by Kate Wyland
About the Author
Kate Wyland has long been fascinated by psychic phenomenon and IMAGES is her first foray into writing about it. Her casual interest was spiked when traditional veterinary medicine could not help one of her horses and she turned to alternative methods, which proved more successful in that case.
Kate lives with her husband of many, many years in a rural area south of San Francisco. In addition to their kids and darling grandkids, they have three semi-retired horses that are very much a part of the family.
She loves exploring how people who are outside the norm manage to fit into a society that often isn’t accepting of those who are different. Coming shortly will be a FOREWARNING, full-length novel with a similar theme—a healer who uses energy to help her patients.
When Mikela Richards finds two murder victims and realizes a dirty cop is probably responsible, she flees for her life. She finds a safe hiding place on a Wyoming Dude Ranch, where she tries to discover if the murders are connected to the mysterious computer memory stick she found in her car. But her fragile feeling of safety is disturbed by a compelling Marine, home on leave.
She’d love to hear what you think of her stories. And would really appreciate it if you’d take the time to write a review and post it online.
Connect with Kate online at:
Blog: https://www.katewyland.com/blog
Twitter: https://twitter.com/katewyland
Facebook: https://facebook.com/katewyland
Wyoming Escape
The gunshot reverberated through the cool morning air and jolted Mikela Richards to a halt. At a second ear-splitting crack she plunged through the button bushes to hide behind an old hickory tree. Breathing hard, she scanned the wooded trail but saw nothing. Who the heck was shooting in the park? She’d spent enough time on the firing range with her grandfather to know that it hadn’t been someone plinking at a tree with a twenty-two. Those reports had come from a large hand gun, probably a nine millimeter. Her heart rattled her rib cage while she listened for another blast.
She’d been coming to these woods outside Providence for the past two years and had never heard of any problem. She even felt safe enough to run alone in the quiet and solitude. Now some idiot had decided to play games with a gun?
No further shots disturbed the forest and the birds began to chirp. Mikela took a tentative step from her hiding spot. At the sound of heavy footsteps pounding toward her, she jumped back into the greenery.
A slim man in a leather jacket ran into view, headed toward the parking area. He looked somewhat familiar and her shoulders relaxed until she caught sight of his glazed, panicked expression.
And the black nine millimeter pistol in his hand.
Her heart thumped so loudly, she was surprised he didn’t hear it. But something caught his attention. He jerked to a stop and backed around in a small circle, peering into the bushes, and brought the gun up into the firing position she knew well.
Thank heavens she’d worn her navy tights and top, instead of her usual bright colors. If only the shadows cast by the oak trees would screen her blond hair. Completing his circle, the man lowered his arms and jogged up the trail.
She sucked air into her starving lungs. Had he fired those shots? Or had someone shot at him? She reached for her cell phone, then swore softly. Of all the times to leave it at home. Her insides contracted. Even if she had the phone, would she really call the police about a couple of gun shots? After what she went through before?
Mikela stepped out of her hiding place and hurried down the path, away from the intruder and his gun, taking an alternate route back to her car. She jogged on tiptoe, listening for sounds that didn’t belong in the forest. When the trail junction appeared, the tightness in her chest eased.
She turned onto the new path and slammed to a stop. A strange mound lay near the flowering azaleas a few feet away. A dreadful sense of déjà vu swept over her and she had to force herself to move.
Not again, please God, not again.
She took a quick glance then looked away, fighting to control her stomach. A dark-haired man lay sprawled on his back by the side of the trail, his eyes wide open. A dark red stain spread from the middle of his tan polo shirt. The air reeked of blood and human waste. She gathered her courage and inched toward him, then bent to touch his neck. His skin was warm, but no pulse moved against her fingers.
Not again.
A rustling in the woods jerked her upright and around. At the sight of a dark form advancing through the trees, Mikela bolted. The crashing of underbrush and a man's curse goosed her even faster.
Wishing for the umpteenth time she had longer legs, she sprinted up the trail, unsure where to go. Even if she made it back to her SUV, the signs advertising Mikela’s Kitchen, her catering business, would tell her pursuer who she was. Hers had been the only vehicle in the lot an hour ago. Had others arrived to provide some cover?
The footsteps following her faded. She glanced over her shoulder as she rounded a bend and spied no one. Had he stopped chasing her? Or had he used the shorter trail? She reached the edge of the parking lot a few minutes later, paused behind a bush and peered out. No one was in sight.
The five or six vehicles now scattered around the parking area reduced her car’s conspicuousness. She dashed to the SUV, ripped off the magnetic signs on each side, and threw them inside. Moments later, her tires squealed on the asphalt as she sped out the exit.
A few blocks away, Mikela pulled up in front of a gas station with a public pay phone. She stared at it for a long minute. Did she dare take the chance? She could ignore the gun shots, but a dead man was different. She’d have to trust the cops couldn’t trace the call to her. Bracing herself, she dialed 911. Talking fast and loudly, she reported the murder and the man with the gun. When the operator asked for her name, she hung up. She knew what could happen after you found a body. She knew the police were not her friends.
She knew that a determined cop could make her life hell. …
To read more of Mikela’s story go to: https://tinyurl.com/apfo773