her new job comes new connections, and through a little luck Evie is asked to housesit one of Simone’s friend’s Hollywood Hills estate on a long term deal. Evie jumps at the offer. Thing is, the posh pad is haunted—and not just by any ghost. His name is Lucas Minx. Lucas, a ’80s grunge band’s lead singer, was shot and killed by his girlfriend for sleeping around with groupies. Lucas was killed in the house Evie is house sitting for, and he doesn’t want to leave.

As if things couldn’t get any creepier for Evie, one afternoon while opening up the bar she sings at, she finds the body of Nick Stone stabbed to death in one of the booths. She can’t help but feel stunned and saddened as Nick had become a friend. He was a nice guy who was taken advantage of as a kid actor, lost most of his money and wound up an alcoholic with a bar. He was also the only guy who would give Evie a chance up on the stage, and she is grateful for that, even if his place isn’t exactly The House of Blues. Unlike Simone, Nick was willing to listen to Evie sing, respected her talent and wanted to give her opportunity. Simone is demanding and a diva with no interest in anyone but herself.

Evie is confused when the police don’t seem all that interested in finding Nick’s killer, claiming it was probably a mafia hit because the guy was a big time gambler. Evie doesn’t buy it. And neither does Lucas Minx who may be a ghost but apparently can not see into the future or tell her what happened to Nick. Ghosts like live people can only be in one place at a time.

Evie finds herself wanting to avenge Nick’s death and find the killer. It’s not far in the back of her mind that her sister’s killer has never been caught, and one unsolved murder in her life is more than enough. As she begins to delve into Nick’s past, she discovers cover ups and lies from both family and friends who dealt with him. Sorting through it all to find the truth won’t be easy, and the more she discovers, the closer she gets to the killer wanting to see her six feet under.

On top of searching for a killer, Evie begins to think that she’s going crazy, especially when she starts having feelings for Lucas, and—well, a little paranormal sex happens every so often between them. Hey, she’s never made it with a rock star. Then Lucas starts bringing friends around like Bob Marley, Freddie Mercury, Janis Joplin, even Elvis and Sinatra make an appearance. Before long word gets out in the afterworld that Evie’s place is a cool hang out and the next thing she knows, she’s not only surrounded by dead rockers but also dead actors, from Lucille Ball to Anna Nicole Smith. “Her” home turns into the party zone for dead celebs.

A diva for a boss, a dead guy for a lover, a group of famous ghosts, and a murder on her hands is enough to make anyone crazy, but Evie handles it all with finesse and determination as she juggles the dead and the living in her quest to find a killer and hopefully become a star.

UPDATE ON THE FAMILY AND SOME FREE BOOK PAGES

2011-08-19T09:47:00.000-07:00

I am not going to lie. The past two weeks have been a real bummer. Nothing about them have been easy! And, I have these horrible grey hairs sprouting all over my head. I even bought a box of color to cover them, but just have not found the time or energy to do so.

The joke around my house is that I should be wearing a scrubs. If you read the blog about my little kid, and middle kid, then you know about the accident. The update is: My daughter is doing very well, albeit a bit grumpy. She gets a new cast today, and has already determined that she wants a green one. My son is still working through some of the angst that he has felt over the accident, but each day as it moves farther away from us, he does seem better. My dad is doing well, and all of his Parkinson's meds are being re-evaulated, yet again.

What readers don't know is that my oldest son is also in a wheelchair currently. Before the accident, my oldest had a major surgery a month ago to correct a bone deformity he was born with. He won't be walking for the next six months. So, yeah, it hasn't been a walk in the park lately.

Being a doctor, mother, nurse has also slowed my writing down a bit, but there are times in life where being flexible is a requirement. This is one of those times. I was supposed to have my next A.K. Alexander book already "put to bed." At the moment, I'm thinking it will be the end of next month before the next thriller is out. I promise you though, it's going to be clean and edited and all that good stuff. It's also pretty thrilling. I think having some time away from the book has actually allowed me to take a step back and see where some cracks in the story were. Maybe that has been my personal lesson--sometimes just take a step back. By having a bit of distant, I have been able to see the forest through the trees.

In the meantime, I have decided to post the first fifty pages of MOMMY, MAY I? here. WARNING!!! It is not intended for anyone under 18. There are some disturbing scenes in this book, and if you are one of my readers who loves the lightheartedness of Nikki Sands and her crew. If that is your speed of book, then this book is not going to be your cup of tea. I doubt it anyway. Just a warning.

If you enjoy thrillers about evil serial killers, then give it a try and let me know what you think.

Also, my short story DOG GONE DOG is being offered for free on Kindle right now. http://tinyurl.com/3rm7hc5

MOMMY, MAY I?

CHAPTER ONE

1968

Before . . .

That last night was so cold that Richard could see his own breath. Even the Beatles, his favorite group, belting out “Yellow Submarine” from the other room couldn’t warm him or make him feel better. The next few hours would be miserable no matter which record his mother decided to play. Hail barreled down outside, sounding like pellets from his BB gun hitting the roof. The constant drip from a leak in the ceiling hit the bucket his mother had set in the corner of his room, certain to be filled long before morning. He pulled the cape of his Superman pajamas tighter around himself as he listened to his mother read to him.

His light flickered inside the cramped room of the two-bedroom house, illuminating worn wallpaper and the young boy’s pale face. His stomach twisted into a knot so tight he thought it might burst open and release the snakes he imagined lived inside him. Then they would slither into the next room and bite his mother’s visitor to death.

When her visitors stayed over, Richard would bury his head under his pillow, trying to drown out the noises that came from the other room. Sometimes, when he heard the front door close behind his mother as she’d leave for a date, he would lie awake waiting to hear the click of the lock opening again, and her heels on the linoleum. The stupid babysitter would always sneak her boyfriend into the house and tell Richard to keep his trap shut. Then she’d laugh and say, “As if it really matters to your mom that I have a guy here.”

“‘But he never knew that it really was his own bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be real,’” Elizabeth Shelton read to her son. She closed The Velveteen Rabbit and patted Richard on the head.

“I love that story, Mom.”

“I know you do, honey.”

Beer on his mother’s breath mixed with the jasmine incense she’d lit in the other room in attempt to rid the house of its mildew smell made him pull his covers up tighter around his face.

The eleven-year-old boy loved when she read to him, when he could pretend they were like every other family. It was their nightly ritual. On many nights, some man—young, old, fat, or skinny—waited for her in the family room, along with the stupid babysitter.

“Do you have to go out tonight?”

Elizabeth Shelton kissed her son on the cheek, her lips soft. “I’m sorry, baby, you know I do. I wish I didn’t have to, but you’re gonna need new clothes for school when it starts next week. You’ll be in the sixth grade, and we can’t have you looking scrappy.”

Richard also knew that Mom liked to buy him the best clothes, and she usually bought a few expensive things for herself when they went into Portland. She liked buying clothes, shoes, and cosmetics much better than she liked fixing leaky roofs. She claimed that the money she earned was one of the perks of her trade, which, she explained to Richard, was being like a friend or kind of a nurse to people who were lonely. Men. Richard knew the truth. Everyone knew the truth.

“But, Mom, I want you to stay home.”

“If I didn’t have such wonderful friends, then we wouldn’t have food on the table. They’re kind enough to give us money and gifts, so please try to understand.”

A tear rolled down Richard’s face. He didn’t understand. He wanted his mother to be like everyone else’s mother. The kids in school called her a whore. Even so, he loved her fiercely. He’d do anything for her, and had been suspended more than once for fighting with the older kids who taunted him about her.

“Oh baby, no, don’t cry.” She wiped away the tear. “Tell you what, I won’t go out tomorrow night. I’ll cancel the date, and we’ll go to town and see a movie.”

“Really?”

“You bet.” His mother hugged him. “How’s my lipstick look?”

“Perfect.”

Elizabeth Shelton had a thing about her scarlet lipstick, always drawing the line around her mouth and filling it in just so. It was worth the effort; she always had beautiful lips. Richard loved them.

“Thank you, precious. Now remember, tomorrow it’s just you and me.”

She hugged him again, her body warm. He watched her leave his room. Her laughter from the other room echoed in his ears as he tried to fall asleep. He hated that men could make her laugh like that.

Had his father made her laugh? His father? Richard’s mother said that his father had been Mills Florence, the great cosmetics guru of the fifties. But Mills never had the opportunity to know about Richard. As his mother explained to him, their affair was brief, but they were very much in love. She’d met him on a vacation in Hollywood where she’d gone to try out her acting abilities. She’d wound up pregnant instead. By the time she planned to tell Mills, he’d been killed in a car accident.

There was no proof that he was Mills Florence’s son, and therefore, he wasn’t heir to the fortune his father’s company had produced. His mother never achieved her dreams, but made an existence for them the only way she knew how—with her looks and personality.

Richard was the outcast amongst his peers—the bastard son of a whore. No one ever believed that Mills Florence was his father, and so Richard learned not to repeat it. He knew, however, that he was not a bastard.

The next day Richard didn’t disturb her. He’d figured out early on that she was always tired in the morning. She usually didn’t rise before noon.

They lived in a small town in Oregon, right outside of Eugene. When it wasn’t raining, Richard liked to explore. This morning he walked along a dirt road lacing its way against the Cascades, playing kick the can and whistling. Buzz saws rang out in the distance followed by the rumble of falling timber as it hit the ground. It had rained earlier that morning and the dampness hung in the air. Richard was happy that tonight he’d be alone with his mother.

A truck full of kids passed him, then stopped about a hundred yards up. Richard watched as they jumped out. He knew he was in trouble.

“Hey, look, it’s whore boy,” they yelled. “How’s that whore mama of yours?”

Anger rose inside Richard at the words, like the giant Grizzly known to stalk the woods. But there were too many of them to take on, and basic instinct urged him to run. He sprinted through the pines, their taunts filling his head.

“Bastard boy, where are you?”

Richard kept going, but they were impossible to outrun. The boys surrounded him. There were about eight of them, all at least fourteen. They closed in on him. He tried not to cry, tried to break through them as his heart pounded hard against his chest. Trapped, he could hear his own breathing and wanted to scream, Leave me alone! His legs grew weak, and the trees swirled into one big blur.

The gang closed in. “I’d like to fuck your mama, she’s pretty sweet.”

“Nah,” another one said. “I’d just make her suck me. Who knows what she’s got crawling inside her.”

Richard covered his ears. He hated what they were saying, hated them. His skin burned. His mother was beautiful and good. They were evil. If only he was bigger…

When the largest kid hit him first, Richard went down and curled into a ball. They kicked him hard all over while cursing and spitting on him. One blow to his head almost caused him to lose consciousness. As the beating, angry words, and sound of his own heart pounding against his chest blended into one, a loud gunshot rang out disturbing the attack, and the boys rapidly dispersed.

“Get on outta’ here!” someone yelled. Richard felt strong hands lift him up. “You’re a mess, boy.” A lumberjack, one of his mother’s friends, dusted him off. “You okay?”

Richard nodded. “I think so.” He was still dizzy.

“Well, you got a few cuts and bruises, and that gash on your head looks like it hurts pretty bad. Why don’t I give you a ride home?”

Richard replied, “That’s all right.” He was afraid the man might want to come inside and see his mom.

“Hmmm, well, okay then. But them kids might come back for you.”

“A ride halfway home might be okay,” Richard said.

The lumberjack respected that, and dropped him off down the road from his house. He washed up with a hose outside, not wanting his mother to see him this way. She should be up by now. He prayed she hadn’t been crying this morning. She did that a lot. He wished he could make things better for her.

He opened the front screen, then stopped for a moment and listened. The house was silent. Normally, she would be in the kitchen making her coffee and his lunch right about now.

“Mom?”

She didn’t answer. He peered inside the kitchen. The coffee canister was still in the pantry—untouched. The shower wasn’t on. Richard went on back to her bedroom, where her door was shut.

He knocked. “Mom?” Still no reply. His stomach started hurting. His mouth went dry. He was afraid he’d find her in bed with a man, but he had to find out why she didn’t answer.

He opened the door a crack, then wider.

“Mom!” he screamed. His mother lay there on the bed, sheets stained with blood. She was not breathing, and when he pulled back the sheets he could see the gaping wound caused by a gunshot. He grabbed the phone on the nightstand, his hands shaking as he tried to dial the number to the police station. He was crying hysterically by the time a voice on the other end answered. He could barely get the words out as his voice quivered with emotion, “My mom, my mom’s been shot.”

In minutes the police arrived. Several had been friends of his mother’s. All the men liked Elizabeth.

The chief of police took off his hat as he walked into the bedroom, bowing his head. “What a shame,” he said. “She was such a pretty thing, too. A sweet lady, and she loved you very much.” He patted Richard on the head, but Richard had no reply as fresh tears filled his eyes.

It didn’t take but a matter of hours to make an arrest. In a fit of rage, Trudy Walker, the wife of one of Elizabeth’s customers, had decided enough was enough upon reading a love letter that she found tucked inside her husband’s jacket pocket. Trudy had known about Mr. Walker’s visits with Elizabeth for some time, but when she discovered that he had real feelings for her, she became enraged. She’d taken her husband’s revolver, gone to Elizabeth’s house that morning, broken in, and shot her. She’d actually even confessed when the police had gone to question Mr. Walker.

“Yeah, I killed that husband-stealing whore. She was nothing but a disease-spreading slut. And, I’m not sorry for it,” she said to the police as they arrested her.

Even though his mother’s killer was behind bars, nothing could pacify Richard. Hatred brewed deep in his heart. He spent the night at the police chief’s house, sobbing and waiting for morning, when the aunt and uncle he’d never met would arrive from Redding, California, to take him home to live with them.

CHAPTER TWO

Present day . . .

Helena Shea cradled the tiny infant in her arms, understanding now what she’d missed for years. She twirled a tendril of his silken hair between her fingers. Looking at him at that moment, it was hard to believe that his entry into the world had been less than desirable. “He looks wonderful, Rachel.”

The baby stretched, opening his mouth, blinking his eyes.

“It’s all because of you. If you hadn’t helped when I was using, who knows where Jeremy and I’d be. You know, I’m just sorry I didn’t quit sooner. Then maybe he wouldn’t have had to stay in the hospital for so long.” Tears rolled down Rachel’s face. She had celebrated her eighteenth birthday and the homecoming of her son three days earlier. He’d been hospitalized for two months with an addiction to crack cocaine, caused by his mother’s drug use while pregnant. The doctors and nurses who’d worked on him were dedicated to healing him, as was Helena Shea who continued to be an angel to both of them.

“No, Rachel, it was because of your own willpower and love for your son. Now, you have to learn to love yourself.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

Helena set the baby down in his bassinet. She put her arms around the petite girl. Rachel was now very pretty with coffee colored skin and a face resembling a young Lena Horne. The scabs that only a few months ago ran along her arms had faded into scars and her face had cleared from the acne caused from the drugs. She hadn’t gained more than fifteen pounds during her pregnancy, and Helena was constantly bringing her food in hopes of keeping her healthy.

“Remember, that’s your past, and right there lies your future,” Helena said gesturing to the baby who’d fallen back asleep.

“I know, but it’s still hard.”

“Yes it is. And, that’s why you’ve got me, the staff here, and the new friends that you’ve made.”

“You’re right.” Rachel smiled and tucked a piece of loose hair back into the braid Helena had plaited for her. “Speaking of new friends and the staff, how are things coming for Shea House? You know, Lindsay gave me thirty days notice to move, since I turned eighteen and I’ve been sober for six months,” Rachel said. Lindsay Covner ran the Sober Living House for teens.

“I actually spoke with her the other day about you and the move. I assured her that it’s not going to be a problem as far as Shea House being ready. The plumbers are supposed to finish up this week, and then, once we’ve passed the final inspection, you and your little guy can start moving in. We’ve been told by the city that it might be as early as next week, but I’m betting it’ll be more towards the end of the month. Anyway, no worries. It’ll be ready by the time you need to be out of here.”

“Good. I can’t wait. I love it here, you know. But I like the idea of a new place with more girls my age, and being able to focus on getting a job and such. I’m really excited, Helena. Girls like me don’t get much in the way of second chances.”

“You deserve it. Well look, I hate to go, but I’ve got a meeting to get to, and it appears that Mr. Jeremy here wants to rest. Maybe you should get some sleep, too.”

“I need to study for that diploma.”

“That’s true. But you also need to keep up your rest. Balance is key.”

“You’re our angel, Miss Helena. You are certainly our angel.”

“No, you two are mine,” Helena said, shutting the door to Rachel’s dorm room.

Smiling, Helena walked down the hall, confident that in a few weeks the adult residential center she’d funded and designed for addicted mothers would be ready. Many of the teens here would be fed into that center, to continue their recovery program and adapt to the responsibilities of parenthood. She finally felt like she’d done something right in her life, because it felt like the entire world knew nearly everything that she’d ever done wrong, thanks to her bad choices and a few unscrupulous people. This was her own second chance, and maybe her own child would be able to find it in her heart to forgive her if she did this right.

Despite the light sprinkle falling, Helena decided to walk to the community center where her AA meeting was held. It was less than a mile away, and she’d always liked the rain. It, too, reminded her of new beginnings and that things never stay the same.

On her way, she passed a newsstand. A familiar face on the front of Weekly Entrepreneur caught her eye. There he was—Patrick. Her stomach sank as it always did when she saw his face. At least his being on the front cover had nothing to do with her or anything that had happened between them. And, thank God, it was a business magazine, leading her to believe that they wouldn’t mention Frankie in the article. To ease her mind, she went ahead and bought it. Flipping through it quickly, she saw a small blurb about her daughter that read, “Frances Kiley appears to be doing well after moving from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara last year with her father. According to Mr. Kiley, she sees Helena Shea often, and the two are forming a relationship after the bitter scandal that rocked the family.”

“Even a damn business magazine has to get a blurb in there. Unbelievable.” Helena took a deep breath, wondering if it would ever really be over. Reporters, gossip, “friends” looking for tidbits of information had taught Helena a thing or two, and she’d become a woman who’d learned to be cautious of the world around her. But after glancing through the magazine, her mind began filling with kaleidoscopes of taunting memories. She didn’t even see the headlights approaching until the van slammed to a stop only inches away.

Stumbling backwards, Helena jumped back, nearly tripping over herself, the magazine flying out of her hands. Blood rushed through her ears—she wanted to scream, but fear and the stench of burning rubber clogged her throat. The headlights of the van switched off, but there was no other movement. What the hell was this guy doing? A few seconds passed, and she couldn’t get her legs to move. They were like cement and Jello all at the same time. And damn if her heart wasn’t going to come right out through her chest. There was an unreal quality about the situation. Wasn’t this guy going to get out and apologize? The only visible sign of life from inside the van was the glow of a cigarette. Somewhere in the distance a horn honked. Then a powerful fear began to crawl over Helena’s skin like a rash.

She fought to compose herself and bring her stomach back up from her gut, as the driver continued the bizarre standoff. Her heart raced faster. The driver revved the engine, blasted the horn, and flashed the high beams on her. She protected her eyes from the blinding light.

Not so long ago, she would’ve flipped the finger at him, but not now. Fear coursed through her, and running at this point seemed a good option. The only option.

Helena bounded across the street and through the front door of a Denny’s. Several patrons turned to look. She ducked into the restroom not wanting to be recognized. The strong odor of ammonia made her dizzy.

She splashed her face with cool water. Her cell phone rang. The number came up as unknown. God, not now. Still trembling, she answered.

“Ms. Shea?”

Goosebumps crawled across her flesh. The voice on the other end sounded muffled, mechanical, demonic. “Yes?”

“You really should be more careful when you cross the street.”

Helena slumped against the wall. “Who is this?”

“The important question is, who are you? I am the one you will never forget. I know how this began and how it will end. As they say, revenge is sweet, Ms. Shea.”

“Who the hell is this?”

“Your worst nightmare, come to life. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll wish you were never born.” His voice rose an octave. “You’re such a stupid bi . . .”

Helena flipped shut the phone. It took a lot to shake her, but this scum had achieved it. She steadied herself against the sink, feeling nauseous. She was startled by her reflection in the mirror. The green eyes that helped make her famous were wide-eyed with fright. She wiped sweat from her face, smearing her make-up.

A woman walked in, smelling of body odor and beer. Helena glanced up. The lady asked, “Aren’t you . . .” She snapped her fingers, then pointed at her, “ . . . that model?”

“No.”

“Sure you are. I’ve seen you on the cover of The Scene. You got a drinking problem and gave up your kid when you was what, seventeen? That ain’t right. You sure don’t look so pretty right now. Been on a bender? Why’d you dye your hair brown? You look better as a blonde, except them roots you had.”

Helena walked out. Instead of following old patterns and finding the nearest bar, she opted for the safety of her home. Shaken, she took a cab back to the Sober Living House where her Suburban was parked. Once behind the wheel, she broke all speed limits to get to her comforting sanctuary. Trying to urge more speed from the huge vehicle, she found it was no match for the Mercedes she’d recently traded in for the older, bigger car. She’d done so with the knowledge that she’d be transporting new moms and babies around before long.

Who had called her? Who’d tried to run her over? The paparazzi were crazy enough. Everyone knew that. Maybe there was nothing new about Britney or Angelina and Brad. Maybe they were back to dig up more dirt on her. Nothing like making her look crazy to sell a few magazines, which is exactly what would happen if she called the police. Word would get out, and before long every trashbloid around would have the story, and God knew that was the last thing she wanted.

Locking the doors of her Malibu beach cottage behind her, Helena breathed easier. Ella, her Siberian Husky, greeted her with several yaps.

“Well, Ms. Fitzgerald, did you miss me?” The overgrown puppy jumped up to lick her face, almost making her forget the evening’s frightening events. She was glad she’d bought the dog after announcing her sobriety to the world. Ella eased the loneliness at home that could come with a sober lifestyle. No more friendships with a bottle.

“Okay, give me a sec, and I’ll take you for a walk. Let me check the messages real quick.” Helena went into the kitchen and replayed the answering machine. There was a message from Tim. Maybe Frankie had called, but decided not to leave a message. Teenagers were like that.

“Call me when you get home from the meeting, lovey. I want to hear how it went. I’m so proud of you.” Tim sneezed before hanging up.

Tim was Helena’s friend and assistant. He had a cold, preventing him from attending the meeting. Should she tell him that she hadn’t made it either? She knew she had to; if she didn’t, someone else would. Besides, the backbone to the AA program was honesty.

While changing from her street clothes, the anonymous caller’s threat again echoed through her mind. Would a paparazzo go that far to get a story? Weren’t they tired of her yet? Whoever it was had really tried to scare the shit out of her. Was he caller and driver, one and the same? Why hadn’t she looked at the plates?

Comfortable and dry in a pair of sweats, she lay back against her pillow, softly scented with lavender, and dialed Tim’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“You sitting on top of that thing or what?” she asked.

“Funny. I haven’t been out of bed for three days now, and you hit me with a smart-ass remark. Hey, what time is it?”

“Around 8:45.”

“Aren’t you home a bit early? What’s the deal, Ms. Shea? Didn’t you go? Tell me you didn’t blow it off because you were over rocking babies again at the center. I can understand your need there, lovey, but you’ve also got to continue working your own program.”

Helena reached for her cigarettes on the nightstand and lit up before telling Tim about the evening. Then the story came out in one breath.

“Oh my God! Shouldn’t you call the police?”

“Come on, Tim, and have my face spread across all the rags for everyone to have another shot at me? I can see it now: Drunk model swears she’s being stalked! I can’t do it. I don’t need that kind of publicity now, or ever again. Shea House will be opening soon, and I’m sure there’ll be little quips here and there about my past, but I want to make this about the moms and their kids and showing them that there is a better life out there. I’ve already put my family and friends through enough, especially Frankie.”

“No, dear, Leeza put y’all through that. That little hussy didn’t need to show your dirty laundry to the world.”

“If she hadn’t, someone else would’ve.” Helena stubbed out the cigarette, reminding herself that she was trying to quit.

“Go to the cops.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“You’ve got the flu.”

“Are you afraid of my big bad germies?”

“Really, I’m okay. And, yes you know I’m a big germaphobe. I don’t need a babysitter, and I certainly don’t need the flu. It’s probably just some weirdo with my picture posted in his room, or a wannabe paparazzo. You know those freaks. I’m going to put it out of my mind and not worry about it.”

“Good Lord, someone nearly runs you over and has your private cell phone number, and you’re not going to worry? Sounds a little worse than a lovesick puppy with a hard-on over your picture. You’re not being practical.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Always the tough cookie. Always gotta play it like everything is a-okay. What about the liquid factor? Not thinking of falling off the wagon, are you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a shot of tequila right now. But I won’t.”

“Jeez, maybe I really should be with you.”

“No! I’m tired and achy. I want to lay low.”

“Obstinate child, that’s what you are! Promise you’ll call if you reach that shaky point where the demons are telling you “just one” is all right. I wish you’d call the police, or at the very least, let me come by. I’ve taken enough Sudafed to clear out the nasal passages of everyone in this godforsaken city. I’ll come over for some decaf, and we can watch the late show. Come on,” he pleaded.

“I’ve got Ella. You stay in bed. I’ll call if there’s a problem.”

“Oh yeah, Ella, the guard dog who’d show the guy where the good stuff is as long as he’d give her a doggy bone. If you had to have a dog, I wish you’d gotten a Doberman.”

“Don’t go knocking my puppy. She comes from great show lines.”

“Helluva lot of wonderful that’ll do you with some stalker dude around.”

“I doubt anyone’s stalking me. This stuff happens all the time to people in my line of work.” Helena knew she was trying to convince herself as much as Tim.

“Then why did you call me? I mean, if you’re not bothered?”

“I’m bothered, but maybe the best thing to do is just to be careful and start carrying some Mace. Besides, I took that self-defense class. And I called to hear your voice, not because I’m scared.” She picked up a throw pillow next to her and fiddled with the tassels.

“Tsk, tsk, you’re such a poor liar. You’re scared, but I’m getting nowhere with you, so please call me first thing in the morning. I worry about you. I’ll try to make it in tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Helena hung up the phone. Tim always made her feel better. His flamboyance and energy could lift her spirits. He understood the deal. He’d been in recovery for five years himself after losing his lover to AIDS. He was a loyal friend and her personal assistant at Shea Models, the agency she’d started barely after she turned twenty-five. That was when she’d discovered that fourteen-year-olds on the covers of magazines sold more Vogues than she did.

She may have felt better about not drinking, but the idea of a stalker still haunted her. Maybe she should go to the cops. But any more malicious gossip to hit the papers could prevent Shea House from receiving the continued funding that it needed. Plus, it might drive another wedge between her and Frankie. That business article had it right when it reported that Frankie and Helena had been visiting more often. They were making real progress. Her daughter was her number one priority.

Helena looked over at Ella and said, “Want that walk now, girl?” The dog bounced up and twirled in circles for her mistress. “Okay, okay.” Helena zipped up her jacket as she opened the door. She shivered as the cool night breezed through her anyway. She breathed in the salty ocean air, apprehensive about taking the walk, but knowing that her poor dog deserved their nightly ritual. It made her feel better to see lights on in several of the beach houses along the Pacific Coast Highway.

As she and Ella approached their turnaround point, the dog became rigid and alert, the ruff of her neck bristling. “What’s wrong, girl?” The dog whined, glancing back at her. Helena had never seen this behavior in Ella, and it flooded her already edgy nerves with adrenaline. Ella growled while lunging forward, pulling on her leash. Helena couldn’t see anything, but decided to turn around instead of walking the extra quarter mile to their usual turnaround point.

“Come on, puppy, let’s go.” Helena tugged on the leash. The dog reluctantly followed her.

Helena broke into a jog, and they made it home in minutes. As she took her shoes off, she laughed. “We’re paranoid,” she said to the dog, thinking about the caller and angered that he’d frightened her so badly. “You’re a silly dog, and I’ve got an overactive imagination.” Ella wagged her tail.

Once they were back inside the cottage, Helena double-checked all the doors and windows. She noticed that the curtain rod in her living room was askew, and half the drapes on the oceanfront window drooped. Part of the pull cord was missing. Ella must’ve gotten a hold of the drapes, as she had once before. Nothing else was missing or out of place, and everything had been locked.

Helena rechecked the house, this time carrying a carving knife as she opened closets and peered inside the bathroom. When she thought she saw movement behind the shower curtain, she raised the knife, tore open the curtain and saw that the washcloth had gotten soaked and fallen off the rack.

“Jesus, I feel like Norman Bates,” she said aloud. She laid the knife on the back of the toilet, her hands shaking. When she finally settled down enough, she finished checking the house. No signs that anyone had been inside. She decided she simply hadn’t noticed the damage to the drapes before.

Helena collapsed on her bed, and Ella curled up next to her. She patted the puppy’s head. “Normally, I’d say get your butt off, 'cuz you need a bath and you sure got some stinky breath. Besides, you were obviously naughty when I had my back turned. But tonight, either I’m going crazy, or the bogeyman is after me.” She laughed aloud hearing how stupid that sounded.

CHAPTER THREE

In the back issue of Vogue spread out on her bed, Frances Kiley, nicknamed Frankie, studied the photograph of her mother’s face. Bono singing about a beautiful day boomed through the stereo speakers. Frankie’s fingers traced the outline of the picture thinking about all the times she’d admired Helena, not knowing the famous model was her real mother.

The photo was taken three years ago, before Helena had retired from modeling and started her own agency. Their resemblance was huge—both had green eyes, raven hair, and skin as pale as a geisha girl’s.

She choked back her sobs. She had known that this woman was her mother for over a year, but Frankie still couldn’t figure out how she felt about such startling news. At first, she’d been furious that her parents had lied to her and that Helena had abandoned her. Then that rage turned to sadness mixed with love for a woman she was just getting to know. Shrinks, her father, Helena, even people whose business it wasn’t, told her, “Don’t worry. It will all sort itself out.” Yeah, right.

Life had thrown her some curves during the past year. At least her dad had enough sense to move them out of LA away from the jet set, who talked trash about others because their own lives were so mundane.

But the media maggots—Frankie’s name for the ever-present paparazzi—followed them no matter where they went. To her, the media were people paid to dig up good gossip, lay a few poisoned eggs, spread garbage around, and voila—deliver the kind of sensationalism craved by bored, overweight, undersexed, Hollywood-worshipping wannabes. Everywhere she’d gone in the last year, the media maggots were always in her face, popping flashbulbs and begging for any morsel of dirt they could use. Her family’s scandal had been headlined in detail, and in most instances, fabricated for every gullible moron to accept as gospel.

True, there were many things Frankie had finally come to understand. She remembered when she was much younger, having shown the woman she’d always thought was her mother a picture of Helena in a magazine. Frankie had wanted to get her hair cut like the woman in the photograph. Leeza had smacked her across the face, taken the magazine, and burned it. This made perfect sense now, but there had been several nights she’d cried herself to sleep, wondering why her mother didn’t love her.

When she was twelve, watching The Exorcist at a friend’s house, she wondered if she might be possessed. Why else wouldn’t a mother love her only child? She’d dreamed that her head would twist around and she’d vomit green slime, like Linda Blair did in the movie.

A knock at the door caused her to wipe the tears away. “Frankie?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

He cracked the door and peered in. “You want to turn that down?” She reached across her bed and flipped off her stereo. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” She closed the magazine and reached for Stuart, the stuffed puppy-doll he’d given her one Christmas long ago. He was soft as down, smelling like Spaghettios, Frankie’s favorite as a little girl. At least Stuart remained her faithful companion.

“Can I come in?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

Patrick Kiley sat down at the edge of his daughter’s bed. “Did you talk to Helena today?”

“I called, but she must’ve been out.”

“Did you leave a message?” She shook her head. “Honey,” he said, scooting closer to where she sat, Indian-style, hunched over Stuart. “I thought we all agreed that you’d start making a real effort. I know she wants to see you this weekend.”

“I did call. But I hate answering machines.”

“Since when? I hear you leave messages for your friends all the time. Don’t you want to go see her?”

Frankie flipped her hair back behind her shoulders. “Actually, I do want to see her.”

“Good. I think that’s good.” Her dad was a bit too emphatic for Frankie not to notice.

“I called her Mom the other day.”

Her dad grimaced, which he quickly forced into a smile. “Really?” He touched the ends of her hair and sighed. “Terrific. Look, kiddo, I know all the secrecy and confusion has hurt you, and that was the last thing we wanted to do.”

Frankie tossed Stuart aside. “But it does hurt. You’ve lied to me since I was a baby. And you let Mom, Leeza—whatever she was—treat me like crap. You were too busy to notice how mean she was. I never understood why.” She pulled her knees up underneath her chin. “God, Dad, she’d spank me or scream at me if she didn’t like something I’d said or done. I never knew what would set her off.”

Her dad looked as if she’d slapped him. They’d had this same discussion several times before, and Frankie hated guilting him like this. She was aware that it had become a manipulation.

“I’m sorry, honey. She’ll never hurt you again. If I could change what happened, I would. I thought Leeza would get over my affair with your mother and love you because you were an innocent child. But she won’t ever hurt you again.”

“Are you kidding? She didn’t have to do what she did. You have no idea what it’s like to go to school and hear kids call me ‘the drama queen.’ It really sucked.”

“That’s why I moved us up here to the ranch,” he said. They’d moved to their new place in Santa Barbara soon after the story broke, hoping that getting out of Los Angeles would help heal the wounds.

Frankie studied her father for a moment. He was so old-guy handsome, like Robert Redford in “The Horse Whisperer”—one of her favorite movies of all time. Because she loved her dad so much, she’d never reveal how rotten Leeza had really been to her. Frankie wanted to be a part of a family and always had. The only stability she’d had growing up was from her dad and her nannies.

“Helena would call me if she wanted to.” Frankie hugged her knees tighter.

“Giving you up wasn’t her fault. I convinced her, and so did Leeza, that you would be better off with us. She didn’t want to give you up. It broke her heart. But she was very young, and I was married to Leeza. Helena’s modeling career was beginning to take off, and we persuaded her that it would be best for everyone. Now, I know that separating you and your mom was wrong. Leeza lied to me about loving you. She didn’t want a scandal, and she didn’t want another woman to have me, even if that meant pretending to accept you.”

“Scandal? She’s the one who’s told everyone!”

“She was paid a lot of money for those stories. I guess that years of anger and a chance to finally get even with me and your mom was what spurred her on.”

“Why is she still so mad after so many years? Is it because you still love Helena?” Frankie held her breath, waiting for the answer. As hurt, frustrated, and confused as she was, she hoped her dad did still love her mom. Frankie wouldn’t give up on being part of a family.

Her dad patted her knee and stood up. “You’re an incurable romantic, my girl. But I think it’s time we both got some sleep.”

Stepping outside her room, he paused and without turning to face her, said, “I’m glad you’ll be spending more time with your mom. It’s hard on me, because of everything I’ve put you through. I don’t want to see you hurt any more.” Frankie could’ve sworn he was crying. “You have a right to explore a relationship together. I pray she can be the mother to you that Leeza wasn’t.” He shut the door behind him.

Frankie cuddled Stuart and said, “Know what, Stu? I hope so, too. But how can you be someone’s mother after so many years?” She held the stuffed animal out in front of her. In her best Robert Stack voice, she said, “And that, my friend, is another unsolved mystery.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Once again, FBI Agent Tyler Savoy found himself working around the clock, struggling against what he’d come to regard as evil. He’d seen more than his share of violent acts during his career, some that put slasher movies to shame. Even though he’d witnessed brutally slain corpses and dealt with the bizarre minds of those who’d raped, stolen, and plundered—being an agent with CASKU—The Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit of the FBI—was his life. Now that Susie was gone, his work was his only focus.

The face Nick Yamimoto had been reconstructing for Tyler was taking shape and was beginning to appear human. The transformation was remarkable, from the skull that detectives had found in a shallow grave out in the Mojave Desert, to what Tyler could now see had at one time been that of a young woman.

Nick’s office was filled with many other clay formations, as well as sketches of victims and of possible predators. The small, brightly lit office smelled of acrylics and clay, combined with the stink of formaldehyde from several jarred human organs.

Tyler stared at what was taking shape from the clay Nick had been expertly molding. The victim was young—twenty tops. Tyler thought this one might have died at the hands of someone she knew. Not unusual—a majority of murder victims met their deaths that way.

Tyler’s intuitive gift—or curse, depending on how one looked at it—was what had led him into this line of work, combined with his own sense of personal loss. It enabled him to tune in to some of the country’s sickest minds. Before Susan had been murdered, he’d never guessed he possessed this so-called gift.

But from the moment Susan was killed, he knew. Tyler suddenly discovered within himself an innate ability to tune into the evil lurking within the minds of the sick and twisted and almost feel the pain that they caused. He actually thought he sensed the final electrifying slice that had eviscerated his wife. However, he convinced himself that he was a profiler through study rather than gift of spirit. Even though the moment he had begun to have unexplainable hunches and detailed visions and feelings somehow coincided with the day his wife was murdered.

Susan had been at home, in her bath. She’d been four months pregnant on the day that the demon saw fit to disembowel her, slaughtering their baby and leaving his wife to bleed to death.

Tyler had had a bad feeling all day about leaving her, but he was needed in the city on an ongoing investigation involving a large drug ring that was also responsible for several murders.

At that time, he’d been a homicide detective. But after her murder, he knew his destiny was to track down the hunters of this world. He’d specifically chosen the serial killer unit. For him, it was more than avenging his wife’s death and that of their unborn child.

It took nine months and three days to find her killer. Tyler had tried to worm his way into the investigation, but it was difficult as he was a family member. But he’d bellowed enough to make the detectives pay attention and was finally allowed to review everything they’d done to find Susie’s killer.

It was a tip from an unknown source that had led the police to Samuel Paul Nelson. They’d staked out a woman’s house where they thought Nelson might be headed. Sure enough, he was there and very nearly succeeded in murdering his fifth victim, but they had arrived in time to save her and arrest Nelson. Forensics discovered a DNA match with Nelson’s blood found under Susan’s fingernails. Samuel Paul Nelson was now on death row in California, awaiting lethal injection.

Tyler realized why this current Jane Doe case had him so focused. This asshole reminded him of Nelson. They both had an overpowering need to dominate their victims. Nelson, however, had never been acquainted with the vics; he chose women who fit his profile, then convinced himself that they should belong to him. He followed them for days, until he finally decided to kill them.

Nelson believed that he had a harem waiting for him in the afterworld consisting of those he’d sent there, including Susan. But this new killer knew the young woman he’d strangled to death. Tyler was convinced of that, and that was where the killers differed.

“So what do you think?” Nick asked.

The scientist was tops in forensic reconstruction, a genius of a man. Tyler liked and respected Nick.

“I think he knew her, and she isn’t his first. Or his last.”

Nick listened, his eyes darkening. “What makes you say that?”

“A feeling. And that she was found in the desert. It fits a particular profile. One we have to consider.”

“But wouldn’t a desert burial suggest this perp was a transient? Or could your vic have been on the move, too? A hitchhiker turns down his sexual advances, pisses our perp off, and he loses it?”

“Maybe,” said Tyler, setting the clay back down on the laboratory table. “But, like I said, I’ve got a feeling he’s a pro with an agenda. How much longer until you can get me full features?”

“Four, five days, if I work my ass off.”

“Do it. I’ll make sure old Uncle Sam kicks in overtime.”

“Yeah, right! Then I’m taking a break. I need a smoke and some coffee.”

“No problem.”

“Want to join me?”

“Thanks anyway, but I’ve got some other things to take care of. Call me when she’s ready.”

“Sure thing.” Nick stepped outside while Tyler sifted through sketches.

Looking down at possible identifications of the young woman, Tyler was forced back in time by a frightening feeling—the same sensation he’d had when Susan was murdered. Some woman out there, possibly on this very night, was about to meet her maker. Tyler’s nightmare was that he couldn’t pinpoint who or where. He wasn’t into this asshole’s head yet, but like a reel of film, the images had already begun.

Tyler divined through profiling, and his gut told him that the killer felt his motives justified his actions. He was Tyler’s latest nightmare—one that would consume him until he saw it to the end.

CHAPTER FIVE

June 1970

Before . . .

“‘Villain!’ I shrieked, ‘Dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks! Here, here!—It is the beating of his hideous heart!’” Uncle James emphasized each word as he read The Tell-Tale Heart to Richard for the second time that evening. Richard applauded, and his uncle bowed.

“I don’t know why you have to read that garbage to the boy,” Aunt Valerie shouted from the other room.

Uncle James winked at him. “He likes it, Mother.”

“Well, then he’s as nuts as you are. I can tell you this much, the Lord don’t like that filthy stuff. He’s condemning your souls to hell, right now.”

“So be it,” whispered Richard’s uncle.

“You should be reading Bible verses to him.” Uncle Richard winked at Richard in a conspiratorial kind of way.

Aunt Valerie rarely referred to Richard by his name, always “him” or “he,” but if she really wanted to anger Richard, she’d call him Ricky. He found that insulting. Richard also knew that later, when his uncle wasn’t around, his aunt would make him pay for sharing this time with his uncle. She believed that sparing the rod spoiled the child. But Richard didn’t care. It was worth it to spend time with Uncle James.

“Let’s take a walk, son.”

“Sure.” Richard knew that his uncle wanted to escape his aunt’s preaching, too.

“We’re going for a walk, dear.”

They grabbed their coats and walked into the late night. As much as Richard loved his uncle, he hated his aunt. Not only for the beatings and mean words, but also for the way she treated his uncle. Aunt Valerie ruled their home.

“I know she’s a horrible woman, Richard. And I know sometimes she’s awful hard on you. But we’ve been married for so long now.”

“So? Why don’t you leave her? You don’t need her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

Uncle James put his arm around Richard as they walked next to the man-made pond Uncle James had built on his five-acre ranch. He sighed and said, “Sometimes people know things about one another, things that they don’t want others to know.”

The crickets and night bugs reminded Richard of a symphony his mother had taken him to long ago in Portland. The mountain air smelled of pine. “What could be so bad that you’d have to stay with her? What terrible thing could she possibly know about you? I can’t believe you’d ever do anything wrong.”

“Let’s just say it is, and leave it at that. We all make mistakes.” Uncle James rolled and lit a cigarette. He let Richard have a drag off it.

Richard couldn’t imagine his uncle having any secret so horrible that he was forced to remain married to the thing back at the house. Uncle James couldn’t hurt a fly. Heck, when he found spiders inside the house, he carefully removed them and set them out in the yard. He was also conscientious about his work: Making the bodies he worked on look peaceful and happy in death and soothing the families of the dead.

“I’d like to work with you this summer,” Richard said. It had been two summers since his mother died, and he felt ready to see another dead person again. In fact, the idea captivated him.

“You sure about that? Funeral homes can be sad, dark places at times.”

“I’m sure. I want to learn the business. You never seem sad or dark.”

“Of course I am. Why do you think we read from Edgar Allan Poe every night? I’m as macabre as the old horror master himself,” James replied, chuckling.

Richard wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but he laughed along anyway. Uncle James’s laughter was infectious, like his mother’s had been.

“Do you believe in God, Uncle James? I mean, Aunt Valerie’s always reading from the Bible and telling you that you’re going to hell. What’s that all about?”

“She’s pretty devout, that one. But I kinda got my own beliefs. You sort of have to when you’re in my business.”

“Tell me.”

“I think we all got a place inside that we think of as Heaven. We see it, feel it, and it’s nice. That’s what happens to us when we go. We finally get to that place and stay there.”

“Hmmm. That sounds good. But what about God?”

“Well, I don’t know too much about Him. But I’m sure He exists somewhere. I just like the peaceful Heaven idea, where we go where we want.”

“Me too. I’m not sure I believe in God.”

“Why’s that?”

“He took my mom away from me.”

“That’s hard stuff.”

“I miss her.” He sighed. “How come you never visited us?”

“You know your aunt runs the show around here, and your mother really never wanted us to. Valerie was awfully jealous of your mom, and Elizabeth felt it was best if we all kept our distance. I wanted to visit you, though. I thought about you two a lot. When I didn’t have the wife looking over my shoulder, I’d send your mom some money from time to time.”

“I wish you could’ve visited,” Richard said, hating his aunt even more for keeping his mother’s only brother away. Richard understood that his aunt was jealous, because she had let him know exactly what she’d thought of his mother.

“Me too, son. Me, too.” Uncle James flicked the cigarette away. “Anyhow, you want to come to work for me, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right,” he said, stopping and putting his hands on his lower back stretching. “Expect to rise and shine with the sun in the morning and get to work.”

“Really? Oh wow! Thanks, Uncle James. Thank you so much. And I’ll do a good job for you, I promise.”

“I’m sure you will.”

They headed back toward the house, Richard filled with excitement about working at his uncle’s funeral home.

****

Richard enjoyed working with his uncle as much as he thought he would. He was learning a lot and not stuck at home with his aunt who, given the chance, would send him to the basement to think about the evil he’d done. It was like being set free from a dismal prison with her as the warden.

Two weeks had passed since coming to work with Uncle James, and Richard knew that he was a good apprentice. He strolled through the front room where all the caskets were on display, pretending he was the funeral director.

“Mahogany,” Richard sang out, “this one is pure mahogany. And notice the silk lining. It’s a hundred percent silk.” Richard ran his hand across the soft, fine material as a tingle shimmied down his back. He was practicing for the mourners. “And this one is a good buy. That’s solid pine.” He knocked on it with his knuckles.

“Richard?” Uncle James walked into the room. Richard jumped, startled and embarrassed. “I’m glad you’re learning all about the caskets.” Uncle James smiled. “It’s a huge part of our business. But today I’d like to teach you something new: We’ll be embalming an elderly woman brought in last night. Come on, son. Follow me.” Richard followed his uncle into the embalming station. “Put this on.” Uncle James handed him a facemask.

As Uncle James flipped on the lights, Richard’s nose stung in a wonderful way from the formaldehyde. Each nerve in his body came alive, enthusiastic over what his uncle was about to teach him. The room was only large enough to hold a table and the necessary tools for the embalming process.

“Now, this here is the pump we use to regulate the pressure and flow of mixed water and embalming fluid into the remains,” Uncle James said.

Richard looked at the pump, but his eyes kept wandering to the white sheet covering the body. He’d seen a few dead people in the past couple of weeks; today he’d actually touch one. Something about that made his stomach stir, but not like he was nauseated.

“Okay, now in case we’ve got a problem and the formaldehyde becomes a contaminant, you’ll need to get under that shower over there,” Uncle James said pointing to a nozzle against the far end of the wall. “That’ll only happen if I don’t measure my chemicals just so, but it could burn your skin something fierce. So it is always vital to be prepared and cautious.”

Richard glanced at the anatomy posters. He’d have to study them. Though he hated school, he learned fast. The stigma of being different had stuck to him like insects on a fly strip, and he hadn’t made friends any easier in this town than he had in Oregon.

Uncle James looked up at the clock on the wall. “Well, let’s get started. We’ve got a busy morning ahead, and I’d like to get the embalming finished before lunch, so we can come back this afternoon to dress her and apply the makeup.”

“Yes, sir.” The word makeup stirred something deep within Richard, remembering the way his mother always applied her lipstick so flawlessly. He hoped that Uncle James would let him do the lips.

Uncle James removed the sheet. “Hi, Ruth,” James said stroking back the gray hair from the woman’s pale face that was etched with the lines of time.

“Did you know her?”

“No. I know her name, and that her family loved her dearly. I like us to get acquainted a bit before I start invading her body. It’s only proper and polite.”

“Do you think she can see us?” Richard looked heavenward.

“I don’t know, but if she can, then she knows we’re gonna be as gentle as possible.” James then covered her head with what looked like a swimmer’s cap. He and Richard wore gloves and lab coats. “This is a fairly simple process, son. We use the body’s own circulatory system,” he said. “We use formaldehyde because blood is drained during the process, and the fluid contains dyes to give a pink color to the skin.”

Richard smelled an offensive odor coming from Ruth. Uncle James took a bottle of disinfectant off the shelf and wet a sponge. He poured some of it into another sponge, handing it to Richard.

Uncle James pulled the sheet back only to her waist. Her small, shriveled breasts were exposed. Richard shrunk back. His mother’s breasts certainly didn’t look like these.

“It’s all right. She won’t bite.” Uncle James sponged her down. Richard followed his lead, and soon the cleanser's strong fumes replaced Ruth's putrid stench. Touching her body was strange. She was so very cold.

“It is important that this procedure be done with care,” Uncle James began, sounding like a professor. “If one does this step carefully, the next can be done smoothly. If the body isn’t disinfected, then the embalming procedure will not work. It also prevents the spread of germs.”

When Uncle James pulled the sheet completely off, Richard tried hard not to look at the woman’s private parts, but couldn’t help it as he watched his uncle cleanse the area. Richard wondered what it was like to touch that private place without the sponge, and then tried to erase that thought from his mind.

Once they’d finished cleaning Ruth, Uncle James placed embalming fluid and water inside the pump. “It usually takes about four gallons to finish the job.” Uncle James carefully measured his liquids, and then hooked Ruth up to an IV.

Richard watched in awe as his uncle inserted the needle, fascinated by the whole procedure.

“We usually use the femoral or carotid artery for this. That way it goes into the heart and the circulatory system pushes it out, replacing the blood. I like to use the jugular. You okay? You’ve hardly said a word.”

“I’m fine. Listening, that’s all.”

“A good student, that’s what you are, Richard. A good student.”

“Yep.”

“Okay, now, see those tools over there?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hand the first two over.”

Richard handed him the scissors-like instruments. “What are these for?”

“We use these to remove any blood clots and to open the veins where the embalming fluid can’t get through.”

“Oh.” Richard’s tone had become hushed while watching his uncle work.

“Okay, now switch on the pump, please.” Richard did. “We have to be very careful during this part. Improper embalming will make the cosmetology process impossible. God knows when I started I had a few messes. Let me tell you, son, there were some families not too happy at what I’d done to their kin. But patience is as important with the dead as with the living. If you treat this old gal here on the table as kindly as we treated her husband who came to us, then we usually have success on all accounts.”

The sound of the pump along with the ebb and flow of fluids being drained and replaced was as rhythmical as rushing waters. Richard stared at the body while the fluids filled her, distorting her emaciated form into odd shapes, almost like a balloon being blown up. He liked the way it looked. He wanted to open her eyes to see if they were bugging out. God, his uncle was great.

“Never rush the work, because I can’t tell you how it easy it can be to swell the face, and if that happens it’s impossible to fix.” Uncle James applied the steady pressure. “The frequent drainage of the fluids is crucial.”

Richard watched, sweat forming on his brow. He wished he were the one injecting and draining the fluids!

After the process was finished, Uncle James took off his gloves and washed his hands in a corner sink, then pulled on a new set of gloves.

“We’re not done?”

“Oh, no. We still have to do the cavity embalming.”

Richard was pleased. He smiled as he stared at Ruth, whose body was now full of chemicals.

Uncle James went to the shelf again and took down a bag of powder, which he mixed with water. “Some out there swear by kitty litter, but something tells me that most of our departed friends here wouldn’t be too pleased with cat litter inside their thoracic cavity.”

“No.” Richard shook his head vehemently.

“This is necessary when the chest is sunken, and Ruth’s is a bit. So we’ll give her some help.” Uncle James stuck a tube down her mouth and filled it with the material, which he then pumped into her. Richard stared as her chest expanded.

“Next, we re-aspirate the lungs, cork the windpipe, and then the anal vent, which we open if we notice any bloating from the build up of gas.”

“Like a fart?”

“Richard!”

“Sorry.”

“Yes, like a fart.” They both laughed. “Okay Ruth, we’ll let you rest, while we grab a bite. I’d ask you to come, but…" Uncle James wasn’t the least bit condescending or sarcastic; however, Richard couldn’t help giggling.

They washed up and headed to the deli across the street. Janie Keaton was there with some friends. Richard glanced over, but tried not to pay any attention. He thought that Janie Keaton was the prettiest girl in school. She smiled at him while he bit into his ham sandwich.

“I think she likes you,” Uncle James whispered.

“Nah, no one likes me,” Richard replied, while chewing his sandwich and shaking his head.

“I don’t believe that. You’re a good-looking boy, son. Remind me of your mother with your big brown eyes and blonde hair, and those dimples, well, those would woo a gal anytime.”

Richard shook his head and smiled sheepishly. Maybe his uncle was right. He was a really smart man, with a good sense about people. It would make his day, week—no, year—if Janie Keaton liked him. If she liked him, then everyone else would too.

As Janie and her friends left the deli, she passed by their booth. “Hi, Richard. How’s your summer going?”

Richard had no idea Janie Keaton even knew his name. He’d never imagined she knew he was alive. God, this was the best day of his life. “Good.”

“Yeah, what you up to?”

“I’m working with my uncle.”

Janie took a step back and looked at Uncle James. “At the funeral home?”

Richard hung his head. “Yes.”

“Ooh creepy, but sort of cool, like in a freaky way, you know.”

Richard looked up. “Yeah, it is.”

“Wow. Okay, well maybe I’ll see you around again. Have a good summer.”

“You too.”

Uncle James patted his hand and said, “Good going. She’s awfully pretty. I told you so. She’s got her eye on you. You handled that one just right.”

“Thanks.” Richard watched Janie Keaton walk away, her long hair, the color of sunshine on wheat in the late afternoon sun, swung from her ponytail, made him feel funny, but a good funny. He hoped that he would see Janie around again and be able to look in those blue-sky eyes.

After lunch, Uncle James taught Richard the art of applying makeup to the deceased. His favorite part was when they sewed Ruth’s lips together then applied a thin layer of wax across them before putting on her lipstick.

Richard’s thoughts kept wandering back to Janie Keaton. When Uncle James had to take a phone call, Richard escaped to the bathroom where his mind floated from Ruth’s exposed genitals to Janie. He touched himself thinking of what it would be like to do all the things to Janie that they’d done to Ruth today. He felt weird but wonderful, as his body grew warm and tingled all over.

As he pleasured himself, he wondered what color he’d paint Janie Keaton’s lips if she were lying on the table.

CHAPTER SIX

Frankie dove for the phone, hoping it was someone wanting to hang out. She doubted her luck could be that good. Her best pals were on cheer squad and at practice, and another was grounded for sneaking out with cutie pie Dean Ryan the other night. No, most likely it was probably Dad making sure she was doing her chemistry homework. College was less than two years away, something he repeatedly stressed. His major rule was homework before play, and though she resented it, she figured it had some merit.

“Frances?”

“Leeza?” she whispered. Frankie hadn’t heard her voice in over a year. But it couldn’t be mistaken, with a little-girl pitch and the slight southern lilt Frankie knew she’d tried hard to get rid of.

“That’s right, it’s me. How are you, darling?”

“What do you want?”

“Well, honey, I wanted to say how sorry I am about everything. I’ve thought a lot about it lately, and I feel real bad. You were always a pretty good kid, and I suppose I didn’t treat you so well. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Next, you’ll tell me you’ve gone all Jerry Falwell on me and found Jesus. If I remember right, your interests run more along the lines of Jerry Springer.” Frankie picked at her fingernails. “Looking for forgiveness, are you? If that’s it, Leeza, you’re calling the wrong girl. I actually used to pray at night that you’d go away and I’d find out you weren’t really my mother. Thank God that prayer came true.”

“Oh dear, I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

Frankie stopped picking at her nails, a knot wrenched tight in her gut. “No, Ma’am, I haven’t. That’s how I got through all your abuse.”

“Now, Frances, there’s no need for so much spite. I called to tell you that I am sorry—truly. I hope someday you’ll accept that, and maybe realize that I really do love you.”

“Love isn’t in your vocabulary. I don’t know what you’re up to this time, but I don’t really care. You can’t hurt me anymore.” Frankie slammed down the phone, then snatched it up again and threw it against the wall. She put on her Fuel CD, and as the music blared from her speakers, she collapsed on her bed and began to cry.

Before long a fitful sleep took hold, and she dreamed she was walking along a cliff, her dad beside her. They talked about her not having a mother, how that must feel to Frankie, how sad it was. Up ahead, a figure emerged through the fog. As the being came closer, she saw that it was Helena. Frankie looked up at her dad who smiled. When Frankie didn’t understand who this woman was, her dad told her that it was her mother.

She ran toward Helena, but her mother slipped at the cliff’s edge. Frankie ran faster, her dad right behind her. They had to save her, to keep her from falling to the rocks below. Helena was too far away. They didn’t make it in time.

Horrified, Frankie watched as Helena fell. She’d only just found her, but she was lost again. Now she would never know how it felt to have a mother.

When she woke, the tears dried on her face, Frankie picked up the phone and called Helena. She didn’t want her real life to emulate the dream in any way. It was time to reach out and give her mother a chance.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Hey, hot stuff, want a cup of latte?” Tim said, as he bounded into Helena’s office. Helena smiled at his enthusiasm, which he had plenty of for just about everything, from caffe lattes to his latest conquest—whose attributes he loved telling Helena down to the last detail. Although there were times when these details made her uncomfortable, she tried not to let on. Tim was a good friend, and she never wanted to hurt his feelings.

He set the coffee down on top of the glass table Helena used as her desk and planted himself in a cushy leather chair opposite her. He smelled of lemongrass soap and clove cigarettes. Tim’s attire was Banana Republic to a tee, from the khakis to the maroon, cable knit turtleneck. Pretty boy handsome, Tim looked as if he’d walked out of the pages of GQ.

His wide-eyed expression told her that he wasn’t going anywhere until she confided in him. “Okay sugar, what’s cooking in that wee head of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“That’s it, lie, lie, lie. We addicts are all the same. You might lose the addiction, but never the lying.”

“You’re a pain in the ass. I liked you better when you were flat on your back.” She breathed in her coffee, the perfect wake up call, strong and sweet.

“Yeah, well now I’ve got a clean bill of health. So do tell. I’m always ready for some good dish. No more phone calls, I hope. Or anymore freaky incidents?”

Helena sighed, knowing she couldn’t escape his third degree. “No, that was the only one, and I think I know who might’ve been behind it.”

“Really?”

“I’ve thought long and hard and there’s really only one logical answer—Leeza.”

“No!” He waved his hands in an exaggerated gesture. “What makes you say that?” Tim leaned in, his elbows on her desk, his chin resting in his palms, squinting his dark eyes—the captivated audience.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It makes sense. Leeza would do anything to see me fail with my daughter just out of plain old spite. It’s obvious she never loved Frankie, so I don’t know why she doesn’t let it go. I can’t imagine being consumed with so much hatred she would waste her time on me. But she clearly is, and it all connected for me yesterday when she pulled another stunt.”

“God! That bitch. What did Miss Tell-All do this time?”

“Helena slammed her fists on the desk. She called Frankie yesterday!”

“No. Where does she get her gall? What the hell did she want?”

“Frankie called me yesterday afternoon all upset about Leeza calling her and telling her that she loves her and wants her forgiveness, blah, blah, blah. The poor kid was beside herself.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Can you believe her? Telling my daughter that she loves her. Are you ready for that? After all the crap she’s thrown at us, she has the audacity to tell Frankie that she loves her. That woman couldn’t love anyone.”

“No kidding. She hasn’t gotten over her first love affair.” Helena raised her eyebrows. “By which I mean herself, dear.”

“You’re right about that,” she laughed.

“So what did the kid say?”

“She told the woman to leave her alone, then hung up on her.” Helena nodded in satisfaction and smiled as she sipped her coffee.

“Like mother, like daughter. When do I get to meet this kid, anyway?”

“Hopefully on Saturday you’ll get your chance. She’s great. I’m trying to convince her to come to the meeting, since it’s my anniversary. I thought maybe we could grab a bite, too. I’d love to make a day of it with her and take her over to Shea House and the Sober Living House. I want her to meet some of the girls.”

“Oh.” Tim clapped. “That sounds delightful. Plan it! But about this thing with the ex-step mommy, why are you so worried about her phone call? It sounds like the kid handled the Wicked Witch just fine. And the fact that she called you and clued you in is also another positive in your court.” He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs.

“Maybe so, but it still disturbs Frankie. Her therapy gets setback every time someone brings up this scandal. Frankie feels betrayed by everyone she’s loved. She truly doesn’t know who she can trust and who really loves her. Last week, she called me “Mom” for the first time. We’ve really been getting closer, and I don’t want anything to ruin that. But after Leeza’s meddling phone call, I don’t know what’ll happen. I also have to wonder what Leeza is up to. It’s not innocent, you know. Like I told you the other night, I don’t need any more ugly press.” Helena reached for her pack of cigarettes on the desk, then set them back without taking one out. “If Leeza starts mixing it up, Frankie might end up hating me all over again. She might change her mind about wanting a relationship with me. She’s still coping with the fact that I gave her to Patrick and Leeza when she was a baby. She thinks that I never wanted her, which isn’t true. She knows Leeza never wanted her. I wish Dad were still alive; he knew what she meant to me. He knew how much it hurt to give her up.”

Helena picked up the silver frame with her dad’s photograph inside. It was one of him fishing down at the lake they went to every summer when she was a kid. She was seven in that picture. Her mother had already passed on from an undetected case of ovarian cancer.

“You’re truly sounding ridiculous now. It’s nothing fifteen years of therapy won’t cure.” He laughed at his own joke.

Helena frowned. She knew Tim was joking, but the reality was that Frankie would need a lot of counseling. Frankie was strong, and Helena hoped, through her love along with Patrick’s, that her daughter would heal in time. However, she wasn’t going to kid herself. She knew how long it took to heal deep, emotional wounds.

“Helena, you’re wonderful, and anyone would be lucky to have you for a mother. Look how far you’ve come. Look at the way the girls at the center look up to you. My God, you’re like the Virgin Mother herself over there.”

“Hardly, and the fact is that Frankie really is my daughter, and she certainly doesn’t see me that way.” Helena choked back her tears, reaching for her coffee again.

“Don’t let this little incident set you back. Take charge.” Helena nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. “Now, what you ought to do is go see your daughter. Do some damage control. Don’t assume the worst. Take the train up today after work. I’ll go by and feed the pup while you’re away. I’m sure the kids at the center will understand if you can’t make it over for an afternoon. They’ve got plenty of support there. You know that.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The best advice in town.”

“No shit! Stop paying that shrink so much and give me a raise instead. I do a much better job.”

“I’ll talk to personnel about that,” she said with a wink. They both knew that personnel consisted of Tim, a payroll manager, a handful of scouts, and herself.

“Ha! Funny. Well, I’d love to stay and chat all day about your dysfunctional life, but I have to call the studio to make sure the girls got there. And the cattle are already out there, waiting to be called in.”

“Oh, God! I dread the first Wednesday of every month.” It was the day they held their monthly open call for fresh faces. It also typically became the longest day of the month, with hundreds of young men and women waiting to be seen, hoping for their big break.

“I know, lovey. The go-sees you get to look over are tons of fun. But maybe you’ll find a good one today. There’s a nice-looking young man cooling his heels out there. He may not be your type, but I wouldn’t mind having coffee with him.”

“Yeah, well, remember who loved you first, baby. Listen. Will you weed them down to thirty? You know what I’m looking for. I’m checking out early, taking your advice about that damage control.”

“Now you’re using that noggin. I’ll pick the best prospects and send the rest packing. Do you want me to take care of Ella for the night?”

“I’ll go home first and feed her, and I’ve got to run by Shea House and meet with the plumber. Besides, I also need to ask Patrick if it’s convenient for me to go up there today. If it is, I’ll drive up, then come back after dinner.” She sat twirling her pen between her fingers.

“Sounds like a mighty late night. I don’t think you should be driving back in the wee hours.” He stuck his hands on his hips.

He reminded her of a mother hen. “Always the worrier. I’ll be fine. I don’t want to be intrusive, so I won’t stay late. Remember, Frankie is supposed to come down to LA this Friday anyway.”

“Be careful driving.”

“I will.” Helena watched Tim leave, shutting the door behind him. He’d been a godsend after her assistant Brianne had left so abruptly while Helena was at The Betty Ford Center. It bothered her for a long time that Brianne had never contacted her. But Helena had spiraled out of control during that time and been pretty horrible to everyone around her just before she’d checked herself into rehab. It was a miracle that she’d been able to pull her business back together. If not for Tim, she couldn’t have done it.

Focused on the business at hand, Helena finished quicker than she’d expected. However, before she went home she decided to make one stop first—one she wasn’t eager to make, but felt was necessary.

****

Helena pushed the buzzer six or seven times before she heard high heels clatter against marble.

“Guess it’s the maid’s day off,” she muttered as the front door opened. Leeza Kiley stood there in all her steely, redheaded glory, an ironic smile flickering across her face.

“Greetings, neighbor,” Leeza snorted. Once the divorce was final and she’d sold the house she’d shared with Patrick for so many years, she moved to this house, only a mile or so from Helena.

Leeza shook her head and tsk tsked while giving Helena the once-over. “So what’s your story? If you have a bone to pick, why didn’t you do that, oh, say, a year ago, when the celebrity story of the century broke?”

“Wasn’t worth my time.”

Leeza swung open the door. “Okay, what’s worth your time now then?” she asked, raising her perfectly waxed, eyebrows into a curious arch.

“My daughter.”

“Ah, I see. You two must be getting pretty tight. That’s great, but I really don’t have time for chitchat, much less a reunion with the woman who stole everything from me. How am I cramping your style this time?”

“It’s not about me, Leeza.”

“It never is. You can steal a woman’s husband before you’re even eighteen like a jail bait Lolita, have his baby, toss her aside, go on to become queen of the world, make a million bucks, fall flat on your alcoholic ass, and then become Joan of Arc by coming clean about your past and starting some center for crack whores with kids. No, Helena, it is certainly never about you.”

Helena considered walking away, knowing that the conversation was already out of hand. But this was about her child, the one she’d betrayed in so many ways. After all these years, she could finally protect her and owed her that much. “Wow, that was quick. You must have been practicing in front of the mirror! But I have to tell you, you’re paying way too much for those acting lessons. Might want to get a new coach. You haven’t changed a bit. Still playing the same aggrieved innocent.”

“Insults will get you nowhere.”

Helena closed her eyes, sighed, and collected herself before opening them again. “Fine, I didn’t come here to take a trip down your inaccurate perception of memory lane. I came here to talk about Frankie.”

“I never meant to hurt her.” Leeza picked up a large cat that smelled like baby powder who had nonchalantly been rubbing itself against Leeza’s fake-baked legs.

“Patrick and I can take the heat, but she’s only a kid.”

“Look, I love Frances as much as you do. Don’t forget I raised her.” She cradled the cat like a baby, kissing it on the nose.

“No, Mary Poppins did that.”

“Well, who do you think she called Mommy?” Leeza tickled the purring cat under his chin.

“Only to be scolded and told to call you by name, except when Patrick was around.”

“She said that?”

“Spare me the drama.” Helena’s face burned.

“At least I didn’t abandon her.” Leeza’s grin made her look very much like the Batman’s rival, Joker.

Helena stepped back as if punched in the stomach. If she didn’t control herself, she’d smack this woman hard, this manipulator who’d begged her sixteen years ago to give Frankie to her and Patrick, telling her it was the best thing for all of them. “I did not abandon my child. I gave her to you and Patrick believing that she would be loved and raised by a family that wanted her. But all you wanted was Patrick’s money. That was why he turned to someone else in the first place, to someone who could love him for who he really is.”

The cat struggled free from Leeza’s arms. Helena ached to choke the life out of Leeza. “I want you to leave Frankie alone. It’s that simple. Don’t call her. Don’t write her. And don’t even consider pulling another one of your bullshit stunts.” Leeza looked stunned. “Yeah, I’m not the dumb-ass you think I am. I know you had someone try to run me down, then the crank-call. That was pleasant. Very clever of you.”

“You’re a whack job, always were. I have no idea what you’re talking about. And if I want to call Frances up and have a chat, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

“I’m not playing here, lady. Stay the hell out of our lives, or you will regret it!” Helena stormed off and headed for the Suburban parked on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway.

Leeza yelled, “Is that a threat?!” No answer. “You’re nuts! You’ve done too many drugs and fried the rest of your already half-baked brain. And you know what? That did sound like a threat to me. I’ll bet there’s a reporter or two who’d love to hear about this. Think I’ll give Claire Travers a call, Miss High and Mighty. Remember her?!” she screamed. “She wrote nice stories about you, didn’t she? Leave your family alone? You should’ve left my fucking husband alone, you whore!”

Helena slammed the truck’s door and revved the engine. “Get over it, for God’s sakes. It was sixteen years ago, you bitter bitch,” she muttered.

As she squealed out onto the highway, Helena knew that she’d made a grave mistake. Leeza was probably on the phone this very minute, once again seeking some type of twisted revenge.

If you would like to read further, here is a purchase link for The Kindle for $2.99 http://tinyurl.com/3seqsn3

For the Nook: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Mommy-May-I/AK-Alexander/e/2940013138308

Sureality

2011-08-12T09:54:00.000-07:00

If you read the blog from a couple of days ago, you know that I wrote about the WAKE-UP call. Well, you would have thought that would have been enough. I figured that I really "Got It." Apparently, The Universe, God, The One Above, or just Life (depending on your beliefs) was not convinced!

I do believe that fact is stranger than fiction sometimes. If you had watched the scene that played out yesterday in my world on a movie screen, you would have shaken your head (most likely) and said, "Oh Come on!" But it's all true, and I have witnesses.

So, here goes. My little one is still in the hospital after having two surgeries this week from the freak accident my kids were in. The good news is that she is doing very well. In fact, our fingers are crossed that we will get out of here today. She will be on crutches for a few weeks, and won't be able to get back on the pony for a couple of months, but we got very lucky.

Yesterday morning while hanging out with the kid, I received a frantic phone call from my mom who was supposed to be coming down to visit. She told me that my dad had taken a bad fall. My father has Parkinson's, and falling is something we really have to watch out for with him. He had hit his head on a counter on the way down, and had become unconscious. The paramedics made the decision that it was necessary to air-flight him to the hospital.

The hospital they were taking him to happens to be in the same complex as the Children's Hospital my daughter is at. As I was aware of the timing of the take-off of the helicopter, I knew when to expect it to land across the street. It was a very difficult twenty minutes maintaining my composure. The last thing I wanted for my little girl was to know what was happening with her Papa. They are very close and she would have been beside herself (as I was on the inside). The most surreal moment came when I watched from the window as the chopper flew around one side of the hospital and landed across the street. At that moment my daughter said, "I want to see the helicopter." My husband and I looked at each other knowingly. We knew my dad was on it, and we wanted to be with both him and our daughter. My husband went ahead and walked over to where they were taking my dad into the trauma unit and I waited.

Fortunately, this story ends on a good note. My dad does have a concussion, but he is okay. He is awake and as ornery as ever. I was able to go visit him for a few minutes and tell him that he needed to be a good patient. The best moment came when I told my little girl the story. I said, "Do you remember watching the helicopter this morning?" She said, "Yes." I then said, "Papa was in that helicopter." I finished telling her the story. Her most amazing response (one that only a kid could have was), "Oh my gosh, won't that helicopter ride cost like a hundred thousand dollars!?!"

I really hope that the Powers that Be are finally convinced that I "Get It." I really, really do.

Have a wonderful weekend. Hug the ones you love, and don't sweat the small stuff.

Thanks for reading my work and following the blog,

Michele

Therapy dog visiting in the hospital room puts a smile on the kid's face!

The Wake-Up Call

2011-08-10T14:28:00.000-07:00

There are times in life when we receive certain WAKE-UP calls. Those calls typically remind us of what is really important in our lives. I got one of these WAKE-UP calls on Monday afternoon. Two of my kids were involved in an accident in a utility vehicle we use to haul horse feed on the property. The UTV is top heavy and not meant to do donuts in the horse arena, but teenagers don't always listen to those words of advice.

My teenager did not heed my words (imagine that--a 17 year-old doing something he isn't supposed to), and the UTV flipped. My son was not injured, but my little girl was hurt pretty badly on her foot. She will be okay, but we are now residents of Children's Hopsital where she is getting ready to go in for her second surgery today. Our fingers are crossed that this will be the last one she has to have.

I think my son is suffering just as much, if not more than my daughter, as he feels horrible for the accident. It's a tough spot for a parent, but as a human being I have truly been reminded of what is important in life, and to be grateful for all that we have. I tend to get wrapped up in my writing and my work. While that is all fine and good, but what is cherishable are family, friends, love, and joy. Knowing how much worse the accident could have been, I can tell you that I won't take being a parent, wife, or a friend for granted. I will remind myself not to sweat the small stuff, and appreciate ALL that life is and has to offer.

I also want to say Thank-You to my readers and friends who visit the blog. Thanks for reading my work and for all of your love and support. I am more grateful than you will ever know.

I am now going to go and hug my sleepy little kid, and watch cartoons with her. :)

Michele

Life Experiences Translated to Fiction

2011-08-08T16:03:00.000-07:00

People often ask me if I use any of my life experiences in my books. I do. I don't necessarily use exact experiences, but I do use the feelings and emotions from experiences that I have had. I have pulled from certain aspects in my life and used them, just like the experience I had with the stalker issues when I wrote DADDY'S HOME. When my next book COVERT REICH comes out next month under the A.K. Alexander name, I will blog about how I drew from the experience of having my first born in the inetnsive care unit for the first two weeks of his life. That event alone brought me back to my creative writing self, and has helped me write a thriller that I think will make readers happy (fingers crossed. And this one will be edited, copyedited and proof read tenfold!).

If you have read MOMMY, MAY I?, or plan to, and you read this blog, you might think to yourself that there is no way I could have drawn from personal experience on this one, because it contains some pretty disturbing scenes. Those of you who know me, may scratch their head, and think I didn't know Michele was so disturbed. I'm not. Well, maybe a tad, but not much. So, are you wondering what I might have drawn from experience wise to write a book about a sadistic serial killer who has more than just a couple of revolting and sick tendencies?

Well, first off, my heroine Helena Shea is a recovering alcoholic who has made a mess of her life. I am not a recovering alcoholic. I may joke around here about all the wine I drink, but that in part is because of The Wine Lover's series, and also because I do enjoy a glass of wine. But alcoholism is no joke to me. Addiction runs in my family. I think that is why I am a little bit paranoid if I do go for a second glass of wine. I don't like to feel out of control, ever. I've seen too many peole who I care about lose control due to alcohol, or drugs, or both, and it isn't pretty. In fact, it's down right uncomfortable all the way around. It is also painful as hell to watch an addict sink. However, I have also learned that sometimes it takes rock bottom to get them to help themselves, and sometimes even that doesn't work. In Helena's case, she has received help, but she's still kind of a mess. She is trying hard to rectify her past mistakes, and make her world right again. I can relate to her because she is a lot like someone who I love dearly, and who I have watched for years deal with her addictions. As you can see, I was able to pull from real life when it came to my heroine.

But what about my villian, the evil Richard Shelton? When I started writing the book, I asked myself, "How is a serial killer created?" "Are they born that way?" "Is it their environment, etc?" I read some books on profiling and even interviewed a profiler. And then, my uncle dropped a bombshell on me. We actually have a serial killer in the family tree! His name is Edmund Kemper, and he is some kind of distant (very distant) cousin on my grandfather's side. The real irony is that when I had been reading a book on serial killers for research, his name had been mentioned. I knew that it was a family name, but it didn't connect for me at all. I won't go into details here as to what this guy did. You can google him, if you want. I did, however, research him and his crimes. Doing so was creepy and unsettling, but by doing so, I was able to write a book that I think hits the mark in the creep and unsettling factor. I will let readers give the final verdict on that.

As mentioned in the blog from a few days ago, if you have any interest in reading this book, or DADDY'S HOME, and would like a fifty page sample before purchasing the book(s), all you need to do is e-mail me at michele@michelescott.com.

I hope you will give them a try.

Thank You,
Michele

Screw Up Leads to Screw-Cap Wine

2011-08-04T14:46:00.000-07:00

Boy, does it really suck to screw up! And I have to say that I really screwed up. You know how sometimes you can screw up? Let's say (for all of my horse friends out there) that you are in the middle of a dressage test, and you do a ten-meter circle instead of the twenty-meter circle the test called for. Or maybe you're cooking a meal, and you grab chipotle powder instead of cinnamon, and when your kids bite into their oatmeal cookies their mouth lights up. At least you can laugh at that one.

But what if the screw up is super major and thousands of people are aware of it, not just you? Yep. Me. Now. Sucks.

Here is what I did: About six months ago, I made the decision to upload two thrillers that I had written over five years ago onto Kindle, Daddy's Home and Mommy, May I? I had a couple of friends read through them for mistakes (general typos, grammar, and content). Now first off, I know better than that. Family and friends are not the people you want proofing your work. BAD idea. Why? Well, it isn't because they aren't smart. It's because they love you, and they aren't looking at your work with an eagle eye. They are reading it and loving it because it's yours. In this case mine. I also went that route because cash was tight and hiring an editor and proof reader is not cheap. However, in retrospect I would have been better saving up some extra cash and investing in my career. HOWEVER, what happened with these books was not something I ever would have imagined. They freaking took off like crazy in The United Kingdom. They both hit Top Ten in Kindle sales, and Daddy's Home went to number one. The first reviews on these books were stellar (and from readers I did not know). What I thought would happen with these books was that a few of my family and friends would buy them and that would be it. Nope. Thousands bought them, which is great until I started getting some nasty reviews on both of them. I mean, really nasty reviews. Here are just a couple:

"I am really baffled by those reviews that give this book more than one star. I wish it were possible to give none. It is actually quite insulting that such rubbish gets published at all. The plot is totally predictable, the characters undeveloped and the dialogue stilted and unconvincing. It is about as badly written as anything you are likely to read. Ever! At one point the supposed romantic hero (a virtual blank space) is referred to by the name of the villain. I call that careless."

"This book was full of errors, not just typos but grammatical and careless mistakes. Did it get proof-read at all? The subject sounded interesting, but the really dreadful standard of writing made the book, for me, impossible to read. I abandoned it half way through. I assume this was self published, but this sort of badly put together rubbish gives self publishing a bad name and does no favours to the many excellent self published books. If you can't write then please don't."

OUCH, OUCH, OUCH!!!!!!! Those hurt. The night I read those, I broke out the wine (the screw-cap because the cheap stuff tends to get you buzzed faster. Kidding, kidding...), and went to bed. Then I got pissed off at
myself and realized I needed to do the work that I had not done before. I needed to pay an editor, get a copy editor, and do the extra work. Of course, I have had some fabulous reviews on these books as well, and that helps. I am not even sure if reviews always affect sales. My ego says they do.

Why am I telling you this? If you are also a writer please learn from my major mistake! I know I have. I will never, ever, ever put another book out that has not been through an editor, a copy editor, and probably three more readers. I will get opinions and not go off half-cocked.

If you are a reader, and you bought one of the earlier versions of these books and you are irritated at me, I am making you an offer. I will replace your book with any of my other books. Or, if you have not tried either Daddy's Home or Mommy, May I?, I will send you the first fifty pages FREE, so you can decide if you want to purchase the full version or not. Fair? I hope so.

Lesson learned! I hate screwing up and plan to avoid it in the future. :)

Cheers,
Michele

A Writer's Workshop

2011-07-23T12:39:00.000-07:00

I have read many books "On Writing," throughout the years. I still do. I most recently read John Locke's book on how he sold 1,000,000 e-books in five months and enjoyed it a great deal. It dealt with the marketing and sales aspect (obviously) and contained some great information in it. Some of my favorite books on writing are by James Frey--"How to Write a Damn Good Novel," etc. These are fantastic books on how to build your story. I also love Sol Stein's books on the topic. The "Writer's Journey" by Chris Vogle is another great resource. There are a ton of great books on writing available to us, and thats' a really good thing because as writers we are always wanting to learn and evolve.

As I read these books, I consider them in a way to be a mentorship. I have a few mentors that I work with on a regular basis like Mike Sirota (Yoda) and my dear friend Don McQuinn. Both of these guys are excellent sources as teachers and editors. They have been in the business for many years and understand the nuances within it. They give back, and I think as writers become successful that giving back should be a part of their writing life. Giving back is an important aspect to being a human being. Part of the way that I have tried to give back to writers over the past few years is by teaching at workshops and conferences. I have a lot of fun doing this because just being around other writers gives me energy. Writing is like air to me, and writers are the blood. We all need one another. It is the one aspect of my life that my family or friends who do not write can not fully understand about me. This is a passion that I was born with and it will always burn inside of me. The feeling of writing a scene that brings me to tears or makes me laugh is an unspeakable high. Or, when I create dialogue that moves me in some way, or characters and plot lines that pour out of me, I feel joy. I also feel this joy when working with others who share this passion.

That's why I decided to take the workshops I have put together over the past few years and incorporate them into a book for other writers. It's not a long book, and many of the ideas are not original. They are concepts that I learned from other writers and then finessed into what worked for me. I cover everything from creating three-dimensional characters to plotting to marketing and publishing. I also included worksheets and some ideas to get your "think tank" working. I have written about my personal experiences as a writer and hopefully if you choose to read it, I will save you from some of the mistakes that I have made along the way. I also hope it touches you in some way and that it gives you value for your writing and possibly for you personally. If you are interested in checking out "A Writer's Workshop" for your Kindle ($2.99), here are the links in both the U.S., and the U.K.

U.S. http://tinyurl.com/3dmf3dk

U.K. tp://tinyurl.com/3sqfhlb

Have a wonderful weekend!

Cheers,
Michele

Stalker on the Prowl

2011-07-03T11:00:00.000-07:00

There is an experience that I think most women can relate to. There are some men who can also relate, but on a different level; they certainly can react when someone they love, such as a wife, sister, mother, friend has had this extremely uncomfortable experience.

From the time women are little girls they are taught to look over their shoulder, to be aware of who is around them, and to trust their instinct. I can remember my dad having a talk with me before I went off to college and him telling me exactly what to do if I felt threatened. I can remember an LA police officer coming into the sorority house I belonged to and telling the members what to do if threatened. My husband gives me a reminder now and then as to what I should do if I feel threatened. All three of these men suggested everything from screaming, to going straight for that male anatomy that would make any man scream…

Now for women, a threat can just be as simple as a feeling. If we live alone or even spend a night alone, we have a heightened awareness that we carry with us because it is ingrained in us.

I can remember the first time I felt truly threatened. I was about eighteen, and I was going to get my hair cut. I had never been to this particular salon, and I was not a genius when it came to directions. So, driving my 1984 Celica (most likely with Madonna belting out Lucky Star on my tape cassette), I found myself sort of lost and, as usual, low on gas. This was an issue my father has had with me since the day I got my license. Anyhow…I noticed these skuzzy-looking dudes driving next to me in their beat-up car. They weren’t just skuzzy. They were creepy, nasty-looking, long-haired, greaseball, slime ogres. And, they started following me. My stomach sank, and I could feel the rapid beat of my heart and the burst of adrenaline as I realized there was no gas station in sight, the gage was low, and I could not for the life of me find the salon. Remember, this was pre-cell phone. I tried to ignore the guys, speeding up and slowing down, singing along with Madge, and I knew that I had to get my wits about me—and at eighteen, I will admit that wits were not my strong point. I can remember talking to God out loud, just asking that He would get me safely to where I needed to go before I ran out of gas. Amazingly, that is exactly what happened. I found the salon and pulled into the lot where other people were around. The creepers kept on going. It was unlikely that these piece-of-shit characters were going to do anything to me, but I won’t ever know. I am sure, however, that they enjoyed intimidating me and freaking me out.

Through the years, other things have happened, things that would make me edgy and nervous. However, nothing quite like that until I was much older and the single mother to my boys. The boys were five and three at the time. My oldest belonged to a pee-wee soccer team. As usual, on Saturday mornings we would venture out for my son to play in a game. My youngest was with his dad that morning, so it was just my big guy and me. I was pretty shy during those years—I was a single mother who had been through some tough crap, and I had a tendency to keep to myself.

My kid had a helluva game. I was cheering as any happy mom would. As I stood on the sidelines, I could not help the feeling that someone was watching me. This sense enveloped me. It was surreal, and in a strange way, claustrophobic. I scanned the parents around the arena and the park. My eye caught this guy who just did not fit in. Dads of youngsters have that certain “dad” look. I don’t mean in a physical way, but you know when someone on the side of a game is Dad. He looks that part by his demeanor and interest in the game. This dude was young, okay looking, tall. But definitely no one’s dad. He smiled at me. A serious shiver snaked down my backside. I walked a few feet further down the side of the soccer arena. I did all that I could to focus back on the game and not the man who I knew was watching me. I was able to do a decent job of that, mostly because my son was playing an amazing game. When he scored the final goal, I jumped up and down and hollered out his name. As I went to run out to meet him, I realized that the man had made his way over, and before I could get far enough away, he actually said to me, “It was good for you, too, then.”

Oooh! Gross and just totally inappropriate! My jaw dropped. I ran over to where my son was and stayed in that mix of kids and parents until I couldn’t spot him anymore. I can tell you that for the rest of that day, I was constantly aware of my surroundings and looking over my shoulder. With my little boy, that awareness turned into full-on, “This Mom will kick your ass mode, you blankety-blankety-blank (you can fill in the blank ).”

I am sure there are readers out there who can relate to these two situations—the kind where your heart races and real fear charges your every nerve ending. It’s that feeling that a good thriller gives you while reading it. It is those exact feelings and the combination of these two stories (plus one that I won’t go into here about a stalker ex-boyfriend who I hope lives under a rock somewhere) that were the catalyst for my thriller, Daddy’s Home.

Readers ask all the time if I ever draw from real life experiences. Although the thrillers that I have written take the feelings from these stories to the extreme, I think that we have all experienced fear and can relate to the intensity of emotion. While these situations were unpleasant, I was able to get those emotions on the page and have watched as both Daddy’s Home and Mommy, May I? have climbed the Amazon U.K. charts. Daddy’s Home, was #1 and Mommy, May I? have remained in the #5 position for over a month! If you like thrills and chills, then I hope you will give these thrillers a try.

Also, feel free to share if you can relate to either one of these experiences. I’d love to know how you responded and what occurred.

Thank You!

Cheers,

Michele

http://www.michelescott.com

Daddy’s Home US Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/68ozryt

Daddy’s Home Paperback: http://tinyurl.com/6a9dzl4

Daddy’s Home UK Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/65j37qf

Mommy May I? US Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/69o23t8

Mommy May I? UK Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/4xays2k

Book trailer for Mommy, May I?

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xhbb5h_book-video-trailer-mommy-may-i_creation

Core Reader Friend

2011-06-24T09:20:00.000-07:00

If you are interested in being a "CRF," here is the deal--I am only able to manage 100 "CRF's," so if you are truly intrerested and want to particpate, I hope you will let me know asap. :)

So, here is what a "CRF" is:

A "Core Reader Friend" follows this blog. It’s the best feeling for an author to know that there really are readers out there interested in what I write.

I consider you a part of my “Core Reader Friends,” and because I do a lot of writing and I will be releasing four more books this year—one under my name as Michele Scott and three more under my pen name A.K. Alexander--I have been thinking of ways to get the information out there on a larger scale about the books.

Here is what I am offering the “Core Reader Friends” group, (which will consist of only 100 friends), I would like to e-mail each “CRF” free PDF copies of each of my books three weeks prior to the release. I would be doing this in hopes that first off, you would consider tweeting, putting info out on facebook and writing a review if you like the book. You would have no obligation to do this, but I am hopeful that you would.

I would also like to send you out any hard copies of my books that you might like to have a copy of. I would happily sign the books however you would like them signed and send them to you at no cost. I encourage you to visit my site and then e-mail me at Michele@michelescott.com and let me know which of these books that you would like to have--that is any and ALL books.

Each “CRF” will also have an opportunity with each book release to be entered to win something extra special. That could be anything from a Kindle, a nice bottle of wine, signed copies of books from myself or other authors, to a vacation on the bay in Coronado, California!

All you have to do to be a “CRF” is send me an e-mail at Michele@michelescott.com with “CRF” in the subject line. Let me know that you want to be a part of this group and that you are signed up at http://adventuresnwriting.blogspot.com. Those who join will automatically be entered to win a Kindle or NOOK (your choice).

If you do sign up, I will be sending you out current PDF copies of my new thrillers that were recently published: “Daddy’s Home,” and “Mommy, May I?” Both of these books have been on the top 10 Kindle paid sales list, and “Daddy’s Home” was number one for over a week. If you haven’t already read the blog post about it, I encourage you to do so.

Thank You for reading my books, being a friend, following my blog, and considering becoming a “Core Reader Friend.”

Have a wonderful day!

Cheers,

Michele
http://www.michelescott.com/

Answer a Few Questions and Enter to Win a Kindle

2011-06-21T17:45:00.000-07:00

In the last month a very cool thing has happened for me as an author and I am trying to figure out how it happened. I am hoping my readers will respond to this post either by posting a response here or sending me an e-mail at michele@michelescott.com. You will be entered to win a Kindle. I will announce the winner on my site on July 21st.

The questions I am looking to be answered are: 1. What causes you to buy a book--cover, description, etc? 2. What is your favorite genre? 3. Are you inclined to read a series over a stand alone? and 4. What do you think is most important--plot or characters? Also, please tell me a bit about yourself and reading habits if you would like. I am a curious author. :) Here is my story;

It is an open account of my journey as a writer.

I am posting this in hopes that if anyone is ever feeling down about their work, or life in general, that maybe my story will inspire them.

I started out being published in 2005 with the Penguin Publishing group. They put nine of my mysteries out. All of the books have had multiple printings. I took a second mortgage on my home (stupidly) and put all of it into marketing my books. You can imagine how that worked out for my family and me. I sold our home of eleven years a few months ago and moved into a new home, which has actually turned out better for us in many ways. I sponsored contests that included a B&B spa weekend in Napa Valley. I signed books at umpteenth book stores where at the most I think I signed two dozen books. I hired a publicist. I did everything that I thought was right in getting books out there. I was on 4-6 month deadlines, churning out books at a rapid clip that combined with all of the marketing and raising three children nearly sent me over the edge. There were a lot of personal painful issues as well during the past few years, along with really trying to succeed as an author. I lost my ex-husband who was still a friend and parent to our sons to suicide (if anyone is ever facing suicide with a family member, I wrote an article for the NY Times that may help http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/...suicide/),I lost my best friend to cancer, and am now the primary caregiver for my dad who has Parkinsons. I nearly gave up my writing all together when Penguin decided to not publish the 10th book. I really had reached a rock bottom place and found myself pretty depressed. I kept that hidden from everyone because people know me as "the happy nice girl," but being a successful writer had always been my dream since I was nine-years-old, and I felt that I not only had failed at that (even though books sold), but that I had also jeopardized my family's financial stability based on this dream. I went back to a day job with my family's business in hopes of paying back the debt I had accrued by risking everything on my writing career. Then, I found Joe Konrath's blog (jakonrath.blogspot.com). I also read what others were saying about e-publishing. I followed their advice. I had already gotten back rights on 3 of my mysteries. I also had three books I had written from the past that had never been published, but they are thrillers, so I chose a pen name from my kids' names never realizing at first the symbolism in the name: A.K. Alexander. I took those 3 books and had them edited and had good covers done. I took the three mysteries and had new covers done and looked at reviews on the books from when Penguin put them out, making tweaks where the past reviews said there was a flaw in the book. I put them on Kindle and nothing much happened. I sold maybe a half a dozen for a few months, then a little more, and finally a couple hundred on average a month.

Then something happened this past month and I can't completely quantify it. I wish that I could. My thriller "Daddy's Home" started climbing the U.K. charts It climbed steadily each day and hit #1 thriller, #1 romantic suspense, #1 psychological drama, and finally # 1 in paid Kindle sales! The book remained on the top 10 Kindle Paid sales for a couple of weeks, and has stayed steady in the top 50. My other thriller "Mommy, May I?" is now in the top 10 along with "Daddy's Home." My third book is just beginning to catch on ("The Cartel," along with my Michaela Bancroft series. The Cartel is my favorite book of all of the books that I have ever written, so my fingers crossed it takes off like the other two.

I am currently finishing the next thriller and have outlined three more. I am also writing a new mystery. I feel good again. I see a light at the end of the tunnel. I remembered how good it feels to write a book and discover readers enjoy it.

I guess my point is, keep at it, even when it seems like everything is a bit dark. Just keep writing. As writers, it's what we do best and it's what makes us happy. Do it because you love it and you want readers to find joy in it. It only took me twenty years and 14 books to get to this point. Who knew it would be due to e-books? I certainly didn't.

Cheers,
Michele

A.K. Alexander

For links (free chapters, etc) to all my books, please visit my site http://www.michelescott.com

I hope you will take some time and let me know what works for you as a reader. It will not only help me as a writer, but I hope others as well. You never know, you may win a Kindle just by answering a few questions.

Huevos Rancheros and Caramelized Grapefruit with Schramsberg ’s Blanc de Blancs

2011-06-13T10:03:00.000-07:00

It has been a long but fun weekend, and in order to get the week going a good brunch is in order... This brunch is not only delicious and elegant but easy, too. Serve it with Schramsberg Chardonnay-based, vintage-dated sparkling wine. Blanc de Blancs blends citrus with tropical fruit notes and contains a soft vanilla ﬂavor on the back palate.

Huevos Rancheros

6 6-inch corn or ﬂour tortillas

vegetable oil

1⁄2 cup onion, chopped

1 clove garlic, minced

12⁄3 cups (14 oz) canned tomatoes, chopped

8–10 green chiles, chopped (substitute: 2 4 oz cans green chile)

3⁄4 tsp salt

6 eggs

1⁄8 tsp pepper

1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

1⁄4 cup butter, melted

Fry tortillas in oil until crispy. As you fry try to form a small well in each tortilla. Place tortillas in a baking dish. You may require two dishes depending on size. Sauté onion and garlic in 2 tbsp of oil until tender. Stir in tomatoes, green chile, and 1⁄2 teaspoon salt. Pour equal amounts of tomato mixture over each tortilla. Preheat oven to 350°.

Carefully break eggs, one on top of each tortilla. Sprinkle remaining salt, pepper, and cheese over eggs. Drizzle butter over; cover. Bake for 15 minutes. Serve immediately. Serves 6.

Caramelized Grapefruit

1 grapefruit

2 tbsp brown sugar

2 tbsp port wine

2 tbsp butter

Cut your grapefruit in half and pour 1 tbsp each of brown sugar, port wine, and butter on each half. Bake at 350° for 10 minutes; serve hot. Serves 2.

Aussie Prawn and Scallop Skewers with Rosemount Diamond Chardonnay

2011-05-20T09:45:00.000-07:00

The sun is finally shining after several days of rain here in San Diego. This reminded me of the perfect time for some skewers and relaxing outside with some great company. This recipe is from A Vintage Murder part of the Wine Lover's Mystery Series. All my Wine Lover's Books have great recipes, and Happy Hour also has great food and wine pairings.

½ cup mango chutney

½ cup orange juice

½ cup sweet and tangy barbecue sauce

8 pineapple chunks, each about 1” square

12 large prawns, peeled and deveined

12 large sea scallops

8 cherry tomatoes

8 pearl onions blanched, peeled

In a food processor or blender purée chutney, orange juice, and barbecue sauce until smooth.

Thread four 12-inch skewers in the following order: pineapple, prawn, scallop, tomato, onion,

prawn, scallop, tomato, onion, prawn, scallop, pineapple.

Brush skewers liberally with sauce and place in center of cooking grate. Grill 6 to 8 minutes or

until prawns are pink and scallops are opaque, turning and brushing liberally with sauce again

halfway through grilling time. Serve with remaining sauce for dipping.

The tangy mango sauce makes an irresistible addition to this Australian seafood celebration. You

can find mango chutney in gourmet markets and specialty stores.

Serves 4.

Changes with Aging

2011-05-10T10:31:00.000-07:00

You know it’s a very sad day when you realize that there is going to come a day when your parents will no longer be around. I think there are many of us now between our 40’s and 50’s who are living this reality and on top of that reality, we are also living with the fact that as our parents age, we find ourselves in the position of taking care of them. I now find myself right there in that place.

I have always been a caretaker by nature. I was the favored babysitter in the neighborhood as a kid mainly because I had no real social life. But also because I really loved t babysit. I had children fairly young starting in my early twenties and having my third one in my early thirties. I’ve always loved to take care of children and animals. It’s something that makes me feel needed and good. But now in my early forties I am finding that is no longer small kids I am taking care of. I do still take care of my kids but obviously they are older now. And of course I still have a plethora of animals to keep me busy, but what I failed to think about years ago was that there would come a time when I might need to take care of my parents—the people who have always been the ones taking such good care of me.

For the most part is my dad who needs the care giving right now. He has Parkinsons Disease and it is a horrifying experience to watch my dad who has always been so active and full of life to now find himself debilitated by the disease. My mom is still capable of taking care of herself and does a good job with my dad, but she is also getting older and needs a break now and then, so that is where I come in. Like I said—I never thought I would be here. No one ever thinks that. However, here we are and I have to be honest, I love being able to take care of Dad and give back. He was the one who first really believed in me as a writer. He was the one who took me out on trail rides as a kid and we would play cowboys and bad guys for hours. He was the one who called me Shelly Belly and would carry me fireman style and tuck me in after reading a story to me as a little girl. He has been an amazing father and my mother is a remarkable pillar of strength and graciousness. Her courage and strength in the face of adversity reminds me that good things come by staying the course—and although she never intended to find herself in her golden years having to take care of my dad, I know how much she loves him and how much he loves her—and after 47 years together that is a very good thing.

I couldn’t be a luckier daughter than to have these two people as my parents. So when it gets tough—and at times, it does—I just remember who raised me and how they raised me and I am grateful to be the one who can now pay them back even if it is only a little bit.

Girlfriendology Interview

2011-05-09T08:22:00.000-07:00

It's no mystery ... when you get the girls together, it's gonna be fun and there might be some wine involved! (At least among my girlfriends!)

Check out my interview with Girlfriendology the online community for women based on inspiration, appreciation and celebration of female friendship. Girlfriends make us healthier, happier, less stressed, live longer and even feel more beautiful.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/girlfriendology/2011/05/06/girlfriendology-interviews-michele-scott-author-happy-hour

Jamie OIiver's Food Revolution

2011-04-22T10:53:00.000-07:00

I Love Jamie Oliver and his Food Revolution. What isn't there to love? Here is a guy who wants to really help our kids be healthy. He isn't even from the USA. He just loves kids and people and good food. God bless this guy! We have a country filled with people who have major health issues caused from poor eating habits. Our children are getting deadly diseases like diabetes, they have high blood pressure, and they are growing up perpetuating the fast food nation. SCARY!

The opposition that Jamie is facing with the LA School district is appalling to me. These are our educators? Isn't raising and educating our children a top priority? If it is (which apparently it isn't) then don't we want to raise a healthy America? This stuff gets so under my skin. I am fortunate to have healthy eating kids. That comes from the way both my husband and I were raised. My dad always had a garden growing up and I was never forced but always encouraged to try vegetables and fruits. I love my veggies. When my kids were babies I made sure that the first foods I started them on were veggies. I did this for quite some time so that they acquired a taste for the green stuff, then I moved on to fruits. All three of my kids ranging in ages 10-19 now love their fruits and vegetables. They love salad, broccoli, and green beans. I rarely have ever allowed them to eat school cafeteria food because I was aware of what was available to them and I didn't like it at all. It's not always easy packing a healthy lunch because it does seem to take a little more time. Now the kids help me and that helps ease the time factor, but their eating habits are important to me. And it isn't just my kids I feel this way about. I want all kids to have the opportunity to eat healthy foods that help them grow and think effectively. Sugar, fried, foods and crap filled with preservatives won't help our kids. Jamie Oliver wants to help our kids! I suggest you check out his site and sign his petition today. Watch his show. Give this Food Revolution some real support. Our kids' health depends on it. Get involved and make a change for the better in this country. http://www.jamieoliver.com/foundation/jamies-food-revolution/

I have loved Jamie Oliver for years. I have his cookbooks and one of my favorite recipes that would make a delicous Easter meal is his Roasted Chicken Stuffed with Fragrant Couscous and cooked on Sweet Potato Stovie. Delicious! http://www.penguin.co.uk/static/cs/uk/0/minisites/jamieoliver/jamieskitchen_recipes_chicken.html

Have a great weekend.

Cheers,
Michele

P.S. Check out my new site at http://www.michelescott.com/

Vlog on Writing

2011-04-15T08:28:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday! I thought I would try something new and do a vlog (I think that is what it would be called). It's my blog via video. This is an interview that I did recently about writing and why I write....blah, blah, blah. I hope you enjoy!

Have a wonderful, wonderful weekend.

Cheers,

Michele