Cries in the Night (31 page)

“Oh no, you didn’t. I …,” she protested.

“Shhh. Just open your gift.” He picked the small box up and handed it to her. She hadn’t noticed before that it had dozens of holes poked all over it. Carefully, she set it down on the table and unfolded the flaps.

The first thing she saw was a pair of bright blue eyes shining from inside. She reached in and pulled out the puff of fur.

“She’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she declared with excitement as she picked up the kitten and cuddled her against her chest.

“I wish I could say I rescued her out of a tree, but I got her from one of my parents’ neighbors who had a litter to give away.”

“She’s adorable, and she’s going to have a proper name.” The kitten’s tiny body vibrated with the intensity of her purr. “How about Holly?”

“Sounds like a good name,” Rusty agreed. “I found out about her when I was at Mom’s on Monday, so I had time to pick up a litter box and some Kitten Chow. It’s in the utility room”

“She’s probably ready to try it out.”

Moments later after she had things set up for the kitten and had left her with a small bowl of mushy chow, Julie returned to the kitchen to find the dining table set, complete with candles.

“I assume you didn’t have time to eat Christmas dinner,” Rusty said.

“I haven’t had Christmas dinner in more than five years,” she admitted.

Rusty’s eyes softened as he held out his hand. “Julie Lawrence, let me show you how happy life can be.”

EPILOGUE

Red and yellow tulips filled the flower bed around the big cottonwood tree in the backyard. Julie sat on a free-standing wrought-iron swing and tried to read the book in her hands. One foot was tucked underneath her and the other touched the ground periodically to keep the swing moving while being distracted by the half-grown kitten who was trying to stalk and attack the fat robins that were hopping around the yard. Just as she pounced, the bell around Holly’s neck would jingle, warning the bird so it could escape unharmed. But there were plenty of robins and Holly kept trying.

The gate leading into the backyard squeaked, and Julie looked around as Rusty strode through it. His hair was still wet from the shower he had taken at the station before he left.

“Are you just getting home?” he asked as he leaned over the back of the swing and gave her a kiss.

“About an hour ago. But I wanted to wait up for you.” She had gotten only one call last night, but unfortunately, it had been just before dawn. “A guy got shot in the ass when he was leaving a bar at closing time.”

“We had a three-alarm fire in an historic hotel downtown that they were remodeling. Some homeless guy thought it was a good idea to start a fire in the middle of the dining room.”

Julie smiled. As usual, he beat her in their game of one-upmanship. With jobs as stressful as theirs, dark humor helped keep things bearable.

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Eventually, you’re going to have to find someone to take your shift. You’re going to have to take care of yourself … and him … or her.” His hand slid down to her stomach. It was still flat, but they both knew that deep inside her, a tiny heartbeat fluttered. She wouldn’t be showing for at least another month, but Rusty was already treating her like she was made out of porcelain … which was ironic considering the abuse she had survived.

The doctor had been wrong. No one had been more surprised than Julie when she started suffering from morning sickness and missed periods. She had been told she would never be able to have children, but this child had defied science and had somehow made it to the fourth month. Her new doctor was hopeful and said it looked like the baby would go full term.

Julie had been a little hesitant to tell Rusty, but she dared not hold back. They had worked through their trust issues, and it would be a betrayal not to share the news, especially as important as this. To her relief, he had been delighted.

She looked into his eyes, searching and finding the warm glow of love. He hadn’t, even for a moment, made her doubt it. After a lengthy discussion, they had sold his condo and moved into her house. She hadn’t been sure they would be comfortable here, but with his help, the remodeling had continued until the place looked new. They had even been able to add a fireplace. Plus, the house had the added space and a large backyard that would come in handy when the baby arrived.

He yawned and pulled her into his arms. “I’m exhausted. Are you going to tuck me in?”

“How exhausted?” she teased.

“Never
that
exhausted,” he assured her with a flirtatious wink. He bent and swept her into his arms.

Julie cupped her hand against his handsome face. She would never tire of looking at this man, and best of all, she would never fear him. The sunlight sparkled off the big diamond in her engagement ring. They planned to be married in May after her divorce was final and her name would officially be changed to Julie Lawrence Wilson. She was looking forward to this new stage in her life … as Rusty’s wife.

She had always known he was a hero. Now he was her’s.

Dear Reader,

Cries in the Night
was inspired by my own experiences as a victim’s advocate. Mix that with an unforgettable hero and a brave heroine, and I had a story that has touched people’s lives. Of course, everyone loves a fireman … and I’m certainly no exception which made this book a pleasure to write.

During the course of my research I was lucky enough to meet a Denver fireman who was invaluable with his input about life on the job. Plus, he is an amazing editor who now fact-checks all my books to make sure my explosions, injuries and deaths are realistic and correct. Kind of gruesome, but cops and firefighters have a sort of macabre sense of humor.

The next book,
Deep Night
is Chris’ story. A paramedic who has sworn to save lives is faced with the dilemma of helping someone who deserves to die … or to find justice for the victim.

If you’re not already receiving our newsletter, be sure and sign up at the link below. Each issue will have updates on our books, excerpts of deleted scenes or bonus chapters (that you won’t find anywhere else), my favorite recipes and exciting giveaways. Feel free to drop us a note and tell us what you think about our books, our characters and anything else you’re passionate about. You have no idea how important your opinion is to us.

With love and Laughter,

Kathy & Bob

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kathy Clark has always been a storyteller. She published her first book when she was just four years old … okay, it was self-published (way ahead of the trend).
The Little Black Horse That Ran Away
was self-illustrated and completely sold out of its first printing (one copy to her mother).

Years later, Kathy’s first official book was published by Dell. Since then, she had a total of 23 novels published by Dell, Crown and Harlequin and 9 novels self-published on Amazon.com.

The freedom to be creative and experiment with ideas and genres has made self-publishing an amazing process. She writes a contemporary adult romantic suspense series called Denver After Dark, and with her husband, Bob Wernly, she writes a new adult series called Scandals and a young adult series called CUL8R (See You Later). The books from these series have been honored with numerous awards including Best Indie Book of the Year, Reader’s Favorite Award and Colorado Humanities Awards.

To be perfectly honest, Kathy would rather be riding horses or sitting on a white sand beach with her husband reading a book than writing, but the characters in her head insist that she tell their stories, just like that little black horse so long ago.

For an up to date complete list of books, screenplays, awards and more, check out Wikipedia at
http://​en.​wikipedia.​org/​wiki/​Kathy_​Clark_​(American_​author​)

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COMING SOON FROM KATHY CLARK

SCANDALS: KILLER DATE
Book #2

DEEP NIGHT, Denver After Dark
Book #3 scheduled Winter, 2014

If you enjoyed
Cries In The Night
, don’t miss Kathy Clark’s (also writing as Bob Kat) latest novels. Please enjoy the following excerpts.

AFTER MIDNIGHT

By Kathy Clark

CHAPTER 1

PLAYBOY
Magazine once called Colfax “
the longest, wickedest street in America
.”
But to anyone who knew it, that’s what made it interesting.

Colfax had originally been the main road through Denver and stretched from the eastern plains to the Rocky Mountain foothills. In the shadow of the spectacular state capitol’s golden dome, businesses thrived, some legitimate, but most not. Populated by prostitutes, dealers, artists and certifiable crazies, several blocks were part of District 6, fondly known as District Shit because of its concentration of degenerates and crime.

For the last five years Sam Morgan had called that section of Colfax Home. Not as a resident but as a police officer on the night shift. The clock started at 11 p.m., but the fun didn’t begin until after midnight. After the Phantom had left the Opera. After the Black Crowes had flown the Fillmore. And after someone had
the last laugh at Comedy Works. As the entertainment venues emptied, the streets and the bars filled, mixing yuppies, coeds and players. LoDo, the rejuvenated Lower Downtown area with its cozy sports bars and upscale clubs attracted the cream. Colfax welcomed the rest without bias or prejudice. You didn’t have to have a job or money or nice clothes or even shoes to fit in. Especially on a warm summer night like tonight.

Sam made his usual loops through the area, passing through neighborhoods of stately mansions that struggled to retain their dignity just blocks from low income housing and run-down apartment buildings. With the windows down on the patrol car, Sam could stop and chat with the local kids or call out to a dealer he’d busted a half dozen times in the past. He knew them and they knew him. It was an oddly effective way to be visible without being aggressive.

Music, laughter and streams of conversation flowed into the car as he drove along, competing with the constant chatter on the police band radio. It was starting out like a typical Saturday night, with one exception.

Sam slid a sideways glance at the man sitting in the passenger’s seat. Ridealongs could be a blessing or a curse. Most cops dreaded having strangers tag along. Other than the challenge of dealing with an unknown personality … dull, dumb, chatty or flirtatious that bordered on stalking … there was the possibility of added danger, both to the ridealong and the cop. In a crisis, the last thing a cop wanted was to have another civilian in the mix.

But Sam didn’t mind. With only one officer per patrol car, having someone to talk to on quiet nights made the time pass more quickly. Usually.

Oh, the guy had asked all the normal questions. “How long have you been a cop?” “Is this what you always wanted to be?” “What kind of gun do you carry?” “Have you ever shot anyone?” Then the conversation ended. Sam had tried to make small talk, but after the first hour, he gave up and, at times, almost forgot he had a passenger. Truth was … his passenger was completely forgettable.

Average height, average weight, short reddish-blond hair, the man was so unremarkable that Sam, even with his keen observational skills, would have had trouble picking the man out of a crowd of two. Sam slid a sideways glance at the man and mentally noted … gray Broncos hoodie, jeans that were faded by age, not fashion and a green camouflage t-shirt. Blue eyes, short, chewed nails, holes in his earlobes indicating he had, at some point, worn ear metal. Completely nondescript, almost like he was trying to be invisible.

He sat stiffly in his seat, his attention focused outside the car except when he looked at his watch for at least the tenth time in the last hour.

“Hey, we can swing by the station,” Sam offered. “I can drop you off if you need to … go somewhere or do something else.” The guy was starting to be annoying.

“Oh no, I’m fine. Just wondered what time it is.”

“How about a break?”

“Sure. Sounds good,” the ridealong answered with the first burst of enthusiasm he had shown all night.

Maybe he just was tired of riding around in a car for so long or maybe he had to hit the john and was embarrassed to ask. Cops were used to spending a lot of time in their rolling offices, but now, in the lull between midnight and the 2:00 a.m. witching hour when the bars closed and the drunks staggered out to the streets to find other entertainment, it was a good time to grab a sandwich. Sam picked up the microphone, switched from the main to the car-to-car frequency and pressed the button. “Hey, Larry. Ready for coffee?