standing there— half her hair burnt to a frazzle, her shirtsleeves scorched and covered with ash, stinking to high heaven, her left forearm wrapped in the paramedic’s gauze—and most of the storm clouds left his face.
“God damn it, Martinelli, don’t do that to me. Lee would wrap those crutches of hers around my neck if I let anything else happen to you.”
She tried to stir up some resentment at his protectiveness, but failed. She did manage a stir of feeble humor, however.
“Oh, you know me, Al. I like my cases to end with a bang.”
And on the other side of town, in a pool of blood on the wall of the shelter for battered women, dark Kali smiled.
laurie R. king lives with her family in the hills above Monterey Bay in northern California. Her background includes such diverse interests as Old Testament theology and construction work, and she has been writing crime fiction since 1987. The winner of both the Edgar and the John Creasey Awards for Best First Novel for
