| EXCERPT: |
| Rain beat a steady, muffled tattoo against the cloth-draped wood and kicked defiantly against the puddle-strewn mud. Standing frozen in the downpour, Tamia felt as if the water lashed her soul as well as her poncho. A few feet away the priest droned on. Nothing he said made her feel any better about this. It wasn’t right. She wanted to scream, to rail at the Universe that had unfairly cut short a good person’s life. Instead, she was in this state of bleak numbness, unable to process the emotions howling inside of her. She lifted her mahogany gaze from the casket that held her friend’s body and focused on the petite woman who stood, lock-kneed in defiance of her grief, near the priest. Even surrounded by friends and Commandos, Carissa looked utterly alone. Her green eyes were fixed on the casket, and her heartbroken expression was one Tamia knew would be forever imprinted on her memory. Carrissa looked so fragile, as if life had ceased to exist inside her world. Closing her eyes, Tamia bit back the sting of tears, her teeth digging into the inside of her lip as she fought grief. She felt Rick’s hand settle gently against the small of her back, felt the baby inside her stir, and couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have all of that ripped away, no matter that she’d fought that very fear from the beginning. If she lost Rick, Tamia wasn’t sure she’d ever function coherently again. |
All contents of this page Copyright 2004 by Esther
Mitchell
Mitchell
| TERMINAL HUNTER |
