The Angel By The Tower: The Keeper Chronicles, #1

By Marla A. White

Gabriel wakes up naked and alone in the desert with only one clear memory–he must find Abby Campbell before it's too late. 

 

Normally it wouldn't be a challenge–he is her guardian angel after all.  Unfortunately, a dispute with his heavenly Boss has left him busted down to a mere mortal with no wings, no powers, and no idea of exactly what he's supposed to protect Abby from. 

 

Once he convinces Abby he's not completely bonkers, they work together to find the key to a mysterious tower and the ancient evil locked inside.  But the answers force Gabriel to choose between saving Abby and being exiled from Heaven forever. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marla White
• Release date: May 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201886929

Book preview

Chapter 1

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The loose, coarse gravel grating his cheek like sandpaper when he inhaled was Gabriel’s first clue something was wrong. The scorching sun cooking his back was his second. Somehow he’d ended up flat on his face in a desert. He opened his eyes, blinking away sandy grit to discover he was naked. Again. Of course. Bollocks. The last thing he remembered was raised voices: his own and his boss’s. A disagreement? Almost certainly since here he was, naked and alone with a mouthful of dirt. He spat it out, groaning as he rolled over on to his back, and saw a strange object waver into focus. What the—a wooly mammoth? He rubbed his eyes and realized it wasn’t just a mammoth but a ginormous five-story tall wooly mammoth. His body bolted into flight mode, limbs lurching in all directions to crab-crawl away until his fuzzy brain processed it wasn’t an actual mammoth but merely a statue of one. Why in the name of all that’s holy would anybody build a mammoth and put it... now there was a good question. Where was he?

The terrain for miles in any direction was a vast landscape of dirt and rock with sporadic dusty looking scrub bush dotting the landscape here and there. The hum of wheels speeding down blacktop and the occasional honking sounded close, but all he could see was desert and the bloody mammoth.

Gabriel staggered to his feet, teetering on shaky legs. He put his hand out to balance himself and touched the hard, glossy surface of the mammoth heated to the temperature of a sizzling hot frying pan by the sun. Snatching his hand away, he stumbled backwards, arms windmilling to regain his balance. Once more or less upright, he bent over with his hands on his thighs to take a few deep breaths until he felt steadier. What was he supposed to do now? Whether it was sunstroke or the way he had been unceremoniously dumped in the middle of nowhere, Gabriel’s memory was almost a complete blank.  He knew who he was, but where he was and why he was here was where everything got a bit fuzzy. The one thing he was certain about was he couldn’t stand here looking gobsmacked all day—the harsh sun was already turning his pale skin bright pink. Jigging around the sharp rocks that bit into his bare feet, he gingerly made his way down the hill. From this perspective he could see other statues depicting dinosaurs of all things along a path of low-growing plants of various tan, sage green and brown colors. He didn’t know what they were, but their crisp, clean scent contrasted sharply with how grubby he felt. At the bottom of the hill, there were two beige stucco buildings that blended in with the desert landscape and a small car park. He turned the next bend of the winding path and met a family with three small children coming up toward him.

Oooh, hallo, he beamed and gave them a friendly wave. The awkward drop of their jaws in horror sharply reminded him about his lack of clothes. His hands flew to conceal his tricky bits. Shocked, the parents covered their children’s eyes and herded them back toward one of the squat buildings, huffing with outrage the whole way. Right then, must be in America. Answered that question.

Moments later a tall, lean man so browned and wrinkled from the sun he appeared to be a human raisin came out of the building and headed toward Gabriel. He wore some kind of uniform and bushy grey sideburns to offset the lack of any hair peeking out from under his baseball cap. Sir, he said rather politely, considering the circumstances, I’m going to have to ask you to put your clothes back on.

It took Gabriel a moment to acclimate himself to the man’s sleepy drawl, just as it took the man a moment to get used to Gabriel’s Scottish brogue. Well, em, that will be rather difficult. You see, I, em, had an argument shall we say with my boss and He dropped me out here starkers.

Your boss? The man’s face crinkled in disbelief.

Yes, well, boss and Dad, all rolled into one. Anyway, He can be a bit of a control freak and when I disagreed with His methods, my guess is He decided to teach me a lesson. Gabriel added with a shrug, He’s quite the joker, that boss of mine. Happens from time to time.

The man fixed his gaze on Gabriel, who fidgeted as he tried to cover himself up. After what felt like hours of silent scrutiny, the man shook his head and handed Gabriel his lightweight jacket. Son of a gun, I thought I had it bad when my wife hides the remote to get me to ‘communicate more.’ Let’s see if I can find some clothes to fit you good enough to get you back to town.

And exactly what town would that be, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?

Used to Gabriel’s strangeness by now, the man didn’t even hesitate. You’re in Riverside, California, son. In a flash, a name burned bright in his brain and Gabriel knew what his purpose was.

Abby. He was here to save Abby.

Chapter 2

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On a normal day Abby Campbell loved showing off the Mission Inn, but today the longer the tour for a group of well-dressed, urbane women in sensible shoes dragged on, the more her head ached. She fidgeted in her navy blue gabardine uniform jacket, the unforgiving material causing a trickle of sweat to run down her back, even though the Inn’s central AC worked overtime to cancel the unexpected heat wave. She smoothed back a few stray mousy blonde hairs that had escaped her ponytail and continued on with the tour. And here, ladies, is our famous Spanish Plaza, she announced, gesturing for the group to enter the Inn’s uniquely beautiful, sun splashed center courtyard surrounded by graceful arches, red tile roof and three stories of bougainvillea draped balconies.

Yes, charming, the leader of the group sniffed without looking around, but are there enough places for the valets to plug-in hybrids?

Seriously? They’d arrived in the biggest gas-guzzling car she’d ever seen, so did it matter? Abby bit her tongue, forcing herself to remain a gracious host. The Inn has six charging stations, and if you need more, we’ll be happy to make arrangements.

The Mission Inn wasn’t one of those huge garish resorts with thousands of rooms, but that’s what made it so special in Abby’s heart. She was proud of its place on the National Historic Registry, even more so after the current owner paid for an elaborate renovation, restoring it to its original beauty. With its blend of architectural styles from Mission to Italian Renaissance, the Inn unfolded like a magical fairy castle and she loved every square inch of it, but today the pressure of waiting for the new boss to arrive on top of everything else was too much. Her left eye twitched in agitation as she showed the ladies through the tasteful dark wood lobby to the main doors.

Between us, Mrs. Lefitz breathed into her ear, there is talk of moving the meeting of the Riverside Gardening Club to the new Hyatt down the street, but the Inn is so quiet and dignified, don’t you think?

As Abby nodded her head in solemn agreement, the roar of a dozen Harley-Davidson motorcycles shattered the peaceful charm of Riverside’s Main Street. Her worst fears were realized when they pulled over in front of the entrance to the Inn.

Oh dear, Mrs. Lefitz gasped. I didn’t know you let those kinds of people stay here!

Trying not to roll her eyes at the idiotic statement, Abby scrambled to save the booking. Don’t give it a moment’s thought, she chirped with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. I’ll take care of this right away. The ladies’ disgruntled murmuring only got louder as a tall, scrawny figure with no shoes and ill-fitting jeans and t-shirt got out of the lead motorcycle’s sidecar. The driver dismounted as well and took off her helmet, revealing an older woman with vibrant purple streak running through her grey curls. All smiles, she fussed over her passenger as she helped him get the bulky helmet off his head, gave him a hug and they said their farewells.  The bikes roared back to life as the gang—a group of senior motorcycle enthusiasts—drove away.

The passenger ran his hand through his thick mop of brown hair, giving it gravity defying spikes before turning his attention to the Inn. A light stubble of beard and grave expression of concern marred his boyishly handsome face. It was even more alarming when his huge brown eyes locked onto Abby and concern turned to something akin to panic. He bolted up the steps toward her, bare feet slapping on stone. Instinctively she backed a step, but he closed the gap as his hands gripped her shoulders. Taller than her by at least six inches, he had to stoop a little to fix her with his piercing gaze, mere inches from her face. Abby? She gawped at him—how the hell did he know her name? He grew impatient at her silence, demanding even more loudly, Abigail Campbell? A small nod was the only response she could muster as a pit of dread opened up in her stomach. They were expecting the new General Manager to arrive today. Please God, don’t let this be him!  Are you all right? he asked. Again she nodded since it seemed like the safest thing to do to calm the nut job down until he shook her by the shoulders, those brown eyes growing even darker. Are you sure?

Although she would never admit it, the guy freaked Abby out a little. He was tall but lanky as hell so she would have no problem taking him down using the self-defense tips her friend, Ryan Moss had shown her, but that would risk besmirching the Inn’s reputation. Assaulting a guest or a new boss was no way to get a five star review on Trip Advisor. She smiled tightly, resisting the urge to tell him she had been just fine before he showed up. Then his long fingers dug into her shoulders. What the hell? She demanded as she wriggled out of his grip, earning a few gasps from the ladies of the Riverside Gardening Club behind her. Shit! She needed this booking too much to let this jerk screw it up.

To her surprise, her rude response seemed to appease the stranger as his slight frame relaxed into a slump. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his already upright hair once more, letting out something between a sigh and a groan of relief.  When he opened his eyes, he beamed at the group. Hello ladies, he greeted them cheerfully, straightening to his full height of well over six feet and tilting his head down to study them through impossibly long eyelashes. Don’t you all look grand today? There were audible gasps and murmurs of ‘oh my’ at his lilting Scottish accent. Suddenly their disapproving clucking ceased, and they giggled like schoolgirls back at him, caught up in the charm of this good-looking stranger.

All but Abby. The vaguely melancholy aura behind his beaming smile sent a trickle of dread up her spine. She hadn’t seen a picture of the new boss, all she knew was he was European. Which might mean Scottish? No way, this could not be him.  Hadn’t her staff been through enough already without this mercurial weirdo taking over? She forced the thought out of her mind and greeted the shoeless man with measured, professional cheerfulness. Good afternoon, sir, welcome to the Mission Inn. Do you have a reservation?

Several, I’m afraid, his smile faltered as he offered her his hand. Hello Abby. I’m Gabriel St. John, I believe you were expecting me? And with those few words, Abby’s world crumbled.

Chapter 3

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Wait, are you telling me our new boss came in riding bitch—or would that be side bitch? Ryan furrowed his brows momentarily and then shrugged it off. Whatever, that is awesome. He exclaimed, far too amused for Abby’s taste. Did he not realize what a disaster this was? The entire future of the Inn was in the hands of a... well, she didn’t know quite what, but he definitely wasn’t what the corporate office cracked him up to be. She hurried after Ryan as he dodged and wove his way through the Inn’s hectic main kitchen.

No, not awesome. The opposite of awesome. She had to raise her voice over the sound of pots and pans clanging, knives chopping, and orders being called out as the busy kitchen ramped up for the lunch rush. They raced up on their hogs or whatever you call them and came this close to driving away the Garden Club. I could have used your help with them, by the way. Evidently a little hunkiness goes a long way with the ladies.

Ryan stopped short, causing Abby to ram into his muscular build. Still in military shape down to his short sandy brown hair, even though he’d been home from his last deployment in Afghanistan for six months, he made even the bland hotel uniform blazer appear dashing. Wait, are you saying the new GM is hunky, or I am? He teased, his striking blue eyes twinkling. Ryan’s perpetual affability no matter what the situation was one of the reasons she loved him—platonically, of course—but today it made her want to wring his neck in frustration.  Before she acted on the impulse, he turned abruptly and went back to over-seeing the kitchen staff.

Sorry, I’m a little busy trying to keep Chef Paul-O Dean here from using eight pounds of butter in the weekly Weight Watchers luncheon. Ryan’s attention to every detail earned him a glare from the barrel-chested, bearded chef. It was also why he excelled as the catering manager. I’ll free up my calendar to be your lady bait the next time, but it sounds like the boss turned it around for you, so win-win, right?

There is just something not right about him. After that awful entrance, he laid down on the couch in the lobby to take a quick ‘kip’. He was 'positively knackered’ from his trip. Abby’s attempt to mimic Gabriel’s accent made Ryan grin. It was all I could do to get him upstairs—barefoot—to his room before he did anything else bizarre in public.

Why were you barefoot?

This time Ryan was close enough for Abby to take her frustration out with a quick punch to his arm, which made him smile more. Behind him, Abby saw the big chef take advantage of the distraction and surreptitiously reach for another stick of butter. Without turning to see him, Ryan barked, Put it down, Manny, and waited, back still turned, until he did. Focused once more on Abby, he studied her in thoughtful silence. Did you know ‘awful’ originally meant ‘awe-inspiring’ as in full of awe?

Abby glowered at him, frustration building, before she blurted out, I’m telling you our new boss is a nut job and you’re giving me word lessons?

With a casual shrug, Ryan went back to work. I’m just saying the word got misunderstood and suddenly, well hundreds of years later, came to mean something else. Give the guy a chance, Abs, maybe he’s having a terrible day too.

Abby watched in dismay as his broad shoulders disappeared through the kitchen maze back toward his office. The frustrating thing was he was right, dammit. She liked to think as a rule she tried not to be so judgy, but she’d been feeling the pressure ever since the sudden, mysterious death of the previous General Manager, Leonard Matthews, her boss and father figure, two weeks ago. From the lengthy list of international hotels on his resume, Gabriel St. John was exactly what the Inn needed. Shoot, maybe he was the kick in the pants she needed. Her entire life she’d dreamed of seeing the world beyond Riverside by working her way through Europe’s five-star hotels, and she’d been putting it off for far too long. Who knows, if she impressed him enough, she might get the recommendation she needed to get a job in Paris, London or even Rome. Just when Abby convinced herself this was all going to work out, her walkie-talkie crackled to life.

Abby, Rhonda, her right-hand person at the front desk semi-whispered over the radio, we’ve got a problem up here. We need you pronto. Normally unflappable, the tension in Rhonda’s voice drove Abby to jog back to the lobby, something her feet trapped in the horrible hotel issued heels would make her pay for later on.

Chapter 4

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A loud voice echoed off the dark wood floors and ceiling timbers, making Abby cringe as she hurried around the corner and saw a red-faced man leaning over the front desk, shouting at poor Rhonda. The line behind him grew longer, earning him glares from other guests who sighed loudly and checked their watches, grumbling about the DMV moving faster. Off to the side, a teenage boy hunched up his shoulders like he wished a hole would open up and swallow him. If she had to guess, Abby would say he was the man’s son.  The timorous woman next to him, presumably his wife, placed her hand on his arm to calm him down, but he shook it off.

"I don’t care if you have to call God himself. My wife Margie got this letter saying we won a three-night stay here and we’re staying here, end of story. You messed up, you fix it!.

Abby paused for half a second and thought about calling the new general manager to let him handle it. It was his job now to endure the ranting of angry guests, not hers. However, nothing in her DNA let Abby throw poor Rhonda under the bus, so she pulled back her shoulders, pasted on her best dazzling smile and entered the fray.

Excuse me sir, I’m Abby Campbell, the Assistant Manager. Is there something I can help you with?

Your employee is the one who needs help pulling her head out of her ass. We have a three-night stay coming to us. We drove all the way from LA, so someone better find it or so help me, I’ll—

Abby did her best not to sigh. Los Angeles is a little over an hour up the road, so it’s not like they travelled far. Still, as her late boss and mentor, Mr. Matthews, drilled into his employees, the customer is always right. Unfortunately, it didn’t mean they weren’t also pompous assholes.

Rhonda, why don’t you check the next guest in and I’ll help Mr....?

Baker, Joe Baker. My wife, Marge got this letter, he whipped a piece of paper around in front of Abby’s face as Rhonda made a grateful and hasty retreat to the other end of the long polished mahogany front desk. "And I’m not moving one foot until you people honor this cockamamie prize she thinks she won.

Dad, the son whined. His mother glanced around apologetically at the other hotel guests being held up by the scene. Abby felt sorry the family was stuck with this jerk.

I’m happy to take care of you, Mr. Baker, Abby replied in a tone so cool it wouldn’t melt butter, nodding with deference she didn’t feel. The man victoriously slapped the paper down on the front desk. A quick perusal verified the letter was in fact written on Mission Inn letterhead. The blood drained from her face, leaving her slightly light-headed, when she read it all the way through. The letter promised them not just any room, but the extravagant Alhambra Suite for this weekend, complete with a confirmation number and everything. It had to be a forgery. She would have known if there had ever been such a prize authorized by the hotel.

A quick check of the computer showed the suite had been reserved for Mrs. Baker at no charge. The reservation number matched the code on the letter, but this couldn’t be right. There was a six-month waiting list to book the lush suite on the top floor of the hotel; the Inn would never give it away. What were they going to do when the paying guest who really booked it showed up? Abby could easily imagine the review blasting them mercilessly for the screw up, a black mark no hotel needs. She continued to stare at the computer, a forced smile plastered on her face while she tapped some keys and bought herself time to think.

What have we here, Abby? Mr. St. John’s unmistakable Scottish lilt came up beside her. Abby hesitated to peer over, afraid her new boss would still be a barefoot mess, but a quick glimpse calmed her fears. Clean-shaven, his gravity defying hair swooping up in a jaunty style, he wore a bespoke suit that looked like it had just come from Savile Row and—thank God—polished shoes. She had to give him credit; at the moment Mr. Gabriel St. John gave the appearance of being the fancy European hotelier his resume described.  In fact, he was handsome enough to be a freaking movie star and smelled even better, with the slightest hint of an earthy aftershave.  It would be understandable to attribute the ringing of the Mission Inn bells to his appearance, except they rang every fifteen minutes with or without him.

Bells ringing? Seriously? She turned her head to hide her half smile from the irritated Mr. Baker. If Ryan found out she’d lost her mind, even for a moment, over an attractive man in a suit she’d never hear the end of it. Besides, no matter how good-looking he was, his intrusion annoyed Abby—she could handle this herself.

Chapter 5

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Gabriel had woken up from a deep sleep in his luxurious room with a clearer idea of his mission. Bits and pieces of information came back to him about Abby and something about this job at the Inn. There were still a lot of gaps, however, along with the overall vague sense he’d been in this situation before. He knew deep down he couldn’t count on getting more of his memory back any time soon, but something about the Mission Inn had to be the key to the puzzle. He sensed he’d wanted to be here for Abby, wanted to help her with something, though with what exactly remained a mystery. That was until Joe Baker raised his voice at her. Then his imperative was clear; protect her at all costs.

Baker’s face got a deeper shade of red as he sucked in a huge gulp of air, prepping himself for another shouting match, but there was no need. Coming around to the guest’s side of the front desk, Gabriel shook his hand vigorously. Ah, Mr. Baker, good to see you and your delightful family. Welcome to the Mission Inn, I’m Gabriel St. John, so glad you could make it. Gabriel ignored the way Abby’s jaw dropped and continued on with his arm draped over Baker as if they were lifelong mates. He handed him a key card with a smile. We’ll get one of our luggage coordinators—nobody calls them bell hops anymore, he winked at Mr. Baker like a co-conspirator. Too mean spirited, don’t you think? As if they need to hop at the sound of a bell like some kind of Pavlovian dog! They’ll take your bags, just be sure to tip them well when you get to your room, ta! Mr. Baker had almost no choice but to nod in agreement as Gabriel waved a uniformed man over for the task.

Gabriel’s heart went out to the man’s poor, harried wife. Her smile lit up her face all the way to her eyes, but years with Mr. Baker made it seem like a 40-watt bulb where a 60 should have been. Gabriel took her hand and kissed it; she rewarded him with a blush rising to her cheeks. He extended his hand to the son to shake, but the boy rolled his eyes and walked away. The mother admonished him on the way to the elevator, and Gabriel vowed to himself to keep trying.

He turned to Abby with a broad grin. Well now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Who knew I’d be so good at this?

Mindful of the attention they were attracting from employees and guests alike, Abby led/pushed Gabriel to a far corner of the lobby. His sense of satisfaction faded when she lowered her voice and sounded for all the world like she was scolding him. Look, Mr. St. John—

Please, call me Gabriel.

The way she closed her eyes and took a deep breath told him that wasn’t going to happen. Sir, forgive me for saying so, but you’re new here. She had no idea how bloody right she was—and yet wrong at the same time. Here at the Mission Inn we follow strict traditions, she continued, for instance, I call my best friend ‘Mr. Moss’ instead of Ryan when guests are around. It’s just the way it’s done. And we never give away our most expensive suites to—

Aw, c’mon now, sometimes traditions are just outdated habits, don’t you think? Come on, say it. Call me Gabriel. He filled the lengthy pause as he waited expectantly by giving his best charming smile, but she gaped at him in disbelief. Come onnn, he teased, don’t make me order you to do it.

She gave him a forced smile, but at least he’d made some headway. Perhaps too much. The next thing he knew, the damn broke and her words came tumbling out like a waterfall. Okay, fine, Gabriel, you can’t barge in here looking like a million bucks in a new suit and your flippy hair and—

I did clean up rather well, didn’t I? He twisted and turned, catching his reflection in a window. Feel the material, he offered.

I am not going to—listen to me, people wait months to book the Alhambra. You can’t give it away for free in some ridiculous contest. The least you could do is give us a heads up if you’re going to give rooms away!

It wasn’t me, he said in wide-eyed innocence. I just got here and the date on the letter is from weeks ago.

He saw her clench her jaw and recognized from having done the same thing himself the inner battle she waged to resist the urge to say something she’d regret. In fact, he suspected losing a similar fight with his own big fat mouth was how he landed bare naked in the desert to begin with, so he sympathized with her plight. After a few stuttered starts, she demanded, Then how do you know it wasn’t a scam? And what are we going to tell the guests who paid for the room when they show up? Not to mention what do we do if more of those letters—

He held up both hands in surrender. I didn’t do it, but I’m sure my boss did. Our boss, that is. I don’t know if you’ve met Him, but it’s absolutely like Him to throw in a surprise or two. Please, trust me when I say we’re in this together, you and I, Abby. He threw his arm around her shoulders and gave her a brief squeeze. You have the con or whatever they call it in hotels. I’m going to take a walk.

* * * * *

Eager to get away from the distractions of the hotel to sit and contemplate his situation, Gabriel walked out into the narrow lavender and eucalyptus scented alleyway by the famous spa and set out on Main Street. In days gone by it must have been a bustling thoroughfare, but someone along the way had blocked off street traffic, turning it into a pedestrian mall featuring boutique shops, restaurants, and a small city park. Children ran through a fountain, shrieking in delight as jets of water shot up through the pavement and got them wet.  It also had a fair number of homeless or troubled people, reminding Gabriel God does indeed work in mysterious ways. With a sigh, he sank down onto a bench under the shade of an orange tree, elbows on his knees, overcome with fatigue as he propped his chin up with his hands. He couldn’t shake the foreboding that something extraordinary was about to happen that would put Abby in danger, but try as he might to remember what, it remained tantalizingly just out of reach.

Hey sailor, share your bench with a lady? Startled, Gabriel looked up. A stunning blonde woman in a form fitted dress accentuating her curves stood in front of him. She didn’t wait for an invitation before sitting down next to him and nudged him with her hip. Despite his bleak mood, Gabriel couldn’t help but smile.

Evelyn Stonebridge, I’d like to say it’s a surprise to see you, but somehow I knew you’d find me. Come to gloat?

Gloat? About what? I see you’re sticking with the Scotsman, she ran her fingertips down his lapel. At least this time when He kicked you out, He gave you a wardrobe befitting someone of your stature. I like it.

Not at first.

Oh no, not naked again? She replied with a soft tsk-tsk. The pouty lower lip might have sold the idea she honestly felt bad for him, except for the laughter in her smoky grey eyes. What did you do this time? Demand all dogs really do go to Heaven?

Gabriel’s head sank back into his hands for a moment before he raised his eyes to meet hers. Evie, this time it’s serious.

The way she rolled her eyes said Evelyn had heard this before. Not the old argument about free will again? Gabriel, when are you going to learn to let it go?

He leapt to his feet with manic energy and paced back and forth in front of her. No, this time it’s big, like epic scale big!

Okay, I get it, I believe you, Evie assured him, startled by his frantic outburst. It’s not like you to cry wolf, so what’s going on? Another flood? Locusts—again? You know, for the Supreme Being, He could use a little more imagination—

Evie! Gabriel hissed, taking a moment to check around and make sure there were no humans nearby. After a few false starts, he confessed, That’s kind of the problem. No wings, no memory. Well, some memory, but it comes in fits and spurts. Does the term ‘Judgment of God’ mean anything to you? Ever since she sat down, the words began tumbling around in his head, but he couldn’t be sure if it was because she was a demon or if it had to do with the present situation.

She kicked an errant pebble and scoffed. Nothing good has ever gone by that name. What do you think it is?

I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t shake the notion it’s bad and it will happen soon unless I can stop it.

If he’d been hoping for some measure of comfort from her, he should have known better. He saw the wheels turning behind her mesmerizing eyes. "Wait, isn’t this where your latest