 Waiting
on the Thunder
A Coven
of the
Jeweled Dragon
Suspense Novel
by Lorna Tedder
copyright 2008
|
|
Join Our Mailing
List for Freebies & Specials! |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Synopsis
Evan Duran made a terrible mistake that cost him everything, including his
career, his fiancee's life, and his faith in his own abilities. He lives for one
thing--vengeance--and he's closer than ever to catching the man who destroyed
everything he loved.
The last thing he wants to do is endanger the life of Meg Donovan, an innocent
who has lost her faith in God and come home to seek balance.
Unfortunately, she's just moved into Evan's hideout and into the sights of a
brutal killer.
WARNING: This story contains episodes of violence and sexuality,
offensive language, and occult concepts.
|
|
|
This Book is Sponsored
by
|
|
Author: Lorna Tedder
 A
former Southern Baptist, Lorna holds a doctorate in metaphysics and is a Third
Degree High Priestess of Wicca. She has written novels and non-fiction for three
major publishing houses and one small press. Her
other recent suspense novels include
Flying
by Night and
Dark
Revelations.
|
Chapter One
Rural
South Alabama, 1994
Who the—?
Evan
Duran slammed the shovel back into the dirt and squinted at the red Chevy
pulling into the driveway. He could
see the car perfectly through the narrow gap between the windbreak of cedar
trees. The last thing he needed was
some local-yokel snooping around.
He’d have an awfully hard time explaining who he was or what he was doing.
The car door banged shut, and he cursed as a young woman
stood beside her automobile and stared up in awe at the rickety farmhouse.
She was a tiny thing. Maybe
even tinier than Colleen had been.
And she had that uneasy look on her face that a woman gets just before bursting
into tears.
She folded
her arms in front of her, holding tightly to some kind of gold-colored doll, and
rubbed her shoulders. She took a tentative step toward the front porch.
Then she seemed to steel herself against some imaginary foe and headed up the
steps.
Maybe she was the Avon
lady. If she was, she’d knock on the door, discover no one was home, and
then jump back into that little red car of hers and get off the farm while the
getting was good. Holding his breath, he waited long enough for her to
make her way back to the car. She didn’t.
Who is she? And why would she take
the risk of coming out here alone?
She couldn’t be looking for him. No one knew he was here. Not the
Birmingham
police force he’d left behind, not the local cops, and certainly not that
murdering—
He expelled
the breath and scooped up another shovelful of red
Alabama
clay. He was so close to catching the man who’d killed Colleen. He
couldn’t afford such a pretty distraction. She’d just get in the way of
justice. Get herself killed, too. That was his worst fear—the blood
of another innocent on his hands.
No. His second worst fear. The worst thing he could imagine was
being responsible for the death of the woman he loved. And that had
happened once already.
But what the devil is she doing here?
She couldn’t be paying a visit to Ol’ Joe.
He’d been dead for several months.
Everyone in town knew that.
Everyone in town knew everything—almost.
Maybe she’d had car trouble and needed help.
But if she lived anywhere within a twenty-mile radius, she’d know she
wouldn’t find help here. Better for
her if she puttered down the road to the next farm or even walked the five miles
back to the tiny town so aptly named “Little Hope.”
“Must be a stranger to these parts,” he muttered, shoveling another load of dirt
onto the heap. Why else would a
woman alone stop on an abandoned farm in this godforsaken corner of Alabama?
He leaned heavily on the shovel and peered between the cedars. Damn, but
she was going around to the back door! He bit his lower lip and
strained for a better look.
It had to
be more than a mere matter of getting lost. The town itself was off the
beaten path, but the dirt road that led to his hide-out was downright obscure.
She’d cinched her denim shirt at her waist tight enough to show a thin strip of
skin above her faded jeans—the way Colleen used to do when they went exploring
the hills in the northern part of the state. This woman was slender, too,
with rich brown hair that just clipped her jawline and exuded a deep red hue in
the afternoon sunlight. Something silver glinted at her throat.
Mid-twenties, he guessed. Not much younger than he was. She hadn’t been a
schoolgirl in years, but she still had that kind of youthful determination in
her step. Slightly sophisticated but no longer college-girl young.
That was good. Not being a college girl might even save her life.
She stood on her tiptoes and felt along the ledge under the porch awning.
No, he’d been wrong. She wasn’t a stranger after all. She knew this
place well enough to know where Ol’ Joe kept the spare key.
Evan kept his few belongings carefully hidden in case anyone took a sudden
interest in the contents of the house, but if she looked closely enough, she’d
find the razor on the sink’s edge or the gallon of fresh milk in the
refrigerator. Rubbing his palms hard against his jeans, he watched with a
sickening dread. She walked into the house, trotted out to her car a few
minutes later, and started carrying in boxes.
Shit! She was
moving into his hide-out.
* * *
Read more....
Return to
Waiting on the Thunder
|
|
|
