The Last Witness, written by my alter-ego, K. T. Roberts, is a police procedural suspense with sexual tension, and will be going free on Amazon from June 22-24. Here is a sample of what you can expect. I hope you will download the book and if you're so inclined, I'd be honored to have a review posted on the Amazon's site. Here is the link: http://amzn.com/B008A6H0BS
The first victim’s car is rammed into an embankment. The second takes a bullet to the back of the head. Two down and counting! Who’s next? Detectives Tate Kensington and Zachary Gerard of the NYPD have two seemingly unrelated cases on their plate and aren’t making much progress toward a resolution of either one. Complicating the proceedings are Detective Kensington’s personal issues with weak women, violent men, and death threats. Other than that, she’s doing just fine except her ex-beau is now her boss. Can the two detectives put the killer away without a body? And what if a grammar-school prank becomes the key to solving these two major cases?
NEW YORK CITY August 26, 2007
Run, Tate, run. Her muscles screamed with pain and exhaustion. To stop was not an option—not now. She had to get away from whoever was chasing her.
Run, dammit, run. White-hot pain engulfed her lungs, and the dryness in her throat made her tonsils feel swollen. She curled her tongue and squeezed her mouth to create saliva, then swallowed. She ran up the hill and down the other side. The dirt shifted under her feet. She slid but managed to stay upright.
The wind kicked up, and Tate coughed to expel the dust she’d inhaled, never letting up on her pace.
“Where the hell am I?” She screamed, unable to see what lie ahead. Her parched throat burned with every breath, yet she continued to run. She pushed the thought away.
His raspy breathing and the thunderous pounding of his feet told her he had gained on her. She must have slowed down without realizing it. The intensity of pain in her legs grew stronger, and she willed them to move faster, but they refused to cooperate. “Oh, God. Please help me.”
She turned her head to look over her shoulder and saw him a few feet behind her. A surge of adrenaline took over, and she sprinted forward, then tripped over the uneven terrain and fell to the ground. She tried to stand, but a sharp blow to the center of her back caused her knees to buckle and sent her sprawling forward. Pain shot through her nose when her face struck the hard surface. She squeezed her eyes
shut to block out the pain. Blood gushed down her face. The nauseating taste of copper made her gag.
When his evil laughter echoed in her ears, she knew it was all over. He was going to kill her. Fear, thick as the blood running down her face, froze her to the spot. She lay on the sparsely grass-covered ground helpless, and released a low, tortured sob, afraid to fight back.
He reached for her arms and pulled them behind her back. She could feel the sharpness of a rope cut into the skin on her wrists. A trickle of fluid ran down the side of her hand. Blood? Was it her blood? Or was it his sweat? The latter disgusted her and made her want to heave again.
“Oh God,” she gasped; her heart hammering out of control, so loudly she could feel the reverberations throughout her body. She whispered a silent prayer hoping whatever was about to happen would be swift.
He jerked her to an upright position, whirled her around, and forced her onto a large boulder. The black hooded cape he wore concealed everything except his piercing eyes. She focused on them trying to identify her assailant; if not for the police, for herself—so she’d know who was stalking her—know who wanted her dead.
The click of the hammer echoed in the still night. If Tate hadn’t already been sitting, her legs would have given out when he pressed the cold steel of a gun barrel against her cheek. One last chance for someone to hear me, she thought, and screamed at the top of her lungs