It began with tragedy.
Continued with rebirth.
Intensified with an uncovered past.
How will it all end?
The wait is almost over!
Storm Sullivan's epic journey comes to an end tomorrow with the release of
END OF THE NIGHT
I am thrilled to reveal the stunning new cover created by the brilliant and fabulously talented,
Tammie Clarke Gibbs.
And, a teaser excerpt.....
Beep, Beep, Beep.
Storm groaned and rolled over, right into PacMan’s back. “PacMan, you bad boy.” She halfheartedly mumbled the reprimand and attempted to push his body to no avail. “Fine. Be that way.” Slapping the snooze button to silence the alarm, Storm draped an arm over her dog and snuggled into the short soft fur, relishing the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
Beep, Beep, Beep.
PacMan snorted and licked Storm’s face. “Alright,alright, I’m getting up. I don’t know why you’re so put out, you get to lay around in bed all day.” Pushing off the bed, Storm reached down and flipped the alarm to off before breaking into a yawning stretch that was highlighted with a serious of soft cracks and pops as her spine realigned. For a second, Storm swore she heard a baby crying and paused at its closeness. She mentally chastised herself and shrugged. Must be the neighbors. The apartment walls were paper thin after all.
Stepping into the shower, Storm stood for several minutes under the steaming hot water, washing away the grime from the day before and the vague discomfort following the vision she’d had. The vision. It was an ugly one and somewhat painful if truth be told. She’d made the call to the precinct from her disposable cell and hoped they been able to nab the sicko in time. Part of her wanted to call Dan and Shane to ask about it but then they would wonder how she knew. Every time Storm had the same internal argument but ultimately did the right thing and waited for the news story. She rinsed off and stepped out, wrapping herself in a worn bath towel. PacMan sat in the doorway of the bathroom staring at her in his usual concerned way. Storm called him a worry wart because he always appeared to be frowning in concern.
“I think I talk to you too much, boy.” Storm turned from her dog and wiped off the mirror. A man’s face looked back at her. She blinked, rubbed her eyes and wiped at the mirror again but only saw her own reflection. “Yes, definitely. I am losing it.” Storm grumbled to herself and went about methodically combing the tangles from her hair before neatly plaiting it. With the towel secured tightly around her body she slipped back into the bedroom and flipped the television on to the morning news. Sifting through her wardrobe, Storm half listened to the weather and traffic. By the time the main anchor re-took the screen she’d slipped into a pair of black pin-striped pants and her least ratty white lace camisole. The story Storm had been waiting for came on just as she was slipping into her emerald green satin blouse.