Volume Two
Excerpts
Broken Promises
Madeline stood at the edge of the cliff watching the massive waves crashing against the rocks below. A sea wind whipped her hair, the unruly strands covering her face hiding her tears. She chided herself for her stupidity, no, naiveté was more like it. She had believed every word, trusting him completely, but Nathan was not trustworthy. Ask anyone, especially his family. They knew, they all did, yet no one had warned her. Of course, she probably never would have believed them since she had been too besotted to see the truth.
Storm clouds loomed over the horizon, ribbon lightning flashing across the sky as thunder rumbled in the distance. A gentle rain started to fall, but Madeline did not care. Her body was numb to nature’s fury just as her soul was numb to the truth. She had sinned, and she was being punished for being a harlot and a thief because that was what she was. She shivered slightly, staring at the sea as her life flashed before her. She had been a God-fearing person who obeyed the law. When had it all gone wrong?
Deception
Bella Nelson was a court stenographer who preferred being assigned to criminal trials, specifically, first-degree murder cases involving high-profile people. She was not interested in the notoriety, she was interested in justice. But when the best defense lawyer money can buy manages to win the case even though his client is guilty, she, along with many middle-class citizens, loses faith in the system. Glancing at the packed courtroom, Bella observed the reactions of everyone involved when the jury foreman read the not guilty verdict. She identified with the family of the deceased, the true victim in the heinous crime, praying for justice, and ultimately, her prayers were answered.
Endgame
Sandy kept looking over her shoulder as she ran through the thick trees, hoping to reach the highway before they found her. She tripped over an exposed tree root but managed to stay upright, stumbling forward and balancing herself by outstretching her arms. The sound of nocturnal hunters ravaging their prey echoed throughout the forest. A dense fog shrouded the earth, which exacerbated her panic as she tried to reach safety. Low-lying branches whipped her body, scratching her face and piercing the flesh. Sandy was running on pure adrenaline; her breathing was shallow and rapid as she edged closer to the road. She was almost there; she could see the pavement and lights – car lights. The car screeched to a halt as Sandy ran into the road, but the driver was not quick enough on the brakes, and she fell unconscious to the ground.
Malice
Andrew was in his office, the prestigious corner with a breathtaking view overlooking the San Francisco Bay. His position as project architect attracted women, lots of women, which suited his insatiable sex drive. He loved the chase, but quickly grew tired of his conquest once the thrill was gone. His women accepted the inevitable breakup stoically, for the most part, not wishing to reveal their true feelings. But he always gave them a parting gift, a piece of jewelry to remember him by. Something special and expensive.
The central working area was cluttered with draftsmen hunched over drafting tables designing rough sketches for the many open projects undertaken by the firm. Smaller offices lined the wall while a reception area faced the elevators. When the elevator doors opened, no one expected the police. Penn & Wyster was a highly reputable firm, its employees model citizens who rarely received even a parking ticket. They must be on the wrong floor.
“We are looking for Andrew Marcel,” Detective Byrnes told the receptionist as he flashed his badge.
Penny pointed to the end of the hall, her curiosity aroused as to why there were here. She leaned over the counter and watched the hunters cornering their prey; there was no escape.
The Portrait
Holliday stood before the portrait of her ancestor, the formidable matriarch who had ruled her family with an iron hand, taking no prisoners whenever anyone had dared to voice their dissension. The artist had captured the very essence of the woman, her cold eyes penetrating the soul of any who stood before her, anyone except Holliday.
She was not like the rest of them. Holliday not only looked like Olivia, she also exhibited her forbearer’s traits. Perhaps, a reincarnation, if there was such a thing. And Holliday was feared just as Olivia had been feared, a woman without scruples, an embodiment of pure evil.
The family fortune had been squandered over the years by errant male heirs, gambling and whoring away their lives after having sired the coveted son. Holliday was the end of a line, the sole survivor of a dynasty that had ruled the bayou for centuries. She had inherited the house, a mansion by today’s standards, the remnants of a glorious estate from a bygone era.
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