Synopsis:
Kian O’Reilly is flawless as a killer.
Well-practiced in the art of making murder look like an accident, he is selfish, wealthy, and totally arrogant as a soul-stealing immortal. But when he ends up stranded on Cape Cod with a stolen car and a dead drug dealer in the trunk, he thinks his luck couldn’t get any worse.
That is, until Ana Lane shows up.
Gifted as a mechanic and surfer, feisty Ana is not a fan of the entitled Frat Boys who show up every summer, messing with local girls. Believing Kian is one of those typical rich brats, she fixes his car and ruthlessly dismantles his cocky ego . . . which intrigues the dangerous soul thief.
Determined to spend more time with the prickly mechanic, Kian sets out to understand what makes Ana so fierce. Soon, however, he uncovers the painful truth behind the real Ana Lane, and the decision to save her, may destroy them both.
** This is the prequel novella to UNDERTOW and is based on the story of Kian and Ana the summer they met. While it can be read at anytime in the series, it is meant to be read after UNDERTOW and STORMFRONT.**
Kian's Point of View
Lower
Makonikey mainly consisted of three things: huge homes, huge price tags, and
huge egos. Most of the properties came with a sizable chunk of land as well,
and Mr. Waite’s was no exception. His fully gated compound sat in the center of
an open expanse of rolling green lawn, which was a surefire way to keep an eye
out for uninvited visitors, like me.
I
stalked the tree line, using dusk’s shadows like a bodysuit of blackness as I
studied the many windows in the massive Tudor style home. I didn’t see a single
soul walk by any of the glass, though the house was lit from inside, so someone
had to be home.
What
I did see, however, were several men built like NFL rejects, walking the
perimeter of the house with sidearms tucked under their jackets. I also counted
at least twenty security cameras and what appeared to be motion sensors near all
entrances to the home. Add a couple of cannons and a few of those bear-like
things from The Hunger Games book, and it could be a fully outfitted fortress.
The
whole layout made me uneasy.
Even
worse, Ana was somewhere inside.
Security
on this level was more apt for a major politician (or major criminal), not an
investment banker. From what little detail I had dug up on Mr. Waite over the
past hour, he was seen as an altruistic businessman and philanthropist, giving
frequently to charities.
The
town sang his praises, the neighbors thought he was a saint, and the cops
invited him to their charity ball every year . . . all of which told me one
thing: he was an ass.
No
one was THAT perfect.
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I have been a journalist for 15 years and serve on the Board of Directors for the Cape Cod Writers Center. I also drive a 16-ton school bus because I am ENTIRELY NUTS.
In addition to working jobs that should come with a warning label , I hold a BA in Psychos (Forensic Psych), torment the tourists about Jaws, and occasionally jump from the Town Neck bridge in an attempt to reclaim my youth.
I live on Cape Cod with two smallish humans who apparently are my kids, my fishing-obsessed husband, two canines (adept at both flatulence and snoring), and a cage-defiant lovebird that sleeps in a miniature tent. Nope - that's not a type-o. The bird is quite the indoor camper.
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