Fatal Jealousy (Black Widow Book 1) (22 page)
Read Fatal Jealousy (Black Widow Book 1) Online
Authors: Christina OW
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Featured Poem
Hoar’s (Forgotten Realms) Dungeons & Dragons. First Edition 1977-1988
Lookout for the next book in the Black Widows Series,
Fatal Obsession!
About the Author
I’m the last of my mom’s three girls and I’m also a twin (she is an author too). It’s a lot of fun playing tricks on people with my twin sister. We did so a lot when we were younger, but not so much now. We were raised by my mother and we owe her so much and try to make her proud every single day.
I would rather curl up on the couch with a book than go out which also means I’m not into the night life. My pajamas are my best friend, because they are so comfortable and I only dress up when I go out, if there is a good chance I’ll meet a hot guy!
Connect with me either on my website
http://tmdangel.wix.com/chrisitnaow
blog
www.christinaow.wordpress.com
Facebook page-
Christina OW
5 Prince Publishing is proud to present
Crisis of Identity
by Denise Moncrief. Please enjoy this excerpt. You can find this book and many more on the 5 Prince Publishing site at
www.5princebooks.com
Crisis of Identity
By
Denise Moncrief
Chapter One
The room had already filled five times with sea-soaked bodies. The dead lay head-to-foot, column-by-column, row-by-row, ten by twenty. Victim 973 had scrawled her Social Security number down her left arm just as she’d been instructed. I noted the number on my log and moved on, trying hard not to think about the person, concentrating only on the morbid job some pushy cop forced on me.
Across the high school gymnasium, a man worked the other end of the column. As his stealthy glances trailed me around the gym, the acid in my overwrought stomach churned every time our eyes met.
“Want to take a break?” His sudden question reverberated throughout the cavernous space.
I curled one tendril of hair around my left ear. “Sure.”
I followed him into the locker room, grabbing a foam cup and filling it with tepid coffee. The man did the same from another urn. The burnt brew left traces of bitterness in my mouth. I rubbed my teeth over my tongue in a vain attempt to remove the acrid leftovers.
My mind turned off for a few precious moments as I ignored the makeshift morgue on the other side of the wall. The man’s strong, masculine bass invaded my mental hideaway. “They’re starting to smell ripe.” He gulped down another ounce of artificial stimulant, staring at me over the rim of his cup.
My insides flipped. “It’s been four days.”
He nodded. “Most of these don’t have numbers.”
“Makes it harder to identify them.”
He leaned against a locker. “This group must have thought they were invincible.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I tossed my cup into the overflowing trash. “Think they’re invincible, I mean."
“Certain death. How do
you
interpret that? I think it means, ‘I stay. I die.’ Must not have sunk in until it was too late.” His sarcastic attitude unsettled me, made me want to defend the dead.
“They’ve been warned before and nothing happened.” When the locals ordered an evacuation two years before, it proved to be a false alarm. The residents of the Texas Gulf coast weren’t so easy to convince this time. It seemed no one learned a lesson from Hurricane Katrina. “And…we’re not dead.” Our eyes locked.
Someone’s presence warmed my back. The site supervisor stood over my shoulder and repeated his prerecorded rant for the millionth time. “Mandatory is mandatory. The dead ignored the warning to their own peril. If they wanted to stay put, the least they could do is write their soc number on their arms...just like they were told to do. How many times did the news people make that announcement? Write your number on your arm if you plan to stay. How hard is that?”
I shifted away from him. I didn’t dare write my number on my arm.
“Suppose the two of you take a few. You look wasted, and these guys…” He waved his hand toward the gym. “Aren’t going anywhere.”
***
I dropped onto the cot at the far end of the locker room, struggling to remove the stained smock the state so generously provided. Forget about sleep; it wouldn’t come. I had too many memories that begged to become nightmares. I closed my eyes anyway.
The springs in the cot next to mine creaked. “I’m Jake.” Why had it taken him so long to introduce himself?
I released an internal sigh. “Tess.” I told the truth, because I had to say something and I was out of lies.
“Tough job.”
“Yeah.” I wanted him to shut up and leave me alone.
“Why would someone like
you
volunteer for this?”
I opened one eye and glared at him. “I didn’t volunteer. I was strongly encouraged to help. Why are you here?”
He hesitated. “I’m a U.S. Marshal. It’s my job. Part of the oath and all that.”
I opened the other eye and assessed him. “Why would you move here—” He smiled, cutting off my question. “I can tell from your accent you’re not from Texas.”
“I followed a fugitive here from Illinois.” He leaned forward, his knees not quite brushing mine. “She’s accused of murder.”
“Murder?”
“Stabbed her boyfriend…in the back…in cold blood.”
My reaction gushed from my mouth. “How can you be sure it was cold blood?” I sucked back a gasp at my gaffe. My question probably seemed strangely timed and oddly constructed. “I mean…it could have been self defense.”
He offered me a cold, hard stare with unblinking eyes. “I just know.”
“That’s…awful."
“I guess I followed my lead at the wrong time. I got trapped riding out the storm…just like you.”
“What makes you think I got trapped?”
“If you’d had any choice, you would have left.”
My brother Tony forced me to stay, but he left me. A storm surge so strong it pulled the house out from under us knocked him into the sea. The Gulf of Mexico spit me back onto the beach as if the ocean didn’t like the way I tasted.
I survived, but I had no time to grieve. The realization impaled my heart.
Jake stretched out on his cot. “There’s a boat out of here tomorrow. It’s taking volunteers back to the mainland.” Galveston was in ruins. The thin strips of concrete that once connected the island to civilization lay scattered on the beach looking somewhat like a child's building blocks.
“There is?” I tried not to appear too interested.
“You didn’t know?” A different question danced in his eyes—a challenge of sorts. “So how long have you lived in Galveston?”
“Not long. My brother found a job. So I moved here a few months ago to be with him.”
“Where’s your brother now?”
I blinked at him. “He’s gone.”
His stern countenance wavered, but before I could embrace his presumed compassion, his expression settled into severity once again. “Now you’ll have to start your life over…again.” His eyes captured mine. A shiver of dread slithered down my spine. It was as if he
knew
me, even though he didn’t seem to
know
me. “Are you going to sleep?” He nodded toward my pillow as if he didn’t think my conscience would allow rest.
“I never sleep.”
Within minutes, he emitted soft puffs of breath, in and out, obviously lacking any guilt to keep him awake.
The shadows lengthened and receded over the locker room, drifting in and out of the grimy, shattered windows as if the world was still revolving around its axis on schedule. But I was sure it had stopped turning. I was the fugitive he sought.
***
The unrepentant sunshine streamed through the cracks, jubilant in its victory over the storm. Only five days since the devastation of Hurricane Irving and the sun acted as if nothing had ever happened. I turned away from the brightness with an ill-tempered snort.
Jake caught up with me on the gym floor. “Did you get any sleep?” His question hit me as a trifle vindictive.
“No. But you did.”
“I snore.” He grinned. Then his smile faded. “I thought you’d be gone this morning.”
“Why? I have to finish the job.”
“That’s…admirable.”
The thought that pestered me all night erupted from my mouth. “What happens to that woman when you catch her?”
“She’ll go back to jail.” He stopped by the double doors and folded his arms over his chest, blocking my path. “Then she’ll go to trial.”
“What if she did what she had to do?”
“There was no evidence it was self defense.”
I stared hard at his implacable façade. How could the man be alternately warm and cold, compassionate and hard, flexible and unyielding? I stepped around him and entered the gym. There were already bodies lined up waiting for our initial inspection, so I began the task of collecting information from my column of the dead. The hours passed as I searched pockets and noted identifying characteristics on those with no papers or markings. I glanced toward the open door as two men begin loading the last group onto a waiting truck.
One more victim to notate. I squatted next to her. Even in partial decay, her features were enough like mine it pushed me back on my heels. I lifted her arm. My breath hitched. Her Social Security number was so nearly like mine. I scanned the gym. Jake, the one man who might care if she became me or I became her, was absent. With a few strokes of the pen, I could die and live again.
My heart pounded with the possibility I might get a chance to start over without the baggage of my past dragging me down. I changed her identity with a few swipes of a permanent marker. The number went onto my log with an unshaken hand, and I was free to escape the woman I used to be…the woman I didn’t want to be any longer.
***
I raced across the remaining bit of buckled concrete toward hope, barely reaching the dock in time to scramble aboard the last boat for the mainland. Glancing around the small craft, I relaxed and settled into my seat. Jake was not on board as I worried he would be. Even though I left him arguing with the site supervisor, I still feared he would stop me from leaving.
Peering toward the far shore, my goal in sight, I sucked in one ragged breath as the boat headed into the bay. But just a glimpse of movement drew my attention back to the island. I turned to see Jake rushing toward the ramshackle dock and pulling himself up short when he reached the edge. Across the gently slapping surf, his eyes met mine and I was certain the chase wasn’t over.
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