Teaser Tuesday! Featuring Betty Carlton

Today's Teaser Tuesday is with Betty Carlton!

Enjoy!

Betty Carlton is a relatively new writer. Haling from the southern USA. Betty lives with her husband and their faithfully stubborn beagle. She has written three novels at Sizzler Editions, Mine Alone, The Kincaid Way and His Fifteenth Victim. Also on Amazon she has a couple of self-published works. She writes what she calls "a different type of romance story, which has been referred to as dark and irresistible, but always a Happy Ending." To repay the all the help and advice she received from other writers along the way Betty has started a blog called http://bettyandfriends-wip.blogspot.com/ where she showcases other authors and the new pieces they are working on.

Blurb:

His Fifteenth Victim: a story about Understanding.

Brad eliminated evil people. His fifteenth victim lined up in his scope’s cross hairs. The pieces did not fit and he needed to understand why.

Sandra would become his living victim instead, until all questions were answered. To save her life she needed to learn to trust him a hundred and ten percent. The easy way or the hard way he would see that she understood.

His Fifteenth Victim: a story about Forgiveness.

An accident results in a serious change of directions for them both. With new eyes, Brad discovers things making him question his own decisions about Sandra and himself. Is the one executing just or more evil than his targets? Who does the forgiving?

His Fifteenth Victim: a story about Love.

The excerpt:

Brad has already been paid and maneuvered Sandra's roommate to be out of town for a few days, so no one would be missing her right a way. He has picked the spot. Hiding in the weeds he waits:

For most people today was a perfect May day. Sunny and warm a get outside and enjoy the weather day. He picked the spot. It would happen at the intersection of Stillmore Road and Valley Lane.

She would need to stop at the stop sign there before turning onto Valley Lane. It was Tuesday and today was her night to get off early. He could expect her between five and five-thirty.

Just in case, she was early, he already was kneeling in the bushes and watching the road. When two vehicles came and neither not bothered to stop, he wished for a moment he was a police officer and could dispense tickets.

The quietness agreed with him. When no more vehicles came the birds began to chirp to each other again. Ten minutes later not having moved a muscle, he heard a car as it sped up the road toward the stop sign. It gave no indication it intended to stop either. The squealing brakes surprised him. He thought maybe the driver did not know the road and the stop sign surprised him.

The cry of pain from an animal made him stand up. The fool driver had hit a dog and sped away.

What kind of low-life hurts an animal and not stop to help it.

There in the middle of the road a golden-haired dog lay dying. The poor dog's body jerked a few times and flipped over dead. Before he could do anything another car came up the road. He ducked. It was her's.

He placed the rifle and aimed. The sound of brakes squealing again filled the air as she slammed her brakes on. He heard the thump as she rolled over the dog's body.

Through the rifle's scope he watched her stop the car and get out. She walked back to the dog in the middle of the road. She went over and touched him. Brad could hear her start to cry.

“Oh, doggy I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you.”

She apparently thought she was the one that killed the dog. And she began sobbing. She picked the dog up and stroked its head. She begged the dog's forgiveness. Struggling to stand with her burden she walked to her car's passenger door. The burden of the dog dead weight caused her to struggle, but finally she opened it. She placed the dog on the seat. When she stood back up: she was his.

The cross line of the scope was dead center. He had his shot. She sniffled. She still was crying. His finger cautiously let go of the trigger and he lowered the weapon. Something did not feel right. Moments later he watched her blue car turned right and moved down Stillmore Road out of sight.

He needed a new plan.

****

She never saw him. He followed her all day from the moment she left the apartment. While she drove to work, through her break, through lunch at the small diner on the corner, and through the trip home with the stop at the grocery stop where she purchased a rotisserie chicken for dinner, milk, and two rolls of toilet paper.

“No, no, no. Come on you stupid car.” She slammed her fist against the steering wheel as the vehicle slowed to a stop. She closed her eyes to block out the sea of red anger she felt as she continued to beat at the wheel.

Finally reason and balance returned. She was laughing at herself. Every one does it and it usually doesn't do a thing. But, she did it anyway. Getting out she moved to the front of the car and raised the hood.

“Yep, the motor's still there.” That statement was the total of her mechanical expertise. She knew an engine when she saw one.

“Can I...”

She screamed and turned. Then she burst out laughing.

“I'm sorry, you startled me. I didn't hear you come up.” With heart still racing she eyed him up and down hoping he was friendly.