Read Online One Week To Live by Joan Beth Erickson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joan Beth Erickson
Tags: Suspense, Contemporary
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Promises don’t mean anything, do they?” she shouted, shaking the newspaper at him. “You better get out of the way before the bus runs you over.”
A loud horn honked. “Move, buster,” the bus driver yelled out his window. “You’re in a no-stopping zone.”
Brian pulled forward and watched in the rearview mirror as she boarded the bus. He should have talked to her about the article before it appeared. If only she understood the reason for keeping the story alive. With no leads in the case, fewer straight news articles about the kidnapping appeared.
One way to generate more press was to go for the human-interest angle. Sick of straight news stories, people gravitated to these pieces. If he weaved together a continuing story revolving around the case and Angie, people would read it. One of these readers might see something to help find the victim. He wasn’t doing the articles to anger her. He wanted to save a child’s life.
****
She exited the bus and tossed the newspaper in a nearby trashcan. Damn him, she thought. Hadn’t life taught her never to trust a charming man? They might be sexy and attractive, but beneath the surface always lurked a cad, a person not to be believed. At first, she’d thought Brian was different, but she’d discovered he wasn’t.
She trudged through the heat toward her office building passing a cascading waterfall fountain en route. Before crossing the sun-baked concrete leading to the main entrance, she stopped and surveyed the area. Good , no placard-carrying picketers lurked out front. After the San Diego article, a woman showed up at her San Diego work entrance brandishing a sign that denounced psychics as people possessed by the devil.
Today she saw no one, but decided to slip into the building through a side entrance. She was already an hour late. Entering the reception area, the blonde twenty-something receptionist smiled smugly and motioned her over. “When you have time, I’d love for you to read my fortune. My luck hasn’t been—”
“I don’t tell fortunes,” she snapped, cutting her off.
She marched through the maze of cubicles to her workspace passing several co-workers along the way. When they saw her, they stopped talking and stared. While within earshot, she heard them snickering. Obviously, people already read the morning paper. She retreated into her cubicle wishing there was a door to slam shut so she could hide from the prying eyes and curious whispers.
“Damn it, Brian,” she mumbled, sitting down at her desk.
It was her childhood all over again. At the age of six, she’d begun developing her supposed gift. She could predict who was at the door before they knocked. At school, fellow students avoided her when they learned about her psychic ability. She’d wanted to be normal, but always felt alienated from the others. Some even taunted her and called her a freak.
It didn’t end at the school playground. In her own home, she felt like an outsider. Her father accused her of being possessed by the devil and thought the family priest should exorcise her. When her parents took her to a doctor, he diagnosed her as a schizophrenic because she heard voices and saw visions.
Switching on her computer, she attempted to concentrate on her work, but couldn’t. Within minutes, her boss stormed in waving the newspaper in front of her nose. “What is the meaning of this article? This is a conservative accounting firm, Ms. Martin. No one wants a crystal-ball wielding accountant working on their books.”
“I know that, Mr. Cooper. I didn’t write that article.” And I don’t use a crystal ball, she thought.
He glared at her for a minute. Considering how conservative the man was, she held her breath and waited for the words, “You’re fired.”
“Ms. Martin, you’re a damn good accountant. You’ve caught irregularities where others missed them. I’d hate to lose you, but I must protect the firm’s reputation.”
“I understand,” she
A loud horn honked. “Move, buster,” the bus driver yelled out his window. “You’re in a no-stopping zone.”
Brian pulled forward and watched in the rearview mirror as she boarded the bus. He should have talked to her about the article before it appeared. If only she understood the reason for keeping the story alive. With no leads in the case, fewer straight news articles about the kidnapping appeared.
One way to generate more press was to go for the human-interest angle. Sick of straight news stories, people gravitated to these pieces. If he weaved together a continuing story revolving around the case and Angie, people would read it. One of these readers might see something to help find the victim. He wasn’t doing the articles to anger her. He wanted to save a child’s life.
****
She exited the bus and tossed the newspaper in a nearby trashcan. Damn him, she thought. Hadn’t life taught her never to trust a charming man? They might be sexy and attractive, but beneath the surface always lurked a cad, a person not to be believed. At first, she’d thought Brian was different, but she’d discovered he wasn’t.
She trudged through the heat toward her office building passing a cascading waterfall fountain en route. Before crossing the sun-baked concrete leading to the main entrance, she stopped and surveyed the area. Good , no placard-carrying picketers lurked out front. After the San Diego article, a woman showed up at her San Diego work entrance brandishing a sign that denounced psychics as people possessed by the devil.
Today she saw no one, but decided to slip into the building through a side entrance. She was already an hour late. Entering the reception area, the blonde twenty-something receptionist smiled smugly and motioned her over. “When you have time, I’d love for you to read my fortune. My luck hasn’t been—”
“I don’t tell fortunes,” she snapped, cutting her off.
She marched through the maze of cubicles to her workspace passing several co-workers along the way. When they saw her, they stopped talking and stared. While within earshot, she heard them snickering. Obviously, people already read the morning paper. She retreated into her cubicle wishing there was a door to slam shut so she could hide from the prying eyes and curious whispers.
“Damn it, Brian,” she mumbled, sitting down at her desk.
It was her childhood all over again. At the age of six, she’d begun developing her supposed gift. She could predict who was at the door before they knocked. At school, fellow students avoided her when they learned about her psychic ability. She’d wanted to be normal, but always felt alienated from the others. Some even taunted her and called her a freak.
It didn’t end at the school playground. In her own home, she felt like an outsider. Her father accused her of being possessed by the devil and thought the family priest should exorcise her. When her parents took her to a doctor, he diagnosed her as a schizophrenic because she heard voices and saw visions.
Switching on her computer, she attempted to concentrate on her work, but couldn’t. Within minutes, her boss stormed in waving the newspaper in front of her nose. “What is the meaning of this article? This is a conservative accounting firm, Ms. Martin. No one wants a crystal-ball wielding accountant working on their books.”
“I know that, Mr. Cooper. I didn’t write that article.” And I don’t use a crystal ball, she thought.
He glared at her for a minute. Considering how conservative the man was, she held her breath and waited for the words, “You’re fired.”
“Ms. Martin, you’re a damn good accountant. You’ve caught irregularities where others missed them. I’d hate to lose you, but I must protect the firm’s reputation.”
“I understand,” she
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