or drop me a line on real paper at PO Box 5, Novi, MI 48376-0005.
Happy reading!
Dana Nussio
To my Writer Wednesday crew: Kathy Steck, Jacqui Gretzinger, Karen Kittrell, A.J. Norris, Greg Mahr, D.A. Henneman, Kathy Wheeler, Jeanne Tepper, Cheryl Smith and Liz Heiter. (Also, to Isabelle Drake, who’s going to make it one of these days.) Your love for your stories and your dedication to the craft inspire me.
A special thanks goes to Kim Moore, a retired FBI special agent who also just happens to be a childhood friend. I appreciate your opening your world to me. And thanks again to Michigan state police officer David Willett, who continues to take too many texted questions and still hasn’t blocked me. You are both real-life American heroes at a time when we really need them. My characters would salute you, and so do I.
Contents
Note to Readers
“Emily’s tongue was bluer than mine,” Kelly Roberts blurted in the back seat of the police car, the stinky blanket scratching her bare shoulders.
Why she’d thought of the raspberry slushes they’d been slurping just before it happened, she wasn’t sure, just as she couldn’t figure out why the lady cop sitting next to her kept patting her arm like she was her mom or something. That itched, too. And made her want to jump out of the car and run.
“You sure you’re warm enough?”
“I’m fine.” But she couldn’t stop shaking, even if it was the hottest day in June so far. She would never be warm again.
She let the officer pull the awful blanket high enough on her shoulders to cover most of her freckles and pressed her cheek against the window to get a better look outside.
Past the yellow tape that had been strung between two trees, Emily’s new lime-green mountain bike lay abandoned across the sidewalk. It had crashed there when the scary man leaped from behind the bushes and yanked her off the seat. Her cup was on its side, the melted drink a blue