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eBook Category: Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: She seemed to have it all-a wealthy family, a to-die-for job as a political columnist, and a front row seat at the upcoming Democratic National Convention. Beauty, brains, and a blossoming career have catapulted Brit Nevins to the top of her world. In the presence of the national candidates and their staff, Brit begins to experience vivid images of sex, violence and finally murder. The unwelcome and embarrassing imagery is threatening her entire existence. Even worse, these "visions" are not of her own life! The very people she is supposed to be interviewing, the celebrity ticket for the highest offices in the land, are hiding something sinister. Their secrets are emerging, unbidden, through Brit's subconscious mind. Her race to expose them before they can silence her involves a dangerous game that will tear apart the Democratic National Ticket--and once again end in murder.

eBook Publisher: Atlantic Bridge, Published: Atlantic Bridge, 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2004

4 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.2 MB], eReader (PDB) [258 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [247 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [217 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [240 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [257 KB], hiebook (KML) [563 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [332 KB], iSilo (PDB) [203 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [251 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [304 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [329 KB]
Words: 76665
Reading time: 219-306 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1-59578-010-6

Prologue

September, 1972

By the time Tina Williams opened the passenger's door to leave the car, the windows were fogged all around. Early September in New Jersey was always humid, and this night was no exception. They had been talking for some time, and in the heat of conversation, neither had noticed that the chilled interior of the air-conditioned car had caused all the windows to be covered in condensation.

The girl leaving the car was striking, even though at this moment she was still crying. She was tall and willowy, obviously very fit, and her clothing, damp and wrinkled though it was, had a fitted elegance concealing the fact that she was a college student. Her dark hair was clipped short and worn away from her face, and her makeup, smearing now because of the tears, had once been expertly applied.

She closed the car door gently and stepped away, over the curb and onto the grass. There were no sidewalks here--she would have to walk in the street. She realized then that she was some distance from her own car. It had been left in front of the Shop Rite store, and they had driven away together in this car. The idea had been to find a quiet street, so the foot traffic to and from the supermarket would not interfere with their talk.

She sniffed once more, wiping her nose and eyes with a tissue that was already well used, and looked around for landmarks to guide her back to her car. She recalled now that they had driven for several minutes away from the supermarket, and she shrugged, accepting that she was at least a mile from her own vehicle.

The damp night air settled over her like a shroud, wilting her clothes even more. She would take a long shower once she got back to the dorm on campus at Rutgers. At this hour, she would have the bathroom to herself, and she could wash away all the day's troubles.

She had gone only about fifty feet when she heard the car's engine rev up and saw the headlights light her way. She moved to the side of the road, aware that the street light far ahead of her would be the only light after the car went by.

She heard the big engine roar, as it was revved up again, and she stepped up onto the curb to let it pass.

But the car accelerated for only a few feet, engine roaring, and then stopped, still about thirty feet behind her.

She was annoyed by this game. It was so juvenile. They'd each had their say, and even though the talk had become heated at times, there was no real anger there. Just sadness that something special was over.

At least that's how she felt.

She stepped back into the street and set off smartly down the road, setting a pace that would have her back at her own car in less than fifteen minutes. When she walked beyond the reach of the headlights, she heard the engine rev up again. This time, she spun around and faced the vehicle, angry at the childish game now, ready to end it before one of the homeowners called the police about the noise.

She put her hands on her hips and stared defiantly at the car, now a good seventy-five yards away. The car's high beams came on then, and again the engine was revved up.

The car accelerated rapidly, and by the time it hit her, it was going forty miles an hour and still gaining speed.

Her body was flipped up by the car's front, hitting the windshield, then glancing off toward the grass. There was no scream, no sound at all except the thuds of the double impact.

The car instantly braked, and then backed up until it was parallel to the crumpled, bleeding body just beyond the curb. It stayed there for perhaps a minute, and then slowly drove away.

It was more than an hour later that a local resident, a hospital technician on her way home from the second shift at Freehold Regional Hospital, saw the body. By then, the lifeless body of Tina Williams was already getting cold and stiff.

The funeral was heavily attended. The mourners, mostly students from the University, had filled the Rutgers Chapel, and now were filing past the closed casket at the Holmdel cemetery.

Most were dressed in everyday school clothes, having elected to attend the service and miss as little class time as possible. Many of them knew Tina Williams only from her campus posters. It was a huge university, after all, and even campus leaders did not know everyone. She had run for student council, first unsuccessfully as a sophomore, and then, at the center of a highly contested campaign, successfully as a junior. Her good looks had drawn some of the more callow boys to her cause, but far more of the students were attracted to her radical anti-war stance. It was perfect for the times, and she had scored a big victory in the junior campaign. The anti-Vietnam mood at Rutgers had been late developing, years behind the Berkeley protesters, but once started, it flourished.

Tina had won again as a senior, her rhetoric becoming more and more fiery as she developed her themes. Yet for all the public posturing, she had remained a serious student of political science, maintaining close to a 4.0 grade point average.

Graduate School had been a foregone conclusion. Tina would complete her studies for a Ph.D. within 3 years.

During the last national campaign for the presidency she had been a willing volunteer worker in the McGovern effort, dividing her time between campus life in New Brunswick and traveling with the advance organizers throughout New Jersey. To most, she seemed a tireless worker, willing to take on any task asked of her.

There were several of her volunteer co-workers at the funeral. Most were young, in their early twenties, but a few appeared to be older, including one or two of the higher-ups in the Democratic Party in New Jersey. They were well dressed, aggregating off by themselves, staying aloof from the students. It was clear they were eager to be away from this event, but they were also very conscious of the press and TV cameras that had been set up in the cemetery. Like all politicians, they gravitated toward those cameras like moths to a light.

Off to the side of the main body of students, in another small cluster, stood a group of Tina's fellow political science grad students. They were a mixed crowd, some properly attired in dark business clothing, others wearing khakis and dress shirts. They, too, were quiet. Tina Williams had been a popular girl, bright and fully engaged with her life. Her violent death, by a hit and run driver on a dark street in Freehold, had sobered them. Each tried to make small talk to get through the final stage of the funeral.

On the edge of this group, slightly apart, yet clearly part of the student population, stood a handsome couple, the Andrews. Both were tall and athletic looking. The man, well over six feet and boyishly handsome, wore his hair short and well trimmed, in stark contrast to his fellow students, who had adopted the long haired look so popular in the early seventies. He wore a dark suit and white dress shirt. He was conscious of his conservative appearance, which was in sharp contrast to the polyester outfits of some of his fellow students.

The woman, a dark haired beauty with long straight hair and the clear complexion of a model, also wore black. They stood close to each other, holding hands, their faces solemn. They had been married to each other for three years.

"So how come this new love of her life isn't here? I would have thought he'd be right up front, with her mother." It was the woman speaking, her voice strained, almost angry. "God damned men. Why the hell isn't he here now?"

The man was used to moderating his wife's anger. "He probably is. We've never seen him before, and she never told us his name, so we wouldn't know if he's here or not. Maybe he's with that group from the campaign staff over there. Not like her to keep secrets from us."

The woman gave him a scathing look, one that would have wilted a man less confident than her husband. "Not like her, my ass! She kept secrets all the time. We've been best friends with her for three years, and we don't know half of what went on in her personal life. You of all people should know she was secretive. Don't get me started on that subject again, OK?"

He put his arm around her shoulders and held her close, partly for comfort and partly to prevent her from continuing her rant. "Calm down, Lorraine. This isn't the time. Come on, let's pay our last respects and leave."

Standing a dozen yards away, all alone, a woman who looked to be a contemporary of the Andrews tried to gain control of her emotions, but it was a losing battle. She had left in the middle of the chapel service, unable to control her violent sobs. She wanted desperately to join the others as they filed past the casket and placed flowers on it, but she did not trust herself to do so without breaking down again.

Finally, one of the teaching assistants, a young man in his late twenties who had known Tina and everyone else in her class, broke loose from the crowd and went to the sobbing woman's side.

He spoke to her for a few moments, then handed her his handkerchief and, arm around her shaking shoulders, guided her past the open grave and out toward the waiting cars.

The last man to pass by the bier was well known to all the political science majors at Rutgers. He was something of an icon to them, a former Rutgers student who had already, at twenty-nine, made a huge impact on New Jersey Democratic Party politics. He was now a state senator, and those who knew Tom Poole well regarded him as a 'wunderkind', a boy wonder who might someday take his place on the national political scene.

As the others from the campaign watched from a distance, Tom Poole stood silently at the casket for a few moments, then placed his red rose alongside the others.

When he joined his group again, they immediately moved off toward their cars together.