In this scene Nicholas has let Zelda’s down and she knows that he’s a professional illusionist, it’s the show that matters not the people around him, but he proves there is more to him than the showman. *** Nicholas stood in Zelda’s kitchen, wondering what the hell he was doing. He’d come out here not because of the kid… Well, maybe a little bit, because Stetson reminded him of himself in some ways. But also for her. Her house felt homey, comfortable—the kind of place he imagined normal families lived. He’d grown up in a brick and stone 12 bedroom mansion with a kitchen that had been meant for a large staff of workers, and he and his grandfather had always eaten in the master suite to be near his grandmother. He’d grown up believing that his parents had died when he was a baby. His grandparents had raised him in their big mansion, treating him like he was a special gift in their lives. It had only been after they’d died that he’d realized everything he’d known had been an illusion. He’d been an adopted baby they’d used to replace the son they’d lost as an adult. He shook…

from Chapter 5 of Freaky in Fresno: I crank the gearshift into park as the dust settles, and Lana and I simultaneously turn in our seats to face each other. Our eyes lock and the two of us embark on the most intense stare down of our lives. “Terrific car,” Jake says, reminding me he’s here. I just nod slowly in response without breaking eye contact with Lana. We stay focused on our no-blinking stare for so long that I can feel the lipstick on my cheek begin to melt and run liquid down my face. Eventually Jake mumbles some excuse about checking on Gwen and Brad and says, “A dark screen tomorrow night will mean everything we’ve worked for has been in vain.” I nod again, feeling like I’m already throwing everything away. But my deep anger toward Lana keeps me glued in place. Locked into our stare. Once Jake’s gone, I swear I hear a low growl emitting from my cousin’s throat. But I’m still the one in the driver’s seat. Cherishing the control I wield, I narrow my eyes at Lana and dance my fingers mockingly across the top of the steering wheel. I’m surprised to find…

Jimmy led Prince back into his stall for supper and smiled when he saw Joey slip into the barn to follow along as he did the evening chores. It was becoming a habit, this shadowing by the boy, and Jimmy loved it. They had a little game they played together. Jimmy called it “Did you know?” Joey always started it off. “Did you know horse’s teeth never stop growing?” “Like a beaver?” “Yup. Did you know that horses have the biggest eyes of any animal?” “Hmm,” Jimmy said. “They do seem bigger than a whale’s eyes, I’ll grant you that.” When Joey had run out of the day’s newest horse facts, it was Jimmy’s turn. “Did you know that a horse’s whiskers are sensitive?” Joey peered at him. “Are yours?” Jimmy rubbed his chin, feeling the roughness of a five o’clock shadow. “Nope. But for a horse, those whiskers detect what eyes can’t see.” Joey rubbed his chin too. “Here’s another one for you. Did you know that a horse’s lips are loaded with nerve endings?” The boy wiggled his lips, pondering that fact. “Last one for the day. Did you know that a horse’s hooves are shock absorbers?” Joey…

Amara scanned the long list of agencies who participated in the crash investigation. It’d be easier to name who wasn’t involved. The National Transportation Safety Board had coordinated the inquiry, but the FBI and virtually every state and local resource had been active as well. With fewer than ten thousand people in Cotulla’s county, their limited resources meant they needed all the help they could get. Because the bus driver was a veteran, even the Department of Defense had stepped into the fray. When everybody’d had their say, the crash boiled down to one finding: suicide-murder. No charges were filed since the lone culprit was already dead. The Feds promised to do more for PTSD victims. The railroad put up crossing gates at every intersection in the county. The elementary school students planted seventeen trees in memory of their friends. The community grieved. And the Reyeses still mourned. All the families probably did. Amara dragged her finger across the screen and leaned closer. Who’d done the body IDs? She jerked when Sergeant Norwood popped his bubble gum. “Whatcha working today, Alvarez?” “Paperwork on the Leon Valley burglaries mostly.” She shrunk her internet window and grabbed a pen. “Then I’ve got…

“I may look like a monster, but I’m not going to hurt you.” Her reluctance offended him more than he cared to admit. His reputation painted him in a grim light–and for good reason–and he knew that side of his face was hideous, deformed, but he’d just risked his life for her, saved her. . . and with them alone in his room like this, the thought of when he’d kissed her inside that godforsaken closet haunted him. He’d kissed her so thoroughly that the feel of her against him was forever seared into him. And then he’d told her it meant nothing to him. What a load of horseshit. “It’s not that. I was afraid I’ll hurt you.” She reached for him again. This time, she didn’t shy away. With gentle movements, she cupped his cheek and used a handkerchief to wipe away the fresh blood. Her touch was gentle, tender. Some of the nerve endings on that side were damaged, making it less sensitive, yet he was aware of her every movement. Rogue could count the number of times someone had touched him there on less than one hand. The stroking movements of her palm and handkerchief as…

Suzanne was fed up. Ready to throw in the towel and give up on the Neanderthal on her couch. The only prob­lem with that plan? It didn’t get him off her couch or out of her cottage, or get her out of the position of car­ing for him. So giving up was not an option—not be­cause she was determined or noble but simply because she was stuck. So as the early darkness of winter fell over Summer Island, she did two things. First, she texted Dahlia, irate. Look, I don’t know where you are or why you’re not answering Zack, but he’s had a major mental setback. I accept that you’re not here, physically—but I need you to be present with him, Dahlia. He’s officially despondent now, and I’m not sure what to do. Please call him as soon as you see this. Second, she made a delicious dinner. Remembering that Dahlia had once mentioned Zack loved her meat­balls, Suzanne got out the recipe, which Dahlia had given her along with others, and started squishing ground beef into a mixture of bread crumbs, minced onion, Parme­san cheese, an egg, and some spices. She took her time, since he clearly needed…

Asher paced from one end of Heather’s living area to the other as he debated the events of this endless day. First Sharon’s death, then Mario Ricci had tried to kill him and Brooke. His friend from the hospital had called him ten minutes ago to let him know that Ricci’s prognosis had taken a nosedive. He was now in a medically induced coma, so getting answers wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Which meant he and Brooke needed to find someone who knew what he was up to and why he’d been searching Brooke’s home. They needed to link him to . . . something recent. Someone current. They needed to know where he was living and who he was living with and if he was working with anyone. His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket. Newell was finally calling him back. “Captain, thanks for returning my call.” “James, it’s been a good while. How are you doing?” “I’m hanging in there.” “Tough to transition back, isn’t it?” “Yes, sir.” “You’re always welcome to come back. It’s not the same without you and Black.” Asher shut his eyes. “Thank you, sir, I’ll keep that in mind.” Talking to…

The cloudless August day dawned with a sky so blue, the air so crisp, it bespoke the change of seasons. Tessa rose before first light, swinging the kettle on its crane over the ashes she’d banked carefully the night before. Breakfast was a blur of bowls and mugs and terse words as her brothers hurried to their tasks at field and ferry. Ma was never so missed as at peep of day. But she’d made peace with Ma’s going just as her brothers would make peace with her going in time. Six days had passed since she’d seen Clay. Would he ride in on the Sabbath like last week? Or would some fort matter keep him rooted? She filled a wash bucket with lye, scrubbed her brothers’ shirts clean, and set out her own Sabbath best. Draping the laundry across a near fence, she pondered what needed doing next. Taking the whetstone she’d gotten from the creek bed, she began sharpening knives, the sound rasping her nerves. Next she gathered the last of the greens from the garden, braiding the onions to hang from the rafters. For supper she’d make fried mush with maple sugar that Zadock had expressed a…

Charlie heard the noise of a vehicle approaching. A Dodge Durango, red. Oh, no. That wasn’t–surely not– Jake Braddock. Nooooooooo! Not again. Not here. Not now. Charlie realized the picture she must make at the moment: butt in the air, bootless, muddy socks, scraggly hair, filthy blackened hands and beet-red face because her head was hanging upside down. The Durango had pulled forward and stopped. A figure that looked an awful lot like Jake Braddock got out of it and shut the door. Tall, dark tousled hair, broad shoulders. T-shirt under a flannel shirt rolled to the elbows. Arms so cut with muscle that they were even defined under the plaid. Charlie straightened, turned at the waist and with effort, unstuck one foot and set it down in front of her. Then with determination, with what she thought of as sheer brio, she unstuck the other one, slid on the first, lost her balance and pitched forward onto her face. Mortification had never smelled so much like weeds, wet earth and—ugh–deer dung. This-is-not-happening-this-is-not-happening-this-is-not-happening! She sang to herself. Nope-not-never-not-not-not-nope! I am dignity itself, shimmering in the wind, the very spirit of grace. This is so not happening. I am visualizing this…

Melissa was just getting out of the shower when her phone rang. She wrapped herself up in a bath towel and ran to answer. “Hello.” “Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed spending time with you today and to wish you a good night.” Melissa was grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you. I loved spending time with you, too. Did you find any new leads?” “No.” “I’m sorry,” Melissa said. “Just remember I’ll help you tomorrow if you want.” “Rest well, and I’ll check on you in the morning, if it’s okay with you.” Melissa laughed, and the sound rolled through him like silk against his skin. “Of course it’s okay,” she said. “Call anytime.” And then the connection ended, and Sully put his phone on the charger, got in bed, and turned out the lights. He pulled up the covers, and within minutes he was asleep. — The sound of a siren woke Sully up the next morning, and he was out of bed, his heart pounding with adrenaline, before he remembered he wasn’t at the station anymore. But hearing a siren before daylight had him wondering what was going on in…