Ann has been a writer since junior high, but topay the bills she has waited tables, delivered newspapers, cleaned other
people's houses, taught school, and had a stint as a secretary in a rock-n-roll
radio station. She also worked as a 911 operator and a police dispatcher.
Her fiction began to win awards during her college days. Since then she's
published several short stories, novels, and novellas. She’s always reading and
always writing, but even if she never sold another story, Ann would not stop
writing. For her it's a necessity, like breathing. Most of the time, it even
keeps her sane.
They call him the Killer Cartographer because he
carves the map coordinates of each victim on the femur of the one before. Then
he tattoos the information on his skin.
carves the map coordinates of each victim on the femur of the one before. Then
he tattoos the information on his skin.
Can Detective Kendra Dean bring him in,
or will she become his next tattoo?
or will she become his next tattoo?
This book is on offer for .99 for the month of October! Buy your copy today!!!
Snippet:
The weather turned cooler, the deciduous leaves fell like dry rain. They mounded into luscious orange and yellow drifts that were—for the next few days at least—soft and pliable. The conifers stood like evergreen sentinels resisting the coming of winter.
Halloween passed quietly. Kendra had stacked bright pumpkins on each of the four porch steps. She’d tried to liven up the landscape even more by carving a jack-o-lantern the way she and the kids had done back in the day.
But the fun had turned sour when she sliced open the webbing between her thumb and index finger. The result had been a trip to the clinic for stitches. When she got home a couple of hours later, the bright orange pumpkins shone eerily through the early evening mist coming off the water.
Halloween passed quietly. Kendra had stacked bright pumpkins on each of the four porch steps. She’d tried to liven up the landscape even more by carving a jack-o-lantern the way she and the kids had done back in the day.
But the fun had turned sour when she sliced open the webbing between her thumb and index finger. The result had been a trip to the clinic for stitches. When she got home a couple of hours later, the bright orange pumpkins shone eerily through the early evening mist coming off the water.
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