Death of an Assassin (Saint Roch City Book 1)
Page 20
Julia finally sits down, and her father puts his arm around her again.
“And why is that? What makes you think I haven’t already put my plans into motion to get it?”
Now it’s my turn to smile. “Because we’ve moved it. Only Thomas and I know where it is. And I would love to see you try to get it where it is. You should send her.” I motion to Julia. “She’s got the finesse to steal your deed, I’m sure.”
Julia reaches forward and grips a steak knife, her hand cocking back. Her father reaches out and easily snatches it from her, being the only one in the room who knows how delicate a situation he’s in.
“But if you do decide to go for it, remember this, Mr. Nox. You still pay the Donahue family for the pleasure of running this little establishment.” I wave my hands around. “It’s a lovely place that sits on Donahue-owned land. And if you hurt Thomas, I’ll make sure this building is leveled within a week. You try to pull your little soul-sucking parlor trick on him, or you have the fruit of your loins―” I nod toward his daughter, her face burning red in the dim room. “Try her kissing act, and I will personally take everything from you. See, anything happens to him, and everything goes to me now. You can get someone to break into his attorney’s office to see the will.”
“I’ll be sure to do that,” Nox says with a forced grin.
“Oh!” I say, as if the idea just occurred to me. I open my purse, and tucked beside the brick of explosive is a small, plastic vial. “I wanted to return this to you.” I stroll over and set the vial down in front of Julia, the thick red blood within well on its way to being a congealed mess of gore. “You left quite a bit of this at Thomas’s house when you were over playing last week. The police have no idea who it belonged to, and since he was locked up in the basement, he couldn’t say either. But I knew it was yours so I thought I’d return some of it to you.”
Now it’s Daddy Dearest’s turn to grip the steak knife.
“The rest is in a safety deposit box under an alias. And I have a good friend who has instructions to mail that package to the District Attorney with your name if something happens to me. So even if you really like this building and don’t feel like paying for it, I’m willing to bet you like your daughter not being executed for multiple murders, kidnapping, conspiracy, and―well, the list goes on.” I smile, playful. It’s not an assassination, but it’s much more fun to see the reactions here.
Now Julia looks a mite more afraid than angry. Luckily her father has enough anger for the both of them.
“Well,” I say. “It’s getting late. I should get going. But you have a great night!” I stroll out, every eye in the room on me, especially those from one of the most dangerous men in Saint Roch.
I may have just poked the bear, but he screwed with a siren. The bear has no tact, no skill, just brute force.
The siren strikes when you feel safest. When you feel your most free. And―if she wants―she can make sure you feel it. Until the only release from the agony is the cold, welcoming hands of death.
If you are looking for witty comments and warm, fuzzy moments in these pages, you will be sorely disappointed. Make no mistake, I’ll try for them, but I’ll likely miss. I have shit for aim.
This book would not exist if not for a few intrepid writer buddies who stuck with me for the last few years, reading everything from the atrocious writing to the semi-okay, including the collection of characters and profanities you’ve just read (or the one you’re skimming at the bookstore to decide if it’s worth your time). If I were to list them all, this book’s binding strain to hold together, so for the sake of the structural integrity I’ll list the ones who wouldn’t cough up enough bribery funds to keep their names out. Kat Ellis who spent more time than she should talking over books and publishing and writing and pets and dragons with me. Jani Grey who was the first person to read this story and tell me how to make it less bad. George Kulz who shared my day job of code monkey while entertaining the night job of delusional psychopath (which has a side-effect of written books). And the rest of your remain safely unassociated with me. For now.
To all the writers and authors who were penning their books when I was a kid. They made me fall in love with reading and gave me the ambition of creating such magic myself. Chiefly among them, Katherine Applegate and Michael Grant for penning stories of kids, animals, and aliens. Without them, I’d probably just be wistfully thinking about creating fictional worlds instead of doing it.
Alison Heller, who picked my 140 character book pitch out of a sea of other hopefuls and decided my book might be worth a read. So much so that she went to others to wave it at them. I still consider this the equivalent of a sane, rational person vouching for the naked guy wearing a sandwich board on the side of the road ranting about conspiracies.
All the staff of Curiosity Quills who put their blood and sweat into this book (do wear gloves while reading, please) betting their chips on a newbie writer.
I’ll thank the people who’ve stuck by me for the longest. This is the attendance award portion (meaning we’re almost to the end). My parents for funding my book addiction since I was able to hold a paperback and never laughing when I said I wanted to make my own. I’ll thank the people who had the choice to bail on the crazy and are frequent targets of beta reading: Rachel, Steve, Jess, Jen, and Aimee. You guys had the chance to stop me and didn’t, so this is really on you.
I, of course, have to thank my wife, Melissa, who decided to give a guy who was a professed writer a chance. She knew coming into this mess what I was and still stuck around. She’s my first sounding board, my first reader, my first fan, and as such bears as much responsibility for this book existing as I do. Thank you, Melissa for making this possible. I love you, and I hope you understand that this ride is only just starting.
Ian Hiatt is the crazy guy who lives on your block. You know the one that all the neighborhood kids point at and whisper about. He’s cleverly hidden himself by marrying an incredibly tolerant woman and finding himself an adorable dog. This is the best disguise for living in New England. The villagers have not yet run him out of his castle.
When he’s not scrawling delusional words about mythical-filled cities or dinosaurs, he’s busy tapping out code for websites and software. If he’s kept away from writing implements, he treks aimlessly through forest hiking trails, across abandoned beaches, and wandering the shelves of bookstores. These three things don’t overlap except for that one time, and that was a really weird day.
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Undercover Empath: Kindred Demon, by RaShelle Workman
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Set in a world very similar to 1900s London, The Deathsniffer’s Assistant combines the investigative murder mystery with a tale of personal and societal redemption. It is about the relationships between broken people who clash more often than not, but manage to shape and learn from one another in spite of this. The story is told from the perspective of Christopher Buckley, young and impressionable and influenced by the prejudices of his time, as he finds himself surrounded by a cast of exceptional women whose differing characters will slowly reconstruct his understanding of strength in others—and in himself.
Havelock, by Jane D. Everly
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Eliana Havelock is a female with no past, whose determination to bring down a Karachi arms dealer catches the attention of the British Secret Intelligence Service. MI-6 is currently fractured due to political upheaval with many of its covert programs dissolved or disbanded. When Eliana presents the opportunity to divert an international arms disaster, the head of MI-6 partners her with one of it’s best and brightest, the enigmatic, Connor Blackwell. But in a world of secrets and hidden agendas, who can Eliana trust? And what, or who, is Eliana really after?
Appetizer:
Book Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Main Course:
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
Epilogue
Dessert:
Acknowledgments
Closing
About the Author
Copyright & Publisher
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