The Barrier Between (Collector Series # 2) (43 page)

To Hollie: How I adore you…let me count the ways! You
are incredible. Told you once you there is no getting rid of me
now!
http://www.hollietheeditor.com/
.

To Victoria at Whit & Ware: Once again your cover
is amazing. Love you lady.
http://main.whitandware.com/
.

To Judi at
www.formatting4u.com
/:
Thank you! You have made the stress of getting my books out on time
so much easier.

To all the bloggers who have supported me: My
gratitude is for all you do and how much you help indie authors out
of the pure love of reading. I bow down. You all are amazing! My
Street Team for being awesome and so supportive, thank you.

To all the indie/hybrid authors out there who
inspire, challenge, support, and push me to be better: I love
you!

And to anyone who has picked up an indie book and
given an unknown author a chance. THANK YOU!

Stacey Marie Brown works by day as an Interior/Set
Designer and by night a writer of paranormal fantasy, adventure,
and literary fiction. She grew up in Northern California, where she
ran around on her family’s farm raising animals, riding horses,
playing flashlight tag, and turning hay bales into cool forts.

Even before she could write, she was creating
stories and making up intricate fantasies. Writing came as easy as
breathing. She later turned that passion into acting, living and
traveling abroad, and designing.

Though she had never stopped writing, moving back to
San Francisco seemed to have brought it back to the forefront and
this time it would not be ignored.

When she’s not writing, she’s out hiking, spending
time with friends, traveling, listening to music, or designing.

To learn more about Stacey or her books, visit her
at:

Author website

www.staceymariebrown.com

Facebook Author page
:
https://www.facebook.com/SMBauthorpage

Twitter

@S_MarieBrown

Pinterest

www.pinterest.com/s.mariebrown

Instagram

Instagram.com/staceymariebrown

www.AirickaPhoenix.com

(Sons of Judgment Saga, Book
1)

Chapter 1

The theory was that Hell could only be accessed
through death. Riley disagreed. The door to Hell, in her opinion,
was standing in line at the post office when the air conditioner
was broken and the temperature had skipped mildly discomforting and
gone straight to downright inhuman. Never mind the fact that the
people ahead of her made her want to take a shower.

Granted, they weren’t so bad. They weren’t shouting
or complaining that the woman at the only kiosk open was paying for
her package in pennies, or that they’d been standing there in that
cramped space for the last thirty minutes watching her lose count
and start over. As lines went, they were a quiet lot, even the
woman with the kid clutching at her hand. It would have been a
relief if said kid hadn’t been enthusiastically digging for gold
and wiping it on his mother’s skirt. Then there was the woman
spitting bits of her nail out over her shoulder. The man behind her
dressed entirely in black kept trying to dodge the bits of nail
spittle from landing on him. But the nail-bitter never noticed. The
worst was the man directly in front of Riley. The stench of him
made her eyes water and the hairs in her nostrils scream in terror.
She was seriously beginning to reconsider her decision to mail her
electricity payment. It wasn’t like she needed power that badly.
The pioneers lived without and they were fine

“Next!” the frail little man behind the kiosk croaked
as the penny-counting woman shuffled away, humming happily to
herself as she snapped her considerably less weighty purse
closed.

The nose picker and his mother hurried over and the
line scuffled forward. Riley stayed where she was, putting a safe
distance between herself and the sour aroma wafting off her
companion. She wiped away the sweat accumulating across her brow
with the back of her hand and sighed. It was not how she had
imagined spending her afternoon. She mentally kicked herself for
not thinking to bring a book along with her on the journey, but she
was supposed to be job hunting, not wilting away in the unnatural
heat. Thank goodness she’d already dropped her resumes off before
hitting the post office. Something told her potential employers
didn’t look too kindly on people who had taken a bath in their own
sweat, fully dressed. She was too afraid to check, but she was sure
her makeup was running and the sassy knot she’d stubbornly twisted
her hair into was now fuzzy and mad-woman-ish. Nope. She was
relieved she’d be going home afterwards and stripping down to her
shorts and tank top. Granted, there was no air conditioner there
either, but there was a shower and the freedom to kick her heels
off.

“Screw this!” Sewer-Man griped, as he turned and
marched past Riley to the door.

One down, three to go. It was like the TV show
Survivors
. One by one, the contestants were eliminated until
only the very brave—or stupid—remained. Riley was prepared to go
the distance on this one. Nothing short of someone releasing a
plume of body gas smelling of peanuts was going to make her leave,
and only because she was allergic and may require emergency medical
attention. But to prove she had the female balls to make it to the
final round, she scuttled up behind the man wearing black and
breathed in deeply the fresh scent of rain, wilderness and pine.
Surprise lifted her eyebrows as she eyed the wide shoulders and
lean back with new interest.

She estimated he was roughly six-three and about a
hundred and ninety pounds, with dark neatly cropped hair cut short
in back and left shaggy in front. His hips were narrow, made
narrower by the black t-shirt he’d stuffed into the waistband of
his black jeans, jeans that molded a little too distractingly to
his extremely well formed backside. Riley cocked her head and
stared for just a moment longer—her well-earned treat for the
day—before continuing on downward over long legs and abraded army
boots. She couldn’t see his face, but she was seriously liking his
back, a back that seemed to tense the longer she studied it. The
hands at his sides tightened into fists, knuckles white against his
golden complexion.

“Next!”

The nose-picker and his mom left and the nail-biter
took their place at the counter, shouting a bit too excitedly, “I
only need a stamp!”

Thank God!
Riley thought, as she exhaled –
although standing behind Tall, Dark and Gorgeous had its own perks.
Her gaze drifted downward again. It was her way of thinking that if
she had to waste more time standing in line, she may as well take
in the good view.

But her sightseeing ended when the nail-biter, letter
and stamp in hand, hurried away and Riley lost her treat. She
smothered her sulking by organizing her mail, making sure the
checks were inside and the addresses were written on the envelopes
clearly and correctly. All of that took her a full two minutes,
which seemed to be enough time for Mr. Sexy to finish his business
and turn to leave. Riley jerked her head up, hoping to catch a
glimpse of him as he stomped past her, but the dude moved fast.
There was a solid punch of air as he charged straight past her and
out the door.

Riley’s shoulders drooped. What a crappy day.

“Miss?” The clerk waved at her from behind the
counter.

Feeling even more miserable, Riley shuffled forward
and dropped her letters down on the counter. She bought her stamps,
shipped off the bills and left.

Outside in the crisp autumn air, Riley moaned
shamelessly. She closed her eyes and let the breeze wash over her,
gelling the sweat to her skin and unplastering her only nice blouse
from her spine. It was the last scrap of her pride that kept her
from stripping out of her clothes right there and letting nature
cool her skin. Instead, she adjusted the strap on her purse and
started around the building to the parking lot. She couldn’t have
taken more than a handful of steps when her foot treaded on
something squishy.

For a split, horrific moment, she was certain it was
a dead rodent, something that had fallen out of a nearby tree and
was now embedded with her shoe print. It was the only image she
needed to make her run away without looking back. Curiosity and the
need to sleep without nightmares of flattened road kill under her
shoe, forced her to take a peek, just one, just so she would never
have to wonder again if those shoes needed to be burned.

It was a man’s wallet, black with soft, worn leather.
Relief pulsed through her as she swooped down and scooped it up,
surprised by its weight. She glanced around, hoping to catch sight
of the owner, but she was the only one there. Part of her wondered
if she should take it to the post office and leave it with them.
Maybe the owner would retrace their steps and return for it. She
started to turn back, even as her fingers flipped it open to the
flaps. No picture. No driver’s license. But there was enough cash
and credit cards to buy a small island. The thing was stuffed full
of fifties and hundreds. Nothing less than twenty dollars in bills,
no loose change here, and somehow, there was still room for a
packet of matches, a receipt from the post office for stamps and an
unwrapped condom in silver foil. Someone had tucked several
business cards to the same place into one of the slot.

Carefully, she withdrew one of the cards and read the
fine, loopy print. “Octavian Maxwell.” It was followed by an
address.

It surprised her that the address was on the same
stretch of highway as her house. More so, that she had never
noticed a turn off anywhere between her house and that place. She
wondered again if she should just leave it with the post office
clerk, but decided against it. It was on her way for one thing, and
for another, she doubted anyone who got their hands on all that
cash was going to return it. Hell, even she was tempted. There was
enough money to keep her afloat for months. It was enough to help
ease the load until she could find a job. Even a handful of the
bills would have been enough. But she’d lost money before and no
matter how much of it you had, losing any hurt. Besides, for all
she knew, this could be all the money the person had and they’d
been on the way to the bank or something. It could make all the
difference in that person’s life. It sucked, but she’d never be
able to sleep at night if she didn’t return it. She’d drop it off
and go home and sulk about the money she could have had.