While You Were Dead

by CJ Snyder

  The electrical buzz building in the air continued to grow stronger until he could hear the slight hum around him. His skin prickled and the water on the side of the boat rose around him, forming hundreds of fluid stalagmites rising, bursting, and sinking back into the water faster than he could track them.

  Earthquake? E.M.P? What the hell?

  The electric charge shocked him with static build-up every time he moved. Time to get off the water before whatever was happening cooked him in place or worse.

  He glided into the reeds only a few feet from shore and tried to figure out how he could get off the boat without touching the supercharged water. Any second now he expected stunned or dead fish to start popping to the surface. Maybe the Fish and Game boys were doing this for a count or culling of the lake. He couldn’t imagine why they would, but damn it, they should’ve posted a warning!

  Bandit yelped and sunk to her belly, whimpering and shivering. A thunderous boom filled the air and a burst of silver light to his right blinded him. Instinct drove him to the bottom of his boat for cover and his mind raced with possibilities.

  A bomb? Lightning?

  Whatever it was ruined a perfectly good fishing trip.

  As suddenly as it all began, it was over. The super-charged air dissipated like it had never been and his hair returned to its usual resting place. His clothes stopped crackling. The water, roiling moments ago, returned to a serene and placid lapping against the side of his small boat. The geese took up their honking as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Bandit suddenly leaped to her feet and jumped onto the bench seat he’d just dived off of. Her curled tail wagged fiercely as she yapped at something just out of his sight.

  Ears still ringing from the blast of lightning, he pulled his knife from its sheath at his waist and lifted his head just enough to see over the edge of the boat.

  An unconscious woman floated, face up, at the water’s edge. Naked. Her head was toward shore in no more than three or four inches of water, leaving the rest of her long, willowy body floating alongside his boat. Was she dead? That’s all he needed. Dead body, 9-1-1 call, and fifteen hours at the police station saying, “I don’t know,” until his tongue was bleeding.

  Shit. He didn’t dare get in the water and risk immediate electrocution. Bandit had no such inhibitions.

  “No!”

  Too late. The little wet rat swam happily to the woman’s side and sniffed her hair, sopping wet tail wagging like a mop waving him into the water.

  “You little turkey.” With a sigh, he jumped over the side after his crazy dog into knee deep water then leaned over the woman, feeling for a pulse. His shoulders relaxed when the steady beat of her heart thrummed beneath his fingertips. Her chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm as if she were in a deep, dreamless sleep. No blood. No lacerations. No bumps on the head or obvious injury.

  She was, in a word, perfect.

  But who was she, and how did she end up here?

  Book 2 - Chronicles of the Taken: Silver Storm coming soon!

  Book 1 - Chronicles of the Taken: Red Night now available.

  Excerpt from Satin Pleasures by Karen Docter

  Chapter One

  "Colby, if I'd had that brunette in my bass boat instead of you Aunt Mary would never have talked me off the lake." Dan McDonald tore his gaze away from the view in the truck windshield to grin at his dog, affectionately named Colby, after the cheese the German shepherd loved so much. "Bet she doesn't kiss like you...the brunette, I mean, not Aunt Mary."

  The dog whined, then attempted to wriggle his massive bulk into his master's lap. Dan pushed his muzzle away. "Phew! Chances are she doesn't smell like you, either."

  Colby bared his teeth in a grin.

  Dan laughed. "You won't think it's so funny when we reach San Francisco and you get a bath." He considered the stalled traffic. "That's assuming we get across the bay."

  A fully loaded semi had jackknifed across both lanes of the westbound bridge and wedged in tighter than a cork in a genie's bottle. The truck was to be dismantled for removal, the freight unloaded, and there appeared to be a debate as to which part of the process should be completed first.

  He smiled at the speed with which the shock wave of information ran down the line of commuters. Many spilled from their cars to chat. A few lounged on their hoods, faces raised to the warm March afternoon sun. A pair of students in Stanford jerseys zipped a fluorescent orange Frisbee between the cars with all the ferocity of Kamikaze pilots.

  Dan shook his head when he realized he'd pushed his old life behind him far enough to find amusement in the scene. He'd come a long way in the past year. Was it far enough? He'd been happy—well, content enough—with his solitary lifestyle...until his aunt tracked him down in Florida a couple of weeks ago.

  She'd convinced him she and his mother needed him in California through June. However, he'd had three thousand miles to wonder if his temporary return to the rat race might prove to be the biggest mistake of his life. His impulse to turn the truck around had grown with each passing mile and he wondered if this traffic snarl was his last chance to save himself.

  He certainly couldn't complain about his first glimpse of San Francisco Bay. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. The sun stirred bright color into the murky waves and streaked light across mirrored office buildings on the opposite shoreline. A light, salty breeze gave wing to a variety of raucous sea birds over his head and teased long tendrils of toffee-rich hair out of his brunette's French twist.

  His brunette.

  Desire coiled deep in his belly as he watched her wiggle her bottom onto the hood of her car. With one hand resting on the driver’s side mirror on the open door, she talked briskly into her phone, her expression hidden behind sunglasses. The straight lemon skirt and fitted jacket she wore accentuated her rich, dark hair, full breasts, and slender waist. Spiked heels showcased legs long enough to fuel a man's fantasies for months. Her hand waving in emphasis to whatever point she was making spoke to Dan of urgent caresses and wild passion.

  The blend of cool professionalism and hot sensuality fostered the illusion a man only had to peel away one layer to expose the passionate woman beneath. He'd never seen a woman who made him feel so needy, so primitive, with barely one look...which is why he hadn't bothered to pursue a woman since Charlotte Betham opted for her career over him last year. He might have made an effort to change her mind if she’d turned his crank this way!

  Only a caveman would dream of ripping the phone from his lady's hand. Only a cretin would throw it into the bay before he dragged her away to his cave for a year or two. Only a sex-starved man would allow such idiotic impulses to get out of hand.

  "Maybe Aunt Mary dragged us back to civilization just in time." Dan scratched behind his dog's ears. "Maybe I should go out on a date or two while we’re here. Just to take the edge off."

  Colby barked, and then rested his muzzle on the dashboard, pointing the way.

  "No, it won't be with my sexy brunette."

  The last thing Dan needed in his life was another career-focused woman to tempt him back to the competitive edge like the one he’d ridden in Chicago. He'd leaped off that fast track without a backward glance—nearly dying did have a way of adjusting a man’s perspective, after all—but he could still spot a workaholic when he saw one. He'd lived with one all his life. First, his father. More recently, Charlotte and himself. And since he didn't know yet if he'd beaten that particular inclination, once and for all, he wasn't taking any chances.

  The odd thing about chance, though, was the way it tended to come up and slap him when he wasn't looking. Dan stared with consternation at the bright orange saucer veering out of control across his vision, aimed directly for his brunette. "Watch out!"

  He jumped from the truck in time to see the rigid plastic disc slam into her right cheek with a sharp thwack, angle over her head and disappear over the bridge railing into the bay. Her cell sailed right behind it.

  Dan sprinted in he
r direction but she’d fallen off the hood of her car and slumped to the pavement, her back against the front fender, before he could reach her. Kneeling beside her, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

  She didn't respond.

  "I didn't mean to hit her!" The Frisbee thrower squatted next to Dan and watched him remove her cracked sunglasses. "Oh, man, she's out cold."

  Dan clamped a lid on his own spike of concern and thrust both hands into the woman's silky twist of hair. In the time it took him to run from his truck he'd seen her fall against the side mirror on her downward slide, and then ram her head against the open car door. So, it came as no surprise when he located a sizable lump over her left ear.

  He examined the welt rising on her cheekbone, his curse short, succinct. Her head cradled in his hands, he brushed his thumbs against her temples. "Can you hear me?"

  The woman’s eyelids fluttered, lifted. "W-What happened? H-Harry? Where's Harry?"

  Who the devil was Harry? Dan gazed into cinnamon brown eyes, fogged with confusion, and experienced a surprising surge of possessiveness. He couldn't drag his hands away from her fast enough. "If Harry's the one on the phone, I believe he's now conferencing with the sharks."

  "Oh. Oh! He'll kill me!" She shifted, wrinkled her nose in obvious bewilderment at the sight of her legs stretched in front of her. "Why am I sitting on the ground?"

  The student piped in. "My Frisbee hit you. You fell."

  "Frisbee? Fell?"

  Dan frowned. A concussion wasn't out of the question. Although her pupils didn't appear unequal or dilated, there was a large goose egg behind her ear and a welt across her cheek that grew more red and ugly by the minute. He searched his brain for the standard questions used on concussion victims. "What's your name, and who's the President?"

  "Tess Emory, and Stuart Webster."

  "One out of two isn't bad," he murmured. For all he knew, Tess Emory wasn't her name either.

  "Oh, man, she doesn't even know—"

  Dan glared the student into silence, motioning the kid to her other side so they could both help her to her feet. "Which is which?" he asked, aware he needed to keep her talking.

  "I'm Tess." She wobbled on her spiked heels. "The president's Webster."

  Dan quickly calculated the distance to the camper in the back of his truck. "I think we have a problem. Webster is not President of the United States."

  Her eyes widened. "Oh. Wait. I thought you meant the president of my company!" She assured him she did indeed know her country's president. "Now I know two presidents' names and my own, but I don't know your names."

  The student introduced himself and apologized for her injuries. He wanted to share his doctor's phone number but, when she refused his assistance, he shrugged and walked off to rejoin his buddy sitting on the hood of their car.

  Which left Dan where he shouldn't be now that the danger had passed...overwhelmed by the appeal of toffee hair, cinnamon eyes, and spicy scent. Gasping for air like a wide-mouth bass in the bottom of his boat. Alone...with his brunette.

  Excerpt from Gnome on the Range

  By Jennifer Zane

  Chapter One

  “I’m not sure which one I want. I didn’t realize there were so many choices!”

  The woman wasn’t on the hunt for a new car or juice boxes at the grocery store. Nope. She wanted a dildo. I called her type a Waffler. Someone who contemplated all options before even attempting to make a choice. Because of Miss Waffler, I had ten different dildo models spread out across the counter. Glass, silicone, jelly and battery powered. She needed help.

  That’s where I came in. My name is Jane West and I run Goldilocks, the adult store my mother-in-law opened back in the seventies. Story goes she named it after the fairytale character when a mother bear and her two cubs walked down Willson right in front of the store the week before it opened. She called it fate. Or it could have been because her name is Goldie, so it made sense. I started working for her when my husband died, a temporary arrangement that helped her out. Three years later, things had turned long-term temporary.

  The store was tasteful considering the offerings. The walls were a fresh white, shelves and displays just like you’d find at the typical department store. Then tasteful made way for tacky. Gold toned industrial carpet like you’d see in Vegas, a photo of a naked woman sprawled artfully across a bearskin rug over the counter. A sixties chandelier graced the meager entry. Goldie had to put her unique stamp on things somehow.

  It wasn’t a big store, just one room with a storage area and bathroom in back. Whatever she didn’t have in stock—although you'd be amazed at the selection Goldie offered in such a small space—we ordered in. Montanans were patient shoppers. With few options store-wise in Bozeman, most people ordered everything but the basics from the Internet. There’s one Walmart, one Target, one Old Navy. Only one of everything. In a big city, if you drove two miles you came across a repeat store. Urban sprawl at its finest. Not here, although there were two sets of Golden Arches. One in town and one off the highway for the tourists who needed a Big Mac on the way to Yellowstone. The anchor store of the town’s only mall was a chain bookstore. No Nordstrom or Bass Pro Shop out here. You shopped local or you went home.

  In the case of the woman in front of me, I wished she’d just go home.

  Don’t get me wrong, I liked helping people and I’m comfortable talking sex toys with anyone. But this time was definitely different. Big time.

  Behind Miss Waffler stood a fireman. A really attractive, tall, well muscled one wearing a Bozeman Fire T-shirt and navy pants. Can you say hot? A hot man in uniform? Yup, it was a cliché, but this one was dead-on accurate. He’d come in while I was comparing the various dildo models before I went into the perks of having rotation for best female stimulation. The first time.

  “Can you explain the features of each one again?” Miss Waffler had her fingers on the edge of the glass counter as if she were afraid to touch them. Petite, she was slim to the point of anorexic. Her rough voice said smoker, at least a pack a day. Her skin was weathered, either from cigarettes or the Montana weather, and wrinkles had taken over her face. She’d be pretty if she ate something and kicked the habit.

  I gave her my best fake smile. “Sure.”

  I darted a glance at the fireman over the woman’s shoulder. Sandy hair trimmed military short, blue eyes, strong features. Thirties. A great smile. He seemed perfectly content to wait his turn. If the humorous glint in his eye and the way he bit his lip, most likely to keep from smiling, was any indication, he was clearly enjoying himself. A radio squawked on his belt and he turned it down. Obviously my lesson on sexual aids was more important than a five-alarm fire.

  Miss Waffler was completely oblivious of, and unaffected by, the fireman. I now knew why she wanted a dildo.

  I picked up a bright blue model. “This one is battery powered and vibrates. Three settings. Good for clitoral stimulation.” I put it down and picked up another. “This one is glass. No batteries, so it’s meant for penetration. The best thing about it is you can put it in the freezer or warm it and it provides a varied experience.”

  The woman made some ah sounds as I gave the details. I went through all the possibilities with her one at a time. I got to the tenth and final model. “This one is obviously realistic. It’s actually molded from the erect penis of a porn star. It’s made of silicone and has suction cups on the base.”

  Fireman peered over the woman’s shoulder as I suction cupped the dildo to the glass counter. Thwap.

  “You can attach it to a piece of furniture if you want to keep your hands free.”

  Both fireman and Miss Waffler nodded their heads as if they could picture what I was talking about.

  “I’ll take that one,” she said as she pointed to number ten. The eight inch Whopper Dong.

  “Good choice.”

  I rang up Miss Waffler’s purchase and she happily went off to take care of business.

  And there he
was. Mr. Fireman. And me. And dildo display made three.

  “Um…thanks for waiting.” I tucked my curly hair behind an ear.