A sharp pain jabbed Rebecca Kincaid’s side, and she sucked in a breath. Her hand fell to the hard swell of her belly, rubbing gently. Round ligament pain, she figured, just one of the many joys of being pregnant.
“Chillax, kiddo,” she said to the baby dancing inside her as the pain subsided.
Smiling to herself, she glanced around to see if anyone else was close enough to hear. Some people called you crazy for talking to yourself in public. She caught the eye of a redhead standing beside a stack of Diaper Genies. Dressed in blue jeans and a red flannel coat, the woman smiled. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, older than Becky, but not as old as some of the women in her prenatal classes. The woman’s gaze strayed to the strained buttons around Becky’s baby bump.
“When are you due?”
“Two more weeks and counting.” She grimaced. Being this big, nothing was comfortable. Her back ached, her hips hurt, and even sleeping was hard.
The woman smiled sympathetically. “I know, right? I felt the same way when I was pregnant, like I was Sigourney Weaver in that Alien movie with a little monster just dying to get out.”
“I know what you mean,” Becky said, breaking eye contact.
Truthfully, she hated that movie. Violent and gory. Comparing a baby to a bloodthirsty alien tearing its way out of its mother’s womb, well, that was kind of sick. She was much more of a romantic-comedy kind of girl.
“I have a toddler at home,” the woman said. “Seems like just yesterday I was in maternity clothes, though.”
Becky faked a laugh and turned down an aisle, away from the stranger.
"Patchell perfectly captures the complexity of human nature." ~ Quiet Fury Books
"Another pulse-pounding thrill ride to save innocents while chasing bad guys. I love these characters, they are continuing to change and grow in believable ways." Amazon Reviewer
"This is an excellent story about murder, deception, and mental illness. The characters are interesting, believable, and well developed." ~ Amazon Reviewer
Other books in this genre:
A few days ago, I was watching the Weather Channel on TV, and a weatherman was asking some people on the street some very simple questions. One question was "in which direction does the sun rise and set?" A few people could not answer this question. Another question was “can you name the four seasons?” Several people could not answer this question either! Now I thought to myself, "damn, those are some really dumb people!" In my opinion, there should not be a single person on this planet who cannot answer these basic questions, but the fact is, there are probably a lot of people who cannot answer these and many, many more very simple questions. These are important things everyone should learn as they grow up. These people were walking down the street, and appeared to be ordinary people, functioning in life like everyone else, putting one foot in front of the other, but in reality maybe their brains were in overload just getting one foot in front of the other, and they were, in fact, on the verge of literally falling flat on their faces. Can these people learn more and function better? I think yes. That is what gave me the idea of writing this book.
Why the SOB in the title of this book? Well, mainly to catch your eye, but also because for too many people I'm sure, the title SOB fits me very well, especially if you happen to work in any form of government, and especially the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department (TP&WD). If you read my last book, Dangerous Waters, you will know why I say this. It really doesn’t matter if you read that book though, what matters is that you read this book. Dangerous Waters was written to help me; this book is to help you.
If you don’t think I’m an SOB now, I’m sure many of you will certainly think so by the time you finish this book; maybe long before you finish. Some of you may get so pissed off at me before you get to the end, you don’t even finish the book. That will hurt you, not me. I may say some things which will offend you, but remember I am trying to help you. Do I care what you think about me? No, certainly not. I really don’t care what other people think about me, and you should not care what other people think about you either. I am what I am, I am who I am, and if you don’t like it, well then, you can kiss my fat ass! I don’t care what you think. If you care what other people think about you, then other people will change you. You will not change me. Even if you slam this book shut right now and throw it away, you will have at least experienced lesson #1. Don’t care about the other 347 lessons? That’s your choice.
If I don’t fit your profile of what a normal person should be, then screw you. First of all, I have never claimed to be normal. In fact, I don’t think I have ever considered myself as normal, and that has never been a goal of mine. I have always strived to be just me, whatever that may be, but normal, no! I am an individual and unique, and think I have always been so. I will never conform to what you think is normal and I will never be a card carrying member of A Nation of Sheep. This was one of the few books I read while in High School that influenced my life. I am constantly evolving, but in a direction which suits me, not you. I don’t think I’m crazy or nuts, but will not entirely rule that out either.
I was taught by my parents when I was young, that I should not tell anyone everything I know. I was told that would make them smarter than me, as they would then know everything they know and everything I know. Now, I don't think this makes any sense, and it certainly doesn’t make any difference to me. Frankly, I just don’t care how smart you are or can become. I just hope I can avoid being killed or injured, by some stupid person doing something really stupid. If I can help make more people less stupid, maybe I will have a better chance of living a little bit longer. I may be able to help you become a little smarter, but probably not less stupid. I’ve heard stupid is for forever, and this is probably true. But maybe if you are a little smarter, which I can help you with, you will think a little more before you act. This, in turn, will hopefully make you do less stupid things. Try it and see if it works. There are way too many stupid people out there. I know; I see them on the highway every time I go somewhere.
I do not know why my parents told me not to tell people too much. Maybe they were just trying to shut me up. Kids learn very early to ask “why?” Maybe I was always telling them stuff and asking too many questions, and they just wanted to get rid of me. Kids really do ask a lot of seemingly silly questions, but this is the way they learn. I didn’t get all the answers, but I did ask. Maybe some or even a lot of kids don’t, or can’t, ask all that many questions. That’s just too bad, as this is how you have to learn when you are too young to read well, and you can’t really do much else.
Learning to walk is a challenge, and learning to get around the house, yard and then the neighborhood can be challenging too when you are young. There always has to be some help from parents, relatives and siblings, or you will not learn what you need to learn before you get into school. Maybe some parents are not smart enough to answer the questions the kids are asking, or are too busy to raise the kids who are their responsibility to rear to the best of their ability. This can be a serious problem. If you are a parent, take the time to teach your kids all you can. This is your job; your responsibility. If kids do not ask questions and get answers, they cannot learn. Parents should know this. Parents must be willing to answer the questions. If your life is so busy, why do you have kids? You must make time for them. I suspect too many people have not made time for their kids, and this is really sad, as now there are a lot of dumb people as a result.
What will the next generation of kids be like? This can create a vicious cycle for perpetuating dumb people. It doesn’t have to be this way though. I found other ways of learning. How about you? Considering all the dumb people around, someone needs to help these poor souls. I cannot replace your parents, but I am going to try to tell you everything I know, though this will be impossible, and you may already know some of the things I will cover, but it never hurts to repeat. I will also tell some pretty good stories about my life as I go, and share my beliefs and frustrations, all with a good measure of sarcasm and a little humor too. You will get some insight into my life and why I do things. I will also try to give you the strength you need to make better decisions, and get you started down a path which will lead to better finances, more happiness and hopefully to a better life, which will lead you to a greater respect for yourself and those around you. I will try to motivate you, and show you there is hope despite your parents, and it is never too late to learn, but you have to be willing to learn. I will help as much as I can, and maybe, just maybe, helping some dumbass to smarten up a bit, will save me from one of his or her stupid mistakes. That is my goal.
If you have a college degree, are living a good life and are happy with your life, this book is probably not for you. If you are mentally stable, know what you want out of life and are working in the direction of improving your life, then you probably do not need this book, but maybe this book can still help you a little anyway. I expect you will learn a few things you did not know before, and you might also find an interesting story or two along the way, as this book is also an autobiography of my life, with a lot of pretty good stories about as much of my life I can remember. I believe you will be glad you read the book, even if you really did not need it. I’m also sure you probably know someone this book can help, and maybe you might want to buy a copy to help him or her out a little. Maybe this book will save you from your dumb friends, and the stupid things they do. Think about that.
If on the other hand, you are not happy, if you are not moving forward with your life, if you do not know where your life is headed, you may really need a helping hand, and that is what this book is, a helping hand. Maybe your kids do not listen to you, as few teenagers do. Maybe you need to try to get them to read this book, if you can. This book is for anyone stuck in a rut and needing direction. Everyone knows someone like this, and even if this book cannot help you, give a copy to someone you care about, so you can help them. You will be glad you did.
Anxious, Shariel scrambled up the hill at a brisk pace. Soon her muscles burned and her lungs ached. Afraid to stop, she scolded herself for being lazy during winter.
Pebbles skittered down from a high boulder and startled her into a crouch. She slipped a dagger from her boot and gripped the blade. Two pointed ears and a head popped over the boulder.
She released pent up breath. “Chacka! I should’ve known it was you.” The silver wolf stared down from a rocky perch as his glistening white teeth formed a canine grin.
Shariel climbed to his level. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. My nerves are all jittery since I imagined someone watched me near the village.”
Chacka sniffed the breeze and rotated his ears. Hackles bristling, he stared down the mountain trail.
“My imagination’s working overtime,” she chattered unaware of the wolf’s defensive posture. “I’d lay odds we’re in for a storm. I get spooky just before a big blow, but a spring storm shouldn’t last long.” Shariel wiped her forehead and eyed the woods. “Why does your mate hide? Haven’t you told her I’m a friend?”
Chacka kept his head low and menacing, a deep growl rumbled in his chest.
“She’ll learn to trust me.” Shariel climbed the trail, talking. The wolf stayed nearby until she reached the cabin, and then he melted into the forest shadows.
Shariel shouted, “Bye, Chacka. See you later.”
“Talking to your wolf again?” Aunt Bess stood in the door. “Don’t you know wolves would just as soon eat you as say howdy?”
Shariel grinned. “If Chacka ate a human, he’d pick one who doesn’t like him.”
Bess laughed. “I’m too tough to be appetizing. Did you get everything?”
THE MANCINI SAGA. A family of six close Italian siblings each has a compelling story of romance, danger and mystery that could tear them apart or bring them together.
What if you escaped from a cult and found yourself alone on the streets of NYC.
Twenty-seven-year-old detective Carlo Mancini is your average do-good kind-of-guy with an insatiable appetite for justice. However, Carlo has one personal setback: his inability to let a senseless crime become a cold case. His obsession to uphold the law has led him on a ten-year, dead-end search for the infamous IOU thief.
Twenty-six-year-old Mia Baker lives a normal life: a quaint apartment overlooking Central Park, cherished friends, and Pirate, her one-eyed cat. To most people, Mia’s life seems perfect; but to Mia, that couldn’t be further from the truth—especially when her disturbing past comes back to haunt her.
When Detective Mancini bangs on Mia’s front door, he has no idea he will soon unravel some disturbing truths about himself, and the woman in front of him. One chance encounter can destroy the very fabric of their woven lives when Carlo realizes reality is not always black and white…
. . . Especially when secrets are involved.
Approaching the boulder, Tempest jerked his head up in alarm. He pawed the turf and snorted. “What’s wrong?” Donovan trusted an animal’s instinct for danger. His eyes roamed the rocks with his hand poised over the hilt of his sword. A black shape moved out from behind the boulder. Donovan dismounted and held Tempest steady.
It was not a wolf of earthly variety, but Donovan’s mind labeled the creature a “wolf” in honor of the animal it most resembled. The lean well-muscled canine body looked similar to its cousin. The head looked long and narrow with alert golden eyes and pricked ears that shifted with each new sound. The eyes displayed an intelligent depth of expression.
He noticed a marked difference between this wolf and its earthly cousin. The creature stood on its hind legs, easily the height of a healthy grizzly bear. Although it was more slender than a bear, its muscled limbs looked formidable. With almost scientific detachment, Donovan noticed elongated front paws as the wolf extracted a deadly blade from a sheath strapped to its rib cage, a challenge on any world.
Donovan met the wolf’s steady gaze, his thoughts racing. An intelligent species, this wolf looked ready to fight. What rotten luck! I wish I could communicate. How can I avoid bloodshed?
“Greetings friend,” he said in a nervous croak.
The sound caused the animal to shift its stance. Donovan thought he saw curiosity in the alert eyes. If any creature on this world had the right to be called king, this regal animal was the one.
We accept acknowledgment of our superiority and spare your life. The message formed inside Donovan’s head, not in words, but mental impressions that he translated into words.
The wolf sheathed his blade and “spoke” again. We are Kriegen, leader of the Forest Guardians. The wolf lowered his body to all fours. Donovan sat—a fortunate choice as he later learned since a standing position offered challenge. To avoid battle a weaker creature observed a subservient posture.
I quickly flagged down one of the casino workers—I swear to you that it seemed to be a requirement for employment at this hotel that the women all had to look like they’d just stepped off the photoshoot for the latest Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue—and the platinum blond pixie cut, would make any man quickly forget the throaty beauty in the café, whose name I didn’t bother to read smiled and pointed in the direction of the blackjack tables.
I hurried over, hoping to find Charlie, and grab onto the one lifeline I could count on to help drag me back from the edge and make some sense out of whatever the hell was going on. It wasn’t hard to find him at all once I got to the area; his booming laugh at some joke he’d just heard was a welcoming beacon to my ears.
When I got to his table, the first thing I noticed was a ridiculous number of chips piled up around his area of the table. Much like I had seen at the baccarat table earlier, it looked like everyone at the table was doing well but Charlie’s stack was approaching Mount Olympus in size. He was good at this game, I easily admit, but not that good. No one was.
The second thing I noticed was the enchanting young Carrie—still in her hotel uniform but her nametag was now gone—draped on Charlie’s right arm and looking like she was there to stay. That wasn’t the least bit ridiculous at all. He was good at that too, as I’ve mentioned before, and he really was that good in that arena.
“Hey, Pete,” he exclaimed when he saw me. “Pull up a chair and join us.”
“Not right now thanks,” I said. “Hey, I think they got our bags mixed up and one of mine is in your room. I was hoping you could let me in so I could get it.”
That seemed to me to be a perfectly reasonable explanation to get Charlie out of the casino where I could talk to him without any unwanted eavesdroppers. Unfortunately, my lifeline went and threw me the anchor and sank my plan in less than a heartbeat.
“No problem, buddy, here’s the key.” He flipped his room card in my direction with one of those Friday night goofy grins of his face that I knew all too well. “Just leave it in my room. I don’t think I’ll be needing it.”
Somehow, Carrie managed to snuggle even closer to Charlie than she had before. Even as I snagged the tumbling card out of the air, I tried to come up with some excuse, some pretense to get Charlie up and moving. But something in both of their expressions told me that it wouldn’t matter one bit what I said or did next. Charlie wasn’t moving from that chair anytime soon and when he did, he wasn’t doing it just to go off somewhere with me.
I’d lost my wingman, my lifeline and maybe my only hope of figuring out what had happened to us. Charlie turned back to the table, and his new girlfriend, without so much as another word in my direction and I stumbled away without any direction in mind other than to get away from the creature who’d once been my best friend.
Before I realized it, I found myself in an abandoned area of the casino, empty chairs stacked around a few unused card tables and standing face to face with Liz. How long she had been watching me, how much she had seen, I simply did not know. But there she stood with an odd, sad look in her eyes.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how you can be of service?” And I am sure there was more than a hint of bitterness in my voice, certainly more than she deserved to be on the receiving end of.
“No,” she replied without reproach for my tone. “At this moment, Mr. Childress, you are looking for any exit that will lead you back to the outside world. I simply can’t help you with that. All I can suggest to you is this—perhaps you are looking for the way out of here in the wrong direction.”
“What does that mean?” I asked in confusion.
Something from behind me suddenly caught her attention at that moment. Her eyes quickly flickered to whatever it was for a brief moment before returning to meet mine.
“Your room opens up to the central park,” she said after a moment’s pause. “We see so very few of our guests ever bother to go out and fully explore it. Perhaps you should visit it. You may find it to be peaceful and relaxing.”
She moved suddenly then, as if to walk past me without another word. But just as she drew even with me, her lips just inches from my right ear, I heard her whisper in a tone almost too soft for me to hear.
“You might even find it very enlightening, Mr. Childress.”
Then she was gone, moving on into the casino to engage some of the other guests in conversation. As I turned to watch her walk away, I noticed what it was that had distracted her earlier, what had appeared to make her suddenly cautious not only in what she said but how she appeared while saying it.
Standing out there in the middle of the casino, clearly scanning the crowd for someone in particular, was the hotel’s manager. But before he could look over in my direction and take notice of me, I darted toward a much darker area of the casino and eventually made my way back around to the entrance without him seeing me at all. For a reason that I could not put a logical explanation to, I suddenly had a very strong urge to be as far away from that man as I could possibly get myself and do it as quickly as I could.
Even within the seemingly limited, but very gilded, confines of this nightmarish trap that I found myself in.
Friday, November 23rd 1888
Doctor J. Watson to Sherlock Holmes Esq:
Here, as requested, is the first of my journal entries made last evening, detailing the events and our involvement in what must surely be our most grisly case yet. I believe at least one of the dailies is running with the headline 'Jack the Ripper', which I think is mere sensationalism, however, history will demand the truth...
Having been brought up to date in the brougham by the effervescent Sherlock Holmes, he and I made our way to Whitechapel. I began to list some aspects of the crimes reported via our friend Lestrade, Mr Lungcutter the police surgeon and constables Armstrong & Miller (first on the scene at the most recent murder). There have so far been five murders - including the two last night - and various items were found at each murder scene. These items include:
A bucket and spade left near the corpse
A quantity of porridge in the victim's breast pocket
A lock of hair tied round the victim's ring finger
The words - yore neckst - written in porridge across the victim's chest.
Several incisions have been made to the bodies of all the victims, leading Lestrade to believe the murders may have been committed by a crazed doctor. In fact, Lestrade even questioned me, albeit briefly, as to my whereabouts on the dates in question and is satisfied (thank God) that I am not a suspect. He is currently questioning several hundred Doctors to ascertain their movements.
We arrived at Jones the Butchers Yard and were able to inspect the murder scene. Holmes spent several minutes lying prostrate on the ground, examining the cobbles for evidence. Though the police claimed to have been quite thorough, Holmes discovered a quantity of what he suspected might be French tobacco and two cigar stubs bearing a royal crest.
My old war wound is playing up, so I shall continue this narrative in due course.
Where do the Banned go when home’s no longer home?
The lyrics of the old village tune haunt Astrea, who wants nothing more than to feel like she belongs in the redhead Rudan tribe. To prove it, she captures a unicorn who has wandered into the Mist, the first hope of meat for a while in the famine-ridden land.
But unicorns are magical creatures, and anyone who kills or eats one will become cursed.
When the tribe council votes to eat him anyway, Astrea fears the worst. She’s determined to figure out a way to fix it before the tribe pays for her actions.
This is part one of Running Toward Illumia, which will be released in three parts over the next few months.
Later, after the day’s discussions had given the other part of my brain a chance to think more rationally about events, I drove home in a calmer manner than in the morning. Cloud cover had begun to creep across the sky at about midday, gradually reducing the sun from a bright ghost behind a translucent screen to an unobtrusive and dimmer source of light. The ceiling dropped lower and lower as I drove and it was obvious that a stormy night was in store. By the time I was home, dark rolls of cloud were tumbling over and over in the rising wind, and the slab sided Defender rocked to every gust.
I put my key to the lock, but stopped short. My heart accelerated, thumping. My mouth went dry. I had locked the front door when I left, now it was almost closed. Almost, just half an inch of the jamb was showing. It open slowly and quietly to a gentle push. No sound could be heard over the storm and the odd creak from the old house. Precious little light entered through the small windows from that darkening sky; it was impossible to make out any detail in the room. I stood motionless until my eyes adjusted, the door pulled to behind me, listening for the slightest odd sound amidst the patter of the rain on the tiles and the rumble of the weather rolling in.
Every drawer and cupboard door was open, the contents strewn over the floor. Chair cushions had been ripped open and tossed to the side, one chair was on its back, the TV was on the floor, but intact. The kitchen did not look as if it had been touched. All this I took in at a glance. Was he still here? That was vital. Anger tried to surface. I forced it down; emotion could wait. I quietly crossed the room to my office. It was trashed. Files were ripped open and paper lay everywhere. Sellotape, scissors, paper clips and pens were strewn across the floor. The bookshelf had been tipped over, and my laptop had been given a stomping.
Lighting flashed, illuminating the room for a second, the devastation stark. An immediate crack of thunder showed how close the strike had been. The shock was distracting, but a little noise behind me wasn’t right. A rustle of clothes, a breath close by, I don’t know, but it shouldn’t have been there. I ducked and turned. Something clipped my ear and glanced off my left shoulder dropping me to the floor. A broad, dark, hooded figure stood over me, a jemmy high above his head, the curved end silhouetted by the window. It swept down again, seemingly in slow motion. I rolled away just in time. It thudded into the floor. It went up above his head for the next blow. He wasn’t going to miss again. Hooking my left foot behind his to jam it, I stabbed at the front of his knee with my right one. He grunted in pain and fell over backwards. I tried to get up, but my shoulder wouldn’t support the move. I rolled over to use the other side, but he had already clambered to his feet and run out, limping heavily.
He half ran and half hopped down the drive, disappearing in the rain before he reached the gate. He was in no state to continue the fight, thank goodness; I certainly wasn’t. The whole episode had probably lasted no more than ten seconds, less, but it felt an age. Talking of age, I poured an twelve year old malt down my throat and then added a touch of water to the next one.
It happened so fast. One minute she was swimming, the next the current was dragging her to the bottom. Seawater flooded her mouth. She fought, thrashed to the surface and tried to shout; a hoarse whisper was all that came. Her head went under and stayed under. Her lungs were on fire. With no warning it released her and she saw blue sky. Jennifer gulped shallow ragged breaths, shocked and scared, and started towards her family. She would never leave them again. But the decision was no longer hers. The force drew her back into a world without light or oxygen and this time it didn’t let go. Her arm broke free in a desperate attempt to escape. Tongues of spray pulled it down and Jennifer knew she was goingto drown. She’d dreamed of watching her daughter grow into a woman. That would never be. And Mark, poor Mark. How unfair to leave him. Her body rolled beneath the waves. She stopped struggling, closed her eyes and disappeared from sight. Seconds passed before Mark realised something wasn’t right. ‘Where’s mummy? Where’s your mummy?’ The baby sucked her thumb. ‘Where is she, Lily?’ At first he couldn’t move. Cold fear consumed him. A hundred yards away a group of boys played football; apart from them the beach was deserted. He yelled. They didn’t hear him. He threw the push-chair to the sand, yanked it open and sat Lily in it. His hands were shaking. The damned straps wouldn’t fasten. He spoke to himself. ‘Please god, no. Please god, no’ and raced into the sea. The water was freezing. What the hell had Jen been thinking? This was Scotland, for Christ sake. He swam to where he’d last seen her and went under. Mark was a good swimmer but it was dark. His frantic fingers searched until the pressure in his chest forced him to the surface. He took in as much air as he could and went back. Something bumped against him; he grabbed hold and dragged it up. Two boys ran into the water to help: the footballers. They hauled her body the last few yards and Mark fell to his knees. Jennifer wasn’t breathing. People appeared on the beach, silent witnesses to the nightmare the day had become. Where had they been when he needed them? He shouted, half in anger half in desperation. ‘Somebody call an ambulance!’ The crowd kept a respectful distance, believing what he believed, that he’d lost her. Jennifer’s face was white. Mark covered her mouth with his and breathed into her. His hands pressed against her chest demanding she come back to him. One of the boys took over with no better luck. Mark tried again, refusing to let her go. He pumped her heart, whimpering like a child, sobbing for himself as well as his wife. Jennifer’s eyes fluttered; she retched and vomited water. Mark turned her on her side and rubbed her back, whispering reassurance, blinded by tears, aware his prayers had been answered. A siren sounded in the distance. It was going to be all right. She was safe. They would be together again. The three of them. He raised his head and saw ambulance-men racing towards him across the sand. Mark jumped to his feet. They must have drifted... except the boat was there. His voice rose from a cry to a scream. ‘Lily. Lily!’ He spoke to the group who had offered nothing. ‘I left a baby here, somebody must’ve seen her.’ They stared, no idea what he was talking about. A new terror seized him. He ran a few steps up and down the beach, lost and afraid. The bag lay where Jennifer dropped it. But no push-chair. No sign his daughter had ever been there. Lily was gone.
THE MANCINI SAGA. A family of six close Italian siblings each has a compelling story of romance, danger and mystery that could tear them apart or bring them together.
What if the woman you love is kidnapped from your vehicle during a traffic accident?
When famous actor Antonio Mancini meets famous paparazzi Candace Moore, he doesn’t expect to fall in love with the beautiful, passionate photographer of the rich and famous. Candace is thrilled when Antonio embraces her and the demons in her closet.
On the night that Antonio proposes to Candace, their car is involved in a massive car accident. When Antonio wakes in the hospital the following morning, the investigator tells him that he was alone in the car at the time of the accident. Against medical advice, Antonio flees the hospital and starts to search for the woman who accepted his proposal. One clue after another brings him closer to discovering the truth and proving his sanity.
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In the Dark by Chris Patchell Narrator: Corey Gagne , Lisa Stathoplos Series: A Holt Foundation Story #1 Published by Audible Studios on 09-27-17 Genres: