The Burning Edge

RICK MOFINA is a former reporter and the awardwinning author of several acclaimed thrillers, including Vengeance Road, Six Seconds, The Dying Hour and If Angels Fall. He’s interviewed murderers face-to-face on death row, and patrolled with the LAPD and the RCMP. His true-crime articles have appeared in the New York Times, Marie Claire, Reader’s Digest and Penthouse. He’s reported from the U.S., Canada, the Caribbean, Africa, Qatar and Kuwait’s border with Iraq. His books have been published in 17 countries. The International Thriller Writers, Private Eye Writers of America and The Crime Writers of Canada have listed his crime novels as being among the best in the genre.

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www.rickmofi na.com.

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This book is for

Mildred Marmur

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak

Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break. —Macbeth, Act iv, Scene iii William Shakespeare

The Burning Edge is loosely inspired by a true case, a commando-style armored car heist that I’d covered many years ago while working as a crime reporter. Other aspects of the novel were drawn from real-life situations that I, or others I knew, have experienced. But I won’t go into any of it here.

It’s too personal.

I want to thank Special Agent Anne Beagan of the FBI’s New York Division who patiently suffered many questions from me to ensure my work of fiction rang true. If this story worked for you, it’s because of Anne’s kind help. If this story fell short for you, then blame me; the mistakes are mine.

Many thanks to Amy Moore-Benson, Miranda Indrigo and to the incredible editorial, marketing, sales and PR teams at Harlequin and MIRA Books in Toronto, New York and around the world.

Wendy Dudley, as always, made this story better.

Very special thanks to Barbara, Laura and Michael.

It’s important you know that, in getting this book to you, I benefited from the hard work and generosity of many people, too many to thank individually here. I am indebted to everyone in all stages of production, the sales representatives, librarians and booksellers for putting my work in your hands.

This brings me to what I hold to be the most critical part of the entire enterprise: you, the reader. This aspect has become something of a creed for me, one that bears repeating with each book.

Thank you very much for your time, for without you, a book remains an untold tale. Thank you for setting your life on pause and taking the journey. I deeply appreciate my growing audience around the world and those who’ve been with me since the beginning who keep in touch. Thank you all for your very kind words. I hope you enjoyed the ride and will check out my earlier books while watching for my next one. I welcome your feedback. Drop by at www.rickmofina.com, subscribe to my newsletter and send me a note.

Rick Mofina

Maybe the worst was really over, Lisa Palmer thought, driving home alone to Queens from Upstate New York.

Her fingers tightened on the wheel. She was trying to get a grip on her life, trying to regain control, but it was hard, so hard. It had been nearly two years since her husband, Bobby, had died, but now, for the first time, Lisa believed that she and her kids would endure.

They had to.

They needed to move on with their lives. Selling the cabin in the Adirondacks was the first big step Lisa had taken.

But was it the right thing to do?

She glanced at the passenger seat and the slim briefcase holding all the paperwork. A few hours ago she’d closed the sale at the Realtor’s office. The new owners, a retired chef and his wife, a florist, from Newark, would take possession in thirty days.

The cabin was still Lisa’s until then.

She had promised Ethan and Taylor one last visit to the lake. It was important for all of them to say goodbye to this part of their lives. They’d go up to the cabin together in a few weeks. Lisa brushed a tear from her eye. God, the kids loved it there. She did, too. It was on Lake George and so pretty. It had been in Bobby’s family since his greatgrandfather bought it in 1957.

Bobby had treasured the place. Lisa’s hand shook when she’d signed the papers and all the way down I-87 she’d begged Bobby to forgive her.

I had to do it. The insurance is still a mess. The bills keep coming. I can’t make ends meet anymore, not on my pay. The cabin was our only asset. I’m so sorry. I have to think of the future; of going on without you.

She would always love Bobby. But while her aching for him would never stop, she found hope in the thick forests that swept down the hills and rock cuts of the region.

Suddenly, she felt he was near.

He was a mechanic who’d quit school to work in a garage in Corona. A kind, good-looking guy who was good with cars. He loved history, always had his nose in a book. It was at this point of the cabin drive that he would say that the lumber and iron from these hills helped build New York City. Then he would tell her how George Washington had climbed one of the rocks out there and watched for British ships down by Sandy Hook.