Unrevealed (11 page)

Jane backed away from Courtney, giving the woman distance to vent. “You have the right to speak to an attorney,” Jane pressed on. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you — ”

Courtney ambled closer to the bar, still waving her arms in the air. “I can afford the best goddamned attorney in the state of Colorado!”

Jane heard the click of the bar's front door opening and two sets of soft footsteps issuing forth. Courtney seemed unaware of the swift visitors. Jane needed to wrap things up here quickly. Pulling her handcuffs from her back pocket, she slowly walked toward Courtney. “Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you, Courtney?”

Courtney turned toward the bar, her back to Jane. “Oh, it's clear, honey!” She looked at the butt of her gun poking from underneath her jacket. “Deliriously clear!” Courtney grabbed the gun off the bar and swerved back around, arm outstretched toward Jane.

Jane instinctively reached for her Glock but screamed to the two others, now hidden in the folds of darkness. “
No
! Hold your fire!”

But her order and the deafening sound of 9-millimeter rounds merged. Two rounds punctured Courtney's already blood-splattered turtleneck and the third entered the side of her neck, slamming Courtney's body against the bar.

“Her gun isn't loaded!” Jane yelled. “
Her gun is not fucking loaded
!”

Two cops wearing heavy vests emerged from the darkened corner of the bar. One of them approached Jane. “She pointed a fucking gun at you! How in the hell are we supposed to know it's not loaded?!”

“Suicide by cop,” the other officer mumbled.

Jane stared at Courtney. Her body slid from the bar onto the floor, her frail hand still clutching the toothless handgun. There was a sudden flutter of movement in her right eye. Jane quickly moved to Courtney. She knelt down beside her, cradling her head in one hand while pointlessly trying to stop the gush of blood from her neck with the other hand. A look of peace came over the dying woman as a thin smile crept across her pale, blood-laced face. She finally allowed the empty gun to slip from her hand. “Things aren't always what they seem, huh, Jane?” she stammered. As her eyes rolled back into her head, she whispered, “Lucky…lucky for me tonight…”

Courtney's death was called at 2:09 a.m. One by one, an onslaught of Denver PD reps and officers emerged from the shadows outside and filled the bar with their murmuring chatter. Jane stood back from the crush of suits and badges. Someone handed her a large cloth napkin to wipe Courtney's blood from her hand. She heard, “Sorry, Jane,” and, “The woman gave us no choice,” but their words fell like bricks.

Jane ducked outside the bar and stood under the crimson glare of Bloody Mary's neon sign. Lighting a cigarette, she took a deep drag, waiting for the nicotine to numb and grant her a few seconds of solitude. But the solitude never came. A gust of frosty wind brushed hard against Jane's body. She pulled her leather jacket tighter across her chest. The crunch of snow bit fangs of ice into her boots. A couple shots of Jack sounded so damn good at that moment. Yes, that would warm and soothe her twisting gut. But she was a recovering drunk, and she was standing there shivering outside of a bar after closing on a cold Denver night.

Things aren't always what they seem.

Hello readers,

 

I wanted you to be the first to know that you're going to meet a new character soon that is not connected to Jane Perry.

Hold on! Before you get concerned that I'm ignoring Jane, rest assured that she will reappear in the summer of 2012 with the fourth book in her series. But before that, there's a new woman in town who I think will capture your heart.

Her name is Betty Craven. Like Jane, she lives in Colorado (although she hails from Texas). She doesn't solve crimes or talk like a sailor, but, she is tough. She has to be for what she experiences in her story.

Why did I create Betty Craven? Just like Jane Perry, Betty's character came to me from my own life experiences. While I am not Jane Perry, I am also not Betty Craven. However, both of these women and I share aspects that I think a lot of other women can relate to.

Over the last twelve months, I turned fifty, my mother died, and I witnessed a lot of people around me desperately fighting for what they thought was important to them. Some of those people lost everything, including their will to live. Others opted to completely transform themselves and bravely stepped outside their protective boxes and lived life from a new and much more honest perspective. Because they allowed their belief systems to change, they found an exhilarating freedom they'd never encountered. As I watched this profound transformation, I found a provocative sense welling
up inside of me. A rebellion. A need to explore why I do what I do and think what I think.

I started asking myself the questions that I believe a lot of people start asking themselves when they realize they have more years behind them than in front of them. Am I happy? Are my belief systems based on my own reality or someone else's that I've blindly agreed to? Is life inherently tough or is it tough because you believe it has to be in order to succeed? Am I living my life too close to the vest? If so, is it time to rethink that? What are my greatest fears and how can I overcome them? These are only a few of the deep questions I posed to myself and ruminated on for quite some time.

And before long, Betty Craven was born. These themes and many others are featured in her story, which will probably be controversial to some readers who have fixed ideas. What Betty Craven does and why she does it, transforms her deeply and alters her life forever.

I hope that just as you have taken Jane Perry under your collective wings, you will also invite Betty Craven into your life. I know she's waiting to meet you.

 

Laurel Dewey

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

 

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Copyright © 2009, 2011 by Laurel Dewey

 

 

eISBN : 978-1-611-88024-3

 

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First Story Plant Paperback Printing: October 2011