Author: Kellie Wallace
Email: kelliewallace85@hotmail.com
Genre: Crime
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 3
Hollywood in 1948. World war two had ended three
years ago, but crime is still growing rampant on the streets. Detective Luca
Valiant returns home from war a broken man, haunted by memories of his duty. He
is strong willed and passionate about his job but keeps his soldier days hidden
behind a thick wall. Young women start showing up around the city shot point
blank in the chest, found with stolen morphine ampoules on their person. Luca
fears it might be a crime ring that ruled Hollywood in the 1930s. With his
partner Duke Williams by his side, Luca uncovers a world of drug use, money,
sex and corruption he never knew existed which truly tests his sanity. When his
wife Sally is murdered by Hollywood's crime lord Don Pascoe, Luca must push his
demons aside to crack the case before it consumes him.
EXCERPT
Hollywood,
Los Angeles
1948
The purple kite frolicked in the air behind Karsten's
head as he ran through the grass. The sun's golden rays warmed the nape of his neck
and marshmallows clouds danced across the sky.
His new shoes were damp and dirtied from jumping in
a puddle, but he didn't care. It was a perfect summer's day; perfect for ice
cream by the lake or hiding in an alleyway stuffing his mouth with stolen goods
from Mrs. Dane's bakery.
As he leapt through the field, inhaling the rich
Hollywood air, something deep inside him dimmed. He wished he could share this
wonderful day with someone. During the dying afternoon hours before bed, he
would watch the other neighborhood children playing in the street or at the
park with their siblings, wanting to be a part of their world, jealous of their
kinship.
At eleven years old, he had not seen much of the
world, but he knew it must revolve around Fern Rosenberg. He saw her sitting on
the swing set across the park, swaying against the gentle breeze. Her head was
down, nose in a book.
Ever since her family moved in next door six months
ago, he couldn't understand why she never played with the other children, often
sitting alone reading a book. He remembered his mother telling his father she
and her family were survivors of a horrible camp in Poland. The girl barely
survived, fleeing the country with her aunt and uncle to start a better life.
He never had the courage to talk to her, usually
succumbing to inaudible mumbles before he walked away embarrassed.
Karsten blew out a breath of self-encouragement and
arched his back. He was going to do it today. He walked across the park, his
stomach rolling nervously. Fern didn't acknowledge him until his figure cast a
shadow across her book. She looked up, her eyes thinning against the glare. "Hello.
Can I help you?"
Karsten opened his mouth but no sound came out, his
tongue turning to cement. A veil of transparency fell over Fern's eyes; she was
losing interest.
"Um, my name is Karsten. I am in your math
class at school."
"You sit behind me. Don't you live next door?"
"I do."
"I often see you play by yourself on the
street sometimes," Fern said. "Why don't you ask other kids to join
you?"
"I don't know how."
"Why?"
"I'm too scared they will say no."
"Surely that doesn't matter. You can ask me
now."
Karsten looked at the kite dangling from his
fingers, wondering if asking her to play was a bad idea. "You want to fly
the kite with me?"
Fern's lips rose into a smile and she laughed. "I
should be reading. My uncle will quiz me when I get home, but I would very much
like to fly the kite with you."
Karsten watched Fern rise from the swing and gently
lay her book on the grass next to her bag. She repositioned the clips in her
brown hair and grabbed the kite string from his grasp. Her hands were soft. "The
wind is picking up. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
The children bolted across the park, watching the
kite bellow in the air. Other neighborhood children joined them, giggling at
the sight of it kicking and twisting like a captured bird. Karsten and Fern
spent the rest of the afternoon under the warm sun, walking home muddy and
exhausted. They decided to cut through a park, crying out in delight at the
sight of a mother duck waddling with her ducklings. She saw the children and
scuttled away, her babies following in haste.
"Let's follow her!" Karsten cried. "Maybe
she has more."
Fern followed him with the kite in her hand,
chasing after him through the thick underbrush. "Slow down!"
She saw him disappear deeper into the brush, his
heavy footfall breaking through the silence of the early evening. In a blink of
an eye he was gone. Fern kept running. She jumped over a log, nearly running
into him as he stood still staring at the ground. "Oomph! Karsten, I
nearly ran into you." She pulled at his sleeve, noticing his face had gone
white. "What is it?"
He pointed a shaky finger to the lush ground, his
eyes wide. Fern followed his gaze and noticed white fur, speckled with blood
against the twigs and other debris. She took a step closer and let out a
scream.
Lying in a leafy tomb, a woman lay dead, her blonde
hair messy and dusted with leaves. Her cold blue eyes frozen, her red lips open
in an eternal scream.
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