Samson's Lovely Mortal (reading sample), Tina Folsom [best detective novels of all time txt] 📗
- Author: Tina Folsom
Book online «Samson's Lovely Mortal (reading sample), Tina Folsom [best detective novels of all time txt] 📗». Author Tina Folsom
turned out to be a bad choice.
Everybody had told her how unpredictable San Francisco weather could be, and now she would find out for herself. The weather report had indicated no rain until the weekend.
She had no choice but to brave it. Delilah knew she wasn’t far from the apartment, only about three blocks. Staying close to the buildings, she started running along the sidewalk then made a turn into the next street, and another one a block farther. The apartment couldn’t be far now. She looked around, but in the heavy rain she couldn’t recognize anything. Was it another block more?
Her clothes were already soaked, and she would have to jump into the shower to get warm again. Where the hell was she? She turned another corner and found herself on a small side street. It didn’t look familiar at all, but that wasn’t her biggest problem, neither was the relentless rain. The problem was the guy coming toward her. Even though she couldn’t make him out well, she would bet her retirement fund that he wasn’t there to lend her an umbrella.
His imposing frame was silhouetted against the dim light of a streetlamp behind him. The chill of his look seeped into her body as a faint glimmer of light coming from a window appeared on the left side of his face. The scar puckering his skin didn’t inspire confidence.
Delilah turned back to where she’d come from. Before she was able to take two steps, a hand clamped over her shoulder, jerking her back. The sudden jolt made her lose her balance. She slipped on the wet sidewalk, her legs buckling beneath her. Her food dropped onto the ground as she tried to fight for balance and brace her fall.
The guy’s hand on her shoulder gripped harder as she screamed and tried to shake him off, crashing onto the sidewalk in the process. He bent down to pull her up. She yanked her head around. For the first time she could see his face clearly, clear enough to make an identification if need be. He was Caucasian and in his forties. Violence, and the intention to unleash it on her, was clearly written on his face.
Delilah couldn’t allow him to drag her into some dark hole. Number one in survival training was never to let the attacker move the victim to a secondary location. She had to fight him off here, where she had a chance of getting the attention of a passerby.
Fat chance!
With this rain, nobody would be outside. Not even a dog.
He hauled her up, seizing her by the collar of her jacket now, having released the painful grip on her shoulder. Quickly, she stretched her arms back and slipped out of the jacket, leaving him holding onto it. Now she had a fighting chance.
He was startled, and she had a couple of seconds’ head start. She’d been a sprinter in college, and it came in handy, even though the slippery ground didn’t help—neither did the high heels of her shoes.
Vanity would kill her one of these days.
With long strides she ran into the next street, her lean but strong legs pushing off the ground with a vehemence that was startling for her small body. He was close behind her. And faster. She had to run for all she was worth. Her breath quickened as her lungs demanded more oxygen.
Scouting the area ahead of her, she made a split-second decision and sprinted into the street to her right. A desperate glance over her shoulder confirmed that the brute was still chasing her.
Scanning the street, she spotted several Victorian residences on the other side. All of them were dark, except for one. It seemed oddly familiar with light shining through the windows in the front room. This was her chance, probably her only one. Not slowing down for even a second, she crossed the narrow street, ran up the few steps of the old Victorian and hammered at the door.
“Help! Help me!”
Frantically, she looked behind her while her fists continued pounding into the door. Her pursuer was less than half a block away and closing in, his face angry. If he reached her, he would unleash his anger on her, and there was nowhere else to run.
About the Writer
Everybody had told her how unpredictable San Francisco weather could be, and now she would find out for herself. The weather report had indicated no rain until the weekend.
She had no choice but to brave it. Delilah knew she wasn’t far from the apartment, only about three blocks. Staying close to the buildings, she started running along the sidewalk then made a turn into the next street, and another one a block farther. The apartment couldn’t be far now. She looked around, but in the heavy rain she couldn’t recognize anything. Was it another block more?
Her clothes were already soaked, and she would have to jump into the shower to get warm again. Where the hell was she? She turned another corner and found herself on a small side street. It didn’t look familiar at all, but that wasn’t her biggest problem, neither was the relentless rain. The problem was the guy coming toward her. Even though she couldn’t make him out well, she would bet her retirement fund that he wasn’t there to lend her an umbrella.
His imposing frame was silhouetted against the dim light of a streetlamp behind him. The chill of his look seeped into her body as a faint glimmer of light coming from a window appeared on the left side of his face. The scar puckering his skin didn’t inspire confidence.
Delilah turned back to where she’d come from. Before she was able to take two steps, a hand clamped over her shoulder, jerking her back. The sudden jolt made her lose her balance. She slipped on the wet sidewalk, her legs buckling beneath her. Her food dropped onto the ground as she tried to fight for balance and brace her fall.
The guy’s hand on her shoulder gripped harder as she screamed and tried to shake him off, crashing onto the sidewalk in the process. He bent down to pull her up. She yanked her head around. For the first time she could see his face clearly, clear enough to make an identification if need be. He was Caucasian and in his forties. Violence, and the intention to unleash it on her, was clearly written on his face.
Delilah couldn’t allow him to drag her into some dark hole. Number one in survival training was never to let the attacker move the victim to a secondary location. She had to fight him off here, where she had a chance of getting the attention of a passerby.
Fat chance!
With this rain, nobody would be outside. Not even a dog.
He hauled her up, seizing her by the collar of her jacket now, having released the painful grip on her shoulder. Quickly, she stretched her arms back and slipped out of the jacket, leaving him holding onto it. Now she had a fighting chance.
He was startled, and she had a couple of seconds’ head start. She’d been a sprinter in college, and it came in handy, even though the slippery ground didn’t help—neither did the high heels of her shoes.
Vanity would kill her one of these days.
With long strides she ran into the next street, her lean but strong legs pushing off the ground with a vehemence that was startling for her small body. He was close behind her. And faster. She had to run for all she was worth. Her breath quickened as her lungs demanded more oxygen.
Scouting the area ahead of her, she made a split-second decision and sprinted into the street to her right. A desperate glance over her shoulder confirmed that the brute was still chasing her.
Scanning the street, she spotted several Victorian residences on the other side. All of them were dark, except for one. It seemed oddly familiar with light shining through the windows in the front room. This was her chance, probably her only one. Not slowing down for even a second, she crossed the narrow street, ran up the few steps of the old Victorian and hammered at the door.
“Help! Help me!”
Frantically, she looked behind her while her fists continued pounding into the door. Her pursuer was less than half a block away and closing in, his face angry. If he reached her, he would unleash his anger on her, and there was nowhere else to run.
About the Writer
Tina Folsom always loved vampires and decided that vampire and paranormal romance was her calling. She now has 15 novels in English and several in other languages (Spanish, German, and French) and continues to write, as well as have her existing novels translated.
Text: Tina Folsom
Images: Elaina Lee: www.forthemusedesign.com
Publication Date: 07-10-2012
All Rights Reserved
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