We welcome K.S. David and her STORM WINDS Book Blast today! Please leave a comment to let her know you stopped by!
Title:
STORM WINDS: AN OUTER BANKS MYSTERY
Author: K.S. David
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 180
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Author: K.S. David
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 180
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Moving to the North Carolina Outer Banks was a chance for Leah Kymes to put
her life back together, after her marriage went sour. But peace and quiet evade
her, when her father is discovered murdered in his fish and tackle shop. Not
willing to wait for authorities to solve the crime, she begins to delve into
recent events involving her Dad. What she uncovers shatters her understanding
of the man she thought she knew so well.
At Leah's side is her old flame, Officer Aden Parker, who runs interference between Leah and the salty detective who sees her as a hindrance. Ignoring Aden's warnings, she deepens her probe, but soon draws the attention of a handsome stranger. Is this new man just competing for her affection - or a vicious killer intent on making Leah his next victim?
At Leah's side is her old flame, Officer Aden Parker, who runs interference between Leah and the salty detective who sees her as a hindrance. Ignoring Aden's warnings, she deepens her probe, but soon draws the attention of a handsome stranger. Is this new man just competing for her affection - or a vicious killer intent on making Leah his next victim?
FOR MORE INFORMATION:
Amazon
Perched on top
of a sand dune, Leah looked across the ocean as waves curled and crashed
against the shore. Behind her, stalled traffic lined North Carolina's Highway
12, six miles deep. Residents of the Outer Banks fled their homes days earlier
as the dark clouds of a Category 3 hurricane raced toward them. Now they were
headed back to whatever the storm had left behind.
Leah's
father, Rex, had ignored the warnings. "I ain't scared of no damned
storm," he'd said. "It's the price we pay for living in paradise,
honey."
Rex
had been born and bred on the North Carolina coast. He was sun-tough, with
seawater for blood. An average-sized man with a shock of white hair, a face
lined by hard living, and eyes as blue and alert as a clear summer sky, he
feared no man, and believed destiny was his to write. She believed that he was
invincible when she was a child. She knew better now. After a week without a
word from him, Leah's frustration was speeding toward fear.
She
dug her toes beneath the warm sand, ran her hands through her thick auburn
hair, and twisted it into a bun. She'd spent nearly four days huddled in a
hotel room, watching hours of new reports as the storm tracked toward the Outer
Banks. Afterward, she searched photos of the destruction, straining to see if
the home she shared with Rex and their businesses had been spared.
Leah
picked up her cell phone and tapped the photo of her father. Since the storm
hit, communication had been spotty to the Outer Banks. Like all the times
before, her call went straight to Rex's voice mail. Instead of leaving another
agitated message, she ended the call, picked up a stick, and jammed it into the
sand.
She
was irritated. If she knew him well, and she did, her father hadn't thought
once about the worry he caused. The old cuss was probably fine, but it was
strange that he hadn't called to check on her, not even once. When her mind
pondered over that loose detail, she pushed it to the furthest spot in her
brain.
The
blare of horns signaled that it was time to move. She skidded down the dune
that hugged the road. Course granules of sand shifted underfoot as she
descended. Heat pressed against her bare feet as she fished her keys out of the
pocket of her cutoff shorts. Gaps in the line had been created by drivers who'd
already moved forward and the woman parked behind Leah laid on her horn and
growled, "We're trying to get home today, please!"
Leah
sighed, grit her teeth, and gave a quick wave. "Sorry." Beneath her
breath, she mumbled, "Go to hell." They were all in the same
predicament and moving a few feet forward wasn't going to get either of them on
the ferry any faster. She'd been in line for nearly two hours on the southern
tip of Ocracoke Island. It would take another hour before she reached the pier
for a forty-minute boat ride before landing on Hatteras Island, then another
fifteen before she got to her father's house in the town of Frisco.
A
hand tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you Ms. Leah
Kymes?"
A
Hyde County police officer stared down at her. Sometimes, cops issued tickets
to drivers who walked away from their cars when they were in the line for the
ferry, especially at times like this. A ticket was the last thing she needed.
"I'm
getting ready to pull up. We've been sitting here--"
The
cop threw a hand up to stop her. "It's okay." He stepped closer and
asked again, "Are you Leah Kymes?"
She
frowned and looked down the line of cars. Eying him, she answered, "Yeah,
I'm Leah Kymes."
"I'm
Officer Alfred Hawkins. The Dare County Police Department requested that we
locate and help you back over to Hatteras."
She
stepped back. "Why?"
He
shrugged, "Don't know. I was just told to find you."
"Is
this about my father?" Her stomach turned at the thought that something
bad had happened.
Hawkins
held up a hand, "Ma'am, I don't know." He was a tall man, with smooth
dark brown skin and an open face. "I was asked to get you back over to the
island."
She
looked at the backed-up traffic. There were still six miles to go before
getting to the landing.
As
if reading her mind, Officer Hawkins added, "I can take you back on one of
the guard boats. Your car won't fit but another officer will get it on the next
ferry."
At
first, only a few drivers showed any interest when Hawkins first appeared
beside Leah, but radios quieted and chatter ebbed when a second cruiser pulled
alongside them and deposited another cop. Hawkins called over his shoulder to a
female officer, "Direct the rest of the cars around us."
This
officer was young. She'd chopped her brown hair into a pageboy and appeared to
be losing the battle against acne. Giving Leah a quick, dismissive glance, she
turned and waved the other cars along.
The
woman who'd shouted at Leah earlier eased by slowly, but kept her curious gaze
locked on the action.
"You
sure you don't know anything?" Leah asked, searching Hawken's face.
"No,"
he said. Dark shades covered his eyes. Leah couldn't read his face but there
was something in the brevity of his reply that worried her. Before she could
question him any further, he said, "That's Officer Maynard." He
pointed to the woman directing traffic. "She'll drive your car to the
ferry. Someone on the other side will make sure it gets to Hatteras."
Maynard
didn't look old enough to drive, and Leah didn't like the idea of leaving her
car in someone else's hands, but what choice did she have. The line wasn't
getting any shorter and she needed answers. Eyeing Hawkins again, she worried
that he was being evasive. Cops never tell the whole story until they're ready.
She opened the car door, pulled out her shoes and handbag, and tossed her keys
on the seat. "Okay, I'm ready," she said to Hawkins.
He
raced them along the shoulder of the highway, past the line of cars waiting for
the next ferry. He parked against the edge of a sand dune and then escorted
Leah to a small, white police boat. "We'll ride over together," he
said.
He
separated from her as soon as they hit the boat's deck and nudged himself into
a corner with four other cops. Leah sat alone on a small portside bench and
watched them watching her. They kept their voices low and, every so often, shot
skimming glances in her direction. Hawkins had been sent to find her--to look
specifically for Leah Kymes. There were thousands of people trying to get back
on the island and every resource was tied up in the restoration effort, yet
some official had seen fit to use Hawkins and a police boat to fetch her. Why?
After
a moment, she stood and turned away from the cops. Leaning against the rails,
she closed her eyes, pushed her face into the wind, and tried to concentrate on
the roar of the boat's engine, the swish of the wake created as they cut
through the waves, the call of the seagulls sailing overhead, anything but the
sound of doubt coming from deep inside her own chest.
She
had tried not to get anxious over the twenty-four-hour media coverage. She left
the hotel room as often as she could, sped through several novels, caught up on
emails, and even allowed herself the luxury of uninhibited sleep. None of it
managed to shake loose a growing sense of foreboding. Something bad must have
happened to Rex, a thought that drove her to file a missing person's report.
Her father would be furious with her for doubting him. There was, of course,
another issue. Rex loathed the police, a fact that made Leah pause each time
she started dialing the emergency hotline. There were some cops he'd warmed to
over the years but, as far as he was concerned, most could pucker up and kiss
his crotchety old ass.
On
Hatteras Island, Officer Hawkins walked her to a squat, yellow building known
as the Inlet. Hugging the tip of the pier, the Inlet served as a visitor's
center. A balmy wind pushed three blue signs that advertised snacks, restrooms,
and ferryboat information. Across the lot was Hatteras Landing, where a
collection of tourist shops and eateries were housed in a blistering white
stucco building. It was usually overrun with tourists this time of year but
stood empty because of the storm.
Rex
had to be okay, she thought. Then, like an erratic wind, her mind shifted, and
the voice in her head would shout, they don't send police escorts for a simple
missing person's report, or do they? Maybe it was because Rex was elderly and
kind of like a town fixture. If he were the only citizen unaccounted for, the
officials wouldn't hesitate to put more effort into finding him.
Perhaps
they had located Rex, but he'd been injured. The storm had been a whopper. It
had raged against the coast for nearly eight hours. News reports showed cars
and debris thrown all over the place, and homes and buildings had been torn
apart like toys. A crack had appeared in Highway 12, severing lower Hatteras
from the northern shores.
Immersed
in her thoughts, she almost plowed into a man standing at the top of the ramp.
She started her apology without even bothering to look up then began to move
around the figure when a hand closed around the top of her arm.
"Lee?"
She
raised her eyes to study the face of the man that had used her name. He was a
head taller with soft brown eyes and tanned skin. A faint scar zigzagged from
his bottom lip and disappeared beneath his chin. She'd given him that scar,
slamming her Hello Kitty lunch box into his face after he'd popped the head off
her Cabbage Patch doll.
"Aiden?"
she replied. Then, more confident, she gushed, "Aiden Parker!"
She
hadn't seen him since she was eighteen. A thousand questions popped into her
head, as she considered his ruggedly handsome face. Was he married? Was he back
in the Outer Banks? How was his family? Did he have kids?
Her
mouth had started to quiver out the first question when Officer Hawkins moved
past her, and like a pendulum swinging, her thoughts immediately shifted back
to Rex. "I know this sounds rude, but I'll have to catch up with you
later. I have an emergency right now. Maybe we can exchange information or
something," she mumbled, already heading away.
"I
know," he said, taking the crook of her arm again, to stop her.
She
cocked her head. "You know what?"
"I'm
a cop with the Dare County Police Department, and I know you made a call about
Rex."
She
narrowed her eyes and stared into his face for a moment. Like Hawkins, his
expression was flat. "Where is he?"
"Come
inside so we can talk," he said.
"Where's
my father?" she insisted, determined not to move from that spot until she
got an answer.
"Come
on," Aiden said. He placed his hand on her shoulder and urged her up the
last few feet of the ramp. They crossed the store and walked down the hallway
past a set of restrooms. He opened a thick door with a sign, AUTHORIZED
PERSONNEL ONLY. The building also housed offices for the Park Service and the
North Carolina Department of Transportation, which operated the ferry service.
Three uniformed officers chatted beside a bank of windows. Their conversation
halted then picked up again in hushed tones.
Aiden
pointed her to a conference room. "We can talk in here."
A
large man with flaccid jowls and a rumpled brown suit stood at a window
overlooking the sound.
"This
is Detective Eric Lawson," Aiden said.
"Where's
my dad?" Leah asked. This time, she didn't try to hide her irritation.
Fear crawled up her spine, and she bound her prickly arms around her belly, as
the big man turned to greet her.
Lawson
pointed Leah to a seat at the table. "Let's talk for a moment."
She
pulled back one of the chairs, barely noticing when the leg scraped against her
foot. Lawson lowered his considerable frame into a seat opposite her, while
Aiden replaced him at the window. Her leg shook and the sound of her flip-flops
slapping against the sole of her foot broke the uneasy quiet in the room.
Lawson leaned in and smiled but, despite the wide, toothy grin, Leah felt no
warmth coming from the man. She recoiled, slight uncomfortable under the
unyielding glare of his cold, gray eyes.
"I
have a few questions," he said, "if you don't mind." He didn't
wait for her to agree. "When was the last time you saw your father?"
She
rubbed her hands together. "Um, the day before the storm. Why?"
He
scribbled her response on a short, wire-rimmed notepad. "Home, or at his
store?"
"At
the house. He refused to leave, but wanted me to go."
"Was
he planning to ride out the storm at the house?"
"I
don't mean to be rude, but you gotta give me something." She tugged her
hair out of the bun, twisted it tighter, and reset the scrunchie. "Is my
father still missing?" Her head was spinning and all the horrid images of
what that could mean rushed through her brain. She pressed the back of her hand
to her upper lip, blotting away a light sheen of sweat. Despite the hum of the
air conditioner and the bank of windows that stretched the entire length of the
room, the space felt small and stifling. She asked again, "Is he still
missing?"
Lawson
pursed his lips. "No. He's not missing."
She
let her head fall back and whispered a quiet prayer. "Thank, God."
But her elation turned midstride as another wave of terror struck. "Is he
okay?"
Rex
wasn't a young man. That had been the point of their argument. Riding out a
murderous storm was dangerous, but for a sixty-nine-year-old man, it was akin
to lunacy.
Aiden
turned from the window and slipped into the chair beside her. He grabbed the
seat's edge and scooted closer. His face was hard and serious, but softened
when he took her hands. "Leah, there's no easy way to say this." He
stopped to swallow, the sound loud enough for her to hear. "Your father is
dead."
She
tilted her head and stared at him in disbelief. Her mind a blur, Leah struggled
to process what he said. The air grew thinner, and she snatched her hands away
from Aiden, held them in mid-air, then turned her gaze to Lawson, as if seeking
confirmation.
He
nodded. "He's dead, Ms. Kymes."
A
long, sorrowful moan lifted from her chest, and Leah leaned forward, pressing
hands to her eyes, as if trying to hold back the flood of tears. She turned
suddenly to Aiden. "How?" she asked. "How?"
He
inched closer, his knees pressing into hers. "Lee," which was the
name he'd given her when they were children, "I need you to listen to
me." The next words sliced into her like a knife. "Lee, your dad was
murdered. Somebody shot him."
About the Author
K. S. David lives in the Mid-Atlantic with her husband, their three
children and a spoiled sheepadoodle. She’s addicted to true life mysteries and
crime shows, both of which marry well with a great romance. Some of her
favorite things are long walks, reading in bed, baking and, of course, writing
her next novel.
WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:
WEBSITE | TWITTER
Brought to you by the fine folks at
