Author: Kellie
Wallace
Email: kelliewallace85@hotmail.com
Genre: Crime
Excerpt Heat
Level: 1
Book Heat Level:
3
Hollywood in 1948. World war two had ended three years ago, but crime is
still growing rampant on the streets. Detective Luca Valiant returns home from
war a broken man, haunted by memories of his duty. He is strong willed and
passionate about his job but keeps his soldier days hidden behind a thick wall.
Young women start showing up around the city shot point blank in the chest,
found with stolen morphine ampoules on their person. Luca fears it might be a
crime ring that ruled Hollywood in the 1930s. With his partner Duke Williams by
his side, Luca uncovers a world of drug use, money, sex and corruption he never
knew existed which truly tests his sanity. When his wife Sally is murdered by
Hollywood's crime lord Don Pascoe, Luca must push his demons aside to crack the
case before it consumes him.
EXCERPT
Hollywood,
Los Angeles
1948
The
purple kite frolicked in the air behind Karsten's head as he ran through the
grass. The sun's golden rays warmed the nape of his neck and marshmallows
clouds danced across the sky.
His
new shoes were damp and dirtied from jumping in a puddle, but he didn't care.
It was a perfect summer's day; perfect for ice cream by the lake or hiding in
an alleyway stuffing his mouth with stolen goods from Mrs. Dane's bakery.
As
he leapt through the field, inhaling the rich Hollywood air, something deep
inside him dimmed. He wished he could share this wonderful day with someone.
During the dying afternoon hours before bed, he would watch the other
neighborhood children playing in the street or at the park with their siblings,
wanting to be a part of their world, jealous of their kinship.
At
eleven years old, he had not seen much of the world, but he knew it must
revolve around Fern Rosenberg. He saw her sitting on the swing set across the
park, swaying against the gentle breeze. Her head was down, nose in a book.
Ever
since her family moved in next door six months ago, he couldn't understand why
she never played with the other children, often sitting alone reading a book.
He remembered his mother telling his father she and her family were survivors
of a horrible camp in Poland. The girl barely survived, fleeing the country
with her aunt and uncle to start a better life.
He
never had the courage to talk to her, usually succumbing to inaudible mumbles
before he walked away embarrassed.
Karsten
blew out a breath of self-encouragement and arched his back. He was going to do
it today. He walked across the park, his stomach rolling nervously. Fern didn't
acknowledge him until his figure cast a shadow across her book. She looked up,
her eyes thinning against the glare. "Hello. Can I help you?"
Karsten
opened his mouth but no sound came out, his tongue turning to cement. A veil of
transparency fell over Fern's eyes; she was losing interest.
"Um,
my name is Karsten. I am in your math class at school."
"You
sit behind me. Don't you live next door?"
"I
do."
"I
often see you play by yourself on the street sometimes," Fern said. "Why
don't you ask other kids to join you?"
"I
don't know how."
"Why?"
"I'm
too scared they will say no."
"Surely
that doesn't matter. You can ask me now."
Karsten
looked at the kite dangling from his fingers, wondering if asking her to play
was a bad idea. "You want to fly the kite with me?"
Fern's
lips rose into a smile and she laughed. "I should be reading. My uncle
will quiz me when I get home, but I would very much like to fly the kite with
you."
Karsten
watched Fern rise from the swing and gently lay her book on the grass next to
her bag. She repositioned the clips in her brown hair and grabbed the kite
string from his grasp. Her hands were soft. "The wind is picking up. Are
you ready?"
"Yes."
The
children bolted across the park, watching the kite bellow in the air. Other
neighborhood children joined them, giggling at the sight of it kicking and
twisting like a captured bird. Karsten and Fern spent the rest of the afternoon
under the warm sun, walking home muddy and exhausted. They decided to cut
through a park, crying out in delight at the sight of a mother duck waddling
with her ducklings. She saw the children and scuttled away, her babies
following in haste.
"Let's
follow her!" Karsten cried. "Maybe she has more."
Fern
followed him with the kite in her hand, chasing after him through the thick
underbrush. "Slow down!"
She
saw him disappear deeper into the brush, his heavy footfall breaking through
the silence of the early evening. In a blink of an eye he was gone. Fern kept
running. She jumped over a log, nearly running into him as he stood still
staring at the ground. "Oomph! Karsten, I nearly ran into you." She
pulled at his sleeve, noticing his face had gone white. "What is it?"
He
pointed a shaky finger to the lush ground, his eyes wide. Fern followed his
gaze and noticed white fur, speckled with blood against the twigs and other
debris. She took a step closer and let out a scream.
Lying
in a leafy tomb, a woman lay dead, her blonde hair messy and dusted with
leaves. Her cold blue eyes frozen, her red lips open in an eternal scream.
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