proved your passion for helping others. And it shows in your novels as well.” Amy appeared to study her. “Too many of my clients don’t know how to escape their abuse or roll up their sleeves and get to work.”
To Kariss, Amy’s words sounded artificially noble, even rehearsed, but why? What motivated the woman? Kariss sat back in her chair and nibbled on her portion of the cookie.
“So you think a novel is a better choice to accomplish this?”
“I do.” Amy’s confident tone and subject change indicated the matter was settled. She took a bite of her cookie and smiled. “This is so much better warmed.”
“It’s been twenty-three years since your attack. How long have you been considering having your experience written into a novel?”
Amy took a sip of her latte, her fingers circling around the cup. “A few years.”
“Why tell your story now?”
For a moment, pain flickered in the woman’s face. “It’s the only way.”
“Only way for what?” It had to be more than a means to help her clients. “Is your assailant still in prison?”
Amy didn’t even blink. “He wasn’t apprehended. Understand that my attack occurred before it was popular to use DNA in investigations. In short, he got away with it. Kariss, I want my story written as a suspense novel.”
“If a fictional book of your story is released, he could see similarities.”
“I doubt he’d read it.”
“But what if he does?”
“If he happens to pick it up, I’ll be okay, because I don’t want my name on it.”
Did she not want her name on the project because she was afraid he’d see it? “You don’t worry that he’s been following your life?”
“Not in the least.”
“Did your attack occur in the Houston area?”
“Yes. Montgomery County.” Amy moistened her lips. “It was during the spring of my third-grade year. We lived on a small farm. It’s built up into a subdivision now.”
“Why tell your story at all? Just the thought has to be frightening for you.”
“As I said, this is for all the women who live in paralyzing fear.” Amy tilted her head, her emotions appearing distant.
She was hiding something. “Tell me briefly what happened when you were nine.”
Amy took a deep breath, one that filled her face withdarkness. “I was abducted from my bedroom while my family slept. Then I was assaulted, had my throat cut, and was abandoned in a field. A couple of boys found me the following morning.”
Whoa. Kariss could only imagine the nightmares. “I’m sorry.” Now she understood why Amy wore scarves and turtle-necks in all her pictures.
“Thanks. I dealt with it a long time ago.”
Really? Kariss doubted it, especially since the assailant was still running loose. “I can’t imagine the horror.”
“Made me a little fearful.”
Kariss would keep this conversation stored in her memory bank. “If we move forward with this project, how do you envision the financial aspect?”
Amy shook her head. “I don’t want any monetary compensation, and I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers indicating so.”
The response made little sense. “Why? What about your practice? Couldn’t your scholarship fund benefit from a cushion?”
“My reasons for having my story written have nothing to do with money. I’ll share more of my thoughts about that at another time.”
Kariss needed more information before she committed to writing the book. “How much of your story do you want included in the novel?”
“Every detail exactly as it happened.”
“The art of fiction means including elements that might not be factual. Nonfiction would be a better venue for you.”
Amy shook her head. “I disagree.”
“Surely you know the danger in pursuing this.”
Amy smiled. “It’s only fiction.”
CHAPTER 3
3:40 P.M. WEDNESDAY
T igo sat across the desk from Special Agent in Charge Linc Abrams, known as the SAC. The two had been friends since college days, and now they were on the backside of
To Kariss, Amy’s words sounded artificially noble, even rehearsed, but why? What motivated the woman? Kariss sat back in her chair and nibbled on her portion of the cookie.
“So you think a novel is a better choice to accomplish this?”
“I do.” Amy’s confident tone and subject change indicated the matter was settled. She took a bite of her cookie and smiled. “This is so much better warmed.”
“It’s been twenty-three years since your attack. How long have you been considering having your experience written into a novel?”
Amy took a sip of her latte, her fingers circling around the cup. “A few years.”
“Why tell your story now?”
For a moment, pain flickered in the woman’s face. “It’s the only way.”
“Only way for what?” It had to be more than a means to help her clients. “Is your assailant still in prison?”
Amy didn’t even blink. “He wasn’t apprehended. Understand that my attack occurred before it was popular to use DNA in investigations. In short, he got away with it. Kariss, I want my story written as a suspense novel.”
“If a fictional book of your story is released, he could see similarities.”
“I doubt he’d read it.”
“But what if he does?”
“If he happens to pick it up, I’ll be okay, because I don’t want my name on it.”
Did she not want her name on the project because she was afraid he’d see it? “You don’t worry that he’s been following your life?”
“Not in the least.”
“Did your attack occur in the Houston area?”
“Yes. Montgomery County.” Amy moistened her lips. “It was during the spring of my third-grade year. We lived on a small farm. It’s built up into a subdivision now.”
“Why tell your story at all? Just the thought has to be frightening for you.”
“As I said, this is for all the women who live in paralyzing fear.” Amy tilted her head, her emotions appearing distant.
She was hiding something. “Tell me briefly what happened when you were nine.”
Amy took a deep breath, one that filled her face withdarkness. “I was abducted from my bedroom while my family slept. Then I was assaulted, had my throat cut, and was abandoned in a field. A couple of boys found me the following morning.”
Whoa. Kariss could only imagine the nightmares. “I’m sorry.” Now she understood why Amy wore scarves and turtle-necks in all her pictures.
“Thanks. I dealt with it a long time ago.”
Really? Kariss doubted it, especially since the assailant was still running loose. “I can’t imagine the horror.”
“Made me a little fearful.”
Kariss would keep this conversation stored in her memory bank. “If we move forward with this project, how do you envision the financial aspect?”
Amy shook her head. “I don’t want any monetary compensation, and I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers indicating so.”
The response made little sense. “Why? What about your practice? Couldn’t your scholarship fund benefit from a cushion?”
“My reasons for having my story written have nothing to do with money. I’ll share more of my thoughts about that at another time.”
Kariss needed more information before she committed to writing the book. “How much of your story do you want included in the novel?”
“Every detail exactly as it happened.”
“The art of fiction means including elements that might not be factual. Nonfiction would be a better venue for you.”
Amy shook her head. “I disagree.”
“Surely you know the danger in pursuing this.”
Amy smiled. “It’s only fiction.”
CHAPTER 3
3:40 P.M. WEDNESDAY
T igo sat across the desk from Special Agent in Charge Linc Abrams, known as the SAC. The two had been friends since college days, and now they were on the backside of
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