Saturday, August 2, 2014

Care for Another Sneak Peek of Rising from the Darkness???


Do you want another sneak peek at the next chapter of Rising from the Darkness?  If so, here 'tis!

Chapter 2 – Vultures Gather

The steady cadence of crunching snow occupied Samantha Bartlett’s ears but did nothing to occupy her spinning mind.  Frosty breath filtered through the air like smoke as she huddled into the coat, sniffed the familiar scent of aftershave among the leather, then increased her pace to traverse the icy road.  The deep of the night sky gradually lightened toward the east and would soon give away her position as she trudged into the open field – deathly black attire stark against the pure white of snow.
Tears had stopped.  Ducts were probably frozen shut by now anyway.  Maybe she just couldn’t feel them anymore since her face had numbed from the cold.  The stars that had greeted her earlier gradually dissipated as pregnant, gray clouds stirred and coalesced.  More snow.  Good.  It’d cover her tracks and keep Joe from following – if it didn’t freeze her to death first.
Why did she leave the warmth of Joe’s arms?  If anyone could now help her out of this predicament it’d be Joe.  He’d risked his career for her – risked his life.  Saved her from the ravaging hands of his own partner.
Make that former partner.
Actually Chris had fired the killing shot instead of Joe.  And how had she thanked Chris?  Ran off and left him for dead, a corpse upon which the vultures would feed when they got hold of him.  What a way to thank the man who’d convinced her of innocence in the murder of President Warner.
Even though she’d intended to, regardless of the fact the Elite had forced the action upon her.  Shame flooded Samantha with the memories of all of the things the Elite had forced her to do.  The big question to ponder now – why?  Chris had proved his willingness to help.  Joe too, or at least he would have if she’d let him.  Too late now.
Abandoned Chris.  Left Joe.  She was so tired of running, of leaving behind everyone who’d ever cared about her.  Would she never be able to stop?
Yeah, when you’re dead, girlie.
Samantha shook her head to clear the unwanted intrusion and shoved her hands deeper into Joe’s coat pockets.  Fingers brushed plastic and metal.  She stopped.  Gripping the contents, Samantha drew them out and stared at a flash drive and a tiny memory card. 
Were these important?  Did Joe need them?  Could she return to the little cabin and get away again before he woke?  Before daylight revealed her to the world?
Snowfall filtered through her gaze.  A crumbling barn stood out among the copse ahead, its sagging roof dusted with additional powder.  Indecision paralyzed until the roar of high-powered engines and whir of tires approached.  Samantha raced toward the tree line and dove for cover into the snow, heart pounding in dread, then counted seven black vehicles as they raced by on the road she’d crossed to reach the field.  No lights.  No sirens, but men definitely on a mission.  She’d ridden in enough government vehicles to recognize them when they passed.
They headed in the direction from which she’d just come.
The first cold wave nudged him from the edges of sleep, the fire having died down through the night.  Expected warmth didn’t greet him as Joe Roberts rolled over, sheets chilled where Sam should’ve lay.  Grogginess fled.
Joe’s voice sounded like gravel in his ears as he sat up and surveyed the clinging darkness of the cabin.  Memories of their night together crowded his mind, sending a stab of heat through his flesh.  Joe groaned and gouged his fingers through his tangled hair. 
Of all times to succumb to the rage of hormones.  Not as if life wasn’t already complicated enough.  First the radiation poisoning in Russia, the flight home under the assumed name Viscilly had provided.  Then the unexpected run-in with Sam and discovering that Laturno had betrayed them all.  Somewhere in the mix of things Hitchens suspected him of being a turncoat.  Then what’d he do?  Scuttled off in the night with their prime suspect.
Not only that, he’d had sex with her.  No – made love to her like he’d wanted to do ever since they were teenagers.  Still, his timing sucked.  Instead of questioning Sam thoroughly like the good FBI agent he was supposed to be, he’d kissed her.  His downfall for sure.  But since Sam had already arisen, maybe it wasn’t too late for that interrogation.
 Joe slid into yesterday’s discarded jeans and padded across the freezing plank floor.  A couple of fresh logs and a stir of glowing embers shot a glimmer through the darkness.
A glance behind the bathroom door.  “Sam?”
The tub held only tendrils of that black hair Sam now sported.  Shampoo was gone.  The toothbrush the glass on the lavatory cradled last night had disappeared.  Fear gripped his heart.
She couldn’t have.
She wouldn’t have.
Terror tinged with anger colored the shout.  As Joe rounded the door frame, pain reverberated through his skull as a fist connected with his jaw.

No comments:

Post a Comment