Picture Perfect Legacy
Genie Gabriel
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In this romantic adventure,
a newspaper reporter with a penchant for flashy shoes uncovers an explosive
story that could shatter lives and defuse her budding love with a soft-spoken
bomb tech.
EXCERPT:
Don't take my baby. Please don't take my baby. The woman's plea whispered in
the steady swish, swish of the wipers. Her image wavered among the falling
flakes of snow, horror streaking in anguished tears down her face.
Marly
O'Shea shivered and forced her attention back to the narrow, twisting road
grudgingly carved out of the side of the mountain.
The
heater of her Jeep Wrangler valiantly battled the fingers of icy air creeping
through the gaps in a canvas top that seemed to shrink each summer while it lay
bundled in Marly’s garage. She much preferred the heated summer breezes that
tangled her over-curly hair in wild abandon to the frigid winds laying icy
sheets of moisture in the dips and shadows of the road she now traveled.
A
gust of angry wind blasted around a curve, rattling the canvas top of the Jeep.
The flurries of snow grew heavier, layering the road in a relentless white.
Marly shifted into a lower gear and concentrated on what she could see of the
road illuminated by her headlights.
Until
she realized the headlights careening through the darkness weren't hers. They
bore down on her, like a missile seeking its target.
Adrenaline
spurted through Marly’s veins. She leaned on the horn and steered the Jeep as far
to the side of the road as possible without sliding off the edge.
Brighter
and brighter, the lights obliterated the darkness until Marly thought they
would explode. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, the lights jerked away,
bouncing down the road behind her and quickly disappearing.
The
tires of the Jeep hit gravel, then slushy mud. Frantically down-shifting, Marly
eased to a stop and sat frozen. Nothing dared intrude on the deafening silence
of the night but the roar of a creek echoing in a canyon far below.
Another
brilliant light flashed on, and Marly jerked her arm up to shield her eyes. A
sharp rap on her door sent her grabbing for the purse that had slid onto the
floor. Reaching inside, her fingers wrapped around the taser her overprotective
brothers presented to her as a moving-away-from-home gift.
Cradling
the weapon on her lap, Marly turned to confront the man standing beside her
Jeep. A halo of light silhouetted the man’s bushy hair and beard, but his
features remained obscured in shadows.
“Are
you hurt?” His voice flowed like melted honey, its comforting tones at odds
with his unkempt appearance.
Slowly,
Marly shook her head. "No."
“We
need to get you off this curve before another car comes through. I’m going to
hook my winch to your vehicle and pull you back onto the road.”
He
disappeared into the curtain of light, leaving Marly with only the impression
of broad shoulders encased in black leather.
Her
heart raced. It was the near accident, she told herself.
Soon,
metal clunked against metal as the man hooked a cable to the underside of her
vehicle. After a moment’s token resistance, the Jeep moved back onto the solid
surface of the road.
A
sigh of relief flowed through Marly’s body, brought up short by the sudden
reappearance of the man beside her vehicle. Many times her brothers scolded her
for being too trusting. Narrow hips and long legs snugly encased in worn blue
jeans could belong to a serial killer as easily as a white knight.
“Step
out while I check your vehicle for damage.” A jagged scar over the man’s right
eyebrow gleamed as he reached for her door handle.
Every
murder mystery she read as a teenager gave the bad guy a scar. She wasn’t
taking any chances. Adrenaline pumped through Marly’s body once again as she
leveled the taser at the man’s chest. “Stop right there.”
Irritation
briefly crinkled the man's brow. “The undercarriage of your vehicle might be
damaged.”
“Step away from the vehicle.” Marly
juggled the taser in one hand while using the other to crank the key in the
ignition. The Jeep sputtered to life, rocketing relief through Marly’s veins.
The man quick-stepped backward as she shoved the vehicle into gear and stomped
on the gas, leaving her mystery rescuer--or would-be attacker--standing with
the snow falling on the dark velvet of his tousled hair.
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