One Week to Live (paperback)












ISBN Digital: 978-1-61217-965-0
ISBN Print: 978-1-61217-964-3
Page Count: 302
Word Count: 71044
Rating: Spicy(PG13)


(MSRP: 16.9900)

An empty baby stroller, the shadow of a man, a child's cries--all images that haunt psychic Angela Martin's dreams. After blaming herself for a kidnapped child's death, she vows never to trust her visions again. But when a kidnapper strikes close to home, Angie can no longer turn her back on her gift.

Newspaper reporter Brian Murphy helps find kidnapped children. However, when he features Angie and her psychic skills in a story, things don't go well. She's hiding from a past that could put her in danger, and wants nothing to do with the nosy reporter and his charming ways.

When the kidnapper targets Angie with his twisted nursery rhyme game, she's forced to work with Brian. To save a child, Angie must rely not only on her visions, but also trust Brian with her secrets--maybe even her heart. Failure could mean death for them all.

Rating: Spicy
Page Count: 302
Word Count: 71044
Print ISBN: 978-1-61217-964-3

Excerpt:

"I can manage on my own. Don't be bird dogging me," she protested, pulling her elbow free from his grasp.

"My car's parked in your garage." Brian didn't think it was safe for her to wander through the garage alone with the kidnapper possibly lurking nearby.

"Suit yourself." Angie entered the elevator car and pressed the floor number.

The sound of their footsteps echoed through the hot garage. Several car engines roared to life a few rows over. When she unlocked and opened her car door, a sweet sickening scent wafted out.

"Yuck. What's that smell?"

He pushed Angie aside and peered in. "What the hell?"

Looking over his shoulder, she muttered, "Oh, my God!"

Dozens of dead roses were scattered across the front seat of her car and spilled onto the floor in a limp brown collection of flowers that produced a nauseous stench in the summer heat.

Brian scanned the garage, but saw no one nearby. In the distance, an elevator door slid open and someone in a wheelchair disappeared inside.

"There's a note," she whispered, her voice shaky.

Dragging his handkerchief out of his pants pocket, he reached in and took it from the seat. It read, "Isn't the smell of death wonderful?"
 




Copyright © 2017 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.