FireBomb (A Hawk and Sara Clemens Mystery)

By L.R STARR

How does a P.I. and a rogue assassin named Hawk start working together?

Let's just say... it involves things blowing up, an off-the-wall ex bomb specialist, and fifty five dead already.
The cause; a blonde beauty editor from Manhattan.

Can a green private investigator solve the case in time before the next bomb hits New York City?

It's time to find out.

A suspenseful, short story of the beginnings of a beautiful friendship formed.

Two kick-ass characters from >> CheckMate Book 1 (A Sara Clemens Mystery)

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.R STARR
• Release date: May 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393044482

Book preview

Firebomb

Firebomb

L. R. STARR

Copyright © 2020 by L. R. STARR

First Edition 2020

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or by electronic process other than for ‘fair use’ as defined by law, without the prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Contents

1. Sara

2. Hawk

3. Sara

4. Hawk

Ted

5. Sara

6. Hawk

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by L. R. STARR

1

Sara

H elp! He’s trying to kill me! Help! Please. Open up. I bolted upright in my chair. I’d just finished eating my beloved Cheerios. Two loud thumps on the front door alerted me to a situation. My doorknob clicked and turned several times. My muscles bunched up, tension mounting. The banging became more fervent. What the hell? My door looked as if it might bust off its hinges. Feet were stomping on the ground from the other side. I stared at the tiled floor, noticing the vibration.

"Please, open the door. Please." A whimpering plea. A woman’s voice rang out on the other side.

Should I open it?

God knows I’d been investigating some nutballs since I started this job.

Ah, the life of a P.I. I braved it nonetheless. A red faced blonde stumbled right through my door. Her lack of stable footing made her fall at my feet as a result. Now, that’s a first. Not exactly the right gender bowing at my feet, but hey sometimes God is funny.

Discombobulated, the dismantled blonde gathered herself and rose. She pushed her messy hair back from her pale, distraught face. I had no choice but to let her come in. She’d practically thrown herself on my tiled New Jersey floor anyway. I gave her the-bat-shit-crazy look. From the eyes darting around my apartment I see she missed that part.

I guess you’re coming in… I mumbled.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. I’m sorry. I heard you’re the best around. Pretty features, in spite of the puffy red-rimmed eyes. A little nose, crystal blue eyes, and smooth pale skin. Plus, I don’t have that much money. A clear indication to increase my prices. She’d seen the sign on the door, maybe. Probably should have considered a little office space, rather than inviting crazies right to my doorstep.

Excuse the mess. Take a seat. I gestured to a nearby chair. My kitchen was well, let’s say quaint. The tiles needed to go. Kinda 1970ish. They were growing on me though. Or maybe my acceptance of procrastination was growing in