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March 2006
MIRA Books | Mass Market Paperback
March 2006 | ISBN 0-7783-2277-7
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MIRA Books | Hardcover Original
March 2005 | ISBN 0-7783-2159-2
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EXCERPT...
KILLING KELLY
Prologue
What was it about the night and the little places where
secrets lurked that caused unease to stir in the human heart? It was
the unknown, of course. Primeval fear. Something deep within the human
instinct that all the civilization in the world could not change.
Dr. Dana Sumter knew all about the psyche and the innate
responses to stimuli. Yet she didn’t like it one bit that it
was still dark when she returned, sliding her sleek Mercedes into
the driveway. She started to hit the garage door opener, then remembered
that she couldn’t park in the garage; she was refurbishing the
house and the garage was filled with old furniture that would be picked
up by a charity organization.
With a sigh, she simply parked. The engine now off,
she was suddenly aware of more than the darkness. She heard the sounds
of the day dawning. From somewhere far away, the shrill whine of an
emergency vehicle’s siren mingled with the distant, deep bark
of a large dog. There was a clattering and a screeching as alley cats
fought somewhere. Then…just whispers in the shadows as the wind
picked up slightly, then died down again. The sound was slightly ominous,
like a deep, menacing breath…right down her spine.
Dana was irritated to be out at that time of the morning,
irritated that she’d agreed to do the crack-of-dawn news show.
Why had she? Oh, yes, her ratings had slipped because she’d
down rather hard against a womanizing drunkard. The switchboard at
her daily syndicated show had gone off the light beam after that.
But still, there had been complaints. A lot of people—men, mainly—calling
in to say that she should be shot, or various other colorful phrases,
all in the same vein.
She pulled down the visor and studied her features.
Good. Maybe her face was a little narrow, a little hard, but basically,
for her age, she was sleek, professional, attractive. She lived carefully,
didn’t smoke, seldom drank and exercised regularly. She gave
a little sniff. She’d gotten a lot of flack the time she’d
given the overweight housewife the advice to do something about herself.
She knew that people had expected her to say that the husband was
a louse for ignoring his wife. But on that occasion she’d gone
the other way, telling the woman to buy The South Beach Diet,
or do Atkins, or get thee to a gym! The phones had rung off the hooks
with people calling in, raging that women were worthy of love, no
matter what their size. She’d done one of her best shows ever
after that, saying that being worthy of love didn’t make it
happen, that both men and women were responsible to keep themselves
up.
However, despite the fact that she had definitely improved
herself to an even greater degree, she’d still caught Harvey
red-handed with a young thing half his age. But at least she’d
had the self-respect to follow her own advice! Yes, she’d been
swift and brutal. The best lawyers in town had helped her keep what
was hers intact. He’d made his pixie mistress into a trophy
wife—until the trophy wife discovered that, without Dana, good
old Harvey didn’t have any money. And suddenly there was Harvey,
out in the cold with his dick in his hand.
When asked about her divorce, Dana was cool and calculated,
saying that in any marriage there would come a time when both parties
simply fell out of love. She forced herself to talk about her ex-husband
with affection, as if they were still friends. She had survived the
dissolution of her own marriage before the public eye with great esteem,
maintaining that, despite the fact that their children were long grown,
it was important to be friends for their sakes.
Friends, my ass! She never should have married. Men
were all disloyal egoists who used women. She had simply learned to
use them back. Even the one fiasco she had endured years ago in weakness
was something she had turned to her advantage. And over and over again,
at that!
Done with introspection, she opened her car door, ready
to head into her house. Yet she was surprised to still feel a faint
sense of unease as she sat in the car. She lived in a gorgeous house
on a well-lit main street in a very fashionable district of Westchester,
New York. And even when it was midnight, or the wee hours of the morning,
cars went by constantly. She’d never felt in the least bit of
danger, no matter what time she returned to or left her house. But
now…
She looked into the rearview mirror, then stepped on
the brake, but she saw nothing in the blood-red light created by her
action. Still, she waited.
Finally, feeling silly, she got out of the car and walked
to her front door. But she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder.
Then she chided herself. It was ridiculous for a grown woman to be
afraid of shadows and the sound of leaves rustling in the summer breeze.
At the front door, she paused and looked around again.
This was odd, so odd. She felt the hairs of her nape standing on end.
But there was nothing, no one.
Telling herself to stop being an idiot, she slipped
her key into the lock and stepped in. There. Nothing. No one rushed
her. She keyed in her number on the alarm pad as she started to close
and lock the door. But the door wouldn’t close. She frowned,
pressing at it. And that was when it burst back in upon her.
For a moment, she just stared, stunned, trying to fathom
just what…who… Then she opened her mouth to scream as
she launched for the alarm pad.
But it was too late.
Several thoughts went through her mind. It wasn’t
ridiculous to be wary of shadows, of darkness, of little whispers
of danger. She shouldn’t have been so mistrusting as to refuse
to keep a live-in housekeeper. She should have been more careful about
things she said…and did! She should have…
From somewhere far away she could hear her dog, Muffy,
barking. Then, with a sudden squeaking sound, the barking was cut
off—just as every other noise and sensation faded away.
© 2005 Heather Graham Pozzessere
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