I’m so happy to announce the new Janelle Wesson and Simon Sloan’s story.
ESCAPE FROM DESTRUCTION (Wesson and Sloan FBI Thriller) #2
As you may know (or maybe not), there are five books planned for this series (three more to go), and then I’ll return to Miranda and Parker #20.
Well, the Wesson and Sloan books take place during the same time frame as Miranda and Parker #16 through #19, aligning again in book #20.
While Miranda and Parker are hunting for Santana, Wesson and Sloan are tracking down his empire, trying to find out who runs it now and who gave the order to kill Simon’s boss and frame him for the murder. All while running from the man sent to kill them.
You know I hate spoilers, so I can’t tell you much more than that.
Except that I’m working on book #3 now.
Here’s a link to the new series in case you missed the first book. I hope you enjoy these exciting stories!
She plodded along the concrete walkway of the interstate bridge,
head down, barely aware of the cars whizzing past her.
She felt numb and yet she shivered a little in the chilly
March wind. She’d worn too light of a jacket. Not that it would matter soon.
It was her time.
Everyone has a time,
her mother used to say.
She’d been thinking about her mother a lot lately. The
headaches brought on the memories. In her mind, she could see her mother
stretched out on the old worn couch, dressed in the robe with the pretty blue
flowers she used to wear, her hair a tangled mess. She could smell her breath.
The odor made her sick, just like it used to.
She hadn’t learned until much later it was the smell of
alcohol. She’d been too young to recognize it then. But she could remember
Everyone has a time.
Her mother had been talking about her father.
She had never known him. He’d left before she was born. Her
mother would call him names and cuss at his imaginary figure going out the
door. Then she’d call her names. “You’re too stupid for words,” she’d say. “Why
did I ever have you?”
And then one day she’d told her her father was dead. When
she asked how that could be, all her mother had said was that it had been his
“Everyone has a time,” she’d told her.
The wind grew stronger as she reached the edge of the bridge
where the railing stopped and the concrete barrier began. Her head pounding,
she stared up at the chicken wire fence mounted high atop the ledge.
She peeked over the barrier and saw a small concrete
platform about five feet down. That would work.
She blinked at the cars buzzing by down below the overpass.
So many of them. All going so fast. Where were they heading? To soccer
practice? To games? Shopping? It was the weekend.
How nice it would be to know who you are and where you were
going every day.
She never had.
And then there was that girl at school. The junior with the
perfect brown hair. The words she’d said about her at lunch on Friday still
burned in her heart. Even now, she could feel her cheeks reddened. She’d been
The girl hadn’t been mean, exactly. Just superior. Far
above her, anyway.
That’s when she’d known she’d never be good enough. Not for
her faceless father. Not for her drunken mother. Not for the kids at school.
Not for anyone. She’d never ever be good enough.
That’s when she knew it was her time.
She took off her jacket and laid it over the rail. The wind
whipped through her, rippling her lightweight short-sleeve top.
Closing her eyes, she put her hands on the concrete and
drew in its rough cold surface.
Minutes went by. Her hair blew around her face as her brain
swam with hurtful words from her past, from her mother, from the girl at school,
from deep inside her own mind. She breathed in the cold air, searching for the
courage for what had to be done.
A shout made her open her eyes again.
The cars down below were slowing. There must be a traffic
jam up ahead. She thought she heard tires screech behind her. And a cry.
But her head was so fuzzy with memories, she couldn’t make out
She had to go.
Then a strong female voice came from the sidewalk beside
her. “Hello, young lady.”
She turned and saw a police officer coming toward her.
“Don’t be alarmed. I thought you might like to talk a
Talk? What was there to talk about? Nothing would change. Nothing
would ever change.
Again she peered over the railing. Cars were stopped in
their lanes. Flashing lights came from a fire truck a few yards beyond the
overpass. A group of firemen were assembling a large yellow inflatable thing
just below her. It looked like a raft she’d been on at summer camp one year.
They were trying to stop her.
She slung a leg over the rail.
“I just want to ask you a question.” The woman sounded
friendly, but she wasn’t. “What’s your name, honey?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead she held onto the rail, pulled her other leg over,
and let herself drop down to the concrete platform. It was only about a foot
wide. She had to be careful or she’d land in the trees.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t do that.”
“Leave me alone.” Trying to position herself, she clung to
the iron bar of the railing now over her head.
“I just want to talk to you.”
The woman leaned over the rail and a strong hand gripped
“Let go of me.”
“I’m sorry I can’t do that.”
The grip was tight. The pain confused her. “You’re hurting
“I don’t mean to do that. I’m just here to help.” The woman
kept on talking, but she couldn’t make out the words.
She was in too much of a panic. She looked down. The men
below were pointing up at her and moving the yellow raft thing so it would
If she was going to do it, it had to be now.
She looked up and glared at the woman. “Let go of me, I
She pulled her arm away as hard as she could. The officer’s
nails scraped her skin as she lost her grip.
She lost her balance and fell backward.
Her feet left the narrow platform. She tumbled down toward
the pavement below. Down past the bare tree branches. Past the beams of the
overpass. Past the stains on its concrete supports.