Love Letters, Inc. (22 page)

"Are you okay? Can I get you something?" she asked.

He pointed to the empty water glass on the night table. Willy nodded and went to fill it. He looked sick—real sick. Now she was super worried. She brought him the water, and he propped himself on one elbow to drink it, then fell heavily back on the bed. When he put an arm across his eyes to cut the light coming in from the window, Willy closed the curtains before going to sit on the side of the bed.

She chewed nervously on her lower lip, then lifted his arm away from his forehead to replace it with her palm.

He was burning up. When the chills started again, she pulled a blanket over him, refilled his water glass, and left.

Page forward for an excerpt from EC Sheedy's

California Man

The Author's Cut Edition

Excerpt from

California Man

The Author's Cut Edition

by

EC Sheedy as Carole Dean

"Maybe, but there's nothing wrong with a little fantasy. The trouble with you, Em, is you're too easily satisfied. You've made an art of contentment... of placidity. As for me, there are times this island
really, really
gets to me." She shook her head. "It's such a small piece of the world."

Small and safe,
Emily thought to herself, denying her own midnight dreams of exotic countries and wild adventures. She knew they weren't for her; she'd only freeze up and panic. Even if she could leave here, she knew she'd always come back. It was home. But the word placid rankled. She didn't
feel
placid.

When Emily didn't answer, Grace probed again. "Don't you ever want to go anywhere else? Wouldn't you like to meet a fantastic man, maybe travel, live in other places?"

Emily was about to answer when her interest was caught by a cycler coming toward them on the waterfront walkway. She couldn't make him out clearly, but she knew he wasn't local. He stopped a few feet away and got off his bike. For a moment he glanced their way, and a brief, friendly smile flashed across his face before he turned away to prop up his bike.

Emily shut her eyes tight and opened them again, convinced he wasn't real. Until this minute, if you would have asked her if men like this even existed, she would have said no, not without the magic of film and camera work. Never, never in the flesh. But there he was—and just looking at him made her slightly breathless. A breeze tossed the ends of his dark, wavy hair, oddly sun bleached in the front. Deeply tanned, aviator style sunglasses hid his eyes. Had to be an early tourist. No one here was that bronzed this early in the year. She wondered what color his eyes were behind those shadowy lenses. Finally, Grace's voice seeped through her fog.

"Talk about arousing! Is he incredible or what?" Emily wasn't the only one who noticed. Grace's tone was positively reverential. "Em, are you looking?"

Emily looked away. They were gawking like a pair of open-mouthed adolescents. When she pulled her eyes from his long, muscular body, it was as if she disconnected herself from a dream.

"Look, he's coming this way," Grace whispered. "He is. He really is."

Emily's gaze shot back to the stranger. He
was
moving toward them.
Oh, no...
The bile of panic rose in her throat, closed it, and she lowered her eyes to fix on her pale hands.

Page forward for an excerpt from EC Sheedy's

Overkill

Excerpt from

Overkill

a short story

by

EC Sheedy

"This is a joke, right?" Tanner Cross sat on a cheap bed in an even cheaper hotel in Loubomo in the Congo Republic. He was counting money. He was also naked, tired, and as of two minutes ago, when he'd stepped out of his first shower in two weeks, actually clean. A month of sleep, a haircut, and he'd be human again, although last he heard humans weren't called on to kill their superiors. Holister had to be smoking something. Either that or he was speaking in code.

"No joke. Book a flight. Laine Derek will have you picked up and taken straight to Derek's home in Mayfair. Security knows you're coming in as a guest. And it's best you stay clear of Laine. She'll ask questions. The woman is a tiger when it comes to her father's security."

"No problem. I prefer my tigers in my gas tank—or better yet, my bed."

"Funny."

"I take it she doesn't know what her father does when he isn't making billions for Derek Industries."

"No. And it's your job to keep it that way."

Jesus! He tossed a wad of hundreds on the 'counted' side of the bed, and ran a hand through his wet, tangled hair.

He'd been with Raven Force for eight years, run ops from the seething East-bloc to war-infested Africa, but he'd never received an assassination order before. Abort mega weapons deals and kill the bad guys, sure . . . and get their money—that was the best part. But terminate the man who masterminded Raven Force? A man whose brilliant, Byzantine plots had saved thousands of lives—and taken down dozens of murdering warlords?

This order had to be bullshit. Had to be. "You sure about this, Holister?"

Tanner heard a hard breath come down the line. "He specifically asked for you—says you 'don't blink.' So get your ass to London ASAP." Pause. "And clean up before arrival, okay? Suit. Tie. The works. The Dereks don't do casual."

"Oh goody, a shopping spree."

Holister ignored the joke. "And remember this is what Derek wants. This is his plan. And whatever that man wants, he gets."

"Even to choosing his own time and place to die." Tanner rubbed his jumpy gut.

Silence, a full five seconds of it, then a hard exhale. "Yeah, even that."

Tanner took just as long to answer. "Shit," he said, because there was nothing else to say. But a lot to think about. Like why in hell Derek asked for him. You owe the man, Cross, maybe this is his way of calling in the debt. And like it or not, this was an order.