Sleeping Good Lately? You Won’t After Reading
Marred by Sue Coletta
Blurb:
When a serial killer breaks into the home of
bestselling author, Sage Quintano, she barely escapes with her life. Her
husband, Niko, a homicide detective, insists they move to rural New Hampshire,
where he accepts a position as Grafton County Sheriff.
Sage buries secrets from that night—secrets she
swears to take to her deathbed.
Three years of anguish and painful memories pass,
and a grisly murder case lands on Niko’s desk. A strange caller torments
Sage—she can’t outrun the past.
When Sage’s twin sister suddenly goes missing, Sage
searches Niko’s case files and discovers similarities to the Boston killer. A
sadistic psychopath is preying on innocent women, marring their bodies in
unspeakable ways. And now, he has her sister.
Cryptic clues. Hidden messages. Is the killer
hinting at his identity? Or is he trying to lure Sage into a deadly trap to end
his reign of terror with a matching set of corpses?
Buy links:
Excerpt:
Monday, July 17, 2006 1:30
p.m.
I used to believe people were inherently
good, if only at their core. I saw the brokenness of the homeless. I respected
the overachiever in the football star hoping for Daddy’s approval even if he’d
never get it. I saw the heart of sinners, the souls of lovers. Shattered dreams
of an abandoned child. I saw good in evil, spirit in the unholy. I understood
the complexities of love, marriage, life. Hell, I welcomed the challenge. I had
hopes, dreams and affirmations. I did.
Then, that all changed. My views shattered,
or my eyes finally opened.
That’s what Niko said, though devastation
also filled his eyes. No longer did he think of me as his optimistic wife who
loved life. I missed our blissful marriage. I missed our baby. I missed my
blindfold. If only I could put it back on. Most of all, I missed…me.
Living on autopilot was the only way I could
survive.
After my third shower of the day, I hobbled
down the stairs, clutching a load of laundry. White-hot pain shot to my right
knee and folded me in half. The basket of clothes tumbled to the floor—socks,
T-shirts, jeans, shorts, and Niko’s sheriff’s uniform strewn about the living
room.
I fell back against the stairs, twined my
arms around the railing, and stared at the white lines on my forearms. I
straightened, and a thick scar on my jugular tugged at the skin. After three
never-ending years, hours and hours of counseling, one small reminder—scars
from the knife—and I relived that night in Boston.
The phone startled me when it rang.
I didn’t want to answer, but for the
Sheriff’s wife that wasn’t an option. “Hello?”
“Who’s this?” A man’s voice, distorted,
disguised.
“Who’s this? You called me.”
“I think I have the wrong number.”
A dial tone sounded.
That was weird. I
shrugged it off and reloaded the clothes in the basket. When I headed down the
hall, the phone rang a second time. I’d had it with this guy. “Hello,” I answered,
firm and harsh.
“Sheriff Quintano, please.” Same voice.
“Didn’t you just call here?”
“Sheriff Quintano, please.”
“He’s not home. He’s at work. Who is this?”
The line went dead.
“Jerk!” I slammed the handset in the cradle,
and a chill sheathed my arms in goose bumps. I’d announced to a stranger that I
was alone in the house.
The cordless phone’s musical trill resonated
through the hall. Ruger and Colt jolted to their paws and took notice. I
winced, not wanting to answer.
Third ring.
I rushed over. “I told you he’s not home.
What do you want? Why are you calling back?”
“Do you want to live forever?”
A cold sweat broke across my back. “What’d
you say?” This cannot be happening.
Not again. Unless…evil followed us here.
“Do you want to live forever?”
He found me. How? We were so careful. Niko
and I hadn’t left a forwarding address. Our phone number wasn’t listed in the
book. Neighbors asked where we were moving, and we refused to disclose any
details. If questioned, I said north and left it at that. We escaped clean and
faded into obscurity. Yet, he called.
I dropped the handset in the cradle,
disconnecting from the past.
Adrenaline masked my pain, and I sprinted
from room to room, closed and secured all the windows and double-checked the
locks on the front and back doors, bolted upstairs, and pressed my foot on the
sliders’ security bar. Colt and Ruger watched me zip around the house, not
knowing what was wrong. Ruger gave up and laid his head on crossed paws while
Colt bounded over and stayed on my heels.
When I returned to the kitchen table, the
phone rang again. My gaze locked on the handset, and I froze. Colt’s face ping-ponged
between me and the phone. He put the pieces together in his mind, trotted over,
and knocked the receiver off the cradle, gently clasped the handset in his lips
and carried it to me. By using his training to aid me, he was trying to help,
but at that moment, it was the last thing I wanted him to do.
I didn’t speak.
The man panted like Ruger after an exhausting
game of fetch. I slapped a hand over my mouth and held back screams, refusing
to give him the satisfaction of terrifying me. I also couldn’t hang up. His
breath held me hostage. My fingers lost feeling around the handset, knuckles
white from lack of blood flow. Unable to move, I was in his thrall.
“Do you want to live forever?”
I gaped left, right. He could be outside my
home hiding in the bushes. If I didn’t respond, he might come inside. Perhaps
he’d stalked me for days, weeks, months. Maybe he’d always been here. Out of
reach, in the shadows. Watching. Waiting. Planning.
Why, oh, why was this happening again?
Razor-sharp pain shot to my right knee, ribs,
arms, and stomach, his haunting question conjuring the injuries from the
fateful night. I cringed. “What do you want?”
His demon-like cackle shot through my core
like a poison-tipped arrow.
If only Niko had killed him that night…if his
guts had splattered my living room walls, dousing me in his death…if he’d taken
his last breath and his evil soul plummeted to hell…perhaps then I could
breathe without his ghostly fingers around my throat.
How did he survive?
Niko had emerged outside the sliders and shot
through one of the doors. The bullet struck the masked man in the shoulder.
Glass shattered everywhere. The dogs barreled inside and over to me,
whimpering, licking the blood off my face. They were so preoccupied with
tending to my wounds; the intruder got a shot off before he fell.
The bullet struck Niko in the shoulder, and
he flew backward and landed in the garden I’d made around the apple tree. It
had taken me days to edge the garden in slanted bricks. When Niko fell, those
bricks drove into his spine and incapacitated him long enough for the assailant
to scramble to his feet and flee.
But not before he hovered over me and offered
one last warning. “I’ll see you soon, Sage Quintano.”
Bio:
Member
of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, Sue Coletta writes
psychological thrillers, mysteries, and suspense with grisly plots and complex
storylines that are sure to keep readers flipping pages late into the night. A
four-thousand-word excerpt of Marred scored first placement in Murder, USA, an
anthology. When she’s not writing or reading, she enjoys nature, animals, and
family. Bear shows and zoos at places that treat animals with respect are her
personal favorites.
For
readers, join her mailing list and have fun in the Crime
Lover’s Lounge
For
writers, enjoy a complimentary copy of 60
Ways to Murder Your Fictional Characters
Twitter:
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