Stroke of Death
A Psychic Visions Novel
Book #17
Dale Mayer
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
About This Book
Complimentary Download
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
About Ice Maiden
Author’s Note
Complimentary Download
About the Author
Copyright Page
About This Book
Cayce’s art is well-known and respected among her peers, and, as such, has spawned forgers, copycats … and enemies. But when her favorite model and best friend is murdered—the masterpiece painted on her skin cut off her body—Cayce knows she’s up against a collector of a very different sort.
Detective Richard Henderson doesn’t know much about art, but he knows what he likes. Of all the art mixed up in this case, it is the artist, Cayce, who fascinates him the most. While he understands her work contains an element of something extraordinary, he just doesn’t know what that is exactly or how she embodies it in her creative works of art.
But, when other models show up dead, with more souvenirs taken from their bodies, both the artist and the detective realize much more is involved in this than just Cayce’s art … It’s all about Cayce’s soul.
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KILL OR BE KILLED
Part of an elite SEAL team, Mason takes on the dangerous jobs no one else wants to do – or can do. When he’s on a mission, he’s focused and dedicated. When he’s not, he plays as hard as he fights.
Until he meets a woman he can’t have but can’t forget. Software developer, Tesla lost her brother in combat and has no intention of getting close to someone else in the military. Determined to save other US soldiers from a similar fate, she’s created a program that could save lives. But other countries know about the program, and they won’t stop until they get it – and get her.
Time is running out … For her … For him … For them …
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Chapter 1
Cayce Cormont didn’t want to rush her work today. She didn’t want to rush any day but definitely not today. This was the fifth day she had put into this commissioned art piece, her static part of her art. She had finished the backdrop. Today was all about getting the presentation of the model incorporated in just right, merging perfectly with Cayce’s background art. That she’d been feeling unwell the last two days only made her job harder.
To add to her pain and frustration, the “perfect model” whom the set director wanted was the worst model for the job. Cayce had only found out about the change in the model yesterday. She’d been putting the final touches on the backdrop, when the company brought in the new model to show her. Cayce’s normal approach was not to let others dictate her models to her, not even the client who had commissioned the piece. But this time the client’s representatives had pulled a fast one on Cayce at the very last moment.
To top off that insult, Cayce had taken an instant dislike to the new model, Naomi. Something about the sly curl to her lips and that look in her eyes combined to say that she knew exactly what the world wanted, and she was prepared to give it up—for a price. Cayce had really struggled to find anything good about her. And, in Cayce’s work, that bonding and blending was everything.
But Cayce was a professional and did what she needed to do. Today was no exception. Besides, the sooner she was done, the sooner she could move on. She walked from her vehicle to the art installation, putting down her large cases and turning to study the work she’d completed the night before.
Finally, after a few moments, she stepped back and nodded. “It looks good.”
“Looks darn good.”
At the sound of footsteps, she turned to see her replacement model saunter in, dressed in a bikini and not much else. Cayce nodded in acknowledgment of Naomi’s comment, then said, “Okay, so right back to the same position we set up last night,” she said, motioning to the wall—Cayce’s artwork—where the model herself would disappear into the actual painted background.
“And good morning to you too,” Naomi said in a snide voice.
Cayce shrugged it off. She was short on time as it was and couldn’t afford to waste more by slinging words with Naomi when Cayce needed to be slinging paint. It was hard to be creative if she had adverse feelings for the whole scenario. She wished she had her regular model because Elena would have been absolutely perfect for this job.
Cayce had worked with Elena just two days ago on another art show, highlighting different masterpieces, and it had worked out stunningly, but that had been for a fancy house party, where Elena had been the artsy centerpiece of the ballroom. She had done a phenomenal job, and, when Cayce had told her best model to go home and rest, Elena had laughed at her and said, “Now that I’m off duty, I want to enjoy the party and mingle with the guests.” She had given Cayce a gentle hug, then turned and walked away.
Elena’s happy energy was so very different than the critical scowl Naomi wore, as Cayce tried to sort out what she needed to do next, other than deflecting Naomi’s negative energy.
“You can start anytime now,” Naomi said in a bored voice. “At this rate we’ll be here all day.”
“I won’t be,” Cayce said. She bent down, opened up her cases, brought out her palettes and paints, mixing the first color she wanted. When she was ready, she pulled on the energies around her, looking for that creative light, that rainbow, which she wrapped around her, almost like a blanket of good luck, spreading out into all the different colors. She was a firm believer in the colors of sound and the colors of
