(Book #5 in the Chase Dagger Mystery Series)
PRAISE FOR THE CHASE DAGGER SERIES...
“The appeal of cross-genre novels is sometimes difficult to target, but this one should have no trouble attracting readers from either the mystery or the fantasy side of the fence.”
"The attendant breezy sex, violence, and action, coupled with bits of Indian lore and Einstein the talking macaw, should have readers clamoring for the projected next novel."
"Lee Driver has written an exciting paranormal mystery that has excellent plotting, brilliant characterizations and an enthralling storyline."
—Midwest Book Review
"Lee Driver's Chase Dagger/Sara Morningsky series is one of the few truly dependable mystery series being published today. You always know what to expect with Driver -- the unexpected."
—Craig Clarke, Top 1000 Reviewer
“In Driver’s novels it is impossible to separate the lure of the plot and the magnetism of the characters. The chance to catch a hell of a mystery and the growing, unfolding enigma of such characters as these is exceedingly rare. Don’t miss the opportunity.”
—Lisa DuMond, www.sfsite.com
The Indiana Paranormal Investigators are spending the night in a gothic mansion on the outskirts of Cedar Point, Indiana. Four people are participating…only three remain in the morning. There have been other disappearances and homicides in the past connected with the mansion. And the one common denominator has been the weather. Fatal Storm finds Dagger and his entourage spending a night at the mansion to seek answers. But they get more than they bargain for as another storm builds on the horizon.
Book Excerpt from Fatal Storm:
The storm kicked into high gear battering the glass dome with hail. A figure on the stairs halted as lights flickered in a continuous pulse, as though the house itself were alive. She waited, not realizing she had been holding her breath, and then the lights gave one last wavering flash.
“Great,” she mumbled. Her fingers grappled for the railing as her foot cautiously sought the next stair. “It’s just a little rain,” she whispered as she slowly worked her way down the sweeping staircase. The foyer was the focal point of the house, reaching beyond the two stories to a glass dome. But the flashes of light played tricks on her eyes. Shadows appeared to linger on the second floor landing, jockeying for position at the railing to watch her careful descent. One minute she was contemplating how exquisite the aged mansion must have been during its heyday, the next she was imagining that every person who had ever lived here had just risen from the dust to watch her every move. She shivered at the thought and cursed herself for not checking the batteries in the flashlight.
A crash of thunder rumbled through the building like a never ending freight train. She could swear the entire staircase was vibrating. Lightning continued its spectacle illuminating the foyer like headache-inducing strobe lights. Maybe it was the shadows or the flashes but for one sick moment she could swear the lightning was green.
She averted her gaze but the shadows downstairs looked just as menacing. She slapped the flashlight against her hand. How like her hosts to give her a flashlight with weak batteries. If she concentrated she could ignore the storm and focus on other sounds, like voices, heavy footsteps, or the clatter of equipment. Between the rumbles and clashes she should have heard something. Where was everyone? They should have stayed together but it was her idea to go off on her own. The whole night had been boring until the storm. Then all hell broke loose. Were they hiding in a room waiting for her to run screaming into the night? She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. She was a Monroe, dammit, and Monroes never back down from a challenge. She squared her shoulders and forged on.
She felt something rush past—a breeze, a shadow, which stopped her cold. It was just her imagination playing tricks, she reminded herself. Had to be. Maybe someone had opened the front door. But then a cold breath touched her cheek.
“What?” She gasped and whipped her arm around but it didn’t touch anything solid. Her eyes peeled through the layers of darkness. “Deep breath,” she told herself. “Stay calm.”
The words came again, the breath cold and damp against her ear. Stop him.
A scream caught in her throat. She tore down the staircase, losing her grip on the flashlight as it skipped and banged away from her grasp. She tried to remember the layout of the house. Was the library to the right or left? Did she leave her purse in the library or the living room? The thunder was so loud and continuous, she doubted the others heard the commotion in the foyer.
The floor came up quickly. Her feet touched a cylindrical object sending her sprawling onto the cold marble. Damn, why did she have to wear her good leather slacks? Heeled boots wasn’t a smart choice of footwear, either. But she had wanted to look her best for the photographer who had taken pictures earlier. He was the smart one having left while there was still daylight.
She stole another glance at the domed window where the green sky turned in a dizzying circular pattern. Where was the lightning now when she needed it most? Which way was the entrance? She scrambled to her feet, embarrassed at her own show of fear. With arms outstretched to keep from plowing into a wall, she ran, expecting to reach the entryway but her toe struck something solid, a partial threshold or step. Her body struck a wall and then she was falling, too stunned to try to catch herself. She had visions of sailing down a flight of basement stairs and gave a quick assessment as to which part of her body she could afford to injure. Too quickly her head slammed against a hard surface. The lightning decided it had had a long enough break and commenced its macabre show, sending shadows darting and swimming in front of her eyes. But before she passed out Sheila could swear she wasn’t alone.
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