Harleigh Sinclair and the Raiders of the Lost Ankh
Tamara Grantham
Getting confessions from notorious serial killers? Easy.Stealing priceless Egyptian artifacts? No problem.Doing it with a cocky, too-handsome-for-his-own-good bad boy? Impossible.My name is Harleigh Sinclair, and I’m a Neotact. That’s a fancy word for a person who has special powers using touch. My special power? I can touch a person, see into their mind, and find any object they’ve physically contacted. Comes in handy when you’re employed by San Antonio’s wealthiest entrepreneur who’s in the business of finding lost relics. However, my job description does come with a few hitches.
My most recent client is a man named Jagg Ransom. He’s arrogant and too attractive for his own good. My mission is to purchase an ancient Egyptian ankh from him and deliver it to my boss. Sounds easy, right?
But Ransom refuses to cooperate, so I have no choice but to break into his apartment and steal the location of the amulet from his mind. Bad idea. Like, really bad idea.I find out that this relic happens to be the relic that gave five percent of Earth’s population Neotact powers. I also learn that Ransom isn’t who he says he is, and I’m forced onto a path that will take me from my home in Texas to a hidden dungeon of a Scottish castle, and then into the heart of a deadly Egyptian desert. Finding the ankh is hard enough. Fighting my feelings for Jagg Ransom is worse.If I can’t find the ankh in time, not only will I be out of a job, but I’ll lose everything I value—including my own life.
—
EXCERPT:
I’m afraid of the usual: heights, snakes, dirty toilets. Crazy psycho serial killers? Maybe I should’ve been more afraid of them as I walked through the halls of San Antonio’s max security jail.
Detective Mendoza marched alongside me, her stilettos clicking with each step. Her penciled eyebrows didn’t flinch as she stared straight ahead. Generously applied makeup couldn’t hide the wrinkles lining her eyes or the creases around her mouth. She stayed quiet as we paced behind the guards, which clued me in to her current mood. Pure panic. Nothing else would’ve made her speechless.
Wild guess here, but I imagined trying to get a confession from Texas’s most notorious serial killer was a tad bit stressful.
Harsh lights gave the linoleum floors a sterile feeling. I had to suppress a shiver as we passed by the cells. Lean, hungry eyes fixated on me from behind the bars. One of the inmates, a bald man with a tattooed face, glanced at my hands. His eyes widened.
My red leather gloves creased as I flexed my fingers. I stifled the jolt of electricity coursing through my veins.
Yeah. Neotact here. Keep your distance.
I was used to the stares by now.
We reached a room barricaded by a steel door. Keys jangled as one of the guards unlocked the latch.
“I won’t force you to do this,” Mendoza said. “Leave now and I won’t blame you.”
“I’ll be fine.” After everything life had thrown at me, it took more than a little to scare me.
She gave me a shrewd glance. “I’ve already warned you about him. You know what’s at stake, and what he’s accused of…” She trailed off, and though unwanted, the bodies of the mutilated teens intruded on my memories. Beheaded. Their hands surgically removed. I took a deep, cleansing breath and pushed the images away. “Don’t let him get into your head whatever you do,” she finished.
I flexed my hands. “I’m not planning on it.”
“Fine.” Her eyes flicked to the door. “Just be careful in there, all right?”
“Aren’t I always?” I said with an overconfident smile.
She sighed with annoyance. “Sinclair, he’s not like the others. You understand that?”
I gave her my best stern glare. “I got it.”
Mendoza stood tall and ran a hand down a crease in her jacket, returning to her usual demeanor, all business in her navy suit, her hair pulled back in a tight bun with enough gel to make it shine. “I’m counting on you to get a confession. Otherwise, he walks.”
“Trust me, Mendoza. I got this.”
“You’d better.” She narrowed her eyes, then nodded to a guard, and he opened the door.
Through the open doorway, I spotted the prisoner.
Not that I was scared or anything, but this guy gave a serious creepy vibe.
A single bulb buzzed overhead. Metal clasps pinned his hands to the tabletop where he sat, and cuffs linked his ankles to chains bolted to the floor. Gray streaked his unwashed blond hair. Dark eyes peered from a pockmarked face, boring into me with a hatred I could feel from here.
Like I said. Creepy.
Author Bio:
Tamara Grantham is the award-winning author of more than a dozen books and novellas, including the Olive Kennedy: Fairy World MD series, the Shine novellas, and the Twisted Ever After trilogy. Dreamthief, the first book of her Fairy World MD series, won first place for fantasy in INDIEFAB’S Book of the Year Awards, a RONE award for best New Adult Romance, and is a #1 bestseller on Amazon with over 200 five-star reviews.
Tamara holds a Bachelor’s degree in English from Lamar University. She has been a featured speaker at multiple writing conferences, and she has been a panelist at Comic Con Wizard World speaking on the topic of female leads. For her first published project, she collaborated with New York-Times bestselling author, William Bernhardt, in writing the Shine series.
Born and raised in Texas, Tamara now lives with her husband and five children in Wichita, Kansas. She rarely has any free time, but when the stars align and she gets a moment to relax, she enjoys reading fantasy novels, taking nature walks--which fuel her inspiration for creating fantastical worlds--and watching every Star Wars or Star Trek movie ever made. You can find her online at www.TamaraGrantham.com.
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