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CHAPTER FOUR They lay on top of the white duvet on his queen size bed under a skylight he had installed himself. The noon sun drilled through at an angle, casting an oblong rectangle of bright yellow on the white wall. It had tracked along the wall as they finished the shower and started time number two in the bed. Number three finished him for the day for good, he thought as he collapsed into a quivering heap next to her, one hand draped across her flat stomach tracing indentations in the smooth expanse of skin. She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back one hand and rubbed the small of his back with the other. “Just like I remembered,” she said. “That could go either way,” Jake said. Gretchen rolled over to one side and cocked her head on her hand. “I think you know which way it went.” “You told me,” he nodded and switched to writing circles on her hip with the tip of his finger. “You were a little different.” “I’m a different man...

CHAPTER THREE Jake almost fell when the door opened and Gretchen stepped around the end of the shower. He was sure his mouth dropped because she wore the gold necklace he got her as a gift and nothing else. “Got room for me?” she asked. It was a rhetorical question because Jake wasn’t stupid, and neither was she. He had installed the shower himself. It was the width of the room, partitioned by a single pane of glass with an entry on either side that led to four shower heads. There was a giant picture window on the exterior wall, double paned for energy and tinted so anyone standing in the shower could see the width of what once was his empire and now belonged to a developer he no longer called friend. “Save me some hot water,” Gretchen scooted around the end of the glass partition and turned on a second spray of steamy water. He still thought of it as her end, he mused as his eyes travelled over the rest of her. Same Gretchen, same lines, sam...

CHAPTER ONE The phone trilled on the nightstand.  3:00 A.M. Brill rolled over and scooped it up without seeing who it was.  There was only two people who had this number and only one who called him this early in the morning. "I thought you would be running," said Carver. His deep melodious voice sounded like it belonged on a radio or television announcer, his South African accent muted but clipped after many years in his adopted country. "Another hour," Brill answered. He had planned to do heat training today, eighteen to twenty four miles that put him under the noon sun at the hardest part of the run when the willpower was sapped and the sweat stopped running.  This was the way he tested his body over and over again, working on that part of the mind that begged him to stop, begged him to quit and sharpened the senses of his bulletproof will. Carver knew he wasn't an early morning runner, so it was a constant joke between them.  Brill ...

“Will you sign this for me?” My shields went up. “Are you a cop?” I joked. Mostly joked. I added a smile to make sure she knew it was a joke. She took a step back. Sometimes I forget my smile and snarl look almost alike. “I saw you on tv,” she said and held out a book. One of mine. “I got it on Amazon,” she explained. “I wanted your autograph.” My autograph?!? I barely kept from looking around to see if she was talking to someone more famous behind me. I saw this happen before. Not to me, of course. A lifetime ago, when I worked in LA, I hung out with Mark Wahlberg’s crew for a bit, which meant lunch with the artist formerly known as Markie Mark a couple of times. Women would ask for his autograph all the time. That made sense. He was famous. Not as much as he is now, but back then, he had a couple of movies under his belt and a hit or two. Plus they saw his Calvin’s. I didn’t even have Calvin’s.  ...

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