A BURNING DESIRE
By Sharon A. Austin
This short book is not a complete story. It is a free sample of my novel, Smoke on the Water, the first book in a suspenseful mystery series.
The Hellfire Trilogy:
Smoke on the Water, Fire Flicks, Ashes of Vengeance
Three interwoven tales of love, murder, and lies.
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 by Sharon A. Austin
http://sharonaustin.blogspot.com
October, Point Jove, Missouri
Vera put down her wine glass; picked up the Eagle Daze newspaper still folded on the Horoscope section and once again read her wonderful prediction.
Someone new will walk into your life today, and you will fall fast and hard.
She'd already made it through the better part of the day without incident. "The prophecy must've been meant for tonight." Since she always goes out on Saturday night, anyway, she felt confident she wasn't intentionally manipulating the natural flow of the cosmic forces.
"Er, something like that."
In a blissful, dreamlike state she squirted dishsoap into the kitchen sink. Suds-up the water by swishing her hand side to side. Idly scrubbed the few items necessary for a single person to cook and eat dinner alone. The dishwasher beside her had remained unused ever since she'd made a determined effort to cut down on her electricity usage a couple of months ago. Money spent paying the utility company was money she could spend on herself.
She stood in the doorway to her bedroom. Smiled. With the money she'd saved on last month's light bill she was able to afford a new outfit. Fate seemed to have stepped in at the right time. She'd just bought the clothes yesterday. One day before she read her amazing horoscope.
At last. After thirteen long and lonely years of being on her own, it was more than possible that she was on the verge of meeting her future husband tonight at Smoky Dawg Bar.
Purring like he was humming a song, her Burmese cat, Fuzzball, jumped onto the foot of the bed. Padded around in an irregular circle as if trying to find the perfect spot to lie down. Vera snatched up her clothes before he had a chance to shed his hair all over them. She worked the three pieces onto separate hangers, doing her best not to wrinkle anything, and then hooked the hangers on the door frame of the open closet.
She pounced on the bed. Lying on her stomach, she nuzzled the cat. "You're right," she said, as though they'd been carrying on a conversation by way of mental telepathy. "A bar isn't the best place to meet a guy, a guy I could get serious about, but Point Jove is such a small town my options are limited. Same as you, little man. My guess is, since this is a tourist resort, I'm bound to meet someone brand new to the area. Someone who isn't an idiot like most of the guys around here." She rolled onto her back, looked at the ceiling. "I hope it's someone worldly. Someone sophisticated enough to know how to treat a woman the way she wants to be treated. Someone who has a little extra money in his pocket and won't balk at the idea of spending some on me."
Vera giggled. Stroked the cat's back then kissed him on the noggin. Got up and went to the adjoining bathroom. She undressed, slinging her clothes over the hamper lid one piece at a time. Placed a folded towel on the edge of the bathtub. Sat down with her feet close to the drain. She took more than enough time to properly shave her legs, making sure not one strand of hair was overlooked. Pulled the shower curtain closed. Simultaneously twisted the hot and cold-water knobs to adjust the temperature to her liking. Shaved her armpits. Closed her eyes, and let the warm spray rain down on her head. She washed her hair. Twice. Used a dab more conditioner than normal for a little extra shine and fragrance. Toweling off, she listened to the grandfather clock in the living room chiming the hour with a deep, melodious sound.
I need to get going.
Before running off and forgetting about taking care of Fuzzball's needs, she stopped what she was doing and sprinted to the kitchen. Made sure the pet door was unlocked so he could come and go as he pleased while she's out. It's possible I won't be returning tonight, she thought. Smiled bashfully. Rushed to the bedroom to plug in the forgotten curling iron.
On the verge of becoming a nervous wreck, so refilled her wine glass halfway and emptied it in two quick gulps.
Dressed and ready to head out the door – for what she hoped would be an entertaining and romantic evening, just like the kinds she'd read about in more than a hundred romance novels – she paused before the stationary full-length mirror in the tiny foyer to assess her appearance. She reapplied lip gloss with a pinky finger, smacked her lips together and then puckered them. Struck a sexy pose. Admired her new outfit one last time.
* * *
It was her uncanny likeness to Adele, his adoptive sister, that made him stare at her. She sat to one side of a barstool with an arm propped on the padded edge, nice legs crossed beneath a short denim skirt. She sipped a margarita; checked out the Saturday night crowd in the intimate saloon setting. Smiled and waved at anyone she knew.
Jim took a seat at the end of the bar. He slid a pack of Morilos out of his shirt pocket. One by one, the single men honed in on her only to get shot down. He lit a cigarette to curb a satisfied smile. The slow moving couples on the dance floor reminded him of his brief stint as a deckhand on a cargo ship and the way the vessel rocked side to side on the rolling sea in advance of a storm. He loved it, even when he was almost swept overboard by a crashing wave.
When a barman with ERIC on his nametag approached, he ordered a shot of off-brand bourbon. A rock glass was plunked down in front of him. Jim paid for the drink with cash. He flicked ashes into an empty peanut bowl. Downed the cheap whiskey that displeased his palate.
Tilting a hat back on his head, he cast a furtive glance in her direction. The lights winked at her auburn hair when she tossed her head back to knock long strands from her shoulder. She looked at him, her eyes twinkling with carefree interest. Glossy red lips beckoned him with a playful smile.
He stood. An older man staggered toward her. Jim realized the effort to go unnoticed so he could keep coming back was about to end.
"Hey, sugarbritches. How 'bout a dance?" The man wobbled on his heels, trying to remain upright.
"No thanks." She tried to ignore him.
"Awww, c'mon now, don't be that way." He danced a silly jig. Failing to make her smile, he took hold of her jean jacket and pulled her close. "Give us a little kiss, then."
Jim shoved the man. He stumbled sideways, tripped and fell. The bouncer yanked the intoxicated fool up off the floor, and escorted him to the manager's office.
Eric poured a shot of the good stuff. "On the house," he told Jim.
A hat tip. Jim turned his attention to the woman. Ever so slowly, his smoldering gaze took in her petite physique. He thought he saw her shiver. Lowering his eyelids he smiled into his drink. Swallowed hard. Dragged a thumb and forefinger down the sides of his mustache.
"My hero," she gushed, jokingly.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and husky in tone.
"Yeah. Wanna dance?"
"Sure." He lifted the black felt cowboy hat long enough to rake his fingers through dark wavy hair. Extended a hand to help her step down off the stool. "What's your name?"
"Vera. You...?"
He frowned; somewhat disappointed it wasn't the answer he expected. Nerve endings tingled. He squeezed his eyes shut, just as fast reopened them.
"Well?"
Her impatience amused him. He took her to the dance floor. They swayed to a mournful country western song. Her breathing went deeper, grew warmer. Had he been searching for a woman only for sex she would've–
His eyelids flew open.
He kissed her, tasting lime and candy apple. Breathed in the musky scent of her perfume. "Why don't we go someplace quieter Adele, er, Vera?" He murmured sweet nothings in her ear. Followed the curve of her neck with his tongue, gently nibbled on her earlobe. He cupped her ass and pressed her body closer to his. She moaned, too loud for comfort.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the exit. Both bartenders had their backs turned. The sound of Jim's Western boots slapping the wooden floor echoed through the hallway. He rushed her past the restrooms. Pushed in a metal rail and unlocked the self-closing rear door.
He clasped her hand in his, led her to an old black van parked at the edge of the woods on the opposite side of a gravel driveway beyond the reach of the security light. She smiled up at him. He tightened his grip. They walked to the sliding door on the side, crunching leaves blown into their path by a strong gust.
The sharp tip of a small branch steadily scraped the top of the vehicle. Jim snapped the twig in half. Before he could get the door open, she locked her arms around him. The strength of her kiss momentarily crippled him. He pulled her arms from his neck and stepped away. He swiped a hand down his face, felt embarrassed by his erection. Opening the door, he leaned in and grabbed a sleeping bag.
"Oooo, hurry baby," she murmured, with a dizzying sense of anticipation. She nimbly scratched his shoulder with red acrylic fingernails.
Unrolling the bag he spread it wide, rather pleased he'd removed the back seats a long time ago. His hands shook. He worked faster at smoothing out the material to quell his own excitement, which was different from hers.
She latched onto him the moment they climbed in.
He tried to close the door. She clung to his shirt and continued to put little wet kisses on the side of his face. He shrugged her off of him. Hooked his fingers around the handle and slammed the door shut. An apology poised on his lips, he was surprised to find she had removed her jacket and skirt by the time he turned around.
Oblivious of his slight tantrum, she peeled off the rest of her clothing. Gripped the front of his shirt with both hands and ripped the snaps apart. She kissed and caressed him all over.
Without a sound he forced her onto her back.
In mere seconds, the dirty deed was done.
The blare of a car horn pulled him out of a fitful sleep. Vera didn't move. Keeping his head low, Jim peered through the front windows. A noise to his left.
A car had been backed out of a parking slot. A young woman opened the door to get in. The male driver yelled for her to hurry the hell up. Clouds of bluish gray exhaust polluted the air each time he revved the engine. She strapped on her seatbelt at the same time he accelerated. Instead of heading to the main road at the front of Smoky Dawg the man fishtailed his car around the back of the large wooden building. The woman glanced at the van reflected in the headlights. Jim ducked. Bits of gravel pinged off the van's windshield.
He listened to the squeal of rubber against concrete then the roar of an engine fading into the distance before he felt confident the couple wasn't returning.
Jim leaned over Vera to fetch a roll of duct tape. She curled up beside him. He became aroused again by her sexuality. No woman, including his wife, ever extracted so much passion out of him. The initial shock of having sex with her hadn't fully waned. Only a minimal amount of coaxing by Vera, his body soon fell into rhythm with hers. He found she could cause an explosion within him even at a measured pace. He rocked to and fro, oblivious of his surroundings. She cried out in pain. The sound energized him.
"This is wrong, this is wrong," he whispered in agony, his muscles flexed hard in climax.
Jim divided his attention between both sides of the parking lot. Waited for the steady cadence of her breathing to tell him she was asleep.
Manicured fingers groped the interior for the tape.
Vera moaned. He was overcome with the urge to strangle her with the cheap chain around her neck. He resisted. The bar had closed. He needed to link up with the other departing customers. He lightly pushed her onto her back. She grunted. Her breath stunk. He wondered how many drinks she'd had before he arrived. He tore off a short strip. Placed the tape over her mouth and pressed down. Waited a few seconds.
Be a hell of a note if she woke up and caught me.
He bound her wrists and ankles. When he was through, he covered her with his half of the sleeping bag. He climbed into the driver's seat. Made a quiet departure.
When he reached the cabin on Talon Ridge, he steered right and followed an overgrown rocky footpath to the utility shed. Shut off the headlights but kept the motor running. Jim lit a cigarette. He enjoyed listening to the song on the radio. It reminded him of the one and only time he had picnicked with his wife, out on the lake in their boat.
A sluggish cloud of smoke drifted around his head. He recalled the sex. The first time was rather incredible. The second time, he had wanted to punish Vera. He didn't know why. There seemed to be no end to the fragmented memories. So much had been blocked out over the years.
He burned his thumb when he ground out the cigarette in the ashtray. The pain helped chase away the confusion.
He took a deep breath, released it unhurried.
Too much stress?
He turned the key to silence the van and heard the steady clickity-clack of a freight train winding its way through Point Jove. His mind went back to another time and place that held little meaning for him now.
Humming the song about a lonesome whippoorwill and the midnight train, he picked her up and carried her into the shed.
After placing her on the floor, he pulled back a bearskin rug. Yanked the trapdoor open. Tired and desperate for sleep, he dragged her nude body to the black hole, stopped so fast he almost fell through. Unsure why he wanted to, he got out his switchblade and cut the duct tape. Before he dropped her in he ripped the strip off her mouth.
* * *
A rush of adrenaline filled her when she eased up the trapdoor and peered through the crack. Lifting the door higher, rusted hinges screeched, the side of a bearskin rug slid off. She scanned the room in the semidarkness. Released her grip. The door landed with a dull thud on top of the rug, wildly scattering dust particles. Taut spider webs vibrated.
She climbed out of the root cellar. A strong musty odor on the surface mingled with the stench of decay from below. She choked back a gag. Turned in a tight circle, quickly assessed the contents in the room. The thinning glow of a sooty oil lantern couldn't penetrate the deep shadows in the corners of the large utility shed.
A loud thump.
She snatched up a crowbar and faced the open door.
The darkness beyond the threshold brought a preternatural quiet to the setting, the silence so bottomless that she heard her heart beating. She could feel him watching her.
Where is he?
Shivering hard, she tightened her hold on the crowbar, stared over her right shoulder at the mud-spattered window and readied herself for him to appear at any moment.
Another thump.
She jerked around in time to see the door bang against the wall behind it. Her heart throbbed. Her breath came and went in short frosty plumes. She crossed her legs, tried in vain to stop the flow of urine. It curled across the rough plank floor and dripped into the cellar. Her gaze shifted to the dark lines around her ankles. She stuck out her arms and saw the same marks around her wrists.
What the...?
The bottom step creaked.
It never once occurred to her that she wasn't alone down there. She inched away from the cellar. The shed came alive with the staccato sound of sleet tapping on a tin roof. She found a dirty bed sheet, wadded up underneath the shelf holding the lantern, and wrapped it around her shoulders for warmth. One more gust of air smacked the door against the wall and made her heart jump.
Go! She willed her legs to move and bolted through the entrance.
She'd only run a few feet when she looked back and saw the light go out. Gasped. Made a mad dash across the front of the building. Rounding the corner, thorn-laden branches pulled the cloth from her back. Attempts to reclaim it nearly entangled her long hair.
She winced as frozen rain stung exposed flesh while she hobbled through the darkness, pausing every few seconds to learn the terrain. Suppressed a moan each time sharp twigs scratched her face and got caught in her hair whenever she stumbled over small stones or fallen tree limbs.
Drifting storm clouds parted. In the slight yellowish tint of a full moon the forested setting seemed unfamiliar. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Convinced he was out there somewhere, she took advantage of the added light to run.
She didn't get very far before a tightness in her chest forced her to stop. Wheezing, her throat grew raw. She drew in a ragged breath. The crisp air soothed her throat with the cooling effect of peppermint. She pressed a hand against her forehead and noticed a numbing sensation in her fingertips. Realized she barely felt the ground beneath her feet.
Frostbite?
A twig snapped. "Ah!" She fought the urge to panic. Searched for movement, but the moon had begun to disappear again. She wondered if that guy, or perhaps a bear, had tracked her out of the woods to the edge of a clearing. Having ditched the crowbar without thinking, she was in a weak position. She tried to hear beyond the dwindling clamor of ice pellets bouncing off her and uncultivated vegetation and wind whistling softly through the trees, as the storm continued to recede. The sound was not repeated.
Her teeth chattered. The artic air seemed to freeze the marrow in her bones. Although her strength was waning, absolute terror put her feet in motion. The heady scent of coniferous trees alerted her to the likelihood of numerous castoff pinecones, straight ahead, she'd surely trip over. She changed course hoping her stalker would not follow suit.
She trailed the ice-coated boughs of a massive cedar tree. Halfway around the stiff evergreen, she fixed her gaze on the unexpected sight of distant lights. Overjoyed that she had a chance to live, she sought comfort from the pale illumination and moved onward. The last thing she remembered was dancing with someone new at Smoky Dawg Bar, and… why did he call me Adele? The rough terrain carried her downhill bringing her closer to the lights and civilization.
She speeded up. Lost her footing and tumbled head over heels.
* * *
On a misty predawn Sunday morning, Deputy Todd Kincaid rounded a curve at the base of Talon Ridge and saw her in the beam of his headlamps. Retreads skidded to a halt after he stopped short of driving over the woman's arm stretched across the shiny pavement. He slowly exhaled, loosened his grip on the steering wheel enough to maneuver his vehicle off to the side.
He stepped onto Shellknob Highway. Stood perplexed and still. Like smoke on the water a thin layer of fog folded in on itself in a hushed and unnatural silence creating an air of isolation and mystery – the worst is yet to come.
Note To Readers
Smoke on the Water is a stand-alone novel.
I hope the sample chapters piqued your interest enough to find out what happens next.
Thank you,
Sharon
http://sharonaustin.blogspot.com
Smoke on the Water
(Mystery/Suspense)
The gruesome discovery of a woman's corpse in the small tourist resort of Point Jove, Missouri draws Sheriff Josh Wolfe, a widower who enjoys tinkering with his award winning hot rod, into the most perilous case of his career. Hounded by the townsfolk and media, Wolfe exhausts every conventional method for solving the crime. The investigation comes to a standstill. Then, four more residents disappear. Everyone is convinced Rhone County is harboring a serial kidnapper who chooses his victims by chance. Wolfe believes the people are not only related to one another but are somehow tied to the last surviving member of the county's namesake. Time is not only running out for Sheriff Wolfe but for his lover, dissatisfied wife of a homebuilder, held against her will at the Rhone family's abandoned sawmill where spilled gasoline awaits a lighted match.
The Hellfire Trilogy
Book One – Smoke on the Water – A sheriff tracks a psychopath targeting members of a retired mariner's family.
Book Two – Fire Flicks – A reporter furthers his budding career as a crime scene photographer by filming new construction being set ablaze by his older brother, who has a dark secret of his own.
Book Three – Ashes of Vengeance – A deadly game of geocaching leads authorities on a wild goose chase that ends with a murdered kidnapper and a missing victim.
By Sharon A. Austin
SHORT STORIES
Night of the Dark – On Halloween night, in the midst of a blackout, a subterranean creature wreaks havoc on a small Texas town. (horror)
Shrinking Violette – Leland literally puts heart and soul into his flower garden. (sci-fi horror)
Bonnie Parker Smile – To earn the much-coveted Bonnie Parker smile, a man hones his skills in highway robbery. (supernatural crime)
Gar – A small group of amateur anglers learn payback bites when they try to get rid of a very large alligator gar before the start of a major fishing competition. (horror)
Stay With Me – A senseless act of murder unites two lonelyhearts. (paranormal romance)
NON-SERIES (mystery)
A Simple Plan – Special Free Preview of Killing Summer, a gritty tale where one partner in crime concocts a plan to extricate himself from murder.
Killing Summer – Blackmailed for murder, unable to prove his innocence, a man involves a rural sheriff in his plan for revenge. Inspired by a true story. (novel)
BAD MOJO SERIES (psychological thriller)
Bad Mojo – Special Free Preview of Serial Quiller, a spooky tale of voodoo magic, murder, and make-believe.
Serial Quiller – A crime writer embarks on a killing spree to help sustain her best-seller status. (novel)
Serial Quiller 2 – BJ Donovan seeks out a bokor and then goes on a murderous rampage after someone at a Florida writers retreat steals her manuscript, an unpolished first draft of a thriller novel, packed with unpublicized details leading up to the murder of Detective Lucas Cantin of New Orleans in Louisiana. (short story)