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Sunday, May 10, 2009


CROSSROADS REVISITED, Second novella in the series
Crossroads Revisited Coming from Phaze Publishing in June.

Blurb: Private Investigator, Frank McGuire tracks down another serial killer, but this time it's personal. Real personal. The maniac has killed five young college students and Rand Brennan is his next target. That pisses Frank off.


Unlocking the door to the townhouse, Rand walked in and glanced around the familiar setting. God, how he’d missed it. Missed Frank. He walked into the bedroom and rifled through the dresser drawers until he found what he searched for. He slipped the black hood over his face and peered into the mirror above the dresser. A perfect match to the black sweatshirt and matching jeans he’d donned before leaving his mother’s house.

Next, he walked to the nightstand and retrieved the Glock. Memories of performing the same routine from his childhood flooded him. How many times had he snuck into his parents’ room, pulled his father’s gun from the drawer and held it?

He checked it for ammo and breathed a sigh of relief it wasn’t loaded. Not certain how to eject the bullets, his plan would all be for naught if it had been. Frank didn’t have to know it wasn’t loaded. Maybe he’d forget he’d taken the bullets out.

Now all he had to do was hide in an inconspicuous location. He knew Frank’s routine well. He’d come home, drop his briefcase onto the kitchen counter, pour a shot of Jack Daniels and head for his bedroom to change.

Rand snuck into the closet and hunkered down. He couldn’t help but laugh at the perverse irony. Finally, he was ready to come out of the closet . . . in more ways than one.

Less than thirty minutes later, the front door opened. Rand held his breath. The door closed and he heard the briefcase meet the counter. The liquor cabinet door groaned and glasses clanked. Yep, Frank was after the Jack Daniels.

Footsteps echoed softly down the carpeting in the hallway. Soon, Frank would step into the bedroom, glass of whisky in hand and plop onto the bed to read the newspaper.

Dusk had settled over the land. Rand couldn’t have picked a better time of day for his little charade. He peered through the slats in the closet. Uh-huh, just as predicted. Frank almost flopped onto the bed after setting his drink on the nightstand, then picked up the newspaper and scanned the first page. By the time the closet door squeaked open, Frank was already reaching for the Glock in the nightstand.

“Too late,” Rand said.

Frank jerked his body around and put his hand to chest. “Rand? Jesus, why don’t you just order a lightning bolt to strike me dead?”

“Too quick of a death for a cold-hearted bastard like you.”

“Put the gun down, Rand. This isn’t funny.”

Rand smiled beneath the hood. He really looked scared shitless. “I’m calling the shots here, McGuire.”

“Rand, you’re pissing me off. Stop pointing that fucking gun at my chest.”

“Take everything off from the waist down.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”


“Why in hell would I take my pants off?

To draw out his anxiety over the loaded gun, Rand walked over to him at a foot-dragging pace. He grabbed a lock of his long hair. “Do I look like I have to explain things to you? I’m the one with the gun now in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re messing with fire. You don’t know the first thing about guns, and didn’t your father ever tell you not to point it anyone, loaded or not?”

“He did,” he said with an air of cockiness. “Apparently I didn’t heed his warnings. Now, you going to drop those jeans or do I have to rip them from your body?”

“What the―”

“I’m going to start counting, and for every second you hesitate, I’m going to give you a lash from my belt.”

“You’re not wearing a belt,” Frank said with a smile.

Rand looked down at his black jeans. “I’ll use yours, now fucking drop ’em. One . . . two . . . three . . . .”

“All right, you little bastard. How you going to get away from me when this sick little game is over? I’m ten times faster than you, and I don’t take kindly to anyone pointing a loaded gun at my body.”

“Do what I say so I don’t get nervous and blow your brains out. Four . . . five . . . .”

“Okay, okay.” Frank unzipped his jeans and slid them down his hips.

Rand licked his lips and the gun wobbled in his hands.

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