brings impeccable credentials to her careerâa lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book brought great relief to her family, proving that she wasnât crazy but was, instead, creative. Since then, sheâs sold more than forty others, and she loves almost everything about writing, except that she would like a more reasonable boss to work for, which is pretty sad, since she works for herself.
She writes in an office nestled among the oaks that surround her home. In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she mows the yard that never stops growing and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches. You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK 74067-0643.
It was ten minutes after two when Justin Reed slipped into his seat at the weekly squad meeting and opened the file in front of him. Though his supervisor didnât look up or miss a beat in his conversation, there was no doubt he knew that Justin had been lateâagainâand no doubt he would have something to say about itâagain. Heâd intended to be on time this afternoonâin fact, had started to leave his office five minutes earlyâbut as he was walking out the door, the phone had rung. He could have left anyway, but heâd been playing phone tag with people all week and he wasnât about to miss the chance to actually connect with someone.
And so he was late. Again.
At least he wouldnât be put on the hot seat. His current caseload was nothing special, and everything was progressing steadily. Of course, there would be the perpetual questionâAnything new on the Watkins case?âand the usual answer. No, nothing. One of these days, heâd promised himself, he was going to have an entirely different answer. Yes, sir, we apprehended Patrick Watkins this week.
Hey, a man could dream, couldnât he?
His boss worked his way around the table, reviewing cases, asking for reports. Heâd made it halfway when the door opened and his secretary stepped inside. âExcuse me, sir. Special Agent Reed has an emergency call.â
All eyes turned his way as his boss nodded toward the door. The muscles in his stomach tightening, Justin left the conference room and followed the secretary to her desk down the hall. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms wasnât quite like the police. They didnât get many emergency calls. Maybe Patrick Watkins had struck again, or something had happened to his mother in London or his father in Paris. That was about the extent of what he would consider an emergency in his life.
Picking up the phone, he tersely said, âThis is Special Agent Reed.â
âMr. ReedâSpecial Agent Reed, this is Roger Markham. Iâm an attorney in Grand Springs, Colorado.â
Justinâs stomach knotted, and his fingers clutched the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had only two connections to Grand Springs, Colorado, and he didnât want to hear bad news about either of them. He wished he could hang up, walk away and forget the call had ever been made, but of course he couldnât. All he could do was take an unsteady breath and ask, âWhat can I do for you, Mr. Markham?â
âIâm calling about your aunt, Golda Reed. Sheâ Iâm sorry, Mr. Reed, but she died a short while ago. As far as the doctors can tell, her heart gave out on her. She fell asleep and just didnât wake up. Iâm sorry.â
So was Justin, sorry and filled with regret. He hadnât been the best nephew Golda could have had, though he had been her favorite. Heâd visited her a few times and called her when he thought about it, butâ¦well, after his last visit nearly six years ago, there had been complications that made maintaining the relationship difficult.
His smile was thin and bitter. Complications. Yes, that was a good word to describe Fiona Lake and the way sheâd made him feel. Trouble, decked out with red hair, hazel eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her perfect little nose and a passion that could make a man weak.
Although he sometimes had trouble remembering. Had he been at his weakest with Fiona? Or when heâd dumped her?
âMr. Reed?â
Giving a shake of his head, he focused his attention on the conversation. âIâm here. I just⦠Had she been sick?â
âThe usual aches and pains youâd expect in a woman her age. But she was prepared for it. She had her funeral planned right down to the songs and the singers, and she reviewed her will regularly. The service is scheduled for Friday afternoon. Will you or anyone else from the family be able to attend?â
Justin gave a momentâs thought to his caseload, though it wouldnât have changed his answer. âIâll be there, and Iâll notify the rest of the family.â