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Read an exciting excerpt below.


Arriving at the Harlan’s house, Amos didn't wait for Tom. Drawing his service revolver, he nudged the front door open with his foot. Holding his gun close in front of him, he quietly entered the house, eyes scanning the living room. Empty. Stealthily, he moved to the kitchen, also empty. At the foot of the stairs, he hesitated. Harlan was armed. Maybe he should wait for Tom.
Remembering the terror and pain in Molly's eyes and her words, he killed my momma, he discarded that idea. He placed one foot on the bottom step and shifted his weight, pulling the other foot up next to it. The stairs creaked in protest and Amos held his breath; waiting. Nothing. He took the steps one at a time, his eyes trained on the landing, alert for the tiniest movement.
His breathing shallow and quiet, he climbed the stairs. At the top, he stood silently, his head cocked in a listening attitude. Nothing, no noise, no moans, no cries, no curses. The silence was un-nerving.
As he stood there, the smell of blood invaded his nostrils. Rich and coppery smelling, it permeated the air.
Making a decision, Amos walked softly to the door directly ahead of him and toed it open, his gun at the ready. Squinting into the darkness, he fumbled for the light switch to his right and flipped it. The room became bathed in an artificial yellow glow. It was empty.
As he stood there, his eyes searching the room, he noticed Harlan's wallet lying on the dresser and his shoes lined up precisely, next to the nightstand. The shades were drawn and the covers had been pulled back neatly on the bed, in preparation for sleep.
He backed slowly out of the room and into the hallway. Turning his head to the right, he saw another door. Making his way cautiously to it, he reached out and grasped the handle, twisting it slowly. It opened onto the bathroom. The glow from the streetlight outside the window illuminated the small room divulging its emptiness. Turning on his heel, Amos headed for the other end of the hall and one last closed door.
He’d been mistaken. The door wasn’t shut, at least not all the way, and as he reached for the doorknob, he heard a noise from downstairs. Gripping his gun tightly, he turned and eased to the top of the stairs, waiting in the darkness.
Below, he could see a dim figure creeping stealthily across the floor toward the stairs. “That's far enough, Harlan,” Amos said loudly.
The figure below stopped and a strangled cry escaped from it. “Amos? It's me, Tom.” Tom Hale’s voice quivered with fear. Amos sighed and lowered his gun.
“Come on up, Tom and don't touch nothin',” he said. Tom made his way up the stairs.
At the top, he nodded to Amos, “What we got?”
“Molly says Harlan killed Mary, but so far I ain't found her. There's still that room over yonder to check.” He nodded toward the half closed door at the end of the hall. Tom, his gun hand trembling, nodded to Amos who turned and led the way.
Guns at the ready, Amos nudged the door back and felt for the light switch. Finding it, he took a deep breath and flipped the switch. The scene was bathed in a soft yellow glow, but it did nothing to soften the horror.
Lying in a pool of her own blood was Mary Matthews. She was lying on her back, her mouth open in a silent scream; her eyes wide and terrified. Her body had been viscously assaulted.
Tom turned away, covering his mouth to hold back the bile that had risen in his throat. Amos blanched, but didn't turn away. Instead, he knelt down beside the body and gingerly lifted her wrist feeling for a pulse. As he knew, there was none. Mary's lifeless eyes stared in horror, forever trapping the last sight she saw: that of her killer standing over her, grinning sadistically.
Amos gently closed Mary's sightless eyes and got to his feet. Turning to his deputy he said, “Tom, go downstairs and call Doc and tell him to get over here.” Grateful for anything that would take him out of sight of that horror; Tom nodded mutely and left the room.
Amos hunkered down beside Mary and gently brushed the hair back from her eyes. Her face was bloodied and bruised, but that didn't hide her beauty. He grieved silently for this woman. He had loved her for a very long time and he had begged her so many times to leave Harlan, but she had refused. Claiming love, she stayed. Stayed to be beaten, raped and now murdered by the man she loved.
Amos felt the bitterness and hopelessness of her life wash over him. If things had only been different, she would be alive and happy; smiling that beautiful smile of hers. He felt the tears form in his eyes and he let them come.
Hearing Tom clumping noisily up the stairs, Amos got to his feet. In a pretense of checking for evidence, he walked over to Molly's closet and began to plunder through her things.
“Doc's on his way,” Tom said, stepping gingerly around the body to stand before Amos. “What you want me to do?”
Taking a deep breath, Amos turned to his deputy and said, “Go into Harlan's room and see if you can find anything that might tell us where he went.”
Tom nodded, only to happy to comply. It was obvious that he didn't want to be in the same room with a dead body. When he had gone, Amos sat down heavily on the edge of Molly's bed and stared at Mary. Sighing, he got up and pulling the quilt off the bed, gently draped it over the now stiffening and lifeless corpse that had once housed the soul of the woman he loved.