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The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series]
by Betty Sullivan La Pierre
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Mystery/Crime
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SynergEbooks
www.synergebooks.com
Copyright ©2011 by Betty Sullivan La Pierre
First published in SynergEbooks, 2011
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
I would like to dedicate this book to all my loyal fans.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
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THE ARCHER
Book 13 of the Hawkman Series
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by
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Betty Sullivan La Pierre
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ISBN: 0-7443-1254-X
13-digit ISBN: 978-0-7443-1254-6
Cover art by Paul Musgrove
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Copyright 2011 by Betty Sullivan La Pierre
All Rights Reserved
Published by SynergEbooks
www.synergebooks.com
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I would like to dedicate this book to all my loyal fans.
Thank you for being there.
-
I want to thank Anne and Selma. Their patience and kindness
[Back to Table of Contents]
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CHAPTER ONE
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Hawkman sat at the desk of his Medford, Oregon office, coffee mug in hand, reading the newspaper, when the door flew open and a woman screamed, “No! No!” as she fell on her side into the room. She kicked the door closed, then braced her boots against it as if to keep out an intruder.
Dropping his cup on the table, Hawkman jumped up, pulled the Beretta pistol from his shoulder holster, and leaped into a poised position beside the entry. “What the hell's going on?”
“Don't let him come in,” she sobbed. “He's going to hurt me.”
“Who?”
“That horrible man.”
“Move back. I'll check it out.”
“Don't go outside,” she said, dropping her feet from the door, and scooting on her jeans-clad butt toward the center of the room.
Hawkman dropped to his haunches, opened the metal door a few inches and peered outside. He scanned the area, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Easing through the opening, his weapon ready, he cautiously made his way down the stairs, scrutinizing the nearby alley and grounds. He checked under the stairwell and peeked around the side of the building. Seeing no one who appeared suspicious, he holstered the gun and walked around to the front. Soon, he made his way back to the office. When he entered the room, the female raised her hand to her mouth, then in a relieved voice, squeaked out,
“Thank God, it's you. Is he gone?”
He sank into the chair. “I didn't see a soul out there. Tell me about this man. Is he your boyfriend, husband, or a friend?”
She still sat on the floor, legs crossed in an Indian fashion. She pivoted on her hips until she faced him. Reaching over her shoulder, she brought the long auburn braid hanging down her back forward and began fingering it. She glanced up at him with big brown eyes. “I don't know who he is.”
Hawkman studied the woman's features. She had high cheek bones, a sharp chin, a pug nose splattered with freckles across the bridge, and no makeup. Not a real pretty face, but definitely not ugly. She reminded him of a country girl with her jeans, plaid shirt, unzipped hooded sweatshirt and cowboy boots. “What's your name?”
“Laura”
“You just have one name?”
She ducked her head. “Sorry. I'm Laura Aubrey King.” Then frowning, she glanced around the room. “This looks like an office.”
“It is. I'm Tom Casey, Private Investigator.”
“Oh, wow. At least I picked a good place to barge into. I wondered why you had a gun so handy. It scared me. Now I'm relieved.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty. Boy, you sure ask a lot of questions.”
“When you literally stumble into an investigator's office, you have to expect a query about what caused such behavior.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess you're right. It wasn't a very graceful entrance.”
“Quite the understatement.”
“When you're being stalked, you don't think about such things.”
“Where do you live?”
“On a small farm near the outskirts of the city.”
“With your husband?”
“No, I'm not married. I'm attending college and still live with my folks.”
“What about a young man at the school? Have you noticed any of them vying for your attention?”
“No. We usually walk as a group to the student union after our last class and have a soft drink and talk about the assignment.”
“Are your folks in town with you now?”
Laura finally unwound her legs, stood, then lowered herself into the chair next to his desk. “No, I stopped on my way home to get some groceries, but then I get a call on my cell phone from this stupid guy telling me he has me in his sight and he's going to get me.”
Hawkman noticed she was about five foot eight and quite skinny. “Have you received these calls before?”
“Yes, and it's starting to scare me. At first, I just thought it was some weirdo getting his kicks, but now I'm not so sure. Now I think he's some kind of a pervert.”
“Why do you think that?”
She shrugged. “The first time he called, I told him to get lost, I didn't like strange men calling
me.”
“How did he respond?”
Folding her arms at her waist, she rocked back and forth a few seconds, then turned and stared at him. “He laughed.”
“Is that all?”
“That time, but the other times he said horrible things.” She covered her face with her hands. “I'm too embarrassed to tell you; he used such filthy language.”
“So you're saying it made you very uncomfortable?”
“Very.”
“How did you respond?”
“Mostly, I hung up. A couple of times I told him to quit calling me, but it didn't do any good. He keeps it up.”
“Did your cell show a phone number?”
“I have the cheapest plan there is and it just said unknown, which meant it wasn't on my list.”
“So you have no idea where the call originated?”
“None.”
“I'm assuming you didn't recognize the voice.”
She shook her head. “It sort of sounds muffled, like he has a cloth over the mouthpiece.”
“You must have given your phone number out, or how would this person have gotten it?”
“Only a few of my friends and my folks have the number. I've asked my acquaintances if they'd shared it, and they all said no.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
She licked her lips and wouldn't meet his gaze. “No.”
“What about your brothers or sisters?”
“I have an older brother and sister; both live out of the state. Neither has my cell phone number.”
“Why?”
“We're just not close. I was born many years after them, and we really have nothing in common.”
“Have you told your parents about these calls?”
She jerked up her head and looked at him in surprise. “Heavens, no! They come from the old school and believe a girl's actions might prompt such a response from a man.”
“I see. When did these start and how often do you get them?”
She cocked her head and looked at him. “Does this mean you're going to help me since you're asking all these questions? I can't pay you.”
“I'm not sure yet. If you're telling the truth, I'm intrigued with your story. I don't like to see women being harassed. So answer my questions and I'll let you know.”
“They started about six weeks ago, and come about every two days.”
“Has this person ever threatened you with bodily harm?”
“What do you mean?”
“Has he said he wants to kill you?”
“No, he mostly says horrible things like he wants to make love to me, but he doesn't say it nicely. He talks about seeing my personal parts. His choice of words sends chills down my back.”
“What made you think he was nearby?”
“He gave my exact location, and even said I'd just parked in front of the donut shop.”
“By the way, what were you doing in this area? The nearest grocery store is several blocks away.”
“My folks and I love the pastries from the bakery here, so I wanted to stop before I loaded the car with perishables.”
“Have you ever spotted a car following you?”
“No, today was the first time he'd pinpointed where I was. It really scared me. I looked around and didn't see anyone in a car. So I just ran around the side of the building and saw the door at the top of the stairs. I thought it might be the home of the person who owned the bakery.”
“Did you think Clyde could help you?”
“I don't know what I thought, I was so frightened.”
Hawkman stood. “Laura, I'm going to walk you downstairs to the bakery, so you can purchase whatever pastries you want, then to your car.” He handed her his card. “Keep this with you at all times and when you get a call from this guy or happen to catch a glimpse of him, give me a call immediately.”
“Thank you.” She took the card and slipped it into a zippered pocket in the fanny pack she had around her waist.
“If he sees me walking you to your car, he'll know you've been talking to me for some time. He couldn't help but notice the ‘Private Investigator’ shingle hanging over the door, and it just might scare him off. Time will tell.”
[Back to Table of Contents]
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CHAPTER TWO
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Hawkman sat down at his desk, pulled a yellow legal pad toward him and wrote down Laura's full name. He reached into the bottom drawer of the desk, removed the phone book, and flipped the pages until he reached the name of King. Several were listed, and he narrowed it down to two; an Oliver and Violet King, who lived west of Medford, and another with no address. He copied the information and phone numbers. Leaning back in the chair, he tapped the pencil eraser on his chin. He'd also memorized the license plate number on Laura's older green Toyota Celica and added it to his notes.
He wasn't sure if this girl told the truth, had a big imagination, or just needed some attention. Doubting anything would come of this encounter, he'd save the file for a week or two, just in case.
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Laura drove away from the doughnut shop, glanced into the rearview mirror, and noticed the tall cowboy looking investigator watching her drive out of the parking lot. Her heart beat with heavy thumps as she realized her luck in barging into his office. Even though he was really good looking, the patch over his eye made him look mean and it really scared her when he jumped up, pulled a gun, then charged outside.
She hadn't even noticed the shingle over the stairwell at the time and didn't know whether to hightail it out of the place and take her chances on that horrible person being outside or wait for the handsome cowboy to come back. Thankfully, she didn't run. After talking with Mr. Casey for several minutes, she'd relaxed. She wondered if he believed her story. When she thought about how ridiculous it sounded, she doubted it. In his profession as a private investigator, he'd probably heard similar tales a dozen times and figured them ridiculous. At least she had his phone number, and felt in her heart he'd come to her rescue, if she had to make a call.
She'd just parked in the grocery store lot, when her cell phone rang. Yanking it from her fanny pack, she glanced at the number, then breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hi, Mom.”
She listened for a moment, then smiled. “Okay, I'll put it on my list. I made a stop before heading for the store. Took me a little longer than I planned, so I'll be a few minutes late getting home. Talk to you later.”
Sliding the phone back into her pack, she scrutinized the area, but didn't see anything suspicious, so climbed out of her car, locked it up and went inside. While pushing the cart down the aisles, she felt a sudden shiver down her spine. She quickly jerked her head around and surveyed the people shopping. No one seemed interested in her choice of bananas. She felt paranoid and shook her head as she continued examining a pile of onions. This feeling couldn't take over or she'd go crazy.
Soon, she had everything needed, plus a few extras, and headed for the cashier's line. She paid for the groceries with the cash her mother had given her and pushed the cart out the automatic door. When she reached her car and unlocked the trunk, the same feeling traveled down her back. Her gaze darted around the parking lot, but she saw nothing frightening. Rolling the rickety cart to a holding place, she hurried back to her vehicle and headed for home.
The road turned to dirt about a mile from her residence and she kept an eye on the rearview mirror. No one appeared to be following her and she relaxed as she made the turn into the long driveway. Laura loved this place, and didn't want to think of ever having to leave it. She smiled to herself as she viewed the old two-story farm house, which stood out on the hilltop like a mansion. Her folks had refurbished it throughout the years, and this past summer she'd helped them spray a coat of fresh paint on the outside. The sun glistened off the panes of each window, and the new oak front door looked majestic.
She parked at the back, and began toting in the bags of groceries. Her mother hel
d open the screen door, and took each one, placing them on the kitchen table as Laura carried them up the three steps. She soon had everything unloaded and helped her mom put things away. They made small talk as they worked. When they finished, Violet King put on the tea kettle and the two sat at the table enjoying the treat.
Laura studied her mom and realized how she'd aged. Her hair had turned white and unfortunately, it had a yellow cast to it. She'd tried to talk her into trying a blue or silver shampoo, but her mom hadn't reached the point of taking her up on it yet, using the excuse she had a lot of old shampoo to use up first. The crows feet and smile wrinkles had deepened the last couple of years, and Laura hated to see her mother's lovely features lose their beauty.
“Okay, you girls, quit your gabbing in there and get your old man some dinner.”
Both women laughed.
“Okay, Dad,” Laura said. “Hot dogs for you tonight.”
He never failed to grumble when they hit him with the words of a meager dinner. Olly King poked his head into the kitchen. “You are teasing aren't you? I can smell something much better cooking.”
Violet ducked her head, put fingers to her mouth and giggled. “Laura, you're so mean to your father.” She then glanced at her husband. “There's a roast in the oven; should be ready in about a half hour, if you're willing to wait. Otherwise, we can fix you a hot dog.”
He raised both his hands. “I'll wait, I'll wait.” He then turned back toward the living room where he had the television blasting the news.
“Mom, why don't we get Dad a hearing aid for his birthday? He's turning up the sound louder each day. Soon, he'll run us out of the house, and we'll have to go to the barn to carry on a conversation.”
Violet rose from her chair, and patted her daughter's shoulder. “I'd buy one tomorrow, if I thought he'd wear it. You know your dad. He's as stubborn as a mule.”
Laura helped her mother fix supper, then set the table and the three had a delightful meal. She observed her father from across the table and had the same thoughts about him as she did concerning her mother earlier. They're growing old. What will I do without them?
The family soon retired and Laura went upstairs to her bedroom. She sat at the window with a literature book propped on her lap, and looked out over the fields in the bright moonlight. Her mind wandered to the man harassing her. Who would do it and why? She wracked her brain trying to remember anyone she'd had a beef with or any old boyfriend. None came to her mind. The only beau she'd had ran off and married her best girlfriend. He certainly couldn't blame her. As far as she knew, they'd moved to another state and she hadn't seen hide nor hair of them since their wedding.
The Archer [Book 13 of the Hawkman Series] Page 1