FBI Field Office, Atlanta, Georgia
I've studied Chelsea since the FBI
teamed us up when I was twelve. She has a move…classic Chelsea. She turns the
doorknob and her body stiffens, a metal rod shoved down her spine. As she sets
a high heel inside the interrogation room, her southern accent and soft manners
are buried beneath a terrifyingly sleek, blond exterior in a perfectly pressed
pinstriped suit.
Four years of practice, two custom-cut
suits of my own, and I still look epileptic when I try to project that sense of
total control. Of I've got this. Even
though I don't have her drawl and my posture's not bad.
I follow Chelsea, stiff as can be, into
the room with the bright white walls. Our sicko suspect glances up from the
steel table in its center. I flinch at his chilling stare. Flinching already,
see. A slow smile bulges his cheeks as he studies me. Attention from a guy in
an orange jumpsuit sitting at a steel table—to which he is handcuffed—is what
Chelsea would officially term an undesirable
outcome. More undesirable—me showing I care. Like she always says,
"Don't let 'em see you sweat, hon."
No way am I giving this psycho the
satisfaction. I suppress a shiver as the air conditioning kicks on with a
groan. Tiny goosebumps break out on my forearms, raising the fine hairs to
attention. Can't rub myself warm—that's a tell. Instead, when Chelsea slides
into one of the fold-out metal chairs across from him, I follow her lead and
take comfort in her giraffe-like posture in the chair next to mine.
Chelsea tosses a manila folder so that
its contents spill across the table. The file details his alleged heinous
crimes, the FBI's efforts to track him, and the blood evidence in his garage
that matches that of the latest missing girl—Georgia State art major,
vegetarian, and more important to the suits, daughter of a local bigwig. Funny,
the things you remember from a file when they have nothing to do with the case,
like how she specialized in collages. They'd found cut-up pieces of magazines littered
across the desk and floor of her dorm room. The pieces trailed into the hall
like flower petals down a church aisle.
The strewn high-gloss photos of his
suspected victims—his own personal collage of the young, female, and carved—don't
solicit a cringe from him when I can barely hold down my water and I've been
staring at them for weeks. My gaze flickers to the one-way mirror—a silent
promise: We're gonna nail this freak.
"I'm FBI Agent Chelsea Tanner.
This is my partner. How are you this evening?"
This is normally when a suspect will
ask, with understandable outrage, why I'm party to the interrogation because
aren't I, at almost sixteen, too young to be in the FBI? Pinstriped suit or
not, I look my age, maybe even a year or two younger because I've always been
small—childhood malnutrition will do that to a girl.
It's the suspects who don't care that
I'm in the room who worry me. Like this guy, whose pale eyes flicker to my
throat.
I fight the urge to shift, even to
clench my fingers tight into a fist. I don't blink.
"Fine weather we're having this
winter." Chelsea manages not to smirk at our sitting in a windowless room.
Her face is unbreakable. "These are perfect skies for a getaway. Do you
have plans for the weekend?"
When he doesn't answer, she shares our
itinerary—a leisurely drive to Savannah to visit her mother at their family
wintering home. Yes, that's a thing. The trip always involves mint juleps and
wide-brimmed hats, not that Chelsea shares the finer details. A genteel
background rarely earns cred with criminals.
She chit-chats as if he's not imagining
the slice of his boning knife into my neck. The careful incision he would carve
against the clavicle, removing the flat bone from the ligaments attached to the
shoulder. I don't need my unique magic to know what's on his mind. Some things
in the case file stick for a reason.
My bone structure fascinates him. His
gaze caresses my cheekbones, roams over the bridge of my nose, dips into the
hollow of my neck, and brushes the stray dark corkscrew curls that drape over
my sternum.
Don't
move. Don't blink. Don't even breathe.
Book &
Author Details:
Drawn by Cecilia Gray
Publication date: November 13th 2013
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult
Publication date: November 13th 2013
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult
Synopsis:
Take
a journey into the gritty world of political espionage through the eyes –
and lies – of one extraordinary girl. A wholly original tale of friendship
and betrayal from the author of The Jane Austen Academy series….
Sasha has a secret – that she can make you spill your secret with nothing more than a question. Her strange gift makes her a burden to her foster family and a total freak of nature. Not that Sasha cares. Why should she when no one cares about her?
Then the CIA knocks on her door. They want to give Sasha a new identity and drop her into a foreign country to infiltrate a ring of zealous graffiti terrorists. They want to give Sasha something to care about.
To survive a world where no one is who they seem, Sasha needs to make people trust her. But when that trust blossoms into love, Sasha is forced to decide between duty and friendship, between her mind and her heart, and whether to tell the truth or keep her secrets.
Sasha has a secret – that she can make you spill your secret with nothing more than a question. Her strange gift makes her a burden to her foster family and a total freak of nature. Not that Sasha cares. Why should she when no one cares about her?
Then the CIA knocks on her door. They want to give Sasha a new identity and drop her into a foreign country to infiltrate a ring of zealous graffiti terrorists. They want to give Sasha something to care about.
To survive a world where no one is who they seem, Sasha needs to make people trust her. But when that trust blossoms into love, Sasha is forced to decide between duty and friendship, between her mind and her heart, and whether to tell the truth or keep her secrets.
Purchase:
AUTHOR
BIO:
Cecilia Gray lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where
she reads, writes and breaks for food. She also pens her biographies in
the third person. Like this. As if to trick you into thinking someone
else wrote it because she is important. Alas, this is not the case.
Cecilia has been praised for “instilling a warmth and weight into her characters” (Romancing The Book Reviews) and her books have been praised for being “well-written, original, realistic and witty” (Quills & Zebras Reviews).
Her latest series of young-adult contemporary Jane Austen retellings was named a What’s Hot pick (RT Book Reviews magazine) and is a Best of 2012 pick (Kirkus Reviews) where it was praised for being a “unique twist on a classic” and offering “a compelling mix of action, drama and love.”
She’s rather enamored of being contacted by readers and hopes you’ll oblige.
Cecilia has been praised for “instilling a warmth and weight into her characters” (Romancing The Book Reviews) and her books have been praised for being “well-written, original, realistic and witty” (Quills & Zebras Reviews).
Her latest series of young-adult contemporary Jane Austen retellings was named a What’s Hot pick (RT Book Reviews magazine) and is a Best of 2012 pick (Kirkus Reviews) where it was praised for being a “unique twist on a classic” and offering “a compelling mix of action, drama and love.”
She’s rather enamored of being contacted by readers and hopes you’ll oblige.
Website: http://www.ceciliagray.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ceciliagray
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ceciliabooks
Grand prize giveaway
Prize (open internationally):
--50 $ Gift Card to book retailer of their choice
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