Jack Cannon's American Destiny

Rachel Thompson

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Jordan Rosenfeld – Forged in Grace – Excerpt

Chapter One

Drake’s Bay

This morning my hands are so hot, sweat slides my mug out of my grasp and coffee spills down my right leg, like liquid fire. On the way to the bus in the pre-sunrise dark, a voice from the past drifts to me, as though I am a radio tower. “Grace, you’re mistress of your destiny.” Marly’s voice. “Come on! Tell the flame.” Whether the memory has been summoned by the pain or something else, I go to work cavalier as always, as though my heightened senses are not a portent, as if everything is not about to change.


At the office, Dr. Lieb—Adam to me—is hunched over the fax machine, jiggling it, the paper jammed. The thrum of its electricity beats inside me, like blood in my veins. If he tugs too hard, the fax—thin as laboratory-grown skin—will rip, and he’ll say “shit” and then look around as though he’s killed someone’s pet kitten. I marvel at how capable he is with patients, such steady hands, and how inept he is with the simplest of office equipment (and women).

He hasn’t caught sight of me yet. I’m about to impose myself between him and the machine, to keep him from breaking it, when Helen, party pooper on any moment that resembles intimacy, hurries into the office and flicks on the fluorescents. I cringe against their light.

“Oh, good lord, you two scared me,” she says, but scowls at me, as though her fright is my fault. She steps up so close to Adam that if he were to turn too quickly they might kiss. He frowns and almost hops backwards, which pleases me. When Helen has something to deliver to my desk, she drops it in a hurry, as though I am leprous. You can’t catch this, I want to tell her. But sometimes, I wish I could disfigure people with the slightest look.

“I’m glad you’re here early, Dr. Lieb, I need to consult with you,” she says, and touches a hand coyly to her businesslike bun. Behind her is a poster of the human musculature system, the body looking like a victim of torture, flayed down to tender bits.

He scowls at the fax and looks quickly at me with a plea in his eyes.

“I’ve got it,” I say, a knowing smile twisted on my lips. “Go ahead.”

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Psychological Suspense

Rating – R

Connect with Jordan Rosenfeld on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://indie-visible.com/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

No comments:

Post a Comment