Dying for Her: A Companion Novel (Dying for a Living Book 3) by Kory M. Shrum

Dying for Her: A Companion Novel (Dying for a Living Book 3) by Kory M. Shrum

Author:Kory M. Shrum [Shrum, Kory M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Timberlane Press
Published: 2015-04-06T22:00:00+00:00


Chapter 32

9 Weeks

I wipe the sweat off my brow and slide my palm against my damp jeans. “Gideon Bale is a comic book hero,” I tell Charlie’s body, throwing the last spade of dirt into the new grave. “I had to look it up.”

The crickets saw at their own legs, filling the night around me. I see the hearse coming up the road, headlights bouncing off the trees and grave markers around us.

“So you see, not only did I lie to you about why I left the army and why I came home,” I tell him. “I killed one brother and ruined the other.”

Kirk parks the hearse behind the Impala and gets out. In his hand is a large gray urn. Once he is close enough, he offers it to me. “Detective Smith.”

“Thanks,” I tell him and switch the shovel to my other hand so I can accept the container of ashes. “I’ll send this to his wife in Baltimore. Anonymously, of course.”

Kirk looks down at the grave. The smooth marker with a dove on each side of Charlie’s name, freshly chiseled. “It looks good.”

Charles Roebuck Swanson

Hero and Friend

April 10, 1952-October 15, 2012

My throat is tight but I manage some gratitude. “Thanks for ordering this and giving me the plot.”

“Not to be grim, but your grave is available again.” It sounds like a question.

“Not for long,” I say. He nods as if he knows this. Maybe Jackson told him already. “Have you gotten any closer to taking him out?”

“I’ve tried putting a bullet in his brain 23 times in the last six months alone,” I admit. How many rooftops and hotel rooms had I scouted? I couldn’t tell you. “Long range sniping mostly. The problem however is his AMP. I haven’t figured out how to kill a man who knows I’m coming.”

“By that logic, you would think you could save yourself,” he says, placing a hand in each of his suit pockets.

“Maybe,” I tell him because he is right. “Maybe I will.”



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