Replacement (Jill Lewis Mysteries Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Susan Wales

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

188 pages

English

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Jill Lewis is a top-notch investigative reporter in Washington D.C. Her fiancé, John, is an FBI agent. Neither can talk about what happens on the job. But both are dying to know.When a high-profile senator is assassinated, Jill jumps at the chance to cover the story, soon digging up evidence of political scandal, intrigue, and deception. In the midst of what could be the story of her life, Jill's fiancé suddenly disappears. Where has John gone? Is he still alive? What has happened to him? Jill can only guess, but she has a sneaking suspicion that his mysterious disappearance has something to do with the headline-grabbing story she is investigating. This action-packed suspense novel offers the perfect mix of politics, conspiracy, and a little bit of romance to create an intriguing page-turner that rivals Dee Henderson's best-selling O'Malley series.

Sujets

Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 juin 2006
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441237293
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0202€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgment
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
MUV’S PRALINE COOKIES
About the Author

© 2006 by Susan Wales and Robin Shope
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3729-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
This book is dedicated to an exceptional literary agent,
Beth Jusino,
who found beauty in the ashes and had the perseverance to sift through them!
For her genius, excellence, time, talent, and patience . . .
Beth, we could fill this page with your superlatives.
Acknowledgments
Our thanks to the exceptional team at Fleming H. Revell of Baker Publishing Group for the opportunity to write this series; especially to Jennifer Leep, who discovered The Chase . Many thanks to Jennifer for her perseverance and the grace she gave to us. A big thanks to our editor Kristin Kornoelje, who has demonstrated Job’s patience, and the virtuous woman’s creativity and work ethic. Your price is far above rubies! Thanks to the world’s greatest proofreader Donna Henry.
Susan Wales thanks . . .
Special thanks to my friends Tisi Aylward and Laura Burkett for their suggestions, and my friend Terry Steele for Jill and John’s song “Here and Now.”
My love and gratitude to my husband, Ken, who makes so many allowances for my career and believes in my talent, to my parents for their gift of storytelling, and to my daughter, Megan, and granddaughter, Hailey, who provide the inspiration.
Robin Shope thanks . . .
Big thanks to my family, Richard, Kimberly, and Matthew, who hold open the door so my words can spill onto the pages. I do this for you.
1
Rain fell in ropes and wind shuttled through them, webbing the city in its ephemeral weave.
Julia O’Faolain
With umbrellas in bloom, tourists flocked to Capitol Hill. Journalist Jill Lewis peeked out a side door at the crowd. Sightseers on tiptoes wobbled for glimpses of senators. A faithful few marched on the fringes, wigwagging protest placards high. Visitors aimed cameras, hoping to capture an important face in their lens. A Brownie troop pranced down the steps in a crooked line. “Stay together,” their leader ordered. Media neophytes with sun sticks and video cams jockeyed for position while reporters clutched microphones. Like Jill, they longed for words worthy of history books.
Jill pressed her forehead against the door. From out of nowhere, a dark, hairy arm reached over her head and pushed the door. Whoosh! The door flew open. Jill was catapulted into the April drizzle. Before she hit the slippery concrete, the arm hooked her, snapped her back like a fish on a line, and slammed her against the wall. Without so much as an apology, the arm’s owner bolted into the crowd.
“Jerk,” Jill muttered.
Digging in her purse, she found a pair of oversized sunglasses and slid them onto her nose. Jill prayed no one would recognize her but had barely ventured a dozen steps when someone did.
“Hey, Jill. Jill Lewis! Over here!” The animated voice belonged to Dan Peek, an ambitious intern from the Gazette . “What’s a hotshot reporter like you doing out here with the wannabes?”
Jill’s umbrella shot up, blocking her from the bigmouth’s view. Unfortunately, she couldn’t swing it around soon enough to hide from curious onlookers. She turned back around and shot Dan an exasperated look.
Dan skulked away, mumbling apologies, as tourists gawked at Jill. Some even asked, “Who is she?” An occasional segment on CNN or Fox did not a household face make.
Suddenly the double doors of the building swung open, snapping everyone’s attention to the front entrance of the Capitol.
Bodyguards bearing chests like concrete barriers burst through the doors and funneled pathways through the mob for the lawmakers. Distinguished senators appeared next, smiling and waving; some paused for obligatory handshakes and photo ops.
After a while, two security guards stepped up to lock the doors. Jill groaned. “Where is he?”
Her afternoon wasted, Jill decided to return to her office to try and salvage the day. Navigating puddles down the steps, she looked up just in time to see a plaid umbrella soar over her head. Ducking the plaid blur, she watched helplessly as its owner grappled for it in the wind, stumbling in his pursuit.
He bumped into Jill on his way down the steps. Arms flailing, she found an anchor the arm of a man with a crew cut.
“Thanks,” Jill began, but the man jerked his arm away. Then to her surprise, he reared it back and shoved her. Tumbling backward, Jill wailed as her head smacked hard into the concrete.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” a bystander yelled at the man. He and another guy lunged at the attacker.
Undaunted, Crew Cut grabbed the stray umbrella and swung it like a bat, keeping the challengers at bay. In the scuffle, his boot rammed Jill’s knee, its sharp point puncturing the skin.
Jill screamed but was quickly silenced when a whack intended for her defenders crashed across her face. Dazed, she caught sight of the skull and crossbones tattoo on Crew Cut’s forearm.
Two police officers arrived just as Crew Cut slithered into the crowd. One cop took off after him; the other helped Jill to her feet.
“I’m Officer Ware of the U.S. Capitol Police.” He tipped his hat. “Your name please?”
“Jill Lewis.”
“Ms. Lewis, would you like to sit down? Do you need any medical attention?”
“No, uh, thank you,” Jill said as she looked over her bleeding knee.
A woman stuffed a wad of tissues into Jill’s hand. Jill thanked her and used the tissues to blot the blood that dribbled from her knee. Another lady emptied ice from a Coke cup into her husband’s handkerchief and gently pressed it onto Jill’s purpling face. A man opened a bottle of water and insisted she take a sip.
The other police officer returned, huffing and puffing. “I lost him.”
“Go talk to the other witnesses, I’ll finish up here,” Officer Ware ordered. He flipped his pad open. “Ms. Lewis, can you give me a description of the man who attacked you?”
“He was a large, bull-faced man. Dark eyes and skin, with a crew cut. His arm was muscular and hairy, dark hair. Oh, he had a large tattoo on the inside of his right forearm.”
“What kind of tattoo?”
“A skull and crossbones.”
“Now, tell me what happened.”
The second officer stepped up in time to hear Jill’s account of the incident.
Afterward, Officer Ware looked to him for verification.
“Her statement matches most of the eyewitness accounts,” the other officer confirmed.
Jill raised an eyebrow. “Most?”
“A couple of people suggested that when you grabbed his arm, he thought you were attacking him.”
“But he was at least three times my size.”
“When somebody grabs you, for some it’s just a natural reflex to strike back.”
Jill stiffened. “You think it was self-defense?”
At this point, Officer Ware stopped writing. “Not necessarily. I’ll file a report. If you want to come down and look at some photos, here’s my card.”
Jill snatched the card. “Thanks a lot.”
Officer Ware flipped his notebook closed. “Thank you, Ms. Lewis. If anything comes of it, we’ll ”
A voice suddenly squawked over the radio dangling on his belt. “All officers in the vicinity of the Capitol, do you read? Over.”
Ware yanked his radio and replied, “Ten-four. Officers Ware and Bonner.”
A static voice garbled the information. “We have an 11-8, a possible 914 H on the sidewalk below the Capitol. All officers report at once. Over.”
The two officers gave Jill a parting nod and dashed down the steps.
Hobbling after them, Jill grabbed her cell phone and dialed her editor. Rubric’s voice boomed through the telephone line. “I’ve been waiting for you to call. What did Senator Brown say?”
“Quick, get a photographer over to Capitol Hill.” Translating the police codes, Jill told him, “A man just collapsed on the sidewalk with a possible heart attack.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know yet, but if he’s a senator, we’ve got our frontpage story.”
“And if he’s a tourist?”
“Bury him on the back page.”
“Then what do you suggest for a headline?”
Her attention distracted by the commotion below, she pushed through the wall of rubbernecks to the front and gasped. Sprawled out on the sidewalk was the victim. The man with the plaid umbrella.
“What is it, Jill? Answer me!” Rubric hollered.
“Somebody’s giving him CPR,” Jill said and inched closer for a better view of the victim.
“Who?”
“The senator . . . Senator Brown.”
2
In journalism there has always been a tension between getting it right and getting it first.
Ellen Goodman
Cameras flashed in Jill’s eyes as she searched the faces of the photojournalists behind the press line. She spotted a photographer from the Gazette and waved to him. He flashed her a thumbs-up and continued to snap shots of the ambulance bumping across the curb heading straight up the walk.
The scene erupted into chaos as people shouted and ran in every direction. Squad cars shot up, and cops popped out of them to shoo the encroaching crowd. Jill lingered on the sidelines, watchi