I went to school and learned a lesson. We often hope that our children learn from these lessons, but sometimes the lesson learned was not the one intended.
This could be called a useful piece of practical wisdom, and for me that was, don’t get into fights at the back of the schoolyard.
The former lesson can be, on one hand, a section of school work, from a larger continuous topic, or, part of a book, which can be an exercise.
Then there’s the study of the past and the hope that we can learn from the lessons of the past.
Sadly, in a lot of cases, we don’t and are therefore doomed to repeat the past, only with far more devastating consequences.
A lesson can also be a passage from the bible.
Or is it lessen, where we reduce the costs which means lessen means reduce, to make less.
I could lessen the load if I gave someone else some of the work.
Or if I stopped eating candy, I could lessen the chances of clotting arteries.
The expectation I once had a long time ago, and I suspect I’m not alone, has always been that if it ever became possible, Friday afternoons off were sacrosanct.
In a lifetime of working for others, Friday afternoons were the same as all the rest. Finish at 5 or 6 and either go to the pub with workmates or go home.
Every now and then you’d take a sick day, but it’s a bit obvious to everyone that you’re just looking to have a long weekend. Just hope your boss is not heading away at the same time and you awkwardly meet at the airport.
Yes, it does happen.
Of course, for those who seek to transition from worker to being master of your own destiny, ie become self-employed and are lucky enough to do so, you tell yourself you can make your own hours, work when you feel like it, and Fridays, well, they’re out of bounds.
Until reality sets in.
You still have Bill’s to pay, and work never presents itself quite at the times that you want, and any form of working more hospitable hours goes out the window. That desire to improve family life?
For some, it has happened for some, but for the rest of us, well, the best of intentions always seem to go astray.
Now you don’t have a steady paycheck, you quickly realize that work does not necessarily turn up on your doorstep when you want it to, but when it’s available, and what starts out the be sure and steady, soon becomes steady without the surety then patchy because demand is market tuned.
A downturn in the market and suddenly your good intentions and desire for more money and a better life are out the window, and suddenly you’re working 7 days a week trying to make ends meet.
I’m sure there are more salient factors involved in making the decision to become a contractor rather than a ‘wage slave’, but it seems these days working on a Friday afternoon might not be so bad, rather than having nothing to do at all.
What am I doing this Friday afternoon?
Picking up the grandchildren from school. You see, to get Friday afternoons off I had to wait till I retired. But one thing I can tell you with a great deal of certainty, I will not be taking up golf anytime soon. I have better things to do with my Friday afternoons.
For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.
Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.
And, so, it continues…
It was clear, however, that Marina was familiar with the man and very annoyed with the woman.
When I took a longer look at the man, I realised he was not a man at all, but a boy in his teens, blessed by the fact he looked older than he was. My guess, about 16. I was surprised he had not been conscripted into the war, there seemed very few young men in the area.
Marina went straight over to him and snatched the elderly rifle he was holding away from him, the glared at Chiara
“Are you stark staring mad. Enrico is not supposed to be out in the open, hell, it’s been a battle to keep him hidden away. What will his parents think when they discover he’s here?”
“Pleased,” Enrico said. “My father said it’s about time I did something to rid of the Germans, of the English too for that matter. None of you has any right to be here.”
Fervently spoken, and to the wrong person, it would earn him a bullet to the back of the head. But I agreed with him.
“All well and good,” Marina said to him, “but now there’s no easy way of doing that. We must be careful, and you must stay put with your parents. What we’re doing isn’t a game, you are neither trained or equipped to take anyone on, except perhaps rabbits.”
Back at Chiara. “Take him home, and never bring him back here. You don’t want to be the one who has to tell his mother if he gets killed. Now, both of you go now, before I shoot both of you myself.”
“This is not the end of the matter,” Enrico said.
“And when you’ve taken him back, come back here. We need to talk.”
Chiara said nothing, just nodded sullenly. I think she believed the less said the better and did as she was asked, nodding her head in his direction, and adding a few choice phrases in Italian to him that I couldn’t understand. It also just occurred to me that she had not asked Chiara the questions about the two men from the castle. I guess that would have to wait until the safety of Enrico was settled, and she returned.
“Make sure they’re safe,” she said to Carlo, and he disappeared, leaving us alone.
“I thought all of the young men had been taken away by the Italian Army.”
“Not all. We managed to hide a few away, but as you can see, despite our best efforts, they don’t seem to appreciate the trouble they could get into. We used to have about a hundred young men from 14 through to 20 at the start of the war. Two have found their way back, casualties of war, the rest, we may never see them again. Enrico just doesn’t see the trouble he could get into.”
“It’s called youthful enthusiasm. In the first world war, joining up, or going to war, was a lark. It was a little less so this time because most of the parents knew from firsthand experience what it was like and tried to shield them. And if you didn’t join up, questions were asked, and quite often jail, except for some who landed cushy jobs away from the fighting.”
“You were not so lucky?”
“No, I was one of those mad buggers who thought joining up to fight would be an adventure. That quickly faded when the enemy started shooting at me.”
“And now you’re here, and a spy to boot. That’s what they’ll hang on you if you get caught.”
“Then I shall try very hard not to get caught. Again.”
Chiara came back about an hour later. It seemed to me it was a lot safer to move around at night with the blackout, and I doubted Thompson would spare any men from the castle to check up on the local farmers.
And while I was at the castle, I didn’t hear anything raised about the local resistance, which I thought odd at the time, but now I knew why. Most of them had joined him. Better that than be hunted down and killed.
Chiara still looked sullen. A closer look showed she was not very old herself, barely out of her twenties, and surprising that the Italian army, or Thomson for that matter, had not rounded her up for ‘duties’ at the castle.
There were a number of the local women working up at the castle, but they were mostly staff, or more likely forced labour, though I had thought we, when I believed it to be a British outpost, would be fairer to the locals than either the Germans or their own Italian military. It’s odd how you tend to look at certain situations because of who you are, and the fact you would not do similar things at home. The Germans, however, we would always treat differently, because they were the enemy, and because we expected the worst from them. At that moment, though, wouldn’t the Germans think the same of us if the positions were reversed?
Best not to think about that. My view of the war and the people in it was clouded enough.
Chiara, however, clearly thought the worst of me, and of those in the castle, and certainly didn’t think I was as neutral as I appeared. A gun always in hand, I was sure she would shoot me again with the least provocation.
We sat, both Chiara and Marina with their weapons on the table in front of them. I wasn’t trusted enough to be given a weapon.
Marina’s first question was directed at Chiara, “I’m told there were two men from the castle following Sam, and that he told you about them.”
“He did. We did not see them. We didn’t take the path, because, as you know, it’s not safe.”
It was a reasonable answer. If the men at the castle were unfamiliar with the area, as I’m sure they would be, because they hadn’t been there for very long, and I doubt Thompson would want to advertise the nationality of those at the castle unless he had to, they would stick to the clearly-marked roads and paths.
I had on my way to the castle, from a different direction. It didn’t explain why I had not been met by the leader of the resistance as arranged, but that was now explained, both by the former leader trying to kill me in a roadside explosion, and then what I learned at the castle in the last few days.
“Even so, there’s not that much distance between the two, and it is possible to shadow them.”
“I keep well away from them. Perhaps Leonardo saw them. He doesn’t have to worry about what they might do because they use him to supply food. Maybe he knows more.”
“Perhaps I shall ask him next time I see him. We need to know who from the castle is about and when so that we don’t get caught.”
“I’ll remember next time. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
Chiara picked up her gun, gave me an extra-long sullen stare. “I don’t trust this one, Marina. You
need to be careful.”
“I will.”
We waited a few minutes until after she had departed, and then Marina said, “We should be going too. This place is a little eerie at night. There are far too many ghosts for my liking.”
One the first things you notice when driving around Beijing, other than the roads are congested with traffic, is the number of trees and flowers that have been planted, in the median strip as well as along the edges of the road.
What you also notice is the large number of multi-story apartment blocks, which are needed to house the millions of Beijing residents. What we have, so far, rarely seen, is single-story houses. These continuous areas of trees and rose bushes are, every now and then, broken up by very colorful garden beds:
Nearer to the square we are able to get up close to the flowers. These, we are told, are a variation on the rose, one that flowers for nine months of the year.
They come in a variety of colors.
And they are literally everywhere you go, on the side of the roadway, often blotting out the concrete jungle behind them.
Today, we’re back in Vienna, with Zoe planning their escape. We’re off to the railway station and catching the train. Unfortunately, Worthington is able to track them and knows exactly where they are, and where to direct his hit squad.
And you guessed it, mayhem is about to erupt in the station. But, as Zoe knows all too well, chaos can be her best friend, and they escape.
Sebastian knows something is afoot with Worthington, because all of a sudden, he has disappeared.
That’s good for Sebastian in one sense, he can go ahead with the interrogations of Isobel and Rupert in his quest to find out where John, and ultimately Zoe, is.
But the thing is, they are disinclined to be helpful in any way shape or form, and Isobel in particular, tells him to bring on the torturers.
Weird maybe, but Sebastian knows she’s probably getting a kick out of it.
…
Today’s writing, with Isobel laughing in the face of danger, 1,905 words, for a total of 43,067.
My great grandfather used to say the mark of a man was not how wealthy or wise he was, but by how much respect he garnered.
Well, my great grandfather was wealthy, wise, and also respected … by everyone but his children.
It was an interesting tale, oft-told by my father over the dinner table, when we, his children, would bemoan the fact that he was too hard on us.
Like my great grandfather, our father had also made something of himself, took every opportunity afforded him, and made it a success.
Yes, there were failures, like how our mother couldn’t handle the success and virtually abandoned us because of him, like our first stepmother, who hated children, and for a while, virtually turned him against us, setbacks that were eventually overcome.
To the outside world, we always said everything turned out all right, but the reality of it was completely the opposite. Appearances were just that, appearances.
My eldest brother, John, was out the door as soon as he could escape, and into the military, and from that moment we never really saw him.
Then there was me, Toby, with a name I hated, stuck at home to weather the endless storms, and to look after my youngest sister Ginny, who really didn’t have a care in the world.
I don’t think I ever got to have a childhood.
And lastly, my younger sister, Melanie, the tearaway tomboy troublemaker, a devil in disguise, that was responsible for ten nannies in twelve years.
We were as disparate and different as any group of siblings could get, and that was all because of how, in the end, our father finished up exactly like the man he often disparaged, our great grandfather.
Wealthy, yes, wise, the jury was still out in that one, and respected, yes, by everyone but his children.
And, now, I was looking at the body of the man I called my father, sprawled out on the floor, and it was quite plain to see he was dead.
There was no mistaking the bullet hole in his head, Or the puddle of blood emanating from the back of his head.
Someone, obviously, hated him more than we did.
…
I was surprisingly calm in the face of such a calamity, faring better than Ginny, who was the first to discover him.
She was once subject to bouts of hysteria, and that it had not happened in these circumstances was, in a sense disconcerting. She had reason to hate him more than the rest of us, the reasons for which I had only learned the night before.
She was sitting on the floor, not ten feet from the body, staring at what she had described as the devil incarnate. She had every reason to kill him, in fact, I had wanted to myself when she told me.
And when confronted him and demanded to know the truth, he had laughed at me, telling me that it was just a figment of her imagination.
I had to call the police, but before that, I needed to have a clear idea of where everyone was.
It was a weekend where, for the first time in twenty years, all four siblings were home. It was ostensibly for an announcement regarding the family, read how my father was going to bequeath his worldly possessions in the event of his death.
And I suspect, to tell us about the fact he was dying, the running battle he had with cancer finally getting a stranglehold in his body, and that he had about six weeks to three months left.
Not that he had said anything, I had received an anonymous email from his doctor telling me, that he didn’t believe we should not be kept in the dark. But it was not the news I’d shared with the others, hoping the man himself would.
That secret had died with him.
John and Melanie had both yet to put in an appearance. It had been a late night, and we had all ended up in John’s room, drinking shots of whiskey and talking about how different our lives had been, and how it had been too long apart.
I’d been very drunk at the end and barely made it back to my room before collapsing on the bed. I had no idea what happened to the others.
Ginny didn’t drink, or so she said, but the few drinks she had, had no effect on her. She had Bern in a dark mood and no wonder. She had left all of us in utter silence, devastated at the revelation our father was a monster, the reason why our mother left, unable to do anything to stop him.
She should have taken Ginny with her, but she didn’t, probably saving Melanie from a similar fate.
Threats against his life flew thick and fast, and the once made by John actuary sent a shiver down my spine. He was the only one experienced in killing, and I could totally believe he could kill in cold blood and not even blink.
Had he?
“Fuck!”
Great timing. John just walked into the room, still in his pajamas and looking disheveled, as if he had just fought off a pack of bears.
“This your doing?”
“What? No. Saying and doing are two different things, Toby.” He looked down at Ginny. “Ask her, she had more reason than any of us.”
I was going to, but she seemed in a catatonic state.
“No. I did not, and believe me, I’ve wanted to for many years.”
Ginny, obviously not in a catatonic state.
“Have you called the police,” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Good. Let’s think about this first. Any sign of a breaking?”
I checked the French windows behind the desk and they were intact and locked. The room, other than the body on the floor was as it always was.
Not a book or paper out of place. The desk was clear. Usually, there was a computer and cell phone on it.
“His laptop is missing. A robbery gone bad?”
“Robbers don’t usually carry guns, let alone be able to shoot so accurately.” He was standing over the body making strange body movements, then, “whoever shot him was behind the desk. He must have heard something and came to investigate.”
If it was any time up to the fifty shots of whiskey, we would have heard a gun going off.
“Silencer?” I said.
“I’m a light sleeper, so I would have heard it. Others too. It screams premeditation. Robbers don’t bring guns with suppressors. If it was a case of being caught unawares, that shot could have gone anywhere. No, whoever was in her was looking for, maybe found, something, and may have made enough noise to get his attention with the intention of killing him.”
“Holy Mary mother of God!”
Melanie just arrived, riveted to the spot, just inside the door.
“I take it you didn’t do it?” John said to her.
“Me? You have to be joking. I wouldn’t know what end of the gun to use.”
Not true, I thought, Melanie was in the gun club at her exclusive school and won various awards for pistol shooting, and we’ll as an expert clay pigeon shooter to boot. But it was school days, a long time ago.
I looked at her pointedly, and I think she realized what my glare implied.
“I think it’s time we called the police,” I said.
“Can’t we just dig a hole and bring him out there somewhere and pretend he’s gone away?”
“A thought, but not practical, unless one of us did it and we need to hide the evidence. Anyone going to own up?”
No one spoke.
“Good. Just remember from this point on, if you have any deep dark secrets, they won’t be for much longer. We will be the prime suspects. Leaving isn’t an option.”
“Let the chips fall where they may. At least the bastard got what he deserved.
I pulled out my phone.
“Last chance.”
John was looking resolute. Melanie was in a state of shock. Ginnie went back to being almost catatonic. I don’t know what I felt, sad, maybe, but with all that had come before, perhaps a sense of relief.
I dialled the number.
“Daisy. No, I’m alright. We have a bit of a problem here. Someone has shot and killed my father. I think you’d better get here.”
“Right. Don’t touch anything and keep the scene clear. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
I disconnected the call and put the phone back in my pocket.
At that same moment, I had a great overwhelming feeling that one of them did it. I couldn’t see how anyone from the outside could or would.
As John said, let the child fall where they may.
“OK. Daisy wants us out of the room. Let’s go.” I said, helping Ginnie up from the floor
“Daisy? She that girl you were pining over back in elementary school?” John muttered.
“Married her too. Deputy sheriff now, so be a good boy. And don’t think our relationship will make this any easier.”
As I closed the door to the office and turned the key in the lock, I could hear the sirens in the distance.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
When I woke, I was outside the warehouse near an ambulance, and when I opened my eyes, I could see my mother, looking close to hysterical. Further back, behind her, was Benderby himself, looking concerned.
A voice was saying, on the other side, “Just take it easy. You’ve had a nasty knock to your head.” I tried, instinctively, to move my hand there, but it was not responsive.
That scared me.
I tried wiggling my toes, and it felt like something was happening. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
Then I realised there were more people around the gurney I was lying on and a lot of chatter about a break-in and possible casualties. There was only one, wasn’t there? Me.
I went to say something to that effect when I stopped. Not a good idea to say two masked assailants came to interrogate me about a map. Firstly, my mother would be annoyed I was wasting my time on frivolous matters with Boggs, and secondly, everyone would think the blow did more damage to my sanity.
If they were calling it a break-in…
“What happened?” I asked.
I moved my head sideways further and could see the Sheriff standing next to Benderby. The sheriff moved closer.
“We think one or two unknown persons got past the perimeter security, disabled the alarm system, and broke into the warehouse where you were. One of the night security guards was doing his rounds when he found you on the floor in the main office. Can you tell us what happened to you?”
One of the paramedics answered for me, “We need to stabilise the wound, check for concussion and any other side effects before you can question him. That might have to wait until we get him to the hospital. Now, I need everyone to stand back.”
And he meant everyone, including my mother. I guessed they would let her come to the hospital with me, but if not, I was sure Benderby would bring her. He actually had his arm around her, talking to her. I didn’t think she liked him that much or was I just delirious?
I was about to tell the paramedic to tell the sheriff to go check on Boggs, but that would only lead to uncomfortable questions, and since Boggs had been so cavalier in putting the assailants onto me, I wasn’t very happy with him. But I did wonder if they had gone back to him about my lack of co-operation, and what they might do to him.
Or, I just remembered, maybe nothing, because they thought it might be an elaborate hoax. I was beginning to think that myself, despite Boggs giving me a copy of the map. When I looked at it, on the surface it seemed to be the same as the one Osborne was peddling.
Whilst getting my head bandaged, I saw one of the sheriff’s men come running up to him, speaking and gesturing wildly. I thought I heard a name, but the paramedic chose that exact moment to accidentally wrap the bandage around my ear.
Then I heard it, sharp and clear, perhaps as an answer to a question by Benderby.
“It’s Boggs. Looks like someone gave him a severe beating and left him outside his house.”
The result of an equally forceful interrogation, or had it been a warning not to waste people’s time?
Stranger’s We’ve Become, a sequel to What Sets Us Apart.
The blurb:
Is she or isn’t she, that is the question!
Susan has returned to David, but he is having difficulty dealing with the changes. Her time in captivity has changed her markedly, so much so that David decides to give her some time and space to re-adjust back into normal life.
But doubts about whether he chose the real Susan remain.
In the meantime, David has to deal with Susan’s new security chief, the discovery of her rebuilding a palace in Russia, evidence of an affair, and several attempts on his life. And, once again, David is drawn into another of Predergast’s games, one that could ultimately prove fatal.
From being reunited with the enigmatic Alisha, a strange visit to Susan’s country estate, to Russia and back, to a rescue mission in Nigeria, David soon discovers those whom he thought he could trust each has their own agenda, one that apparently doesn’t include him.
You know what it’s like on Monday morning, especially if it’s very cold and the double glazing is failing miserably to keep the cold out.
It was warm under three blankets thick sheets and a doona, and I didn’t want to get up.
It doesn’t help if in the last few months, the dream job you once had had turned into a drudge, and there was any number of reasons to stay home rather than go into the office. Once, that was trying to find an excuse to stay home because you’d rather go to work.
That was a long time ago or felt like it.
My cell phone vibrated, an incoming message, or more likely a reminder. I reached out into the icy wasteland that was the distance from under the covers to my phone on the bedside table. It was very cold out there, and for a moment I regretted that impulse to check.
It was a reminder; I had a meeting at HR with the manager. I had thought I might be eligible for redundancy since the company was in the throes of a cost cutting exercise. Once I might have been apprehensive, but now, given my recent change in department and responsibility, I was kind of hoping now that it was.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Time to get up sleepy head. You have a meeting to go to, not one to be late.”
It felt strange to wake up with someone else in the bed. My luck in that department hadn’t been all that hood lately, but something changed, and at the usual Friday night after work drinks at the pub I ran into one of the PA’s I’d seen around, one who was curious to meet me as much as I was to meet her.
One thing had led to another and when I asked her if she wanted to drop in on the way home, she did.
“I’d prefer not to. I can think of better things to do.”
“So, could I but that’s not the point. Five more minutes, then I’m pushing you out.”
She snuggled into my back, and I could feel the warmth of her body, and having the exact opposite effect than she intended. But she was right. It was important, and I had to go. But, in the meantime it was four more minutes and counting.
When you get a call from the head of HR it usually means one of two things, a promotion, or those two dreaded words, ‘you’re fired’, though not usually said with the same dramatic effect.
This year had already been calamitous enough getting sidelined from Mergers and Acquisitions because I’d been usurped. That was the word I was going with, but it was to a certain extent, my fault. I took my eye off the ball, and allowed someone else to make their case.
Of course, it helped that the person was connected to all the right people in the company, and, with the change in Chairman, it was also a matter of removing some of the people who were appointed by the previous incumbent.
I and four of my equivalent managers had been usurped and moved to places where they would have less impact. I had finished up in sales and marketing, and to be quite honest, it was such a step down, I had already decided to leave when the opportunity presented itself.
My assistant manager, who had already put in his resignation, was working out his final two weeks. I told him to take leave until the contract expired, but he was more dedicated than that. He had got in before me and was sitting at his desk a cup of coffee in his hand and another on the desk.
“How many days?”
“Six and counting. What about you? You should be out canvassing. There’s at least three other places I know would be waiting to hear from you.”
“It’s still in the consideration phase.”
“You’re likely to get the chop anyway, with this thing you have with Sharky.”
Sharkey was the HR manager.
You know something I don’t?” I picked up the coffee, removed the lid and took in the aroma. “They’re downsizing. Broadham had decided to go on a cost cutting exercise, and instead of the suggested efficiencies we put up last year, they’re going with people. I don’t think he quite gets it.”
“You mean my replacement doesn’t know anything about efficiency. He makes a good yes man though, telling Broadham exactly what he wants to hear.”
Broadham, the new Chairman, never did understand that people appointed to important positions needed to have the relevant qualifications and experience. My replacement had neither. That was when the employees loyal to the previous Chairman had started leaving.
We had called it death, whilst Broadham had called it natural attrition. He didn’t quite understand that so far, over 300 years of experience had left, and as much again was in the process of leaving.
“Are you going to tell Sharky you’re leaving?”
“I’ll wait and see what he has to say. I think he knows the ship is sinking.”
There wasn’t much I didn’t know about the current state of the company, and with the departures, I knew it was only a matter of time. Sharky was a good man, but he couldn’t stem the tide.
He also knew the vagaries of profits and share prices, and we had been watching the share price, and the market itself. It was teetering, and in the last few months, parcels of shares were being unloaded, not a lot at one time, but a steady trickle.
That told me that Broadham and his cronies were cashing in while the going was good, and quite possibly were about to steer the ship onto the rocks. The question was who was buying, and that, after some hard research I found to be certain board members. Why, I suspected, was to increase their holdings and leverage, but I don’t think they quite realised that there would be nothing left but worthless stock certificates.
It was evidence, when I finally left, that I would pass on to the relevant authorities.
In the meantime, I had a meeting to go to.
“Best of luck,” my assistant muttered as I passed his desk.
“If I don’t return, I’ll will have been escorted from the building. If that happens, Call me.”
It had happened before. When people were sacked, they were escorted to their office, allowed to pack their belongings, and were then escorted to the front door. It would be an ignominious end to an illustrious career, or so I’d been told by the girl who was no doubt still asleep in my bed.
She had heard the whispers.
The walk to the lift, the traversing of the four floors to the executive level, and then to the outer office where Sharky’s PA sat took all of three minutes. I had hoped it would be longer.
“He’s waiting for you,” she said, “go on in.”
I knocked on the door, then went in, closing it behind me. “Now, sir, what on earth could you want to see me about?
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a set up.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman the pique his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 