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MURDER INTERRUPTED
A Killer Among Us Thriller Book 3
BY SHIRLEY SPAIN

Blurb

You’ve been kidnapped by a handsome man claiming to need your help. What will you do?

Romance ignites and bullets fly when Mandi Winslow—a beautiful woman with the premeditated murder of her ex and his new bride on her mind—crosses paths with a federal agent on the run from a treasonous militia wanting him dead.

Despite the seeming randomness of their meeting and her subsequent abduction, Mandi soon discovers the terrifying truth: Her involvement is anything but mere happenstance.

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MURDER INTERRUPTED
A Killer Among Us Thriller Book 3
BY SHIRLEY SPAIN

Excerpt

Chapter One

IT WAS OVER. DONE. TERMINATED. Five months ago, on Mandi’s fortieth birthday no less, Frederick dropped the big one. The Hiroshima bomb of marital bliss.

So much for till death do us part.

As if the utter destruction of her life wasn’t enough, two weeks ago he unloaded a second bomb. The bastard had the cajones to make sure his wedding announcement arrived in her mailbox the same day their divorce was finalized. That was the tipping point. The declaration of war.

Time for a counterstrike … and when better to attack than just minutes after he and the two-bit tramp were pronounced man and wife.

Mandi legally concealed a loaded .357 snubnose revolver in her evening bag. She wore the slinky black dress and peep toe pumps that used to make Frederick’s dick jump to attention. Her golden locks flowed around her slight shoulders and her bangs were styled in that mischievous mussed up look he found irresistible. Perfectly sculpted eyebrows, eye shadow, and eyeliner played up her bedroom eyes. Pale pink lips shimmered like crystallized carbon.

She was dressed to kill.

As Mandi paced at the side of her car, the methodical click-clack of her stilettos echoed in the underground parking garage of the courthouse. For the umpteenth time, she mentally rehearsed her final words to Frederick and Bouncy Boobs. She visualized their blood-seeping bodies sprawled on the concrete. Rehashed what she would say to the 9-1-1 operator while calmly sitting in her car waiting to be arrested.

She practiced the old measure twice cut once philosophy. More like measure three or four or ten times, a habit she acquired at MIT while earning her doctorate in nuclear physics.

“Obsessive,” Frederick used to chide when she checked, double-checked, and quadruple-checked every detail for the countless parties they hosted for his highfalutin clients. Parties that always came together like clockwork thanks to her tireless attention to detail.

She anticipated the outcome of this party to be equally successful.

Consulting her wristwatch, she noted the time: 4:37. By a quarter to five it truly would be ‘till death do they part.’

Once again she analyzed the garage … the kill zone.

Floor to ceiling concrete. No natural light. Fluorescent tubes randomly flickered and buzzed as if manipulated for eerie effects in a slasher movie. Cement pillars with the number three painted in green were evenly spaced about every thirty feet. The smell of tire rubber and motor oil reminded her of Grandpa’s old service station.

Frederick had parked his spotless Corvette about fifty feet from the elevator. For strategic positioning, Mandi parked in the opposite row between the elevator and Frederick’s car.

She would wait to confront the couple until they were almost directly in front of her and out in the open. Too far away from the elevator or Frederick’s Corvette to run for cover in either direction. With her targets at such close range, she wouldn’t miss. A double-tap in the heart to each would leave a single bullet in her five-shot revolver, just in case…

Aside from his Stingray and her Mercedes, only two other vehicles were parked on the entire floor. Apparently nearly everyone left early on Friday.

Perfect.

The newlyweds would be forced to walk right into her trap. Right into the iron sights of her gun.

With the ambush set, she held her head high and walked with a bit of a snap in her gait as she returned to her car. Opened the door and eased into the cockpit. She savored the rich scent of leather cradling her body. Indulged in the fine craftsmanship and high-tech gadgetry surrounding her.

This was the last time she would sit behind the wheel of her luxury sedan. The last time she would wear a cocktail dress, high heels, diamonds, or makeup.

Mandi had resigned to spending the rest of her life in prison. Maybe even getting the needle, the price of victory in this personal war.

Unable to sit for more than ten seconds without fidgeting—another quirk Frederick found annoying—she slid out of her car, gun in hand. Stepped behind the nearest cement pillar. Peeked around the corner, focusing on the elevator doors located several vacant parking spaces to her right.

Lying in wait, she clenched the molded grip of the handgun, muzzle aimed at the floor. Her pointer finger, indexed above the trigger guard, quivered ever so slightly. Perspiration dampened her palms. Her heart pounded triple-time in her ears. Throat dried. Breathing slowed. Any second the elevator doors would open.

“Don’t make me slit your throat,” a baritone voice grated.

“Ahhh!” Violently grabbed from behind, her balance lost in four-inch stilettos, her legs churned to regain control. Hands flailed at his crushing hold. The cold edge of steel pressed against her neck.

Her attacker slammed the back of her skull into his solid chest. His hot breath blasted down the front of her plunging neckline.

She squinted and clenched her teeth. The fingernails of her left hand dug into his wrist as she attempted to beat him in the face with her revolver.

“Gimme that.” He ripped the handgun from her sweaty palm.

With her plans for murder interrupted, a firestorm of emotion swept over her. Rage. Self-pity. Gratitude? Would I really have shot two people in cold blood?

“If you want to live, shut up, and do exactly as I say.”

Every muscle in her body rigor mortis stiff, she bobbed her head in agreement. Was she about to be robbed? Raped? Murdered? Ironic. The predator had become the prey.

“Drop your hands to your sides.”

“What?”

“I said drop your hands to your sides.” Impatience accentuated his whispered snarl.

“Okay, okay.” She lowered her hands.

He stabbed the barrel of her gun into her side.

Mandi gasped. The muzzle scraped her ribs. Her body twitched, face contorted in misery.

“Hold still.” He removed the knife from her throat and readjusted his grasp. Secured his arm around her waist, pinning her hands to her sides.

His arm was thick as a leg. Strong as a steel band. He had to be a giant. Mandi stood six feet tall in her heels, yet the top of her head didn’t reach the bottom of his chin.

“Listen and pay attention.”

Like I have a choice.

“I’m a federal agent.”

And I’m a Catholic nun.

“I’ve been working undercover in a radical militia calling themselves patriots,” he enunciated. “They’re plotting a revolution.”

His velvety voice ignited a blistering of goose bumps. She shuddered.

“I need your help. My cover’s been blown. Now they want me dead.”

I want you dead too. Maybe. Her captor’s story sounded like the plot for a spy novel: hero in trouble seeks help from a randomly chosen woman. Pure fiction. Couldn’t be true. Could it?

“I can’t trust anyone.” He squeezed her tighter and burrowed his lips deeper into her ear. “Especially not a sexy woman dressed to the nines hiding in an empty parking garage with a loaded gun in her hand.”

Her face heated up. A tingle coursed through her veins.

“I’m curious.” He loosened his killer grip and shifted his body to the side, eyeing her.

For the first time Mandi saw her assailant. A giant of a man as she surmised. African-American. Shaved head. Shoulders as wide as a doorway. Well-defined muscles beneath a black T-shirt that looked painted on.

“What the hell were you planning to do?” Genuine curiosity underscored his words.

“Shoot my ex and his new wife,” she answered without hesitation.

His dark eyes turned to crescents above a toothy smile. “You may be the perfect asset.”

“Don’t you mean the perfect expendable asset?”

“Shut up and get in the car.”

Website   Facebook Author Page   Goodreads

Shirley is an animal lover and appreciates the wonder and beauty of nature. She’s written 30+ “dark and chilling” crime suspense novels all with the underlying theme of celebrating the indomitable spirit of humans.

She resides in West Jordan, Utah with her soulmate, Curtis, and their canine kids, Ben and Charlie.

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Links to Shirley’s websites, blogs, books, #ad etc.:

Shirley Spain – ​Author of Thrillers Shirley Spain, Author of Dark and Chilling Thrillers shirleyspain.weebly.com

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Thanks, Shirley, for sharing your book with us!

Don’t miss the chance to read this book!