Reading books romantic stories you will plunge into the world of feelings and love. Most of the time the story ends happily. Very interesting and informative to read books historical romance novels to feel the atmosphere of that time.Brain Storm by Cat Gilbert (detective books to read .TXT) š
- Author: Cat Gilbert
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Book online Ā«Brain Storm by Cat Gilbert (detective books to read .TXT) šĀ». Author Cat Gilbert
I felt a pang of remorse for the parents I could barely remember and the family I would never have. Killed in a plane crash when I was seven, I remembered my parents only in bits and pieces of time. Sometimes I would catch a scent in the air that would stir my senses and take me back in time to memories otherwise forgotten. I might not have remembered a lot from back then, but what memories I had were good ones. Of laughter and love and a house full of joy.
Unfortunately, most of my childhood memories were of after the accident. Iād gone to live with my fatherās sister, Vivian, a woman I had never even heard of, much less met. She was a young, single woman focused on her career. She had no idea what to do with me, but there were no other options, no other family existed. That Vivian had appeared on the scene was nothing short of a miracle. If she hadnāt taken me in, I would have ended up a ward of the state.
To say it was a rocky relationship would be an understatement. Aunt Vivian had a firm set of rules and a firmer hand with punishment when those rules were broken. I had learned over time and some rather painful lessons, when to question and when to keep quiet, fearful but grateful to have a place to call home.
However lacking her parenting skills, she did have the funds to ensure that I never lacked for anything. I was sent to the best schools, had the best clothes, and went to the best places. She had given me everything she had, except the time and the love that I so desperately needed. The older I became, the less time we spent together, each of us going our own direction. By the time I went off to college, we had become strangers. I never saw her again after that. Didnāt really even hear from her except for the obligatory and stilted phone calls on holidays and birthdays.
Time passed, and then when I was 20, I got the phone call. Aunt Vivian was gone. Sheād suffered a massive coronary, and there had been nothing they could do. I flew back to arrange the funeral. Sold the house and most of the furniture, and donated her personal items to charity. There was nothing there I really wanted that belonged to her. I didnāt want to be reminded of my time there. The exception was my Grandmothers silver service. That belonged to me. I packed it in my suitcase and left, closing the door on the house and the memories it held. For the first time in my life, I was completely on my own, with no one to answer to. No one to judge me. Just me. Completely alone.
Five years later, I had gone to dinner with Trinity and found a new family. Mama D had taken me into the fold, and I had found a place to belong. A good place, full of laughter, acceptance and love. Now, as we pulled up to Mama Dās, I knew I had two to three days ahead of me of constant hovering, home-cooked meals and lots of tender loving care. I could hardly wait.
* * *
IT WAS RIGHT after breakfast on my second day there that Mama D led Jonas Hill into the kitchen.
āThis man says he knows you and needs to have a word,ā Mama D announced. āIs that so?ā
Mama D looked ready to toss Jonas out on his ear if I indicated that he wasnāt welcome, the thought of which, had me smiling as I assured her that I did indeed know him. She got him settled at the table with a cup of coffee and one of her famous homemade cinnamon rolls, before heading out to the garden to give us some privacy.
I hadnāt seen Jonas since our blow up at the hospital several days earlier. The guard he had posted at my door had disappeared sometime the next day. I wasnāt concerned. No matter how angry Jonas was with me, I knew he would never have called off the guard if he thought there was any danger. I had filled Trinity in on what had happened with Jonas, and she was as confused and frustrated as I was about what was happening. Iād had a lot of time to think about things while in the hospital. I still didnāt have any answers, but I thought I had a better grasp on things.
āI hope youāre here to tell me some good news,ā I started in while he lifted the roll, plate and all to his nose and inhaled deeply.
āYes, and no,ā he replied, finally taking a bite out of the roll. āWeāve just identified your friend Denzel from his prints. Records indicate heās one Marcus Adams out of Omaha.ā Jonas frowned as he stopped to take a sip of coffee. ā I donāt know about you, but Marcus didnāt impress me as having come in off the farm. I found him to be a little more uptown.ā
I nodded my agreement, wondering where this was going. The last time weād talked about Denzel, er, Marcus it hadnāt gone well and I had decided to keep quiet until I saw where Jonas was heading.
āThatās the good news. Bad news is, all we have is a name and a location. Nothing else.ā He finished off the roll and stood up. Strolling over to the window, he watched Mama D working the garden, obviously waiting for me to say something.
āA dead-end?ā I asked, not just a little confused. Jonas was good at his job, and I had no doubt that if there were information to be had, he would have found it.
āA big one. We have an identification, which I am almost certain is false, and a body, and thatās pretty much it.ā
I digested this while Jonas toured the kitchen and headed into the living room. Picking up my coffee, I followed him, mulling over the implications of Jonasās news in my head. Everyone has a past. Everyone leaves a paper trail. The fact that Marcus didnāt meant he had friends in high places. Someone who could make him disappear. I felt my muscles tense, as my gaze flew to the window, and the street beyond. Marcus Adams wasnāt working alone. Someone else was out there.
Picking up a Christmas photo taken a few years ago, Jonas held it up to me, chuckling, āDonāt you ever feel funny being the only white child in a black family?ā
āNo, I donāt, and shame on you for saying such a thing,ā I chided, taking the photo from him. He might have been joking, but it still bothered me, his tease being a reminder that prejudice still existed. He looked at the photo and saw the color. I looked at it, and all I saw was love. I had come for Christmas dinner and afterward we had set up the camera and taken a group photo. It had been a happier time then before Kevin had been killed. Before I had met Keith and lost him. We hadnāt known what the future held, but we had endured. We had supported each other through staggering heartache and loss and formed a bond that would last a lifetime.
Looking at the photo now, I realized this family of mine was in danger now. Marcus Adams worked for someone, and now Marcus was dead. If Marcus had been after me, I was willing to bet there was someone else already in place to step into his recently vacated shoes. Well great. Just great.
Jonas watched the emotions play over my face and reached out to take the photo from my hands.
āIāll drive you home,ā he said softly. I nodded and headed out to the garden to say my goodbyes.
JONAS NOT ONLY drove me home, but he came in and searched the place too. As he was looking in closets and under the bed, I found myself more and more concerned. Just in case he hadnāt noticed, I informed him his paranoia was freaking me out, which didnāt stop him from going out to check the balcony.
When he finally left, after ordering me to lock the door and set the alarm, I couldnāt have been more relieved. As nice as it was to be mothered and pampered by Mama D, there really was no place like home. Surprised at the thought, I headed into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
After Keith died, I was sure I would never have that feeling again. That wherever I lived, at the end of the day, it would always be a āplaceā, not a home. I was even more convinced when I sold the house that Keith and I had bought right after the wedding. We had furnished it ourselves, enjoying picking out the furniture together. I had lasted nearly six months after the funeral before
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