Leverage

"Once again, Nancy S. Thompson takes readers on a gut-wrenching, high-octane thrill ride that will leave them gasping for air. With Leverage, Thompson puts readers on a wild emotional roller coaster, plunging these beloved characters into impossible situations and testing their mettle. Just when you think the stakes can't get any higher, Thompson skyrockets the story into a whole new stratosphere. This book will blow your mind. Poignant and visceral, Leverage will get your adrenaline pumping and have you reaching for the tissue box all at once. A truly gripping, excellent read!"

~Lisa Regan, Award-winning author of FINDING CLAIRE FLETCHER

"This is one crazy ride! Leverage is everything a great thriller should be, it’s violent, sexy, suspenseful, and smart! Nancy S. Thompson kept me on the edge of my seat through the entire novel. You’ll walk away from Leverage exhausted from the adventure but satisfied with the tearful ending."

~Dana Mason, author of The Embrace Series

“To say I was completely blown away by Leverage is an understatement. Leverage is a compelling story that had me turning the pages as quickly as I could. If you want to read a book that is going to keep you awake at night…that is full of action and intrigue then this is the book that you should read. I gave Leverage 5 out of 5 stars but I REALLY REALLY wanted to give it more."

~Karen Harper, Confessions of a Bookaholic

"The Mistaken is a first-rate thriller full of hair-raising twists and turns. The action is non-stop. Thompson's taut, intriguing tale of revenge, mistaken identity, kidnapping, and murder will keep you enthralled and entertained."

~Keven O'Brien,
New York Times
Bestselling Author

"This book is amazing. It is a non-stop thrill ride that will keep your pulse pounding and keep you turning pages well into the night. It is fast-paced and wildly entertaining and it also has depth. Thompson is a rare new talent in the thriller genre, combining an intelligent and well-thought-out plot with complex and relatable characters that will give readers the white-knuckle reading experience of their lives! Do not miss this book! I am a fan for life!"

~Lisa Regan, Award-winning author of FINDING CLAIRE FLETCHER

"A deliciously slow-burn that builds to a ferocious crescendo, Nancy S. Thompson's THE MISTAKEN kept me riveted until the very last page. This psychological suspense is a stand out, and I can't wait for Thompson's next book."

~Jennifer Hillier, author of CREEP and FREAK

"Thompson gives us a heartbreaking look into a man's mind when his hunger for revenge leads him into a destructive, dangerous chain of events, and follows the nail-biting path to his redemption."

~A.L. Jackson,
New York Times
Bestselling Author

It’s been a wild ride since I first published The Mistaken. I never imagine this community of writers and authors could be so close, so helpful, and so supportive, but honestly, I never would have made it through without them. Of course, there are so many, I could fill up a book, but for those closest to me, my deepest, humblest thanks and love…

To Jeff O., for reading outside your comfort zone and teaching me a thing or two, or twenty, about writing.

To Dana M., for your plethora of ideas and the occasional knock upside the head to make me see reason, and for being a wonderful friend.

To Katie M., for your patience, generosity, and kindness as I stumble my way through this indie journey.

To Tammy, my word-beautician, who tells me where to cut, cut, cut!

To Julie R., for holding my hand, letting me scream, and reassuring me that I was not crazy or too old to pull this off.

To Stacy B. D., my personal burst of sunshine.

To my sweet friend and skilled graphic artist, Carrie Butler at Forward Authority Design Services, for working so hard to put my cover together and bring my vision to life.

To “my girls”: Marilyn, for being my single greatest cheerleader and the sweetest, most generous person I know. Karen, for your unwavering support, not to mention editing my monster for little more than a smile and a thank you. And to Julie H., for making me laugh and keeping it real. You three ladies have been a godsend this last year. Your complete and unconditional love and support keep me sane and make me laugh on a daily, if not hourly basis. Without you girls, I’d be one lonely lady.

To my all-around awesome BFF, Jenny, for easing my loneliness while living in this beautiful, but often dreary city of Seattle.

To my bestest friend, writing soul-mate, and most cherished critique partner, Lisa, for teaching me this craft, for holding my hand, and for always being there for every crisis and celebration. Love is not a big enough word.

And last, to my family, my husband, Eric, who’s taken over the grocery shopping and just about every other household chore so that I might achieve my dream, and to Brandon, easily the smartest person I know, for being everything a proud parent could ever want and inspiring me to reach for the stars. None of this would be possible without your love and constant support. I love you both!

To my greatest loves—my husband, Eric, and our son, Brandon—for allowing me my obsession with writing and for helping me with the housework so I could dedicated myself to it. And to “my girls”—Marilyn, Karen, and Julie—for making me laugh, letting me vent, and keeping me sane every single day.

I’ve always hated this place. It’s nine months of rain and gloom, of slick streets and cold hands, with no sunshine to warm my face or brighten my mood. It’s depressing as hell. Must be why everyone’s so goddamn pissed-off all the time. Come May, they want to put a gun to their heads. When the rest of the world is enjoying blue skies and warm sunshine, Seattle still has two more months of misery to endure.

There’s a saying here—that summer doesn’t start until the fifth of July, and damn if it isn’t true. Last fourth, my best friend, Leo, and I spent a fortune on fireworks, but it rained so hard and our fingers were so cold from the forty degree temps, we couldn’t even light them. Yeah, forty degrees—in fucking July. How lame is that?

I hated it, but I was stuck. Couldn’t afford out-of-state college. I was lucky though. At least I got into the U-Dub, the University of Washington. Not really where I wanted to be, but it was better than living at home, either one, my mom’s or my dad’s.

They divorced four years ago after my mom returned from San Francisco, all banged up and a general mess from whatever shit she’d been through down there. Took her nearly a year to get her life straightened out. Then some dude appeared on our doorstep, and that was it—all sunshine and rainbows again, at least for her.

My dad was a different story, though. Pathetic, really. Heartbroken. Though not over my mom, but some other woman he’d been seeing. She got tapped for fraud and ended up in prison down in the Bay Area. He couldn’t afford to visit her, so he was a miserable sonofabitch. I hated even being around him. But I also couldn’t stand living with my mom and Tyler, the guy from Cali she married last year. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but…there was something about him I didn’t trust.

So, for my freshman year, I moved into McMahon, one of the residence halls at the U-Dub. My second year, I got a single room at Hansee, but most of my friends still lived at McMahon, a seemingly long walk when the weather was crappy. And when wasn’t it? Certainly was on this night.

I pulled my collar up and stepped out into the drizzle. A thick fog coalesced with every icy breath, and, in less than a hundred feet, my soaked hair laid in thick ropes to my shoulders and dripped down the aged black leather of my jacket. Not the wisest choice of outerwear, but it suited my mood. I didn’t appreciate being summoned to Leo’s without an explanation. His girlfriend, Katy, had insisted, begging me to come help Leo, yet not telling me why.

I hurried past McCarty and Haggett Halls as quickly as my shivering body would allow. In warmer months, it was a beautiful walk, but by mid-October, the old trees stood mostly naked and offered little protection. McMahon loomed ahead, a gray concrete façade set against the equally gray sky above. The well-lighted rooms flickered through the barren trees.

I stood, freezing and dripping wet, under one of the two long portico bridges out front of McMahon, pulled my phone from my jacket pocket, and dialed Leo’s cell. I waited longer than usual, but, on the sixth ring, Leo finally answered.

“Conner, dude, wassup?” he said casually enough, though he sounded out of breath.

“What d’ya mean, what’s up?” I answered. “Katy begged me to come over. Said you needed my help. What the fuck’s going on, man?”

“Aagh, nothing really,” he answered, but Katy’s voice broke through in the background.

“You tell him, Leo, or I will!” she urged.

Then Leo must have put his hand over the phone, because, although I could still hear their voices raised in anger, they were muffled. But I could hear someone else there with them, arguing just as loudly as they were.

“Leo!” I yelled. “Come on, man, run down and let me in, will ya?”

I couldn’t get into his dorm on my own. My student ID and security passkey only worked at Hansee. McMahon’s doors were locked against me, and, scanning the area out front, then through the glass doors and inside the lobby, I didn’t see anyone else around to let me in. The heated voices continued their rapid exchange over the phone.

“Leo, for God’s sake!” I swore.

A shuffling sounded over the phone, and Leo’s voice rang through. “Sorry, bro. Katy’s on her way down.”

“Who the hell was that yelling at you guys?”

“No one, man. Just…no one. I’m fine, really. Dude just left anyway. Look, I’ll be down in a sec. Just hang with Katy ‘til then, all right?”

“Didn’t sound like everything was fine.”

“Conner, dude, really, I’m cool.
Everything’s
cool. All right? I gotta go.”

“Leo,” I said once more, but there was no reply. “Leo, you there?”

Nothing. He was gone. I signed off with a huff and turned toward the front doors just in time to see Katy pushing through the vestibule. I ran forward to catch the door before it shut, but Katy shoved me backwards, and the doors closed with a gentle click.

I raised an arm toward the vestibule. “What the fuck, K? I was headed in.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms over her perfectly formed chest. “Sorry, Conner. Leo doesn’t want you to come up. He’ll be down in a minute. Then we can go eat.”

I snickered. “I thought you said Leo wanted my help?”

“No, I said he
needed
your help.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.
You
called me, remember? What was so important? Who was that up there with you guys, and what the hell were you fighting about?”

At first, Katy looked at me, her blue eyes drawn in worry, like she wanted to tell me something, but then she pressed her lips together and looked down at the pavement as her arms fell back to her sides.

“I don’t know him,” she said. “Some asshole friend of Leo’s.”

“Some friend.” I sighed and stepped closer. “What’s going on?”

She peeked back up at me through her shaggy blonde bangs. “Look, Conner, I made a mistake calling you. I mean, Leo’s upset about some…personal shit, you know? He doesn’t want me involving you or—”

Katy was cut off by a commotion above our heads. We glanced at each other then scrambled out from under the portico and onto the sidewalk, looking up toward the balconies staggered along the face of McMahon Hall. Leo’s room was on the fourth floor, directly above and to the right of the portico bridge. He came to the edge of his balcony and peered over the rail at us.

He waved us away and shouted, “You guys go on without me,” then turned back to his room and started yelling.

I glanced over at Katy, who was wringing her hands and bouncing on the soles of her feet. “Thought you said that guy left.”

She nodded, her face still turned up toward the screaming. “He did,” she confirmed. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid down her reddened cheek. “Leo’s alone.”

“Then who the hell’s he yelling at?” I asked.

Before she could answer, she sucked in a sharp breath and clamped both hands over her mouth, her gaze still locked on Leo’s balcony overhead. I glanced over my shoulder at the students gathered on the opposite sidewalk. All eyes were glued on Leo’s balcony. There was a collective groan as their hands rushed to their mouths or the top of their heads.

I swung my gaze back up to Leo’s balcony. He stood facing back into his room, his arms flailing for balance as he tipped backwards over the rail. I saw it all as if in slow motion. His feet flew up over his head as he spun, end over end, toward the ground. His body ricocheted off the edge of another balcony right above the portico and cartwheeled into the sloped landscape well next to the portico bridge.

Katy let out a shrill scream, her hands pressed against her ears and her mouth stretched wide in horror as she stared, transfixed, at Leo’s twisted body lying on the sloped earth amidst the fern and ivy below us. I jumped over the rail that separated the sidewalk from the deep well and sprinted carefully down the incline to Leo’s side.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes stared straight up at the sky, seemingly sightless and unblinking as the drizzle turned into a downpour. With sirens wailing in the distance, I knelt over Leo and pressed my hand to his forehead. His body startled, and his eyes shifted slightly toward mine.

He was still alive!

“Where’s the goddamn ambulance?” I howled up to the crowd above me. “Someone call a fucking ambulance!”

I turned back to Leo. He sputtered blood from his lips as he tried to speak.

“Bro...be…careful… W-watch…your back. S-so…s-sorry,” he rasped. His fingers crawled toward me. “Bro…” he said once more. Then blood filled his mouth. It cascaded over his lips and down his sheet-white cheeks, pooling momentarily before it soaked into the already moist earth. His eyes glazed over in a veil of gray, and his whole body slackened into a mound of lifeless flesh.

“Leo,” I cried. “Leo!” But he was gone.

I turned my face toward the weeping sky. Groups of student residents had gathered up on the staggered balconies overhead. Some cried while others took pictures or shot video with their cell phones, but each balcony was filled with students.

All except one.

Leo’s.

His stood empty, save one set of eyes. That’s all I could see, his eyes and the top of his head. It was a man wearing a San Francisco Giants baseball cap. He peered over the edge down onto Leo’s body, and those eyes, they turned up at the outside corners, like he was smiling, like he was satisfied.

Then they disappeared back behind the rail, and the lights in Leo’s room went dark.