Happy weekend, everyone! Today I have another unpublished short story for you, SOMETHING HE WANTS, which followed LONG PAST DAWN in The Friessens series. There’s also a new audio release, a giveaway and free audio codes to enjoy. Have a fabulous Friday & take good care– Lorhainne
Something He Wants
There was something about the concrete, the barred windows, the miles of wires, and the guards perched a hundred feet up, watching him now with a threat or a warning, protecting these walls and keeping the angry, horrible monsters locked away. Every one of the men inside this prison had been someone’s child, with hopes and dreams of his own, and somewhere along the way, something had gone horribly wrong.
Everything about it was unfeeling, and as Andy Friessen stood outside in the cold, taking in the pale concrete against the gray sky, he knew nothing good could come from a place like this.
The wind picked up and rustled his neatly cut salt and pepper hair as he pulled at the collar of his black coat and shoved his hands in his pockets. He spotted a car in the distance and waited until the silver Malibu parked beside his rental SUV in the lot. He didn’t move as the door opened and a woman he’d known for more than two decades stepped out.
Jan Brown had short dark hair and a round face, and she wore blue jeans and a tan wool coat. A dark-haired young woman stepped out the other side of the car, her wool coat frayed on the arms, her skirt wrinkled from sitting, and her boots scuffed.
“You been here long?” Jan said. She stood only five foot six, he thought, and he towered over her. The other woman was likely an inch shorter but a size or two bigger. She said nothing to him.
“Just got here,” he replied. “So he’s still willing to see us?”
Jan nodded, and he could see her breath as she exhaled. “As of last night, my last call to the warden. Let’s remain cautiously optimistic and remember what the warden said: He can’t be trusted, so don’t tell him anything personal.”
Andy stilled as he thought of his beautiful wife back home and his daughter Sara, who was the image of her. He thought of all his kids, who were just making their way in this world despite the roadblocks that seemed to be tossed in their paths. There was one thing about Andy: When cornered, he came out swinging, and right now, the man they were meeting had something he wanted.
“How long have we known each other?” Andy said.
There it was, the hint of a smile. Jan was the woman who made sure no one ever fucked with Andy, but she kept her personal life neatly tucked away. He’d heard rumors about a divorce long ago from a husband who’d picked her bank account clean, and now a new lover half her age.
“Long time,” she said. “Well, let’s do this. I have other cases, and I want this wrapped up so I can move on.”
He liked that about her, her straightforwardness. The other woman had fallen in beside Jan without a word, not commenting or needing to fill the awkward moment with frivolous small talk.
“Andy, this is Kizzy, a law student,” Jan said, then turned to her. “So we’re clear on your role, you won’t talk to him, and I already filled you in on what the warden said about him. Any interest he sends your way, you won’t engage. Give him nothing. Just sit there and do not answer.”
“Yes, I understand,” Kizzy replied. “So what if he doesn’t sign the agreement or confess?”
The guard at the door buzzed them in. The concrete floor and walls were dark and dingy.
“You just sit there quietly,” Jan said. “That’s why I picked you to come, because of your ability to handle a delicate situation. He thinks he holds all the cards, and right now, unfortunately, he does. We go in there, and we need to all be on the same page so that he believes we have all the power. If he doesn’t agree to our terms, then we’ll walk, and he has nothing. This is it, all or nothing, and we have only one shot at this.” She turned back to him. “This is for your daughter, Andy, and her fiancé. That’s the only reason I’m here, working this.”
There was another buzz as another barred door opened, and Andy waited for Jan and Kizzy to walk through and over to the square window.
A guard was on the other side, a light shining behind him. “Sign here, and leave your bags and coats,” he instructed. “Cell phones, too. Anything you plan to take in will have to be searched first.”
They handed all their personal effects over and signed in to the prison, and Andy took in the knitted black V-cut shirt Kizzy wore. She had a full bust (he suspected a D cup), and her skirt was tight at the hips. Her full lips were unsmiling.
He knew a few things from having read Jan’s notes on her: She had the third-highest marks in her class, definitely competitive, and ass-kickingly good, but with a deadbeat leech of a boyfriend. Andy wondered how long it would take for Kizzy to figure that out.
What was it about strong, capable women that made them magnets for the losers of the world? He supposed Kizzy was simply following in Jan’s footsteps in that regard. At the same time, he’d learned long ago that even people who could be relied on were not always heroes. Case in point, he definitely wasn’t.
He took the clip-on visitor badge that the guard handed to him and clipped it to the pocket of his shirt, then looked up after he heard another buzz, seeing a different guard now, uniformed, wearing the same deadpan expression as the two before.
“We have only thirty minutes,” Jan said, holding her briefcase again, first through the barred door.
Andy gestured for Kizzy, who hadn’t pulled her gaze from him, to follow.
“I didn’t expect you to be coming with us, Mr. Friessen,” she said. She had fallen in beside him as Jan led the way, following the guard down another hallway, concrete and more bars ahead.
“Why wouldn’t I?” was all he said.
She didn’t shrug, just kept walking. There was something about the walls that seemed to ooze with death. Maybe that was why his heart was pounding, and he reminded himself to breathe past the feeling of panic in his chest. He wondered if this was what every man felt when he walked through these doors, many to never step outside again. At least he would be going home.
How many doors had they passed? There was an echo, the squeak of metal, the clang of keys, footsteps, voices, then shouting as another door was opened and closed. He figured they were inside the prison by now, and he and Kizzy followed Jan and the guard into a concrete room with a metal table, chairs, a light in the ceiling, and no window.
He listened to chains and the echo of footsteps, and then a man appeared, dark, tall, handcuffed, with prison tattoos on his forearms. Darnell Watson was big and strong, and Andy wondered if he could snap a man’s neck if given a chance. He was put into the chair, and his dark eyes locked on to Andy’s as a guard cuffed his ankle to the floor. Andy listened to the clang of the metal as the cuffs fell away.
Darnell rubbed his wrists, taking in Jan before his gaze landed on Kizzy and he made a sound of appreciation.
“I’ll be just outside,” the guard said. “Call if you need me.”
Andy leaned against the concrete wall, looking down on this man, who was doing life.
“So is this pretty mama here for my conjugal visit?” Darnell said.
His tone had Andy stiffening, but Kizzy only flicked Darnell what he thought was a “Fuck you” expression. She kept it together. Good girl!
“Mr. Watson, we’re here about Tiera Reed,” Jan said. “You know, the woman who’s doing life after taking the fall for you and your stolen guns. Right now, you could do the right thing and come clean. It will mean no more time is added to your sentence, and if you do, there’s a deal that could even make your time easier.”
Darnell laughed, deep in his chest. Andy took in the cut of the muscles in his forearms and the way he sat in the chair, shamelessly undressing Kizzy with his eyes. It took everything in him for Andy not to grab that piece of shit and make him mind himself, but Jan had already tossed him a look that told him to pull it together.
“Tiera who?” Darnell said.
Right, that was why they were there. Darnell wouldn’t come clean for the crime he’d done, for grooming one woman after another, hiding behind them and taking cover. After all, it seemed he saw women as nothing but collateral damage.
“Are you finished being an asshole?” Jan said. “This is a time-sensitive offer, and the clock is ticking. Tiera Reed, young mother of two boys. Come on, you know what you did, telling her she’d get just a couple years and be out, yet the three-strike rule got her. She didn’t hear from you again. You moved on, but the next woman was smarter. She wouldn’t take the fall, and here you are.”
He said nothing at first, then angled his head to Kizzy like a dog sniffing around a bitch in heat. “So who’s she?”
“My assistant, another lawyer,” Jan said. “So how about it, Darnell? Come clean and your life gets a lot easier.”
The quiet echoed in the concrete room.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Kizzy said. She had leaned forward, and even he could see the cleavage she didn’t try to hide.
Darnell pulled back. “Not good enough,” he said.
“So doing the right thing isn’t for you?” Jan said. “I see that, but then, how many women have you talked into doing your bidding? They take the fall, carry the guns and the drugs, and you pick at them bit by bit, like a vulture.”
He smiled. “So who’s the angry white man in the corner who looks like he’d rather slit my
throat than talk?” he said.
Andy didn’t move and didn’t uncross his arms.
“No one of importance,” Jan said. “He’s just here observing. Pretty sure you were offered something you’ll never get otherwise.”
Andy made a point of looking at his watch.
“Ten minutes is all you have,” Jan continued, “and then we walk out that door and never come back, and you go back to that cell that you share with a man who cries himself to sleep every night, to the crazies who howl all the time. Bet you never expect to have a good night’s sleep again. I can’t imagine what that would be like, kind of like losing your mind bit by bit every day—and because this is a federal max in Pennsylvania, they don’t allow conjugals. But what if you were transferred to a medium security, say, over in Washington, where it seems more like a country club?”
Darnell wasn’t smiling anymore. Andy guessed he’d figured out who held all the power here.
“Say I do confess to something,” he said. “How do I know that I’ll get my transfer, that I’ll get what you say? It seems to me that I have something you want, so let’s do this. You get me the west coast, and get my sentence reduced.”
There was just something about Darnell that told Andy the man wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Of course, that would have been too easy.
Jan had her file open and wrote something down, then clicked her pen, closed the file, and tucked it into her briefcase. “Well, I guess we have our answer. I’d say that’s time.” She scraped back her chair, and Kizzy took her time getting up. Andy didn’t miss Darnell’s panic, his anger, the animalistic expression that said he could hurt them.
“Whoa, wait a second! What’s going on?” he said. “You’re not going. We’re just negotiating. We’re just getting started. Come on, sit back down.”
But Jan had her hand on Kizzy’s back and had moved her around the table, then tapped on the door. The chair scraped back, and Darnell was on his feet, but the chain clanged, and he couldn’t move. The guard was there in an instant, slamming him down on the metal table. The sounds, the scent, the feeling of desperation—Andy wondered how many showers he would have to take to wash it all away.
“Don’t go,” Darnell called out. “What the fuck? I want a deal. You said you’d get me moved. I know her! Yes, I talked that stupid bitch into owning it. She was easy, like putty. You
want to know everything? I’ll tell you…”
He was still yelling, though the guard had him face down, his arms pinned back. Andy took in Jan’s determined gaze, which flicked over to him.
“That will be fine then, Darnell,” she said. “Guard, if you could sit him down?”
As Jan walked back around the table and the guard had Darnell sitting again, Andy appreciated how she could fool anyone into thinking she was soft and easy. He knew that he and Kizzy had been dismissed, and they started toward the door.
“So, Mr. Watson, just so we’re clear,” Jan continued behind them, “this in contingent on you coming clean on the crime, providing details that can be corroborated so that Tiera Reed, who is doing life for you, will then be free…”
“So that’s it,” Kizzy said as they walked back through the prison, led by another guard.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Andy replied. He stopped at the window with her, signing out, taking their things back. “I suppose this was a long way to come to just watch and listen,” he added.
She stood before him as they waited for the guard to open the door. “With all due respect, Mr. Friessen, I’m not a fool,” she replied. “I know you both used me because I’m his type, and that’s the only reason I’m here.”
For a second, he paused. He didn’t know what to say, and he took in the guard ahead of them, who was expressionless but whose watchful eyes said he knew exactly what Andy and Jan had done.
He should’ve been ashamed, but instead he said, “I won’t apologize. You’re a smart woman. I owe you, so here is my gift to you: I want you to know that when you fly home with Jan tonight, you’re going to walk in on your boyfriend with another woman in your bed, or you’re going to check your bank account and find it’s down another five hundred, and it’s because you’re that same strong, confident type that men like Darnell Watson find, groom, and take everything from.”
Her face gave away nothing. When she went to answer, the guard interrupted them.
“He’s right, ma’am,” he said. “I see it every day. The signs are right there in front of you. You just need to open your eyes and see them.”
The End
New on Audio
Narrated by Leo Jones
“A compelling story that touches on powerful social issues” Bookbub Reviewer
Grab a FREE US or UK Audible code below–first come, first served!
On a cold and rainy night, Billy Jo McCabe receives a troubling phone call about a child in trouble. But when she shows up alone, things quickly go sideways, and she realizes her mistake.
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Wilde Brothers titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
Follow the heartwarming love stories of the Friessens in this uplifting and romantic saga! As each family member struggles to find the one, they find strength in each other. This boxed set collection includes Books 15 - 18, It Was Always You, The First Time I Saw You, Welcome to My Arms, Welcome to Boston.
Author Lorhainne Eckhart returns with a brand new generation of Friessens in this long running Friessen Family series. This big family romance series is loved by fans worldwide and is about family, commitment, hope and making a relationship work. This boxed set collection includes Books 15 – 18 in the Friessen Legacy Series IT WAS ALWAYS YOU: She never realized until she lost him that he was the only man she’d ever love. THE FIRST TIME I SAW YOU: Like his parents Andy and Laura Friessen, Gabriel knows what it means to face an impossible situation. What he doesn’t realize when he puts up an ad looking for a roommate he never expects to meet a down on her luck gorgeous single mom with a meddling family, a crazy ex-boyfriend, and enough chemistry between them to heat a county. WELCOME TO MY ARMS: What was supposed to be a simple rescue by a stranger turns into so much more. WELCOME TO BOSTON: Either this would be the biggest mistake of her life, or it could turn out to be the best decision Paige ever made. After all who accepts an invitation from a man they hardly know to travel across the country to get to know them better, from a note? Will this turn out to be a mistake that Paige will regret and have her walking into something that she can’t control? Or will this be a chance for love that Paige and Morgan are both looking for?
Other Books in the "The Friessen Legacy Box Set Collections"
On a cold and rainy night, Billy Jo McCabe receives a troubling phone call about a child in trouble. But when she shows up alone, things quickly go sideways, and she realizes her mistake.
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Friessens titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
Now, some of you may be excited to share with everyone that you got your first vaccine, and which one it was, and that you were lucky and had no side-effects. But do you always share information about your trips to the doctor, your medical exams, your diagnoses, or maybe all the prescription drugs you’re taking? Some may argue that they have the right to know in order to protect themselves, but health officials have already reported that you can still be a carrier after being vaccinated, and you can still get sick. This is along with the fact that they don’t really know how effective the vaccine will be in the long term. Having said that, some people won’t be able to have the vaccine, and some aren’t comfortable with how fast it was rushed out. Do people have the right to their own bodies? Some may argue no, not when that goes against the public interest.
We seem to be in a place now where questions like this are the norm. Just the other day, I listened to discussions and phone calls among family and friends who were all over the place, with one family member saying no, and then outrage followed. In one conversation, a man who’d had his vaccine announced to a group, “Anyone who doesn’t get vaccinated should lose all access to healthcare.” That idea seems to be being put out there more and more, but it didn’t stop there, because the conversation continued when someone responded with anger, “So what are you saying, that maybe we should round all these people up and lead them into rail cars?”
Now, if any of you don’t have an idea where that line of thought was going, you should, because those atrocities from years ago are still raw in this world and should serve as a reminder of how that can’t happen again.
Should this have been the end of the conversation? Likely. But anger is anger, and human nature is to find someone to blame. You can imagine how the tension spiked. Instead of ignoring the man, someone else said, “So what you’re saying is that everyone who refuses a vaccine should lose rights.” The older man jumped back in: “Yes, absolutely.” Someone else responded with, “Maybe these people should be moved off to camps or something. Locked in.”
Those angry words should have everyone sitting up and understanding that their privacy is being invaded. Do you believe your personal information should be shared?
When I first heard this, I wondered where the anger that seems to be simmering below the surface is coming from. I was listening to a CBC radio show, and a doctor was speaking on Covid vaccinations and the importance of everyone having one and how low the risks are. The doctor said that if you know of someone who doesn’t want to get vaccinated, you should sit down and talk to that person about it and find out why, then encourage him or her to get vaccinated. I listened in horror, because there is a point—and I’m not sure how we got here—where lines of privacy are crossed, and this is being encouraged by public officials.
Some may say that this is different. But remember that countries are handling the global pandemic in different ways. A few actually have a handle on it, whereas others play politics with people’s lives. Everyone should be paying attention to what happens behind the scenes, where your privacy rights are slipping away, being legislated away.
Everyone wants an end to this pandemic and for life to return to normal. But I certainly do not want to go back to what everyone considered normal. Normal was what? Hiding the social inequality that very few would talk about, which exists deeply in society, companies, businesses, governments, and neighborhoods? Hiding police overreach, widespread systemic racism and corruption, the elimination of the middle class, and the growing divide between the wealthy and the poor? Hiding that women’s equality and rights still have a long way to go?
Then there is the reality that medical care isn’t equal for everyone, as revealed here in BC by a BCCDC leak to the media. Whoever did that deserves a medal. Add in that hate crimes have increased, and the working class work for very low pay while being exposed to Covid, then spread it to roommates, coworkers, and family members crowded in one house. They feel sick, just not feeling well, but by the time they get a Covid test and wait days and days to find out they’re positive, it’s too late. Vaccination is another hurdle, considering every rollout the government does is met with problems and more problems. But workers who aren’t feeling well still have to go to work, because they can’t afford to stay home. Should this not have been addressed from day one by every local government, by us as people? To stop the spread, people have to be able to afford to stay home.
Better yet, how about tackling the issue of high rent in the first place? I’ve heard the outrage at these people, but I will be the first in their corner, because no one talks about how these workers are not homeowners. They pay extremely high rent and always have that worry about keeping a roof over their head. Although talk has circulated for a long time about providing sick pay to workers, only recently after a public outcry have they talked about giving workers three days of sick pay. They still have to legislate this, and then workers will have to jump hurdles to get it. I guess it’s better than nothing, but aren’t people supposed to quarantine for fourteen days? Apparently, I missed something in the math.
If those Covid-positive workers don’t go to work, they can’t pay their rent, because their employers aren’t paying them sick pay. Then they have to choose between eating and paying rent with money they don’t have. If they don’t pay rent, they will be living on the streets, and how does that solve anything? All this does is keep the circle of inequality going.
This virus is running rampant and fueling anger, leading to people demanding of others, “Did you get your vaccine?” My daughter has been asked twice, and it’s making her very uncomfortable. My son too, though I’m not sure what he said in response. Likely, he just walked away. How have I responded to anyone who has asked me? “Not your business.” That may anger some, but privacy is privacy.
Coming Soon to Audio
NOTHING AS IT SEEMS
Available May 26, 2021
Book 1 in the Billy Jo McCabe mystery series will be available in audio format this Wednesday. Stay tuned!
The social worker and the cop, an unlikely couple drawn together on a small, secluded Pacific Northwest island where nothing is as it seems. Protecting the innocent comes at a cost, and what seems to be a sleepy, quiet town is anything but…
On a cold and rainy night, Billy Jo McCabe receives a troubling phone call about a child in trouble. But when she shows up alone, things quickly go sideways, and she realizes her mistake.
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Friessens titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
***Before claiming your audiobook code please make sure you are signed into your Audible account. You do not need to have a paid membership to have an Audible account or claim FREE audiobook codes.
Happy weekend, all! It’s Preview Friday, and I’ve got your sneak peek at the next Billy Jo McCabe mystery, THE TRAP! This upcoming release is due out at the end of this month, but you can pre-order your copy AND read the first five chapters here today. Plus claim some free Audible codes and check out an Authors XP contest. Have a wonderful weekend! –Lorhainne
On a cold and rainy night, Billy Jo McCabe receives a troubling phone call about a child in trouble. But when she shows up alone, things quickly go sideways, and she realizes her mistake.
The ringing came from a distance as Billy Jo stared at the arrogant redhead. He seemed to look right through her…
When she jolted awake, she realized it was her phone ringing from somewhere in the apartment.
Mark Friessen had been in her dreams.
She tossed back the covers, and her bare feet hit the icy floor in the pitch black. She flicked on her bedside light and hurried out of the bedroom. Her cell phone was on the island in the kitchen, and the screen was lit up when she landed on it.
“Hello?” she said, then cleared her throat, still feeling the cobwebs of sleep and her anger at how Mark had looked at her. The red digital clock on the stove read 1:10 a.m.
“Ms. McCabe, this is the program director from DCFS. I’m filling in for Grant. I apologize for calling at this late hour, but we have an emergency.”
She didn’t recognize the voice. What had he said his name was?
“I’m sorry, who is this?” she said, shivering as she strode back to her bedroom, where Harley was curled up asleep on the bed, half under the covers she’d tossed back. He didn’t stir.
“Lane Fuller,” the man said. “Again, I apologize for the late hour, but a report has come in about a child in trouble. I need you to immediately pick up the child and arrange for emergency placement.”
Her hand went to her head, and she brushed back her hair, which she knew was sticking up everywhere. She grabbed her ratty plush gray housecoat and shrugged one arm in as she hurried back into the kitchen, then flicked on the bright overhead light. She blinked, her heart thudding with the familiar warning that came at her every time she woke in the night.
“What happened?” she said. She spotted her bag and juggled the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she pulled out the pen and notebook she always kept tucked inside. She instinctively rolled her shoulders, feeling the chill of the night.
“Not sure on the details. All I know is we’re to pick up the kid. The name here is…” The sound he made was cold and unfeeling, and she couldn’t shake the suspicion that he possessed the familiar trait of too many in this business. She’d become accustomed to the desensitization, just something it seemed came with this job. Otherwise, it could eat people up. She, though, still saw the eyes of all the children, the hope that dimmed there, every night before she slept.
Maybe that was why she felt haunted now.
“Ah, here it is,” he said. “Whitney Chandler, and here’s the address.” He rattled it off, and she scribbled it down, wondering whether this job ever got easier.
“And how old is the child? Did something happen? The parents…?”
“I told you this is all I have. It’s just an emergency placement. Go get her, find a bed for her tonight, and you can iron out all the details in the morning,” he said. Then he hung up, and Billy Jo just stared at the disconnected phone, glancing at the time again and wondering why it seemed emergencies happened only in the middle of the night.
She hated this. Worse, she hadn’t even met the child but could already feel her anguish.
She pulled on thick socks and opted for sweats and a sweatshirt, then ran a brush over her hair, hearing the rain pattering on the roof. She reached for her heavy warm raincoat and shoved her feet into her lined rainboots, then quickly searched up the address. It was a part of the island that she knew was rural and dark.
Great, just perfect for a late-night visit!
“Seriously, why does the bad kind of shit have to happen after dark?” she muttered, pissed off. There was something about the night that always had her on edge.
Billy Jo reached for her phone, seeing Mark’s name in her contacts, and could feel the unease. It was just a dream, she reminded herself as she thumbed past his name. She opened Pam’s contact and dialed, then put it on speaker and listened to it ring once, twice. Then it went to voicemail.
“Ah, dammit… Pam, it’s Billy Jo. I need you to get up. I got a call from some guy filling in for Grant, and I’m doing an emergency placement. There’s a kid in trouble. Not sure of any of the details, but I need you to find me a bed for her tonight…” She heard the beep and knew she’d just been cut off.
She reached for her bag and then opened the drawer in the kitchen island to pull out a flashlight to tuck into it. As she strode to the door, the phone to her ear, dialing Pam again, she held the notebook open to the address.
“What!”
At least this time she answered.
“This is Billy Jo. I just left you a message. Sorry to call in the middle of the night.” She pulled open the door and flicked on the outside light. The rain was heavy, pounding down, making everything impossible—seeing, driving, just being out in it. “I just got a call from the program supervisor. I think he said his name was Lane. I have to pick up a kid in trouble.”
She rattled off the address and then tucked the notebook in her coat pocket as she stood in the open doorway, her hood up. Then she stepped out and pulled the door closed, the rain pelting down on her. “Look, I’m driving out there now, so find me a bed if you can. Call me back and let me know where to take her.”
The way Pam sighed on the other end summed up exactly what she was feeling. “I’ll see what I can find. Why is it that it seems these calls happen only in the middle of the night?”
Hadn’t she just thought the same thing? She didn’t answer, remembering her nights in foster care, lying there in the dark. That was when everything bad could and would happen.
“Oh, and Pam, whatever place you find, try to make sure I won’t have to worry that I’m pulling this kid from one bad situation and sticking her in another.”
“I’ll do my best,” was all she said.
Billy Jo hung up and tucked the phone in her bag, then made her way down the steps, the rain making everything difficult. She splashed through the puddles to her new Nissan and yanked open the door, then tossed her bag in across to the passenger side and climbed in.
She should have brought a towel, as the water dripped off her. She stared at the outside light and started her car, letting it warm for a second before flicking on the heat and pulling down the darkened driveway to the road.
The wipers were on high, whirring back and forth so fast as she gripped the steering wheel, trying to see, but the rain came down so hard that they couldn’t clear it fast enough. Worse, the fog had settled in, and she white-knuckled the steering wheel.
“Damn, I hate nights like this,” she said as she struggled to see, searching for the faded white lines on the road as she rounded a bend. The road was treelined on both sides now, and she slowed as the water splashed under her wheels. She turned right and had to flick on her high-beams, seeing darkened driveways, some with numbers, some without.
“114, where are you?” she said over and over, slowing to a crawl, seeing trees and driveways, only two with numbers by the road. “Sometimes I really hate this island.”
She slammed on the brakes when she spotted a small sign with an address in white letters, realizing she’d gone too far. She pulled out her notebook and flipped to the page with the address, remembering the directions she’d pulled up, feeling uneasy because of the night and the quiet.
With her foot on the brake, the car idling, she reached for her phone in her bag and saw that it had only one bar of battery left. How had she managed not to charge it when it had been plugged in and supposedly charging in the kitchen? Or had it?
“Stupid, stupid, Billy Jo.” She made a rude noise and tapped the phone to her forehead. Her frustration only added to the unease in her stomach, that sick feeling she didn’t think was ever far away. “Come on, keep it together,” she muttered as she rummaged through her purse for her charger, which wasn’t there. “Shit! Idiot!”
She slapped the steering wheel, then forced herself to pull in a breath and put her car in reverse. She flicked on the rear wipers and backed up until she stopped at a rutted treelined driveway she was positive had to belong to the house she was looking for. She flicked off her high-beams when the fog had her seeing a sea of white—and then she saw it, a darkened house with what looked to be an older pickup parked out front.
She squeezed the steering wheel with both hands and pulled up beside the truck, then took in the house, a small two-story. She thought she saw a light on upstairs. At the same time, she’d expected someone to be there already.
The police? That would be Mark, who she again reminded herself was both arrogant and unhealthy for her wellbeing. The dream had been a reminder that she was depending on him in ways that would end up breaking her.
She turned off her car and picked up her phone, but when she went to call Pam again, the phone flashed from one bar to no service. She lifted it and moved it until she saw the bar again, then pulled up Mark’s number and wrote a quick text: Got a call to pick up a kid in trouble. Wondering if you received anything? Here now, but no one else is…
Her thumb hovered over the send button. She wanted to kick herself for doing exactly what she shouldn’t be. “Nope, nope, not happening,” she said as she deleted the message. The battery was now in the red.
“This is just great, Billy Jo,” she said under her breath. “Pam can’t even call you now to let you know where to take the kid, and where are you but in between crazytown and creepyville?”
She opened her door and gave it a shove, then reached for the flashlight in her purse. She stepped out right into a puddle, the rain still pouring down. She closed the door and flicked on the flashlight, her breath fogging as she started past the truck to the three wide steps up to the front door. Solid wood and no doorbell.
Her hand was wet and cold. She fisted it to knock, feeling the hair rise on the back of her neck and that same sick feeling she’d had as a kid, when everything had always gone from bad to worse. It was the strange doors she remembered so vividly: old, worn, dirty, marked up or scraped and patched. Strange doors leading to strange people and houses, and a feeling of desperation and anger that never went away.
Billy Jo forced herself to knock on the wooden door and took another second to see where she was. There was no one around. Rain was the only sound she heard as she pictured her uncharged cell phone in the car. Then she knocked again, and this time she knew someone was on the other side of the door. It was just a feeling.
“Hello? Can you open the door, please? My name is Billy Jo McCabe, with DCFS. We got a call about…”
She heard the click of the door being unlocked, then the squeak as it opened. She was suddenly aware of a faint light on the other side—then a clang of metal. She focused everything on that sound of a gun being cocked, a sound she knew too well. She stared in horror, seeing everything and nothing as she reminded herself to breathe.
Someone with a raspy voice said, “Well, then I guess you’d better come in.”
At the icy chill that ricocheted straight down through her, she realized her mistake. She was there alone, with no backup, no help. As she stared at the steel of the gun and the white hand holding it, she knew that whatever this was, she was in over her head.
Chapter 2
“Mark, Pam Hunt is on the line for you.” Gail gestured toward him with the phone. Her bulky purse was already packed, resting on her desk, one of the signs he knew well that she was getting ready to leave and the chief was likely two steps from opening the door. Gail stood behind the desk and rested the black office phone back in the cradle. Her gaze was pointed in that motherly way of hers.
Mark walked back to his desk, holding his steaming coffee, staring at the office door, still expecting the chief any second. “Pam Hunt… Should I know who that is?” He glanced to the clock, coming up on ten. Yay. This would be a really long day with the chief. The dread was there, as they had been circling each other constantly like dogs.
“Pam, who runs the DCFS office here. Come on, Mark, you should know her. Doesn’t she work with your girlfriend?”
He wasn’t sure what expression was on his face. Gail was already looking away, pulling a compact from her bag and sliding some lipstick over her lips. “Billy Jo is not my girlfriend,” he said. “We’re friends. That’s it. Why do I have to keep telling everyone?”
There it was, the flash of humor in her light blue eyes. She pressed her lips together, giving him that odd smile of hers as she tossed her lipstick and compact back in her bag. She again flicked him that motherly look. “Lighten up, Mark. Just having fun at your expense.”
He only shook his head and reached for the phone. Why would Pam be calling him? As he held the receiver, he watched the blinking light of the line. “She asked for me by name?”
“Yes, Mark, she asked for you. That’s why she’s waiting there on hold and why I said she’s on the phone for you. So why don’t you pick up and ask her nicely what you can help her with? You know, be the good cop you’re supposed to be—helpful, community minded…” Her tone dripped with sarcasm.
He glanced to Carmen’s empty desk. He hadn’t seen her this morning, which was unusual. He pressed the button on the office phone and picked it up, unsure whether he’d ever had a conversation with Pam. “Detective Friessen,” he said, knowing he was keeping it cool.
“Hi, Detective, this is Pam Hunt. I don’t know if you remember me. I work with Billy Jo, and I’m wondering if maybe you’ve heard from her… Maybe last night or this morning?”
He wasn’t sure what he was picking up on in her voice, in her tone. There was an edge to it. He thought about the last time he’d seen Billy Jo, walking out of the post office how many days earlier. She had ducked her head and he’d kept walking. Evidently, they were back to that again.
“Not recently. Why, what’s up?” He took a swallow of his coffee, watching Gail tuck files from the cabinet behind her into her bag. Case files?
“Well, I haven’t seen her this morning. She was supposed to pick up a girl last night, a late-night call, but this morning I got a call from the Pearsons, the placement home, and they said they waited up all night and no one showed up. And she’s not answering her cell phone.”
Gail had her keys in hand and had lifted her bag over her shoulder. He wanted to know what files she was taking, of course. Maybe the chief had asked her to bring them home?
“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” he said. “A late-night call… Maybe she went back to bed. Maybe there wasn’t an issue after all. I’ll try her cell phone, but it’s likely she’s sleeping.”
“Look, I’ve called her cell phone four times,” Pam said. “If she was answering, I wouldn’t be calling you now, would I? This isn’t like her. She’s had late-night calls before, but she’s still always first here. She said she’d been told to pick up a girl. She’d have left me a message if something had changed.”
He pulled in a breath, knowing he was going to have to drive over to her place. He’d have to talk to her. He could already imagine the awkwardness that lingered between them now because he knew her better than he ever had any girl before. Sharing, talking… She knew too many of the kinds of secrets he didn’t share with anyone.
“I’ll call her and then drive over to her place,” he said. “She’ll likely be pissed because I woke her up.”
He heard the sigh on the other end of the phone. “Well, tell her to call me, because I have to call the Pearsons back on whether to expect the girl she was supposed to drop off. They aren’t happy. No, scratch that. They’re furious, actually, and are on my ass, ready to take a chunk out, so to speak. You know what I mean? It’s hard enough to find people ready and willing to take a kid in on a moment’s notice…”
He didn’t miss the sharpness in her tone. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, wondering how her worry had suddenly turned into a rant. “I hear what you’re saying, Pam, but I’m sure it’s—”
“What? That she forgot to call, or was it something else?” She cut him off as if she were scolding him.
He was well aware that forgetting to call back was something Billy Jo didn’t do. Before he could add anything, Pam continued.
“You just let her know that Jill Pearson waited up all night after I called and told her a girl was being dropped off. She’s tired and angry. Billy Jo can call her back and explain and smooth it over with her, because I won’t.”
It wasn’t lost on him how quickly her worry had changed to annoyance. “I will let her know. Anything else?”
There was silence for a second. “I think that’s all—other than to let her know that when she doesn’t show up in the morning, I’m the one who has to field questions and calls with no answers to give, and I don’t appreciate it.”
He only nodded, figuring Pam could go on and on. “Duly noted, Pam. I’m sure Billy Jo didn’t go out of her way to make things difficult for you. How about I just go over to hers and let her know she needs to talk to you, and then the two of you can work this out?”
He could feel Gail watching him, but he didn’t look over to her. There was silence on the other end. “Anything else I can do for you, Pam?” he finally said, keeping his tone professional, wondering for only a second what this was between the two women. The last thing he wanted was to step into it.
“I think that’s all. Just…”
“Okay, Pam. The quicker I get out to Billy Jo’s and get you two back in touch with each other, the quicker she can handle whatever needs to be handled,” he said, then hung up before she could add one more thing.
“What’s going on? Problem?” was all Gail said. Did she have any idea that Pam could go on and on?
Just then, the front door opened and the chief walked in. Mark yanked open his drawer and pulled out the keys for his Jeep, then glanced down at the dog he still hadn’t named, who was curled up on the dog bed Gail had picked up.
“Billy Jo hasn’t checked in at the office this morning. The short of it, from what Pam said, is that she had a late-night call to pick up a girl who was supposed to be taken to some foster place for the night, but she didn’t show, so I’m heading over to her place. I’ll knock on her door. She’s probably asleep. Maybe it wasn’t the situation she expected, and if she was up most of the night, it’s likely she and Pam got their wires crossed. Come on, dog,” he called out.
From across the room, the chief was staring at him with that hard, unsmiling gaze, those icy blue eyes that he knew carried a world of secrets, the kinds he didn’t want to get too close to. He just waited, feeling as if something was coming. The dog nudged his side, and he found himself looking back over to Gail, who was only nodding as she slid her hand over the strap of her bag across her shoulder.
“Well, you’d better get going,” was all she said.
The chief didn’t pull his gaze from him, but he did step back and drawl, “When you’re back from your errand, Mark, I need you here, manning the phones.” He was a big man, and for a moment he could feel the tension that would likely always be there.
“Tolly, you have your own work to do and a number of messages on your desk,” Gail said, gesturing.
The chief dragged his gaze over to her, then stepped back again, and this time Mark walked past him and pulled open the door. The dog trotted out ahead of him. When he glanced back to Gail and the chief, it seemed something else was going on there. Based on the tension, he definitely didn’t want to know what that was about.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, then pulled the door closed behind him and started over to his Jeep.
He didn’t know why, but it seemed this stalemate with the chief was going in only one direction, from bad to worse.
Chapter 3
Billy Jo’s car wasn’t at her place.
Mark rolled the windows down in the Jeep. “Stay,” was all he said to the dog, who was sitting in the passenger side, before he closed the door and took in her apartment above the garage. The big house the Lancasters owned and lived in sat in the distance, with trees and grass around it. Everything looked quiet.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Billy Jo’s number, wondering if maybe he’d just missed her. Likely, he was on a wild goose chase, but at least it had been enough to get him out of the office and away from the chief.
He held the phone to his ear, and it immediately went to voicemail: “This is Billy Jo McCabe, with DCFS. If this is an emergency, call the office. Otherwise, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
“Hey, I’m outside your place,” he said. “Can you call me back as soon as you get this? Pam called, looking for you, so here I am, doing my due diligence, checking up on you. I’m figuring you’re likely already at the office and have sorted out this mess with Pam. But call me back and let me know so I can take this off my plate.”
He hung up, figuring she’d either call back or ignore him. When had things become so awkward?
Then he spotted someone walking his way, waving at him. It was Lesley, the owner of the place, a little heavyset, in yoga pants and a tank.
“Yoo-hoo, hey there!” she called out in a happy singsong. He could hear the smile on her face before he could see it as she hurried over to him. “Detective, isn’t it?”
They’d met a few times, and from the vibes she threw off, he was positive she had no boundaries.
“Yes, Mark Friessen,” he said.
“That’s right, the young detective friend of Billy Jo’s. I saw you pull in and was wondering who was coming up here. Billy Jo isn’t in. Is she expecting you? That girl is an early bird who gets the worm. Lorne said he heard her pull out last night during that downpour in the wee hours, I think. I was planning on bringing some muffins down, and I looked out as I was making coffee and saw she was already gone. That girl works so hard, a really dedicated type. We like her.”
Right. Another thing about Lesley was that she could go on and on, too.
“You said she pulled out last night,” he said. “What time did she come back?”
The woman was smiling brightly, showing crooked lower teeth, but then she frowned, looking up at Billy Jo’s place. “I don’t rightly know. It had to have been early because, as I said, I looked out when I got up and her car was gone. Is something wrong? Did you two get your wires crossed or something?”
The woman was perceptive, too. The way she asked that last part, he picked up on a hidden meaning he didn’t want to dive too deeply into.
Mark pulled in a breath. “She’s not at the office. That’s why I’m out here. And no, I haven’t talked to her.”
Lesley frowned again, then opened her mouth to say something. She looked up to the apartment, at the closed door, and took in the quiet around them. “Well, did you try calling her?”
“Wouldn’t be here if she’d answered her phone. Goes right to voicemail.”
Lesley waved her hand as if it were nothing. “Oh, that girl always forgets to charge her phone—or is there something I should be worried about? You two are talking, right?” She winked and shot him a flirty smile. What was it with everyone sticking their noses into his business?
Mark glanced to the stairs. “I haven’t talked to her in a while. A call came in this morning to the station, looking for her, so that’s why I’m here, just to make sure everything is okay.”
Lesley wasn’t smiling anymore. “You’re thinking something’s happened to her?”
He only shook his head. “Don’t know. That’s why I’m out here. You mind if I go up and have a look inside?”
She hesitated, and he wondered whether she would say no. “Well, you are a friend. I suppose it’ll be all right. I’ll get the key.” She turned around and called out to the man out front of the big house, pushing a wheelbarrow. “Lorne, bring the key down for the apartment!”
Mark had his foot on the first step and started up as the man yelled back, “What for?”
“Just bring it! The detective here, he needs to get in,” she yelled with the kind of voice that carried.
He took in the big window and the three-legged cat who jumped up to the sill, meowing. He didn’t see anyone as he cupped his hand over his eyes past the glare of the sun and peered through the glass. Nothing, just the cat.
As he stepped back, Lesley was waving at her husband at the foot of the stairs to hurry, he thought. He put his hand on the knob and turned. Of course, the door opened. Apparently, that little talk he’d had with Billy Jo about locking her door had failed to sink in.
“Forget the key,” he said. “She left the door open.” He stepped inside as the cat meowed and hopped across the floor. “Billy Jo, it’s Mark,” he called out, but he heard nothing, already knowing she wasn’t there.
He took in the neat and tidy counter. The cat hopped to the kitchen, where his bowl of water was on its side, empty. His food dish had only a few kibbles left in it.
“You thirsty, hungry? Where’s Billy Jo?” he said to the cat, then leaned down, lifted the bowl, and walked over to the sink to fill it up.
“She left the door unlocked?”
He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Lesley walk in, her husband following. Lorne’s hair was salt and pepper, and he was of medium height, a little on the heavyset side as well.
“What’s going on?” Lorne said, looking around, a frown knitting his brow. “Did something happen to Billy Jo?”
Mark settled the bowl of water on the floor for Harley. “Do you know where Billy Jo keeps the cat food? I think he’s hungry.” He gestured to the cat, who was at his water dish.
Lesley made her way into the small kitchen to open a cupboard and pull out a container. “Are you hungry there, you poor little misfit?” she said, fussing over the cat.
Mark strode out of the small open kitchen and down the hall, stopping in her bedroom to see that her blankets and sheets were tossed back as if she’d just climbed out of bed and left. He didn’t have any idea if she was the kind of girl who made her bed or just got up and went, but by the look of everything in this place, neat and tidy, he thought maybe she did if she wasn’t running out in the middle of the night.
He flicked on the light in the bathroom to reveal the usual toiletries, hairbrush, toothbrush, and towels. Nothing seemed out of place. When he strode back into the living room, Lesley had fed the cat, and Lorne was standing with his arms crossed.
“Nothing seems out of place here,” he said. Maybe she was still at the call she’d gotten the night before. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed her office.
“Family Services. This is Pam.”
“Hey, it’s Mark. Has Billy Jo shown up at the office? Because I’m at her house, and she isn’t here.”
“No, she hasn’t. I take it you haven’t found her?”
He shook his head and lifted his gaze to the Lancasters, who were quiet, listening to him. “Nope. I’m at her place now, and it looks like she left in a hurry. Where is it you said she went, again? I think you’d better give me all the details, the name, the address. She could still be out there. Maybe there’s more going on than you know about. You spoke to her how long ago?” He heard a sigh on the other end.
“She called me in the middle of the night. I think it was after one a.m., maybe closer to two?”
He dragged his gaze over to the clock on the stove. It was 11:20 a.m. He felt that off feeling he’d felt too many times. “Okay, and you haven’t seen her, and you know for sure she didn’t go into the office, even before you got there?”
“Look, she wasn’t here. I’m in at eight, but this morning I came in early, just after seven, because there’s always a lot to do when a kid is picked up the night before. Emergency placements are just that. Then there are the reports and the matter of finding something permanent. No one has any idea of the amount of paper and details that—”
“Okay, I get it,” he cut in, realizing Pam could quickly stray off into topics that weren’t helpful. “But right now, I’m trying to find out where Billy Jo is, so tell me who she went to see—the name, the address, and the reason she went out there. I’ll start there. As I said, maybe she’s still there.” He could hear rustling on the other end, maybe paper.
“She called me, as I said, between one and two. Said she got a call from the program supervisor to pick up a girl by the name of…” She paused. “Here it is. Her name is Whitney Chandler. No other details. Do you want the address?”
“Text it to me at this number.” He looked over to Lesley and Lorne and could see their worry.
“Okay, sending it to you now,” Pam said.
“All right. I’ll call you if there’s anything else,” he said, then hung up before Pam could add something. His phone dinged, and there was the address, another rural spot on the island, just what he loved.
“Should we be worried? Should we call her parents?” Lesley said.
Mark looked over to the couple and shook his head. “No sense worrying them. I’m sure wires were just crossed and Billy Jo is still at the home, is all. I’ll drive out there. Don’t worry. She’ll likely be back here soon. In case she shows up before I find her, though, give me a call.” He reached into the breast pocket of his jean jacket and pulled out a card, which he held out to Lorne, who took it.
“Sure, we’ll call, but if she is out there, let us know. Because now we’re worried,” Lesley added.
All Mark did was nod and glance down to the cat, who was now eating. He walked over to the door. “Oh, again, don’t call Chase and Rose McCabe. If I’ve learned anything, you’ll likely be jumping the gun, and then Billy Jo will have a worried father and mother on the next ferry over.”
The way they looked at each other, though, Mark had a feeling that as soon as he walked out the door, Lesley would be on the phone to Billy Jo’s parents.
There was one thing he knew well about Billy Jo: She loved her family, but she was about as private as they came, and having a bunch of people fussing and showing up worried about her was exactly what she wouldn’t want.
He strode down the stairs, seeing the dog hanging his head out the Jeep window as he started over toward it. This feeling he had, the one that settled deep in his gut, had him wondering whether he had become too close with Billy Jo, fast treading into that territory where he was beginning to care too much for her.
“Yeah, your judgement’s clouded. That’s all, Friessen. Pull your head out of your ass and do your job. Treat her like anyone else,” he said out loud as he yanked open the door.
But her image popped into his mind again, the last time he’d seen her, with that smile she never offered, the awkwardness that had become too real. He had never pictured her as the kind of girl who would eventually shred his heart.
Chapter 4
“Hello?” Billy Jo yelled, pounding the metal wall, hearing it rattle. Very little light came into the room from the cracks in the walls as she kept pounding, with not a clue where she was.
What had happened after she woke up on the floor of this room in the dark? It was kind of fuzzy, but she knew there had been a gun, a man. She was in trouble.
“Hey, I know you’re out there! Open up! What do you want? Look, I’m not sure who you are, but I got a call to come out here and pick up Whitney Chandler, a young girl who’s in trouble. Is she out there? Hello?” she yelled again, banging with her fist. But no one was answering.
She was sweating in her heavy raincoat and track pants. She shrugged off her coat, but not before feeling the small flashlight with her extra keys in her pocket. She pulled it out and flicked it on before tossing her raincoat on the ground at her feet, taking in what looked like the inside of a metal cargo trailer. She knew cargo trailers, but she didn’t have any idea where she was. Where were her bag and her cell phone, which wasn’t charged?
“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath, remembering her car, the rain, and where she’d left her bag and phone the night before.
She shut her eyes for a second, thinking of the text she should have sent to Mark. But why would she do that when she was furious with him? And over what? Her ego, her own issues, because he’d found a way under her skin and gotten too close to her. Right now it seemed ridiculous, and she was already kicking herself. But then, she’d also told Pam where she was, and that program director, Lane, who’d said he was filling in for Grant. That didn’t exactly leave her with a warm and fuzzy feeling, though.
“Pam, please tell me you’ve got this handled, that you’ve figured out I’m in trouble and called in the cavalry.” Her words echoed in the empty trailer.
Where was she, exactly? She couldn’t remember anything past having the gun in her face and then waking up in this box. Why was there a big blank? She tapped her forehead with her fist as she struggled to remember.
She was hungry, and she needed to pee. She shone her flashlight around the box, empty except for her. She walked to the door and pushed on it, but of course it was locked, so she kicked it with her booted foot. The rattle was loud, and there was no give.
“Hey, knock it off in there!”
She heard the voice, the same male twang that had accompanied the gun in her face. She was positive it had to be the same voice. Right? Everything had gone into slow motion when she heard the click of the metal. She remembered the long pull of her breath, the icy fear that had scraped through her, seeing the barrel of the gun in her face.
The door unlocked with a heavy clang. A trailer for sure. She flicked off the flashlight and shoved it down the side of her bulky boot, then took one step back and another. Only one of the doors swung open, and there was a man with dark shoulder-length hair in need of a cut, with a beard. He was big, likely close to six feet, and something about the way he looked at her with those dark eyes reminded her of one of her foster parents, Mr. Humbolt, a man who’d loved his guns. Her father, Chase McCabe, had saved her from him. Maybe that was why her heart was hammering in her chest.
“What do you want with me? And where’s Whitney? Who the hell are you?” she demanded—and damn, did she sound confident even though she was shaking inside, fighting the instincts of a scared little girl, alone with no one to help her.
The man had big hands, and he gestured for her to move back. He rested a bucket in the corner and tossed a plastic bag on the floor.
“Look, I don’t know what this is, but let me out,” she said. “I’m Billy Jo McCabe, with DCFS. I don’t know what your problem is, but let me see Whitney. Is she all right? What do you want with me? And who are you?” She rested her hands on her hips mainly because she couldn’t stop them from shaking.
“You ask a lot of questions, and you’re making too much noise,” he said.
She couldn’t figure out what she was looking at behind him, seeing the sun coming through cracks in the wood wall. A barn or maybe a big shed? She didn’t know for sure.
“You haven’t answered me,” she said. “Who are you? Where’s Whitney? You know keeping me here isn’t going to work too well for you. You think people don’t know I’m here? My boss, the police…”
There was a smile, she thought. Then it was gone. He didn’t pull his gaze, and those eyes were freaking her out, because they held the kind of hate and anger she knew meant he wouldn’t be reasoned with.
“Oh, I’m counting on that,” he said. “But if you don’t quiet down, I’ll tie you up and gag you. Are we clear?”
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
He gestured to the bag. “Water and a sandwich.” Then he stepped back, his hand on the door. She knew he was about to shut it and lock it, so she hurried to it and slapped her hand on it.
“Wait! Who are you? What do you want with me?”
He stopped. The way he let his gaze linger on her had a shiver running through her. Anger, rage… He didn’t seem too inclined to answer her. He simply pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans, at the small of his back, and flicked it at her. “Back,” he snapped, gesturing with it.
She lifted her hands and took a step, knowing as soon as that door closed, there would be no way out. “Please, why? Just answer me that.”
“You’re a means to an end.”
She wondered whether her confusion showed. “I don’t know who you are, but you know me?”
He was still holding that gun at her. His finger rested at the side of the trigger, holding it like a pro. “Oh, I know who you are, Billy Jo McCabe. Asked around, and it seems you’re as new to the island as Detective Friessen.”
She was never at a loss for words, but for a moment she felt as if she’d been pulled into a game without knowing any of the rules. “Okay, and you have an issue with me…?” She let it hang, very aware of that steel door that would close and lock any second.
He didn’t look away. “Didn’t say it was about you now, did I? Just that I know who you are. You know anything about hunting?”
That was exactly what she didn’t want to hear from someone holding a gun.
“Some. Why? What is this?”
“Then you know you have to track down your prey. You have to wait, and you have to be patient, knowing it takes as long as it’s going to take. Sometimes you need bait that will attract who you’re hunting. You’re my bait.”
He was serious. She realized his anger wasn’t for her: She was just collateral, staring into the eyes of a man who wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep if he pulled the trigger and shot her.
“This is about Detective Friessen?” she said, and the way the man kept staring at her, she knew she was right.
“We have unfinished business,” was all he said.
Her stomach knotted as she pictured a trap being set for a man she realized she cared far too much for. She needed to keep this guy talking.
“Well, then you have the wrong person. I’m just a social worker. I barely know him…”
He laughed and shook his head. “Really? You think I didn’t do my homework? I know exactly who Mark Friessen is close to on this island, which cabin he lives in, which dog he took in. You’re the one he cares for, whether as friends or something more. The talk in town is about the social worker and the cop and the fact that he’d do anything for you. A man doesn’t do that for a woman he barely knows. He does it for a woman he loves. I’d say that makes you the perfect bait.”
What the hell? How was this possible, a stranger knowing all this about her and Mark? Who was he?
“You still haven’t told me who you are. What’s your name? What are you planning on doing to the detective?”
“You ask a lot of questions. It doesn’t matter who I am. All that matters is I have you. The detective and I have some unfinished business, and I plan to make him look me in the eye, to hold him accountable. Retribution… I’ve waited a long time, and I’ll have it.”
So she was only a pawn. “What did he do?”
He shook his head. “I think the question is what he didn’t do.” He tucked the gun in his waistband and moved his hand to the door to shut it.
“There is no Whitney, is there?”
He made a face and shook his head. “Nope, not anymore.”
Chapter 5
Mark took in the dirt driveway and overgrown grass, the rutted tire tracks, now dry after the heavy rain from the night before, as he pulled up in front of an old two-story house with the kind of clapboard siding that said it was more of an amateur project than something done by a builder. An old truck was parked in front, and the porch had three wide wooden steps, no railing, and wood that looked as if it had seen better days.
“You stay,” he said to the dog, who was already panting as the day warmed, his window down. The dog was the best companion he’d ever had.
He stepped out of his Jeep and closed the door, his hand resting on the open window frame. The windows of the house were single paned and dirty. An old sheet, he thought, hung in one. He turned his head, seeing trees, overgrown grass, and bushes, but he didn’t hear anything other than birds.
It was deserted and quiet. Too quiet.
He walked around the front of the Jeep and took in the old truck, which didn’t look as if it even ran, let alone had moved in a while. The side was rusty, the seat inside was torn, and one of the tires was flat. He patted it, and the sound echoed.
A breeze picked up, and he pulled off his sunglasses and tucked them in his shirtfront as he walked up the wooden steps, hearing each creak under his weight. He was sweating under his jean jacket. Something about this place left him with the kind of unsettled feeling that had him looking over his shoulder again.
He dragged his gaze back to the old wooden door, with no doorbell, scraped, dinged, and dirty, and he fisted his hand and knocked, then listened for anything as he waited. One, two… he counted in his head, then knocked again, louder. “Roche Harbor Police! Open up,” he called out.
If someone was in there, whoever it was would have heard him. At the same time, there was no sign of Billy Jo or her car. Was this the right place? Maybe the address was wrong.
He couldn’t shake that off feeling again. The hair on the back of his neck stood, and he turned around, narrowing his gaze, unable to shake the sense that someone was watching him. But all he saw were trees and bushes, nothing else.
“Hey!” he called out, expecting someone to come out of the bushes, but there was nothing except his dog hanging his head out the open window, panting, loyal and patient.
Mark turned back to the door, hearing nothing, and reached for the knob. It turned, but it was locked.
He strode down the steps, feeling his holstered gun at his side, and walked to the side of the house, looking up at the windows of the second story. Around back, the overgrown grass appeared undisturbed, as if no one had been back there. He took in the old back entry, a small boxlike porch, an old door, and dirty glass.
Behind him, what looked like junk had been tossed here and there. He fanned his hand over his eyes and looked up, then pulling his phone from his pocket and dialed Pam. Evidently, he was missing something.
“DCFS. Can I help you?”
“Pam, this is Mark. I’m at that address you gave me, but it appears to be some rundown old place with no one around. Billy Jo’s car isn’t here, either. You sure you gave me the right address? I need you to tell me again exactly what Billy Jo said when she called you.”
There was a pause on the other end before she rattled off the same address to him, and he nodded to himself with that sinking feeling.
“Your sure that’s the one she gave you?”
“Look, it may have been the middle of the night, but it’s the one she told me. I wrote it down. Maybe she gave the wrong address.”
There was something about this place that he didn’t like.
“Who called her, again?” he said. He could hear papers rustling in the background.
“The program supervisor. She said his name was Lorne—or Lane, I think? Shit, I know I wrote it down here somewhere…”
He waited and pulled his hand over the back of his neck, taking in the bushes, no longer feeling that odd sense of being watched.
“Okay, maybe I didn’t,” she said. “Just the program supervisor. I guess Grant must be away. I’ll call his office and find out who called her. Likely it’s just a matter of it being the wrong address or something, but that still doesn’t explain why she hasn’t called or shown up with Whitney…”
It was the “or something” he was worried about. The unease he hadn’t felt before was starting to sink in now. Maybe he should call her dad, her mom? Or maybe there was a simple explanation for all this.
“You know what?” he said. “Call whoever called her. Find out who it was, and I want to talk to him. What did you say the reason was? If a girl was in trouble, why weren’t we called? I have no report from last night. Don’t you think that’s rather odd?”
There was silence for a second on the other end. “I guess I never considered that, but the police aren’t always involved,” Pam said. “Evidently, I don’t have the whole story. Do you think something happened, on this island, in our community?”
He could hear the doubt—but what was she expecting him to say, that nothing could happen here? Of course it could, and it did. Most people had no idea what went on right next door, not really.
“Don’t start speculating,” he said. “One thing at a time. I want to talk to the program supervisor, and I need the details of the call, the correct address, and to know why we weren’t contacted. Better yet, send me the number of whoever called her, because I want to talk to him. I want all the details of what Billy Jo was sent into.”
“Yeah, of course,” Pam said before she hung up.
Mark thumbed through his phone and sent a quick text off to Carmen: Where are you?
Maybe she had an idea of what had happened, considering he hadn’t seen her that morning, which was in itself unusual.
Busy, handling something. What do you want? she texted back.
Okay, so she was her usual self.
Looking for Billy Jo. You haven’t heard from her, have you?
He waited for the three dots and watched them pop up as if she was texting something, but then there was nothing. He lifted his gaze again and looked around, seeing nothing but junk, and took a step to the window of what looked like a kitchen. He glanced back to his cell phone and saw the message: Nope.
That was it.
He shook his head, tucking his cell phone in the back pocket of his jeans, as he looked up to the kitchen window and then back to an old barrel and pallets leaning against the house. He dragged one under the window and rested his booted foot on it, testing it to see if it would give, then climbed up and pressed his hands against the wall.
He cupped his hand against the dirty window and peered in, seeing an empty old kitchen, paper and boxes on the floor, empty cupboard doors open. A pot sat on an old stove, dirty, dusty. The place was abandoned, maybe.
He jumped back down and pulled his phone from his pocket to send another text to Carmen. Can you pull up this address for me? Looks abandoned. Find out who owns it, who lives here, everything.
He waited for a response and got a thumbs up, then tucked his phone back in his pocket and strode back around the house. When he took in his Jeep, he froze. Something white fluttered under his wiper blade.
“What the hell…?”
He slapped his hand to his side, reaching for his gun as he stared at the fluttering paper, which hadn’t been there before. As he moved closer to the side of the house, looking around, that feeling of being watched was there again, making the hair stand on the back of his neck.
He pulled in a breath, feeling the pounding of his heart as he took one step and then another, staying close to the side of the house, his hands on his gun, tracking everything as he glanced around the corner. But there was nothing. He knelt to glance under his Jeep too, but there was nothing there, no feet or anyone.
He hurried over and reached for the paper someone had put there when he was behind the house. Someone was watching him.
He realized the dog hadn’t barked, and he glanced inside to find that he was gone.
When he flicked open the paper, he was met with black handwriting in big letters:
Claim your FREE US or UK Audible code for these Friessens favorites. First come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Thank you and enjoy! *Due to limited availability, codes must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
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Two new audio offerings from The O’Connells series are now available at Audible and iTunes! Check out Book 8 or binge listen to the first three books in a brand new audio boxed set. Plus I’ve got a very limited number of free Audible codes up for grabs–see details below. Happy listening!
JUSTICE
Narrated by John Mo
“…a fast-paced, deeply involving read that weaves you further into the O’Connell family dynamic…This has been an exciting and often heart-pounding series, and I know I can’t wait for what’s to come.” ★★★★★ Catlou, Amazon Reviewer
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******
THE O’CONNELLS, BOOKS 1-3
Various Narrators
“A new family series more suspenseful than the Friessens.” Karen L., Amazon Vine Voice
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A huge THANK YOU to all who’ve already purchased this box to help make it an Amazon Audio Best Seller! I am truly grateful for your support!
$2.99 Boxed Set
Follow Danny and Chris in this three-book collection featuring the next generation of Friessens.
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I currently have over 120 ebooks published and 70 narrated and produced into audiobooks, with a further seventeen in production.
As an author who isn’t new to the process of audiobook production, I’ve had the privilege of working with some really good narrators, as well as a few who couldn’t fulfill their contracts, a few who disappeared in the middle of production, and only a couple who didn’t produce the kind of quality that was required.
Having said that, when I put a book up for auditions, I reject far more than I ever consider. Sometimes the narrator may be good, but not for that book or series. When I write a book, I have a certain narrative style and vocal quality in mind already. Although I do prefer having dual female/male narration, I’ve been less inclined to look for both over the past year, since the narration is often being done in different locations, which requires a producer to work some magic, fixing the audio quality and balancing the sound from the two recordings.
Audiobook narration comes down to acting. If you’re a radio announcer with a great easy listening voice, that does not necessarily make you a good audiobook narrator. You have to get the radio announcer out of your voice and build up your acting ability. Audiobooks require the most “acting”: You have to capture every single character in the book in a believable way, with a unique voice style for each. I’ve listened to a number of audiobooks where the narrator uses the same vocal style for every character. It not only takes away from the telling of the story but also fails to make the narration believable.
Then there is the audio quality—a big consideration! This encompasses anything from background noise, to electrical buzzing, to whirring from a computer fan. I even had one audition where it sounded like a microwave was going in the background. I’ve heard pops of the “p” on the mic and volume fluctuations where a narrator or amateur producer has played with the volume to hide a flaw or some background noise, from rustling papers to throaty noises and swallowing. These are sounds we shouldn’t hear, not in an audition or a finished audiobook.
Let’s talk about editing. This is another of the really big considerations in audiobook production. The audiobook producer, who is sometimes also the narrator, has to listen to the audiobook and get rid of all the crap and noise and everything before sending it in to be approved. When narrators submit auditions with the sound of someone washing dishes or kids playing video games in the background, an author can expect that to also appear in the final audiobook. A sloppy, unprofessional audition equals a sloppy, amateurish audiobook. Finally, never, ever do I consider a narrator who submits an audition using a sample from someone else’s book. That’s something I receive far too often and means an automatic rejection. I need to hear the narrator voicing my characters from my book, not another author’s.
Editing is a hard job, I know all too well, but the narrator has to do it. There is more to being a good audiobook narrator than sitting in front of a mic. You have to know pacing, when to have room tone, how to find any and all noise that shouldn’t be there, how to fix words you missed or stumbled over, and how to eliminate annoying breathy sounds, pops on the mic, and throaty noises. Because without good editing you’ve destroyed what could have been a great audiobook.
Then there’s unprofessionalism. I could write an entire blog post on egos and tempers, from having an inability to follow instructions, to demanding rights or special credits, to fighting with Audible (yes, this has happened), to refusing to edit and put out the best work. All this does is ensure a narrator won’t get hired or rehired.
Even though I’ve written the book, which is my baby, a narrator can make or break the narration. The only thing a really good narrator strives for is excellence. Right now, I’m fortunate to be working with a handful of outstanding narrators. Not only do they make the finished products enjoyable to listen to, but they are easy to work with, providing quality audiobooks with narration styles that bring the characters I created to life.
Coming Soon to Audio
New O’Connells audiobooks are on the way–this eBook and boxed set are expected this week, so stay tuned!
THE O’CONNELLS, BOOKS 1-3
Multiple Narrators
Follow the O’Connells on their journey to the dark and dangerous side of love in a series of romantic thrillers you won’t want to miss.
******
JUSTICE
Narrated by John Mo
What will happen when the secret Marcus has been holding on to begins to unravel, and someone uses it as leverage?
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My daughter got 99% in one of her classes! In the twelve years she has been in school, this has been her first report card where the teachers actually wrote something personal, positive, and uplifting rather than critical.
I had to read it a second time when she showed me, because the comments were so gracious and were filled with so much respect and love, even going so far as to give her credit for helping to make the class easier for the teacher and pointing out all the ways she brought joy to the class. I actually want to frame the comments.
Now, is this anything new for my daughter? No. She has always been thoughtful, loved school, and been kind to others, but even I’ve come to expect constant criticism from her teachers, what has seemed like them looking for a weakness, something not good enough. This has been the norm when reading her report card after every term. I often wonder if this is what schools expect in our flawed education system, what teachers have been doing for so long that they don’t realize the harm it brings.
Some will say you have to point out weaknesses so students can improve, but they never do so in a constructive way. Many of the comments I’ve read over the years have been generic, as if the teacher put the same thing on everyone’s report card, and sometimes they were cruel to a point, as if trying to grind my daughter into the ground. I remember wondering how teachers could focus on just the negative aspects in those one or two paragraphs, never once mentioning everything good about her, all her strengths, or what she is really good at. A few times, I even had to ask her not to read them.
I’ve taken issue with a few teachers over the years who hated their jobs, and it really came through in how they talked down to the kids. For them, teaching was about just getting through that class for the paycheck and nothing else. My daughter once had a former science teacher for her phys. ed. class, and he focused mostly on making students write essays, because he wasn’t a gym teacher and didn’t know how to run that class. It does happen more than people realize. You have teachers with certain degrees where the only job they can get is to teach something they have no love or qualification for. It would be kind of like hiring a general practitioner as a neurologist.
My daughter is a fitness buff. She pushes herself, she’s always laughing, and she always welcomes the new kid. Like all my kids, she has a job and pays her own way. My kids are independent and make their own decisions. If you’re jumping to the conclusion that she’s an academic star, though, she’d be the first to laugh at you. It’s not like she’s a B or C student, but she does everything well. If she takes a class, she gives it everything even if she’s struggling. This year, for the first time in twelve years, two of her teachers actually recognized that.
From having to navigate it with my eldest son, who has autism, and his consultant, I really saw firsthand how hit or miss the education system is. Every year was a constant battle of trying to reach teachers and change their perspectives. With autism, if you focus on the negative, on being critical of what’s not working rather than being positive toward the successes the student has had, you will make no progress. So why would we do the same to our typical kids?
Likely because this is how it’s been done since the beginning of time. We focus on fear and the negative and what can go wrong, on being critical, on using hurtful words, on pointing out what doesn’t work. Often, the person saying or doing this is operating from a place of fear. Fear of what? Good question. How do you feel when someone is kind and lifts you up with supportive words, being positive and recognizing how hard you work, all the good things you do? How does this compare to the way you feel around someone who can only criticize? Operating from a place of love will get you further and can do so much more for kids. Especially in this life-changing pandemic, the younger generation, our kids, are the ones who have had to sacrifice more than anyone.
My daughter’s report card was a reminder to me that it’s easy to criticize. But let me tell you, those kind words, those very personal, non-generic, uplifting comments pointing out all her strengths, were like a five-star review. That type of report card may have taken only a few minutes to write, but those words lit up her face and her smile, and she will remember them, and so will I, for a lifetime.
Romance and suspense collide in this haunting romantic thriller. When special forces operator Luke O’Connell meets a woman he never expected to see again, he uncovers the dangerous secret she is hiding and realizes the lengths someone will go to stop him from uncovering the truth.
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Friessens titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
(Walk the Right Road Book 6)
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To everyone who didn’t know her, dependable Taz Parker the towns EMT is strong, capable and confident. Except the fact everything about her job terrifies her, she lives in a town with no eligible men under 50, has five sisters an overprotective father, and no prospects of dating on the horizon. Until one rainy night a stranger on his way through town stumbles upon an accident and the pretty EMT who arrives on the scene.
Available in paperback, digital & audio - listen to sample below
This boxed set collection in The Friessen Legacy Series includes Books 22 - 24
YOU ARE MY EVERYTHING: Up and coming hockey rookie Michael Friessen has everything going for him: a future few could hope for, parents who are his everything… He doesn’t want anything more until one weekend before he secures a spot with the Canucks, when he wakes up with a ring on his finger and the hottest, sexiest blonde sound asleep beside him.
He tries to tell himself it was a mistake, that he isn’t looking for a relationship, and despite everything about her, including the night he’s still trying to remember, he’s determined not to fall for her. But the closer they get, the deeper he falls—until he learns that the night they met may not have been accidental.
ANYTHING FOR YOU: Cat and Xander have been living together for years and for Cat it’s everything she wants until an unexpected complication changes everything in this couple's relationship.
But for Xander having Cat means she comes with her very opinionated and interfering father Neil who is always sticking his nose into their relationship. Only this time it isn’t Xander Neil will be butting heads with when Cat refuses to marry Xander, but his very stubborn daughter whose somehow believes that marriage isn’t for her. How far will Xander have to go to convince Cat that marrying him isn’t the worst idea ever?
THE HOMECOMING: Catch up with your favorite family, the Friessens, as four generations come together for what they anticipate to be a fun-filled weekend with babies and children, loads of love, and laughter. You can expect all the drama of young love, from the secrets to the hidden truths in a seemingly perfect marriage.
However, one fateful moment changes everything in this unforgettable story. When three lives are put in danger, the fallout could ultimately shatter the deep love and trust in this family, dividing them forever—and the cost could be something far greater than any of them could have imagined.
WHEN THEY WERE YOUNG: Do you want to know more about Brad, Neil, Jed and Robbie Davis? When They Were Young is a novella aboutBrad, Neil, Jed, Robbie andboth Gary Davis and Rodney Friessen and find out what really happened when they were young.
A long-buried secret that was never meant to be uncovered could suddenly put a target on both Detective Mark Friessen and Billy Jo McCabe.
Narrated by Leo Jones
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Newly Released
“It’s a nail biter!!…you will be grabbed from the beginning and have to remember to breathe from all the intrigue, twists and turns.” ★★★★★ Karen L., Amazon Vine Voice
Romance and suspense collide in this haunting romantic thriller. When special forces operator Luke O’Connell meets a woman he never expected to see again, he uncovers the dangerous secret she is hiding and realizes the lengths someone will go to stop him from uncovering the truth.
Luke never in a million years expected to see Misty Bates again after a weekend of no strings and no names. But when his family introduces him to the nice girl next door, who turns out to be his mysterious fling, he soon figures out that the small-town girl is running from something, and uncovering it could destroy his chance at love.
Luke O’Connell has been unlucky in love because of who he is. He has a job he can’t talk about, with trouble always following him, and a peaceful night’s sleep is something he can only dream of having.
The O’Connells step in and introduce him to Misty, a nice small-town girl, in the hopes that the two will hit it off, but what they don’t know is that Luke and Misty have already met. Years ago, they spent a weekend together after a mission on the other side of the world. Luke is adamant he’s not looking for a relationship, and he can’t help seeing red flags behind Misty’s nice-girl front. In her, he sees the kinds of ghosts people hide when they’re running from something.
Luke doesn’t like secrets, and there isn’t a secret out there that he can’t uncover. He soon discovers that Misty Bates used to be Chloe Welch, and she testified against a local hero after witnessing an unspeakable crime in which a house was burned down and a family perished. But when the small-town jury voted to acquit, the protection she had been promised by local authorities disappeared, and the suddenly hostile residents forced her to leave town.
Luke swears there can never be anything between him and Misty, but his digging has already put her in danger. Two cops show up on her doorstep with an arrest warrant, because the evidence in the case is suddenly pointing in her direction. Someone out there is trying to settle a score, and once again, the O’Connells find themselves deeply embroiled in a scandal, one that could ultimately endanger everyone in the family.
Audio production is now underway for HOW TO HEAL A HEART, LONG PAST DAWN, ALL ABOUT DEVON and THE VISITOR.
Free Audio Codes
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It seems automatic subscriptions and recurring payments have become the norm. When you’re buying something, whether for business or personal use, an online subscription seems to be the default now, sometimes without you even being aware of what you’re signing up for.
Quite often, the warning is in that small box of text you don’t see in the six hundred plus pages of the agreement people are supposed to read, though no one does. I mean, seriously, who in their right mind has time to read and agree to that many pages? Most are created by some legal department and worded in a way that can’t be understood, anyway. Quite often if you start reading it, you’ll find it’s double talk that goes in circles and doesn’t make any sense, and it’s been designed that way.
Nevertheless, as an author, I subscribe to many different programs for my business, and I have to watch every one of them because it’s become the norm to have to uncheck the hidden box that states your credit card will automatically charge on renewal unless you cancel. Some even add all kinds of fine print that you have to cancel within a certain period, within so many days in advance, and other things most people have no idea they’re agreeing to. Yet how many of these subscription services provide no contact information and hide the option to unsubscribe? There are too many. With a few, after I signed up and found the service didn’t provide what was promised, I went to cancel and it took days to figure out how. I would try to get my information removed and unsubscribe only to be charged again.
As frustrating as it is, your only choice is not to use the service. Otherwise, you’re left pulling your hair out because once they have your credit card, they promise you’ll be charged only if you go past the trial period, which most are counting on you to forget. I mean, how many times have you looked at your credit card statement and wondered who is charging you for something? With the number of computer programs and subscription services I subscribe to as an author, from Adobe to Mailchimp and all kinds of software, from my newsletter services to my website, I’m not kidding when I say you have to watch these guys.
Many of these sites have been hacked too, especially as of late, and the personal information they store is being stolen. Ever heard of identity theft? Maybe it’s happened to you or someone you know. It’s a scary thought, but in the technological online world we live in, cybercrime has exploded. Just this morning, I received an email from a big antivirus subscription service to tell me they had been hacked and my account was compromised, and my password and information may have been leaked. This was immediately followed by them telling me not to worry, as my account was secure. Now, why didn’t I believe that? Maybe because so many companies have been hacked and had personal information stolen without notifying anyone. Remember Adobe? Yes, they were hacked, and personal account information was leaked.
I remember a number of years back, before online data breaches became a problem, I received a phone call from one of the giant telecom companies, Telus, trying to get my business back. But Telus had subcontracted from a call center in India, so while the person calling me wasn’t a Telus employee, he had all my personal information, including my driver’s license number. The company had just handed over all my personal information!
I still remember that. Once I got past my horror, I phoned and filed a complaint, which was handled by some customer service rep and went nowhere. When you first sign up for utilities, they collect vital personal information, the kinds of details no one should have access to, such as your driver’s license number, your social insurance number, and other government-issued ID numbers. All that personal information is a hacker’s dream. You would think some privacy act would specify that your personal information isn’t supposed to be shared, but I think we’re long past that. Instead, it’s leaked, shared, stolen, and given out to subcontractors from other countries.
Should you be worried? I am. I really try to keep my personal information private, but that means having to change passwords on a regular basis—and then remember them. There was a point a few years back when I finally gave in and wrote them down because I couldn’t remember any more, considering the sheer number of sites I log in to and services I use. Of course, my kids remember everything, so if they’re here, I find myself calling out across the house, “What’s my password for this site?” They, of course, respond that I changed it the month before and it’s now whatever it is.
Some of the recommendations out there are not to overshare on social media, to create strong passwords, and to use free wi-fi with caution. Watch out for links and attachments. Always look to see if a site is secure—you know, with that lock you see in the menu bar? Most importantly, check your credit report, because when your information is stolen, they can use it to get a credit card in your name, buy things with it, open utility accounts in your name, steal your tax refund, and even pretend to be you if they are arrested. The list goes on.
As if we all need one more thing added to our plates, considering everything going on in the world! But right now, protecting your online presence and personal information is more important than ever.
Newly Released
“…action packed and thought provoking…another excellent story in this very much loved series.” ★★★★★ Yvonne C., Amazon Reviewer
Romance and suspense collide in this haunting romantic thriller. When special forces operator Luke O’Connell meets a woman he never expected to see again, he uncovers the dangerous secret she is hiding and realizes the lengths someone will go to stop him from uncovering the truth.
Get a FREE US or UK Audible code for these Walk the Right Road titles. A limited number of codes are available; first come, first served. Honest reviews are always appreciated. Happy listening! *Code must be redeemed immediately or will be reassigned to another reader within 48 hours.
(Walk the Right Road Book 6)
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This is pretty much what I’ve said to my kids, though when I say it to others, they look at me oddly. But think about it: Life can kick you in the head, and it’s pretty easy to see the bad side of everything, the doom and gloom, especially with what’s going on right now. If you let it, that doom and gloom can have you curling up for a good cry. But challenges happen, and this is just a different one. As with anything in life, you have to learn to roll with it. One of the things I learned long ago is how to laugh at the little things, the big things, and even the absurd things.
It seems as if none of our leaders know what to do. They can’t get along and work together. Even this past week, with all the announcements about variants and strains and mutations that have been allowed into the country and are still being allowed in, hearing that international flights were never stopped had me giving my head a shake. Sure, they finally canceled flights from one area, one region, a little too late, but so many other areas have flights still coming in daily. A pandemic, as pointed out by my daughter, has a passport and will travel.
We happen to live in BC, and I sometimes wonder where our leaders pull their information from. Of course they’re only human, having to deal with the backlash and protests and nonbelievers, but in all fairness, these leaders have withheld facts and information, displaying the kind of secrecy that has happened for too long, the half truths, the history of lying, giving billions to corporations to make record profits during a pandemic while continuing to hurt the little guy. I’ve said it too many times, but why would they suddenly expect people to listen?
Now we find ourselves with police enforcement, orders not to travel or leave the area. I said to my daughter, tongue in cheek, “Didn’t they say that months and months ago?” She said, “No, Mom. It was worded that way, it was recommended, but it wasn’t enforced.” Okay, I laughed over that one, because we’ve stayed home, haven’t traveled, and I apparently thought those recommendations were being enforced. Now I’m suddenly hearing about all these loopholes, like how the mandatory hotel quarantine upon coming into Canada isn’t really mandatory, because you can refuse, receive a fine that’s less than the cost of the mandatory hotel stay, and be on your way. That applies only to those flying in, as well, because the land border doesn’t have that same requirement. I guess if you do your homework, you can find a loophole in anything. Apparently, you just have to fly to a close airport, take a taxi across the border, be sure you’ve had a COVID test, and be on your way home.
Something like over 20,000 people have already found this loophole, so it surprises me that leaders believe there is trust. Remember that taxi and limo drivers are essential workers, of whom there is apparently quite a long list, and so are exempt from quarantine and can drive back and forth across the border. I’ve said before that this entire situation is becoming like a gong show. So when I heard the latest about police enforcement, about not being able to leave our hospital region, I remembered that there are always loopholes. Our leaders are just going from bad to worse, because even the police immediately put a statement out saying they won’t enforce the policy, that they want clarity over how enforcement is supposed to look. A good question!
Considering we live in a time when police overreach is in the spotlight, and demands have been made to defund the police and to take a serious look and restructure the entire system, these policies are especially ironic. Sure, there are some good cops out there, but when they are told to follow an order, when all the overreach and bad policing comes down from the top, the leaders, these cops have a choice to follow a system that has done some pretty bad things or to quit. Then there are the bad cops—and there are too many who have a badge and power and have abused their authority. With this latest announcement giving permission for overreach, what kind of accountability will there be? Remember they often target the most vulnerable, with little to no resources to defend themselves, never the reporters or TV executives who can put their stories on the front page or the news and give them the needed spin.
There isn’t a lot to laugh about, and if you have a loved one you haven’t been able to see, have been separated from, you’re likely looking to blame someone. That’s all we’re hearing from leaders, too—the blame game. Since the beginning of the pandemic, it’s been no wonder that people are asking some pretty hard questions and making demands, calling for the truth from our leaders now, finally. There is anger, too. My mother is eighty, and she wants to see her sister in a care home, but she can’t. She’s not allowed. She’s been vaccinated, and so has her sister, yet here we still are.
Then there are our kids. We’re coming to the end of the year, my daughter’s high school graduation. She put off looking for a gown, the dress girls dream of, because from February to June was like a lifetime in COVID years. She said she wanted to wait because of all the uncertainty as to whether there would even be a graduation. Now here we are, a little more than a month away, and there are questions about where we can get a dress. Just going out shopping doesn’t happen anymore, considering we have to ask what’s even open. So here we are, scratching our heads, having another laugh, because it’s looking like we’ll go with online shopping from Amazon. Let’s hope it fits!
It can make you cry if you let it, but instead we’ve continued to have a good laugh as we talk about how graduation is going to look. Even the school has no idea. It could resemble something like my son’s last year, which was a ten-minute, no-frills, get-in and get-out ceremony, no extended family or friends allowed, social distanced, with a few kids at a time, some pathetic claps from the few allowed in the gymnasium, and a quick flash of a photo outside before leaving. Or it could be done over Zoom! We’ve seriously had a good laugh over that one, considering you could find a gorgeous dress for that special day behind a computer screen, or you could just show up in pajamas.
What we’re looking at is maybe having dinner out! Because of the gong show going on out there, we have no idea what the end of June will look like, because right now, with all the closures, it’s hard to keep on top of all the rules. They change their minds often. Indoor dining is now banned, and some restaurants have closed their doors for good. My daughter could be on some outdoor patio in her fabulous online discount dress. Yes, we are laughing about that, too. As of right now, it’ll be just us, if restaurants are still in business, and maybe one or two of the lifelong friends she’s graduating with, or maybe the family friends we haven’t been able to see. We don’t know for sure at this point, because this is a week-by-week situation. The rules change, it seems, on that basis.
Today, schools are still open, my daughter still has a job, and we’re still finding ways to laugh even with all the absurdity going on.
Romance and suspense collide in this haunting romantic thriller. When special forces operator Luke O’Connell meets a woman he never expected to see again, he uncovers the dangerous secret she is hiding and realizes the lengths someone will go to stop him from uncovering the truth.
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