And now, he was dead.
From Rosa’s hand? Gil had never pegged her the murdering type, but Eddie had a way that could drive an angel to such an atrocity.
But what if she hadn’t done it? Then, she was the type to have called the police.
Gil leapt to his feet, his heart thudding against his chest. Fingerprints. He had left his fingerprints. On the light switch. And front door.
He ran over to the bar, went behind it, and hurriedly scrounged for any kind of towel. Finding a small cotton cloth the bartender used to polish glasses, he ran to the light switch and wiped it, then opened the door.
Sirens. He heard sirens. No time, no time.
He quickly wiped the outside doorknob, then the inside one he had just touched, and raced like a madman for the storage room. They couldn’t see him leave in his truck. They would suspect him for sure if they did.
He threw himself into the driver’s seat and started backing up before the pickup door was even closed.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his heart pounded in his throat, choking him. When he pulled out of the parking lot, he did not head for Harry Hines, but sped down a side street in the opposite direction.
For a full minute, he kept glancing in his mirrors.
Nobody.
He had probably missed them by a hair.
He wound his way around the seedy neighborhood, full of old houses that looked like they would collapse if you blew on them. He realized he was hyperventilating, and slowly drew in a deep breath.
After a few minutes of controlled breathing, his heartbeat returned to normal and he stopped feeling feverish. And he was back on Harry Hines Boulevard, headed for a home in west Dallas he would probably no longer be able to afford.
*********************************************
Get the rest of the novel at your favorite online book retailer! And remember you can get all five books at a deep discount by purchasing the boxed set. It’s available at your favorite online retailer.
Other Books By Emily Josephine
The “Texas Hearts” series, of which this novel is the first, consists of five full-length novels .
You can also buy the entire series in a box set format. By doing so, you will save nearly half of the cost of purchasing each novel individually. It is available today at a great discount price. Just look for “Texas Hearts boxed set by Emily Josephine.”
If you enjoyed this novel (not to mention the entire “Texas Hearts” series), I believe you will enjoy my other inspirational romance series, “Choices And Chances”, as well! They will all be available for purchase by March 17, 2016 if not before!
The first novel is FREE.
Following are the four titles in the series:
His Second Chance
His First Choice
Choosing Beth
The Better Choice
Of course, you can purchase the “Choices And Chances” series in a box set, as well. Save 1/3 of the cost of purchasing the individual novels when you do! Just search for “Choices and Chances box set by Emily Josephine.”
If you like this inspirational romance novel, you might also like Redeeming Laura, a historical mail-order bride romance.
No More Broken Hearts teaches you the low-stress, sure-fire way to find your soulmate.
About Emily Josephine
A former sugar addict, Emily is now a fervent health nut. A former schoolteacher, she is now a rabid advocate of homeschooling. A former too-much-stuff-city-dweller, she is now living her dream as a semi-minimalist rural homesteader.
In between planting seeds, reading to her son, and making videos of her homestead, Emily writes both non-fiction related to health and simple living, as well as inspirational novels with characters who are as radically anti-mainstream as she is!
Connect With Emily
Her tweets are few and far between, but if you want to follow her on twitter, you can do so at https://twitter.com/crunchycoach. Her videos are at least automatically tweeted, so you can easily stay updated with those via twitter.
Of course, you can subscribe to her YouTube channel at https://youtube.com/crunchyemily1.
You may send encouraging e-mails and testimonies to
[email protected].
Remember that you can download your free copy of my e-book Take Back Your Life: 3 Steps To Designing The Life You REALLY Want, as well as be the first to know about her future publications, by visiting her blog at https://liveyourdreamswithemily.com.
ONE MORE THING… If you enjoyed this book, please take a minute to write a positive review of it at your favorite online book retailer’s site. It will help others to find and enjoy this novel, as well.
Thank you very much, and I wish you every blessing!
Emily Josephine
PS – And now, a surprise for you – the first chapter from my supernatural/suspense novel, Call Me Isabel. If that sounds right up your alley, keep on reading!
Chapter One of Call Me Isabel
A soft whisper floats through me like a summer breeze, brushing against the edge of my consciousness.
Get up.
The words penetrate my deep sleep, urging me to wakefulness. I stretch. Then I still my body to listen again, to make sure of what I think I heard.
Get up.
The whisper is more forceful this time, a gust. Warmer, like the increasing heat you feel when a friend squeezes your arm to get your attention.
The next moment, I am sitting straight up, my legs moving to push my body up from the pallet on the floor. I did not imagine the voice, the words; I now understand that He has something for me to do, and that I need to be prepared. My feet sink into the beige carpet as I cross the room to where my clothes lie in an old chest of drawers.
As I pull on my long, white muslin skirt, I begin to hear shouting. And screaming. A man is shouting and a woman is screaming. Their fury carries along with their voices.
Years ago, I would have had to pray to maintain a calm spirit, to keep fear away. But I have long since learned what it means, that He lives in me. My soul and body have nothing to fear as long as The Holy One is in command.
I continue dressing, wondering where the couple might be. The voices are not loud or clear enough for them to be right outside the building where I have lived for the past two months. Perhaps across the parking lot, near the apartment office? My wondering is pure idleness, because I know He will lead me to the exact right place, at the exact right time.
I have my clothes on, and am just pulling my long, black tresses into a ponytail, when an explosion rips through the early morning air, threatening to shatter the peace within me.
**********
Lynda Daniels bolts upright in the king-sized bed. “Randy, did you hear that?” she asks her husband in a fierce whisper.
His only response is a grunt and slight shifting of his legs.
She looks toward the apartment door, ears strained, heart pounding. Did she hear something, or has it come from her dreams? That would explain why Randy didn’t hear it. Then again, lately he doesn’t seem to hear much of what she says even when they are both wide awake.
The thought makes her gut tighten. But before she can take the usual mental downward spiral that inevitably accompanies it, she hears a car door slam at almost the same time that an engine roars to life. The sound is close, too close. For ten full seconds she sits frozen in her bed. Tires squeal against the parking lot pavement, the sound grating against her eardrums.
Then, silence. On the outside, anyway. Inside, a dozen thoughts careen into her mind at once. The sound hadn’t been a gunshot, just the sound of another car door slamming. She needs to quit reading thrillers. Some guy’s pregnant wife is about to give birth, and they are in a hurry to get to the hospital.
The sound was a shot, and the car roaring away carries the person with the gun.
The reporter in her lands on that idea, and won’t let it go.
Lynda throws off the
sheet and hops onto the floor, not worrying about waking Randy. He deserves to be awakened early, but it doesn’t matter what he deserves. He will keep on sleeping. Only the persistent, annoying buzz of an alarm clock right by his ear can ever wake him before eight o’clock.
Two minutes later, she has pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and grabbed her purse that contains her concealed weapon. You don’t work as an undercover reporter in Dallas, Texas, without protection. Not that she has worked undercover all that much, but the first of the handful of times she had, she learned quickly that her editor hadn’t been kidding when he’d advised her to get a gun and learn how to use it. This upcoming assignment will be interesting, as she will not be allowed to have it on her person. And she’s not exactly going to be in a safe place.
Slipping on her flip-flops, she noiselessly releases the chain midway between the doorknob and the top of the door. She turns the deadbolt and the doorknob with painstaking deliberation. She shakes her head and smirks at herself. If a gunshot and a car engine gunning practically right outside their door doesn’t wake Randy, her leaving the house will not.
Actually, several times in the past year she has considered leaving in the middle of the night, for that very reason. But if she ever does work up the nerve to tell him that she no longer wants to be with him, she will refuse to be the one to tear up her roots. She is not the one who has become uncommunicative. She is not the one who has let herself go physically. She is not the one who turned cold five years into their seven-year marriage.
Pulling open the door, she swipes a hot tear from her eye with the back of her hand. Good thing she hasn’t put on any make up yet.
She shakes her head to get her mind to focus on the task at hand: to find out if there are any bodies lying in the apartment complex parking lot.
**********
Go now, the whisper assures me as soon as the echoes of the shot die away.
I drop my hair from my fist, letting it cascade down my back. Then I slip on the pair of flats waiting by the apartment door, open the door, and step outside. My feet do not hesitate; they lead me with quick steps in the direction of the shot. But I don’t make it far before I see the silhouette of a man holding a gun, running.
Straight toward me.
No, not toward me. He makes a sharp turn to his left and yanks open the door of a pickup truck. I stand still, hidden in the shadows of the live oak tree towering above me, as he tosses the gun onto the seat, swings himself up into the cab, and starts the engine. With a squeal of tires, he is gone in a few seconds.
I glance around. No one else has come out of their apartment. I do not want to believe it is that no one else cares, that the world has become that apathetic. But I am not so naïve as to think that fear and deep sleep are the only reasons that have kept my fellow residents from responding.
I cannot be upset by my solitude in this moment, however. I never have liked having an audience – it has always complicated things, even brought me great trials – so the abandoned, dark, silent parking lot is a blessing to me.
The early September morning air is still, so that the only sounds I hear are the rustling of my skirt and the scraping of my shoes against the blacktop as I make my journey across it. I would go barefoot – it has always been my preferred way of walking – but in my experience, cities have never been a safe place to tread without shoes. And so I risk making more noise than I would like to reach my target.
In less than a minute, I find her. She is lying in an empty space between two parked cars. Her dark head lies in the spotlight of the lamp above, and I can see a trickle of blood coming from her mouth.
That means she has been shot in the neck or lungs.
Oh, guns! Will I ever cease to despise the day they were invented?
I crouch down next to her. I spot the wound in a moment, right between her ample breasts. I scan the rest of her large body which lies in the shadows, but can find no other injuries
Not that it matters. He will resolve any and all problems with a word. My word that He will speak through me.
It is always the same word.
I check her neck for a pulse. Then her wrist. Nothing. No warm breath puffing over the blood coming out of her mouth, no movement from her chest.
I close my eyes for a moment, to center on Him. Then I open them and lower both my hands until they hover millimeters above the wound. “Live,” I say.
The blood flowing from the chest dries up in the next second. The last drop that had made its way up onto her tongue slides down her chin, and then…no more.
Her chest begins to move. Her body begins to make a rolling motion, as someone waking up from a sound sleep.
I must leave. She must not see me. It is the only thing I fear anymore, that someone will see me.
And I am ashamed of it. I am not supposed to fear, only to trust. But once, long ago…
No, I will not let my mind go there. Or the bitterness is sure to return. The bitterness that wedges itself between me and my Beloved, distracting, scraping…killing.
My gaze lifts upward, my neck twists around, to make sure no one else has come out while I was here. Seeing no one, I take several steps backward.
The woman’s eyes begin to flutter.
I whirl around and run as quietly as I can back to my apartment. Once inside, I lean back against the closed door and heave a sigh. That was too close. But I obeyed, and that is the important thing.
I lift my eyes and hands heavenward in thankfulness, and another whisper comes: Time to go back.
I smile, knowing what that means, and joy warms my insides like melted butter.
**********
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