TO CELEBRATE THE ARRIVAL OF SAVING MOLLY,
SAVING CASEY IS 99 CENT FROM 7/1-7/7
WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY...
She's in great need of rescue.
Molly Brown always faces life with a smile, even when a frightening thug is intent upon killing her. At first, Detective Sean Cushing finds Molly’s cheery disposition unnatural, especially when he discovers the seriousness of her injuries. When she asks for police protection, he instead offers her a job and home being a nanny to his five-year-old daughter, hoping her cheery disposition can pull his child from her dark hole of misery. Never did he expect he’d be proposing marriage within a day, but life has a way of going in odd directions when Molly Brown is involved.
Detective Sean Cushing was returning to the police station from a shooting in Harlem. He should have been off the clock two hours ago, but he had the bad luck to get a triple homicide five minutes before his shift was over. It took the crime scene unit over an hour to arrive and he still had endless paperwork to complete before he could go home. He called Mrs. Williams, his babysitter, and told her he’d be home late.
The woman sighed heavily. “You can’t keep doing this. I’ve got a life, you know.”
He fought off his first response, which was ‘You sit in your house all day. How much of a life could you possibly have?’ and gave one that would ensure she’d still watch Eliza tomorrow and the day after. “I’ll pay you double.”
“I suppose I could cancel my plans,” she stated hesitantly. “But just this once.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Williams, I truly appreciate it.”
He hung up the cell phone and focused on the radio chatter to diffuse his anger. That the only neighbor within five miles would watch his daughter was a godsend. The fact she was making a fortune off of him was God’s fault. If He hadn’t let Jenna get cancer, Eliza would have a mother to care for her.
He recognized the radio dispatcher at once. Serena Jones had a distinctive voice with a great deal of attitude. “There is a young gal inciting tourists to make prank 911 calls. I ignored the first thirty calls, but this girl is jamming up the emergency lines and I want it stopped!”
Serena’s demand resulted in a lot of two-click responses over the airwaves, which equated to laughter and code responses asking for a description of the perp.
“Caller thirty-one says she’s a cute blonde. Caller thirty-two described a scary man about six-five, black bushy hair with a scar on his left cheek. So take your pick. Now there’s another caller. Will someone please get this girl off the streets?”
Sean Cushing almost smiled as he listened to the humorous patter on the radio. Not much could cheer him up these days. Not with his young daughter fading away right before his eyes.
Serena’s crisis was the first thing he’d found even vaguely amusing in a long time. Certainly better than the triple homicide he’d just left.
His mind had drifted back to the blood-covered Harlem kitchen when Serena lost her cool. “I’m now up to forty-one calls on this girl. If someone doesn’t pick her up soon, I’m calling the fire department.”
Liza O’Connor lives in Denville, NJ with her dog Jess. They hike in fabulous woods every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow. Having an adventurous nature, she learned to fly small Cessnas in NJ, hang-glide in New Zealand, kayak in Pennsylvania, ski in New York, scuba dive with great white sharks in Australia, dig up dinosaur bones in Montana, sky dive in Indiana, and raft a class four river in Tasmania. She’s an avid gardener, amateur photographer, and dabbler in watercolors and graphic arts. Yet through her entire life, her first love has and always will be writing novels.
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