Caridad Pineiro® Romance Author
NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Romance Author
Sorry to have missed the blog yesterday, but family matters called to me.
I hope you all had a nice day yesterday and also hope you will enjoy this combo day’s offering – a prequel story to SINS OF THE FLESH. The prequel features Mick Carrera and offers some enlightenment on what he does and the kind of man he is beneath his dark and dangerous exterior.
To read the prequel, just click here to download the PDF file!
Today we’ve got some really awesome things going on for the launch party! You can download the first chapter of SINS OF THE FLESH for free, catch my guest blog with my friend and fellow author Amanda McIntyre and drop by and listen to my Blog Talk Radio Interview later today!
To download the free excerpt, just click here! (You’ll need Adobe Acrobat to read the excerpt).
To listen to the interview starting at 3 pm EST and even call in/chat your questions for me, you can click here or cut and paste this link:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/grandcentralpub/2009/10/29/Interview-w-Caridad-Pineiro-author-of-SINS-OF-THE-
Finally, drop by and visit me at Amanda’s place from some Coffee Talk! Just click here or cut and paste this link: http://mcintyreshouseofmuse.blogspot.com/
This week’s Wicked Wednesday brings you another installment of my urban fantasy involving a twist to the werewolf mythology, battles with vampires and a struggle for control in a werewolf pack. I hope you like this next free chapter that I’m offering you.
In the prior chapter, Catalina’s father goes to visit her before she goes out to hunt vampires. Because of her unusual state, Catalina is stronger than the other wolves in her pack in human form, but cannot control herself when she shapeshifts into the wolf. Because of that, she hunts throughout the month, except for the days in around the full moon when she loses control. In this chapter, Catalina is out on the hunt.
For those of you who may have missed the first chapters, you can read them here:
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She barely got her sword up to block the downward swing of the nail-studded bat. Reaching behind her, dazed from an earlier shot to her head by the vamp she had just dusted, she couldn’t quite get her hand on the grip of the crossbow.
The vampire raised the bat again, but she knew better than to continue kneeling there. Her awkward position made it difficult to effectively ward off another swing. Feinting to the left, she drew the vampire’s attention and he shifted the direction of his attack.
The bat impacted against the concrete of the street as she rapidly rolled to the right and came to her feet. Dropping her sword, she reached up behind her shoulder and this time, got a solid grip on the crossbow. Whipping it over her head, she fired as the vampire came at her.
He froze in place a few feet away, a stunned look on his face before he glanced down at the arrow protruding from his heart. The bat slipped from his hand and he scrabbled for a solid grip on the shaft of the arrow with his long, nearly skeletal fingers.
For good measure, Catalina notched another and fired again. Her aim true as the first. With a satisfying thud, the second arrow buried itself deep in the vamp’s heart. He finally crumpled to his knees, and then fell face forward toward her.
Catalina took a deep breath, tossed the crossbow back over her shoulder and picked up her sword. Glancing around, just to make sure there wasn’t another vampire beyond the two that had already attacked her, she approached the body. Turning him over, she realized he still wasn’t dead. He must be one of the old ones to be able to withstand two direct hits to the heart and the arrows driven deeper into his body by his fall.
He snarled at her, long fangs crimson with the blood of an earlier kill, and feebly reached for the arrows once more.
She didn’t hesitate a second longer. Raising her sword, she finished him off, severing his head from his shoulders. The surprising thing was, his hands continued to pluck at the arrows for long moments after. He definitely had been one of the old ones, which made her wonder why an elder was out hunting. Vampire elders usually forced the younger ones to bring them food, so one being out tonight hunting was unusual. As was having one attack her outright.
She walked over to the vampire she had killed earlier in the fight. What was left of him sat up against the edge of the building. Or at least part of him did. The lower half of him sprawled flat on the ground, legs splayed at an awkward angle.
Kneeling beside the upper half of his torso, she glanced into his sightless eyes and held her hand up over the middle of his chest. Nothing left of his power. He had clearly been a young vamp. Maybe even younger than the one who had attacked her a few nights ago. So beyond newly turned.
But even with that lack of age, he had managed to get in a good shot, she thought, rubbing at the knot on the back of her head where he had connected with the quarterstaff he had carried. As she bowed there, a prickling sensation sprang up between her shoulder blades.
Another one of the undead. Nearby.
Time: the second decade of the 21st century
As the immigration crisis reaches the boiling point, once-peaceful Latino protests explode into rioting. Cities across the nation are in flames. Anglo vigilantes bent on revenge launch drive-by shootings in the barrios, wantonly killing young and old. Exploiting the turmoil, a congressional demagogue succeeds in passing legislation that transforms the nation’s teeming inner-city barrios into walled-off Quarantine Zones. In this chaotic landscape, Manolo Suarez is struggling to provide for his family. Under the spell of a beautiful Latina radical, the former U.S. Army Ranger eventually finds himself questioning his loyalty to his wife—and his country.
Please welcome Raul Ramos y Sanchez, the author of AMERICA LIBRE. Raul has been gracious enough to vist with us and answer some questions. Please also check out the excerpt from AMERICA LIBRE as well as the video trailer.
A chat with Raul:
My sources tell me AMERICA LIBRE started out with a different name. Tell us about that and the timeline of getting your first novel published.
How many rejections did you receive?
What kept you writing?
Have you ever thought about doing a film about AMERICA LIBRE and if so, what did you do about it?
In conclusion, I’d like to thank you, Caridad, for inviting me as a guest on your blog. Hanging out with a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author is a rare privilege. I value your very generous support and wish you continued success with your wonderful work.
Thank you so much Raul for visiting. In chatting with you, I’ve learned what a positive role model you are for people everywhere. I’ve always believed that with hard work and determination you can overcome adversity and you are a true example of that belief in action. I wish you all the best with your writing career!
CHAPTER ONE
The origins of any political revolution parallel the beginnings of life on our planet. The amino acids and proteins lie inert in a volatile primordial brew until a random lightning strike suddenly brings them to life.
José Antonio Marcha, 1978
Translated by J. M. Herrera
The trouble had started two weeks earlier. Enraged at the fatal police shooting of a young Latina bystander during a drug bust, a late-night mob descended on a Texas Department of Public Safety complex and torched the empty buildings. By morning, a local newscast of the barrio’s law-and-order meltdown mushroomed into a major story, drawing the national media to San Antonio. Since then, the presence of network cameras had incited the south side’s bored and jobless teenagers into nightly rioting.
Seizing the national spotlight, the governor of Texas vowed looters would be shot on sight. Octavio Perez, a radical community leader, angrily announced that force would be met with force. He called on Mexican-Americans to arm themselves and resist if necessary.
Disdaining Perez’s warning, Edward Cole, a twenty-six-year-old National Guard Lieutenant, chose a provocative location for his downtown command post: the Alamo.
“This won’t be the first time this place has been surrounded by a shitload of angry Mexicans,†Cole told his platoon of weekend warriors outside the shutdown tourist site. A high school gym teacher for most of the year, Lieutenant Cole had been called up to lead a Texas National Guard detachment. Their orders were to keep San Antonio’s south side rioting from spreading downtown.
Now Cole was fielding yet another call over the radio.
“Lieutenant, we got some beaners tearing the hell out of a liquor store two blocks south of my position,†the sentry reported.
“How many?â€
“I’d say fifty to a hundred.â€
“Sit tight, Corporal. The cavalry is coming to the rescue,†Cole said, trying his best to sound cool and confident. From a two-day training session on crowd control, he’d learned that a rapid show of strength was essential in dispersing a mob. But the colonel who had briefed Cole for the mission had been very clear about the governor’s statement.
“Your men are authorized to fire their weapons only in self-defense,†the colonel had ordered. “And even then, it had damn well better be as a last resort, Lieutenant. The governor wants to deter violence, not provoke it.â€
Lieutenant Cole had never seen combat. But he was sure he could deal with a small crowd of unruly Mexicans. After all, he had eight men armed with M-16A automatic rifles under his command. Cole put on his helmet, smoothed out his crisply ironed ascot, and ordered his men into the three reconditioned Humvees at his disposal.
“Let’s move out,†he said over the lead Humvee’s radio. With the convoy underway, Cole turned to his driver. “Step on it, Baker. We don’t want to let this thing get out of hand.†As the driver accelerated, the young lieutenant envisioned his dramatic entrance . . .
Bullhorn in hand, he’d emerge from the vehicle surrounded by a squad of armed troopers, the awed crowd quickly scattering as he ordered them to disperse . . .
Drifting back from his daydream, Cole noticed they were closing fast on the crowd outside the liquor store. Too fast.
“Stop, Baker! Stop!†Cole yelled.
The startled driver slammed on the brakes, triggering a chain collision with the vehicles trailing close behind. Shaken but unhurt, Cole looked through the window at the laughing faces outside. Instead of arriving like the 7th Cavalry, they’d wound up looking like the Keystone Kops.
Then a liquor bottle struck Cole’s Humvee. Like the opening drop of a summer downpour, it was soon followed by the deafening sound of glass bottles shattering against metal.
“Let’s open up on these bastards, Lieutenant! They’re gonna kill us!†the driver shouted.
Cole shook his head, realizing his plan had been a mistake. “Negative, Baker! We’re pulling out.â€
But before the lieutenant could grab the radio transmitter to relay his order, the driver’s window shattered.
“I’m hit! I’m hit! Oh, my God. I’m hit!†the driver shrieked, clutching his head. A cascade of blood flowed down Baker’s nose and cheeks. He’d only suffered a gash on the forehead from the broken glass, but all the same, it was as shocking as a mortal wound. Never one to stomach the sight of blood, Baker passed out, slumping into his seat.
Cole couldn’t allow himself to panic; with no window and no driver he was far too vulnerable. Mind racing, he stared outside and soon noticed a group of shadowy figures crouching along the roof of the liquor store. Were they carrying weapons?
“Listen up, people. I think we might have snipers on the roof! I repeat, snipers on the roof!†Cole yelled into the radio. “Let’s lock and load! Have your weapons ready to return fire!â€
On the verge of panic, the part-time soldiers fumbled nervously with their rifles as the drunken mob closed on the convoy, pounding against the vehicles.
The window on Cole’s side caved in with a terrifying crash. The rattled young lieutenant was certain he now faced a life or death decision—and he was determined to save his men. With the radio still in hand, Lieutenant Edward Cole gave an order he would forever regret.
“We’re under attack. Open fire!â€
When it was over, twenty-three people lay dead on the black pavement beneath the neon sign of the Rio Grande Carryout.
Take a moment to watch the exciting trailer for AMERICA LIBRE. Also, everyone who leaves a comment by midnight EST on Friday will be eligible to win a copy of Raul’s novel.
I know that some of you prefer a book in your hands to reading an e-book. I can totally understand. It’s tough to worry about getting suntan lotion or sand in your e-reader or computer.
So the good news is – HONOR CALLS – my novella for Nocturne Bites will be part of THE AWAKENING THE BEAST collection that will be out in October 2009 from Silhouette Nocturne.
I love the characters in this novella – Michaela and Jesus. They are opposites in so many ways and yet drawn to each other by their strength and honor. Their honor, however, is what one day may pull them apart.
I am so hoping I will get to further explore their relationship in the future in a full length novel, but for now, I hope you enjoy their very sexy and very conflicted time together in HONOR CALLS.
Today’s Wicked Wednesday is an excerpt giving you a hint as to Michaela’s troubled past. I hope you enjoy it. *Warning* It does contain violence.
New Jersey Shore
Twenty Years Earlier
Her mother was bleeding.
Michaela could feel the warmth and wet of it drip down onto her as her mother held her hand and dragged her through the tall marsh grasses along the edges of the dunes. The stalks, dry from a lack of summer rain, crackled, the noise overly loud in the silence of the night.
Too loud, she thought, recalling the creature that had attacked them. The creature who would surely hear them, pounding and crashing through the grasses as they tried to escape him.
Suddenly her mother stopped short and shoved Michaela away toward a larger patch of foliage.
She fell to the ground, the sharp edges of the grasses biting into the palms of her hands as the tall stalks swallowed her up. The saw edges of the plants cut her hands and arms, but she bit down on her lower lip to stifle her cry of pain, aware it would reveal where she was.
Aware that her mother was ready to sacrifice her life in order to hide her.
Holding her breath, she tried not to move and peered through the ever-shifting mass of dune grass stalks that had covered her.
Her mother stood there, her chin at a defiant tilt. Blood dripped down the side of her face from a large gash above her brow. The blood looked black thanks to the palette of the night. Her face was washed to a pale almost green ghostly hue by the light of the full moon.
“You didn’t think you could run from me again, did you?â€
The tone of the creature’s voice was low, almost soothing except for the odd rolling sound beneath, like the purr of a cat.
Her mother said nothing for a moment, then picked up her chin another rebellious inch. “You will not take me again. I will not allow it.â€
The odd rumble in the creature’s voice intensified as he laughed and said incredulously, “You will not allow it?â€
Something flashed before her mother. A bright white blur so close to her . . .
A gush of dark liquid erupted from her mother’s throat and spilled down the front of her bright yellow sundress.
Her mother picked up her hand, brought it to her throat, but the creature yanked her hand away, laughing cruelly as he said, “I will have you now, as you die. I will have you after, as your body cools. But first . . .â€
The creature wrapped an arm around her mother’s waist, holding her up as her knees did a slow motion buckle. Burying his head against her ravaged throat.
The horrible sounds of his sucking and her mother’s moaning carried across the still night.
Michaela covered her ears, but it was too late to avoid hearing him say, “But first I will have your blood.â€
Curling up into a tight ball, she tucked her head against her knees, brought her arms up over her head and closed her eyes. Tried to escape from what was going on just a few feet before her. Imagined other places and times. Prayed for her mother to be safe. Thought about the yellow sundress her mother wore and how they had bought it at the thrift store just earlier that week.
The rough shake of the ground beneath her body pulled her back from where she had gone.
Only then did she realize the night was now almost quiet. The only sounds those of the stalks as the wind moved them and the far away susurrus of the waves washing up against the shore.
She was alone. Or at least she thought she was.
Peering through the brittle green stalks, she saw what had made the resounding thud that had snared her attention.
Her mother’s body lay less than an arm’s length away, staring sightlessly at the moonlit sky. Her dress torn, exposing her breasts and the bite marks on them. The cheery yellow of her dress bloodied from the hideous hole where her throat had once been.
She wanted to keen and cry, run to her mother, but instead she grabbed hold of her knees and forced herself to remain still, fearing that the creature lingered nearby. Knowing that her mother had given her life to save her. That she could not dishonor that sacrifice with her fear.
A second later the ground shook again and suddenly there were shafts of light piercing the night, moving back and forth across the dark sky. Another tremor of the earth came beneath her and she realized the tremors were footfalls. Coming closer and faster as the intensity of the lights increased until suddenly there were blue pants legs standing before her hiding place.
“Shit. Holy shit,†the man said and passed his flashlight over her mother. Across her still beautiful face and sightless eyes.
She cried then, a puny wheezing sound, but it was enough to snare the man’s attention.
He parted the grasses before her and the silver and gold badge on his chest gleamed brightly against the royal blue of his uniform.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,†he said and reached for her.
Awakening the Beast
October 2009 – Silhouette Nocturne
A collection of sexy Nocturne Bites featuring:
Honor Calls, Return of the Beast, Mortal Enemy,
Immortal Lover, Claws of the Lynx and Wilderness
by Caridad Pineiro, Lisa Renee Jones,
Olivia Gates, Linda O. Johnston and Barbara J. Hancock
This Thoughtful Thursday we’re having a redux and continuing to visit with Nancy Thayer, the New York Times-bestselling author of The Hot Flash Club, The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again, Hot Flash Holidays, The Hot Flash Club Chills Out, and Moon Shell Beach. Nancy is also the author of a new June release, Summer House. She is the mother of Samantha Wilde, whose debut novel, This Little Mommy Stayed Home, comes out on June 23. Nancy lives on Nantucket. You can visit her website at www.nancythayer.com.
If you leave a comment on this blog by midnight EST Friday June 24th, you could be the lucky winner of a SINS OF THE FLESH t-shirt!
At thirty, Charlotte Wheelwright remains the dreamer she’s always been. But when she begins an organic garden on a portion of her grandmother’s land, Charlotte learns to plant her feet in solid ground and begins to build a new life.
More often than not, ninety-year-old Nona Wheelwright contentedly spends her time reminiscing about days gone by. But with her family’s annual reunion and financial meeting looming, Nona must give up her days of quiet solitude to soothe her easily riled up family.
For decades Charlotte’s mother, Helen, who married into the illustrious Wheelwright family, has been pressured to adhere to their way of life. But when, during the course of the family’s annual summer retreat, she discovers her husband’s betrayal, Helen wonders if she sacrificed her dreams for the wrong reasons.
Artfully written and set on the glorious island of Nantucket, Nancy Thayer’s Summer House is a vibrant and stirring novel about family, love, and daily choices that affect entire lives.
New York Times calls it, “a Nantucket family-reunion story…well-wrought, appealing book will come as a pleasant surprise…packed with literally down-to-earth charm, what with a central character who escapes her family of starchy bankers by lovingly tending her vegetable garden.”
Charlotte had already picked the lettuces and set them, along with the bunches of asparagus tied with twine and the mason jars of fresh-faced pansies, out on the table in a shaded spot at the end of the drive. In July, she would have to pay someone to man the farm stand, but in June not so many customers were around, and those who did come by found a table holding a wicker basket with a small whiteboard propped next to the basket. In colored chalk, the prices for the day’s offerings were listed, and a note: Everything picked fresh today. Please leave the money in the basket. Thanks and blessings from Beach Grass Garden. She hadn’t been cheated yet. She knew the customers thought this way of doing business was quaint, harkening back to a simpler time, and they appreciated it.
Perhaps it helped them believe the world was still a safe and honest place. The day was overcast but hoeing was hot work and she had been up since four-thirty. Charlotte collapsed against the trunk of an apple tree, uncapped her water bottle, and took a long delicious drink. Nantucket had the best water on the planet: sweet, pure, and clear. It was shady in this overgrown spot, so she lifted off the floppy straw hat she wore, in addition to a heavy slathering of sunblock, and sighed in appreciation as a light breeze stirred her hair.
She couldn’t linger, she had too much to do. She took another long drink of water, listened to her stomach rumble, and considered returning to the house for an early lunch.
When she heard the voices, she almost jumped.
People were talking on Bill Cooper’s side of the fence, just behind the green tangle of wild grapevines. Hunky Bill Cooper and his gorgeous girlfriend. From the tense rumble of Coop’s voice and Miranda’s shrill whine, they weren’t happy.
“Come on, Mir, don’t be that way.†Bill’s tone was placating but rimmed with an edge of exasperation.
“What way would that be?†A sob caught in Miranda’s throat. “Truthful?â€
The moment had deï¬nitely passed, Charlotte decided, when she could clear her throat, jump up, and call out a cheerful hello. Vague snuffling sounds informed her that Bill’s dogs, Rex and Regina, were nearby, nosing through the undergrowth. She thought about the layout of Bill’s land: along the other side of the fence grew his everlasting raspberry bushes. The berries wouldn’t be ripe yet, so Bill and Miranda must be taking the dogs for a walk as they often did.
She was glad the berry bushes grew next to the fence, their prickly canes forming a barrier between Bill’s land and Nona’s. A tangle of grasses massed around barberry bushes was wedged against the fence, and then there were the tree trunks. They would pass by any moment now. She would keep very quiet. Otherwise it would be too embarrassing, even though she had a right and a reason to be here.
“I never lied to you, Miranda. I told you I wasn’t ready for a long-term commitment, especially not when you’re in New York all winter.â€
“You could come visit me.â€
“I don’t like cities,†Bill argued mildly.
“Well, that’s pathetic. And sleeping with that—that slut—is pathetic.†Miranda was striding ahead of Bill. She cried out, “Rex, you stupid, stupid dog! You almost tripped me.â€
“Mir, simmer down.†Bill sounded irritable, at the end of his patience.
Miranda didn’t reply but hurried into the orchard of ancient apple trees. Bill followed, crashing through the brush. Charlotte could hear a few more words—I’m not kidding! It’s over, Bill!—then she heard the hum of their voices but no words, and then they were gone.
“Gosh,†Charlotte whispered to herself.
Charlotte had had a crush on Bill Cooper for years. Coop was a hunk, but so easygoing and funny that when you talked with him you could almost forget how handsome he was. She seldom saw him, even though he lived right next door. Of course, “right next door†was a general term.
Nona’s property consisted of ten acres with ï¬fty feet of waterfront on Polpis Harbor, and the Coopers’ land was about the same size. With all the plantings, you couldn’t see one house from the other, even in winter when all the leaves had fallen.
Like the Wheelwrights, the Coopers mostly summered on the island, the Wheelwrights coming from Boston, the Coopers from New York. Eons ago, when they were all little kids, Coop had played a lot with Charlotte’s brother Oliver, even though Oliver was younger, because Coop was an only child, and the two families got together several times over the summer for cocktails or barbecues. Then came the years when they rarely saw each other, everyone off in college and backpacking in summer instead of coming to the island.
Coop lived in California for a while, but three years ago his parents moved to Florida and Coop moved into the island house, telling everyone he wanted to live here permanently. He ran a computer software business from his nineteen-sixties wandering ranch house, mixed his plasma TV and Bose CD player in with his family’s summery bamboo and teak furniture, and was content. Mostly he allowed his land to grow wild, except for a small crop of butter-andsugar corn famous for its sweetness. At the end of the summer, he held a party outdoors, a clambake with fresh corn, cold beer, and icy champagne.
Charlotte had seen Coop and Miranda about town now and then, when she went in to catch a movie or pick up a prescription at the pharmacy. It was obvious why any man would fall in love with Miranda Fellows. She was a dark-eyed beauty hired to run Luxe et Volupté, an upscale clothing shop on Centre Street. She was British, and her accent thrilled the young, beautiful, rich, social-climbing set, men as well as women. She was such a snob, and Coop was such a genuine good guy, they seemed like an odd pair, but Charlotte hadn’t allowed herself romantic thoughts about Coop.
She hadn’t allowed herself romantic thoughts about any man for quite a long while.
Her own move to Nantucket had not been a lighthearted, impulsive act. She’d thought about it a lot. She’d searched her soul. She came to Nantucket to get away from men—at least from one particular man—and to somehow balance with good acts the wrong she’d done. Her organic garden was her own self-imposed penance and repentance, and she’d been diligent and hardworking and nunlike for three years. She didn’t know when her penance would be over . . . but she knew she would ï¬nd out when the time came. Until then, she forced herself to work hard, every day.
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One of our last Wicked Wednesdays was a Behind the Scenes look at Bradley Beach where our hero, Mick Carrera, has his home in my November paranormal romantic suspense release, SINS OF THE FLESH.
This time I’m going to give you a little Behind the Scenes look at another pivotal location in the novel — The Pine Barrens in New Jersey, also known as the Pinelands. Also known as the supposed home of the Jersey Devil.
The Pine Barrens is an enormous area of coastal plain, over 1 million acres large in South Jersey. It contains one of the state’s largest water aquifers and is both a National Reserve and a United Nations International Biosphere Reserve.
Because of its size and location close to the Jersey Shore and Camden, not to mention its protected status, it became the perfect place for me to locate the buildings for Wardwell Laboratories, the company that is supposed to provide Caterina Shaw, our heroine, with her gene therapy. The Wardwell buildings are right on the edges of one of the Pine Barrens’ non-developed areas and because of that, there are several scenes which take place in the woods nearby.
Today’s Wicked Wednesday is about Mick’s first visit to the Wardwell offices and a meeting with one of the company’s founders.
Mick Carrera understood what kind of man he was.
Ruthless.
Determined.
Skilled in the art of killing.
People came to him when no one else could handle their problems because Mick either solved them or eliminated them — if Mick thought elimination was justified. Some scruples remained buried in his soul, a secret he closely guarded. In his line of work, having scruples equated to weakness.
Dr. Raymond Edwards had presented him with the kind of job that possibly ended with elimination, although Edwards hadn’t come right out and said so during their short telephone conversation. The doctor had skirted around the subject with the skill of a ballroom dancer, insisting time and time again that all he required were the services of a security specialist to assist with a problem at their facility.
Mick’s initial misgivings made him wonder why he had even come to the doctor’s office for this additional discussion. His typical clientele preferred meeting places that were much less visible, but then again, maybe such transparency meant that the doctor had been truthful about the nature of this assignment.
He scoped out the office as he entered, taking note of the fact that there was only one entrance in and out. Not good in case of the need for a quick escape. As he passed a credenza located beneath a wall filled with diplomas, framed news articles and photos, he noticed a small bronze statue of a horse mounted on a heavy marble base.
The size and weight of the statue would make it a handy weapon for either cracking open a man’s skull or breaking through the plate glass windows which lined one long wall of the office. The clear windows were now darkening, the color becoming as deep and dense as squid ink and likely for the same reason – concealment.
Mick had noticed all the high tech security on his way through the entrance of the building. He had expected it even while worrying about it. He knew his image would end up saved on a hard drive somewhere from the assorted cameras throughout the offices, but if Dr. Edwards was on the up and up, this was one job that was too good to not consider.
“I thought you might like some privacy,†the man behind the desk said as he rose and offered his hand.
“Dr. Raymond Edwards,†the man said.
Mick shook his hand and with a nod said, “Mick Carrera.†As Mick sat, he caught a glimpse of another security camera behind the desk, aimed directly at his chair. When Edwards tracked his gaze, he said, “Don’t worry, Mr. Carrera. I’ll make sure all traces of you are erased from our systems.â€
“I appreciate your understanding,†he said, even while wondering again why a supposedly distinguished scientist like Raymond Edwards seemed compelled to seek out the services of a man like him. Wondering what else the good doctor had erased from the company’s security videos.
Dragging his attention to the man seated behind the desk, he listened as Edwards offered a rather lengthy introduction about the work that his biotech company did and their many accomplishments. Edwards’ manner was outwardly confident and business-like, but Mick couldn’t help but notice how the doctor kept his right hand on the face of the file on his desk and fiddled with one corner of the thick folder, thumbing it again and again. The curled corner of the papers confirmed that Edwards had opened up that file more times than the good doctor wanted him to know.
When Edwards paused for a breath, Mick seized the opportunity. “Your mission is clear, Dr. Edwards. Your company specializes in developing gene therapies for the terminally ill.”
The man stiffened and immediately corrected him. “Our present group of patients is terminally ill, but we hope that what we learn from our current research –”
“Will help all of mankind in the future. So why do you require my services?”
Copyright 2009 Caridad Pineiro Scordato – All rights reserved.