Running:
I've learned to run with water. Especially in warm weather. And I've learned how I like best to carry it. And I've discovered watering holes (drinking fountains) along my favorite routes. I love surviving.
Writing:
I never dreamed I'd write a "cozy murder" as one of my instructors would call this book. I'd always writtin more pleasant stuff. But over and over again I heard that my romantic chick-lit wasn't going to sell and I needed to venture into hen-lit and cozy mystery/murder. I don't have much stomach for it, really, so I'm surprised that I've written this novel, and that I'm sharing it with you. I hope you enjoy it, because from what the experts say, this is in high demand. Maybe the difference between me and the authors being published are a few things: I keep it clean--your daughter can read it. 
Sometimes the box is better than the toy, and the cover is better than the book. Sometimes not.
Secrets at Midnight
Leona Palmer Haag
Chapter 37
Monica's eyes opened
when the heavy door creaked open. She blinked at a silhouette. A man stepped
inside as the light flipped on and momentarily blinded her. His lips turned
upward as he crossed the room in short strides matching his height. He reached
out. She hated it when men touched her hair.
“Like gold spun from
sunlight,” he reverently said.
A genuine dingy blond, Monica’s color was
manufactured in a chemical plant. Enduring many hours in a salon kept the
illusion intact—which reminded her, she had an upcoming appointment she had no
intention of missing. But many things stood in the way—she was in Bogotá rather
than Dallas, thin wires bound her wrists and ankles, the man incarcerating her stood
between her and the door, and beyond, an unknown number of armed soldiers
patrolled.
“Eyes like the sky on
a pleasant day of birdsong,” the man said.
Oh, stop the poetry, she thought. Her eyes were washed-out green.
Contact lenses countered nature’s neglect.
The man touched her
skin, running his fingers along her cheek, then dropped them to her arm to
continue the caress. She remained motionless, but her mind envisioned his neck
cracking. She prayed she didn’t have to do it.
The man was summoned
and he retreated, locking the door behind him.
The petting zoo is closed now. Monica stared around the windowless
cement block chamber. She thanked her good fortune that he'd forgotten to turn
out the light, and after many days in darkness she examined what only her
fingers had explored.
A cement block
bulged—either sloppy workmanship or a loose brick hiding a….
Rising to her feet and
carefully balancing herself she baby-stepped her shackled feet to the block and
nudged it with her shoulder. It wasn't loose, but she did find something—a
rusty nail near her toes. She slid to the floor and retrieved it and began
scraping the nail along the wires. The cell filled with notes drawn from a
rusty bow on a hellish violin. Her fingers blistered, but soon her hands fell
free. Her feet were nearly loose when the door flew open. She shoved her hands
behind her back, clutching the lethal weapon.
“Another rat is joining
you,” a huge man announced, stepping inside. Fresh blood drizzled from a gaping
hole where a tooth had recently lodged. The light snapped off, closing the
horrible scene. His giant form exited the doorway and a new silhouette
emerged—someone dragging a limp body. With a sickening thud the body landed on
its knees before keeling over face first. The door slammed shut and the lock
grated. Footsteps retreated.
Without wasting time,
Monica resumed plying music from her rusty bow. The last wire popped and she
stretched out her legs, then pulled them into a crouch beneath her. “Who are
you?” she whispered.
A raspy voice whisper in
reply, “Monica?”
Monica lunged forward
and grasped the body, cradling Natalie’s head in her lap. “They said you’re
dead.” She found wires binding Natalie’s wrists, with sticky moisture oozing
around wires holding her ankles.
“No one can kill me.”
With the nail, Monica
worked on the shackles.
Natalie sucked in a
deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Three guards watch the hall. Two are pure
muscle, the other lean and agile. They’re carrying HK MP5’s.”
Monica joked, “Four
machine guns would scare me, but three won’t stop us. Thanks for sending the
big one to the dentist.” Her mind raced forward to formulate an escape
plan—snatch at least one weapon apiece—as the nail continued working the wires.
“Someone defected,”
Natalie whispered.
Monica’s nail stopped.
“You?”
“If it were, I would
have killed you by now. Is it you?”
“No. Let’s find the
rat and exterminate it.”
“I'd like nothing
better,” Natalie hissed. “My fingernails are ruined, I’ve lost a pair of
incredible shoes and my reputation needs defending.”
“Who turned?”
“Washington. They
bought him. He’s sending the office false information and they believe him, and
why shouldn’t they? He’s so spit-shined clean Marshall licks the ground he
walks on. He’s prepared an ambush. Armageddon begins next week.”
“What proof do you
have—who informed you?”
Natalie snorted in
disgust. “We’re here, thanks to Washington. He’s cleaning house—moving out
those closest to him. Me. You. Your husband.”
Monica’s heart raced.
“What about Matt?”
“He’s missing.”
Natalie paused. The only sound in the cell resonated from the nail. “I have a
code, but no password. Washington knows that. I received a transmission from
him moments before I was ambushed by a pseudo Mr. R—led to me by Washington.”
Washington—a rat? Monica couldn’t imagine it, but then, hadn’t
other squeaky-clean agents fallen?
“He turned you in. I
heard you were easy to capture.”
“They lost a few men.”
“I don’t believe you.
Blood makes you squeamish.”
“I love living and
wanted to keep my wedding ring, so I fought for them. I only lost the ring.
I’ll keep fighting. We’ll bring Washington down.”
Natalie’s whispered,
“It’s odd how he named us himself—Shadow and Kite. I’m unseen and infallible.
You soar above allies and foes. Combined against him, he has no hope. He should
have considered that.”
“Where is everyone
else?” Monica whispered.
“Pete is
dead—executed. I watched the video non-stop for days.”
“Oh, Natalie,” Monica
groaned. She paused only long enough to give her friend a quick sympathy hug, then
resumed cutting. “Pete was too wonderful to lose. I’m so sorry.”
Natalie’s hands burst
free. “I never want to close my eyes again—it’s too real—and if I ever get my
sights on the killer, he won’t stand a chance. The people closest to Washington
are high on my hit list as well. That cute little wife of his—Jenn at the day
care center—is my first target. She’s connected to everything.”
“She’s clueless.
Totally innocent.”
“Personally, perhaps,
but not her husband. Because of him, I lost Pete to cold-blooded, premeditated
murder. I want Washington writhing in pain, begging me to close his eyes for
him.”
Monica pulled away. “I
can’t release you to do that.”
Natalie lunged and
snatched the nail. “It’s ugly out there. Everyone thinks your husband defected.
Matt’s missing—with Jenn. You know he once loved her—asked her to marry him,
don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered,
struggling to regain the nail. She grasped it for a brief moment, only to lose
it.
“Do you regret freeing
me now and losing your weapon?”
Monica lunged, swiping
her fingernails toward Natalie’s face, but only raking her shoulder. She
grabbed a fist of hair and yanked. “If they think my husband defected, they're
idiots. Matt could never defect. He has too much goodness and decency. He's too
honest and—and he’s no longer romantically interested in Jenn.”
Natalie broke free and
locked Monica’s head in a vise grip. “Listen to yourself—he’s too good and
decent to do anything bad—but hasn’t he defected from his religion and his god?
Don't tell me he can't dishonor his oath. God, man and country—he’s defected
from everything. And you can’t tell me he doesn’t worship Jenn.”
Monica pushed her
away. “Finish freeing your feet, then we’ll go for the lock. You can either
break out with me, or stay here and rot. I’ve got a house to clean, a husband
to rescue and an agent to lock up.”
“I’ll kill the agent
to save you some work.”
“I hate blood,
remember?”
“Then don’t watch.”
When Natalie’s ankles
broke free, Monica grabbed her arm, hauled her to her feet and dragged her
toward the door, stealing back the nail in the process. Both froze as a key
scraped in the lock. Natalie snatched back the weapon, whispering, “I need
this. Blood doesn’t slow me down.”
With fate smiling on
Shadow and Kite, Monica tasted the sweetness of pending freedom—wind lifting
her wings.
End Chapter 37
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