The Silver Cross
There are two things Boston detective Lacey Gardner knows about killing vampires. Slicing off a head or a hit directly to the heart are the only surefire ways to kill one. Silver is their Achilles heel. A vampire never wears silver. When she meets bartender extraordinaire, Damon Harte, her heart does a quickstep for the dark hunky guy. She's learned the hard way that having a love interest in her line of work can be heart-wrenching. She's kept to herself for years, but something about Damon captivates her and draws her to him. When she learns Damon's devastating secret, she knows what she has to do: kill the man who has stolen her heart.Purchase now on Amazon.
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Now for the Excerpt:
The Silver Cross by Debra L Martin & David W Small
Excerpt:
Damon
Harte looked up as the last of the regulars left the bar. It was two in the
morning and had been a long night. He still gave them a warmhearted smile and wave,
knowing they would be back the next night.
Damon’s
bar, The Phoenix, was a popular watering hole in Dorchester. The place boasted
two pool tables, a couple of dartboards, and a dozen small tables around a
fairly large-sized dance floor. The bar also had a grill and deep fryer in the
back that Damon kept for the never-ending orders of burger and fries his
patrons seemed to live on. He intentionally hired local bands to play at night,
making the bar even more popular with the young crowd. The low prices of the
drinks, the entertainment, and the atmosphere attracted both the working class
of the surrounding neighborhoods and the nearby university students. The bar
was located on a side street off Columbia Road, and seemed to be crowded every
night of the week.
He
was cleaning up and stacking the shot glasses when he heard the front door open
again. “Sorry, we’re closed for the night.”
“Maybe
you can stay open for a little while longer.”
Damon
sighed as he recognized the voice of Charlie Reno, a street informer of the
lowest caliber. Charlie peddled tidbits to everyone and anyone for the right
price. He was known to play both ends against the middle, selling information
to interests on both sides of the fence. Most of what he sold was
untrustworthy, useless drivel, but occasionally he produced something
worthwhile.
At
one point in his life, Charlie had worked for Damon. He’d been a feeder in his
younger years, but like all vampire feeders, the time came when he had to stop
or be permanently addicted, both physically and psychologically, to the high he
experienced when he was feeding a vampire. Damon had to forcibly cut him off
from the feeding den because Charlie didn’t care if he became hooked or not. He
had the type of addictive personality that would make it hard to quit anything
no matter what it was. It was something that Damon regretted not seeing before
he signed Charlie on. Now Charlie used his previous role to his advantage in
peddling information to the highest bidder, either to Boston’s vampire
community, the police department, or both.
Damon
looked up to see him standing just inside the doorway, ready to bolt at the
first sign of trouble. Charlie was a slight, balding man of average height who
seemed to have a perpetual hunch in his stance. Damon didn’t like the man
because of their previous history, but more so because of the business he was
in now – selling information. Unfortunately, in Damon’s line of business, he
could not afford to ignore a potential source with an ear close to the streets
no matter how shady the informant was. Damon always needed informants, and
though Charlie’s information was usually straight out of the sewers, he was
still a source.
This better be good.
“What
do you want, Charlie?” Damon asked, trying his best to keep the annoyance out
of his voice.
Charlie
sidled up to the bar and spoke to Damon in a conspirator’s whisper. “I got some
info that’s worth plenty to you. No one knows about this yet, but it will hit
the fan soon enough.”
“So
what makes you think I care? If this ‘news’ of yours is coming out anyway, why
would I pay for it now?”
“Cause
it’s something that’s related to your kind, that’s why. Gimme two bills and I’ll
tell you everything I know,” Charlie said.
“Tell
me what you know and if it’s worthwhile, then I’ll give you fifty.”
“Damn
man, a guy has to eat, ya know. How am I gonna support my family if you keep
going cheap on me? I got a wife and kids depending on me.”
Damon
sent an icy stare Charlie’s way. “You’re not married and you have no kids.
You’re a street rat whose information is not usually worth the time it takes to
spill your guts. Now either talk or get out, choice is yours,” he said.
“All
right, all right, I’ll tell you. Gee man, don’t get all riled up.”
Charlie
wasn’t about to fool around with Damon. Not only was Damon a member of the Nightlife, but he also stood 6’2” with
large, broad shoulders and the muscular arms of a professional weightlifter. He
wore his long, black hair tied back in a ponytail that highlighted the sharp
angles of his hawk-like features and dark, fathomless eyes. When he was angry,
he had an unnerving way of looking right through a person as if he was sizing them
up as his next meal, which Charlie knew may or may not be true. Damon was a
genuine badass, and while that may be attractive to his female clientele, it
had quite the opposite effect on anyone who crossed him.
###
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