She'll Never Live

by Hunter Morgan

  "No. Thanks, Sheila." Claire offered a quick smile and waited for her to walk away before she spoke again. "I keep thinking about Alan growing up in that ramshackle farmhouse with that old woman, that... that monster. I just keep thinking that—"

  "Claire, abuse is a factor in creating twisted men like Alan Bradford, but there are plenty of people who survive abuse; physical, emotional, even sexual, and they don't end up torturing and murdering young women."

  She picked up her fork and nudged a piece of hard-boiled egg in her salad bowl with the tines. "I know that. Dr. Greene keeps reminding me. It's just that it was going on right here in our town." She stabbed the egg. "I was growing up right here in Albany Beach, riding my bike to the beach, getting my dad to take me to swim lessons, taking horseback riding lessons and Alan was... he was—"

  "Claire," he interrupted. "You have such a good heart that I know you can't help thinking these things, but you need to let them go."

  "I know." She looked up at him and smiled. Popped the egg into her mouth. "Thanks for listening. How much you charge an hour on your lunch break, Doc?"

  "Oh, there's a fee." His grin was lascivious. "A hefty one, but I plan to wait until my wedding night to collect."

  Claire reached for her iced tea, laughing. She could feel her cheeks grow warm. In all these months, she and Graham hadn't made love again. He insisted he was "saving himself for marriage." In a way, it angered her sometimes. She wanted desperately to feel his naked body against hers again. But in another way, it was so romantic. So damned sweet of him.

  "Promises, promises," she complained. She looked up. "Yes."

  "Yes, what?"

  She lowered her voice, leaning over the table.

  "Yes, I'll marry you. Yes, I'll hop into bed with you and have hot sex on October third, and yes, I think I will let Marshall interview me. I think I need the therapy and he's actually going to pay me for it."

  Graham smiled. "I love you, Chief Drummond." He lifted one eyebrow. "Even if you do scare me a little when you're in that uniform."

  She laughed, scooting back in the seat and reaching for her glass. "That's all right. Sometimes, I scare myself."

  The End

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  Here's an excerpt from

  WHAT SHE CAN'T SEE

  ~

  The tires screeched beneath them and the smell of rubber and Chinese takeout filled Drew’s nostrils. The red Jeep his father had given him for high-school graduation seemed to be flying. It took forever for the car to careen off the road, and there wasn't a damned thing Drew was going to be able to do to stop it.

  Suddenly stuff was flying all over: beer bottles, the takeout bags and cartons, CDs. The next thing he knew, he was upside down. But the car was still rolling. He was upright, then upside down, and then upright again before the car finally slammed down on all four wheels.

  For a second Drew couldn't move. Pete moaned in the seat beside him; his buddy was leaning forward, caught in the seat belt, a big gash across his forehead. There was blood everywhere.

  Drew felt as if he was going to be sick. Something smelled awful, something vaguely familiar. "Jud? Derrick?"

  When there was no answer from his buddies in the back, he pressed his thumb on the seat belt release. It wouldn't give.

  Then he realized he knew that smell. It was... gasoline.

  He clicked the seat belt latch over and over again. "Come on guys, you got to wake up. We got to get out of here."

  There was a flash of headlights in the darkness. "Someone's coming. We'll get some help!"

  Drew turned his head to look out through his window. The glass was gone. He watched as a figure came toward him through the darkness from the car parked up on the road. A beam of light appeared. A flashlight. "Man, thank God," he hollered out. "My buddies are unconscious, and I can't get out of my seat belt." He clicked it again frantically.

  The stranger shined the beam inside the car, and Drew squinted. He couldn't see anything now. "I smell gas. I think the tank must have ruptured." He took a whiff of his damp shoulder and jerked back. "It's all over us."

  "You can't get out?" The stranger leaned closer, shining the flashlight right in Drew's face.

  Drew shook his head. "No, man. We need help."

  "I heard what you said at the restaurant."

  "What?" Drew squinted.

  "I was there. I heard what you called that boy. That wasn't very nice."

  Drew suddenly felt weird. The voice was so bizarre that he wondered if he was dead.

  The stranger leaned into the car and plucked something from Drew's pocket. Drew stared at it for a second, confused. It was his cigarette lighter. What did—

  The stranger flicked the Bic and a little blue flame shot up.

  Drew stared at the flame.

  "You shouldn't have called that boy such a mean, homophobic name," the voice said.

  Drew watched the flame move toward him and he was in such shock, such disbelief, that he didn't even scream, not until the sleeve of his t-shirt burst into flames...

  Then he screamed.

  * * *

  Adam rapped his knuckles on the glass door of his supervisor's office and walked in. "You rang, Cap-i-tan?" In the two weeks he'd been in the new FBI field office, he'd learned that the captain didn't appreciate humor of any sort, but it never hurt to give it a whirl.

  Adam glanced at the petite woman in the dark suit seated stiffly in front of the desk. She had that freshly scrubbed, slightly spooked look of a new academy graduate, but she was older than most. Early 30’s, maybe.

  His boss waved him in. "Special Agent M.K. Shaughnessy." He lifted his pointed chin in the direction of the woman. His idea of an introduction. "Special Agent Adam Thomas."

  "Nice to meet you." Adam smiled, easing into the crackly fake-leather chair. "I'm new, too. To this office, not the Bureau."

  "Nice to meet you, Special Agent Thomas." Her voice was surprisingly pleasant, husky for such a small woman.

  The captain slid a manila file across the desk at them. Adam and Shaughnessy reached for it at the same time. Adam withdrew his hand. After almost twenty years on the job, he was never that eager to pick up the next file.

  Shaughnessy flipped it open. "An automobile accident? You’re putting us on a car accident?" There was an edge to her voice.

  A surprise. Newbies, especially females, didn't usually have the cojones to stand up to Crackhow.

  "Assistant SAC Godowsky asked me to look into it personally. Senator Palmer's son was the driver killed."

  Adam leaned back, the chair crackling under him. "The Senator Palmer of the Foreign Relations Committee?"

  "His twenty-year-old son was one of the four fatalities in an automobile accident outside of Ashview in Anne Arundel County three days ago," Shaughnessy read from the file.

  "Vehicle went up in flames before anyone could get out." Crackhow was already flipping through another file. "Make sure the causes of death are accurate, especially on the Palmer boy. Take a quick look at the local police's accident report. Make a report. Open and shut case."

  "Right," Adam muttered under his breath as he got out of the chair. "When are they ever open and shut cases?"

  ~

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  What She Can't See

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  Hunter Morgan has been writing and publishing books under various pseudonyms, in different genres for thirty years. With more than 130 books in print, she's written romance, mysteries, suspense and women's fiction and has been published world-wide and in multiple languages.

  You can email Hunter through her publisher at

  HunterMorgan@ePublishingWorks.com