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A tangled tale of missing persons, lies, greed and murder.
Jack Carr believes in two kinds of time: his and real. He also believes in two kinds of chance: good and bad. Not sure who is writing the larger “script,” Jack weaves his way through a host of unsavory characters involved in kidnapping and body part trafficking, falling for an undercover agent in the process and setting both of them up for death.
“…is a nail-biter as you wonder what the hell is going to happen next and as the depth of criminality is revealed. It’s powerfully written…” — Author Juliet Waldron.
“Alcohol, sex, greed, and just plain nasty human habits are the gist of this first-person account about a newscaster, his love life, kidnapped children, and eviscerated organs. Readers who pick up this book will not be able to put it down.” – 4 Stars – Faith V Smith, Romantic Times
“…runs the gamut of emotions along with just the right amount of twists and turns designed to keep the reader twisting and turning -, and reading – As a serious writer, Rockey has the ability, as they might say in Tennessee, to “run with the big dogs,” when it comes to spinning the kind of yarn that could easily enter today’s bestseller list.” – Peggy Russell, THE HINCKLEY RECORD
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Chuck from Biloxi had made the contact with his ‘chinchilla’ supplier, Sonny ‘headshot’ Higgins, four weeks ago. After follow-up discussions, final delivery set, Chuck—medium height, maroon suit, open red shirt, gold necklace with a cross dangling in a chest of thick black hair, silver-tipped cowboy boots, white western Stetson hat—boarded his Gulf Stream 5.
An hour later, landed at Huntsville International Airport, a car waiting, he drove to a trailer park on the outskirts of Decatur, Alabama, parked and entered a rusty Airstream trailer.
‘Chinchilla’ supplier Sonny—beady black eyes darting about like a rat in a psychology maze experiment—nodded to a young girl sitting on a stained sofa.
Sonny sneered at the girl, “Stand up.”
Previously drugged by Sonny, the girl—around sixteen, 5 foot, shapely, dark brown eyes glazed, torn dress—stood.
Nothing more said, Chuck began probing the girl’s body with his index finger.
The girl, pliable, her ankles shackled, wobbled.
Finished poking her over, Chuck said, “Not bad.”
Trawl flashed a toothless grin and nodded toward a back bedroom, “Like ‘er, take ‘er now.”
Chuck handed Sonny an envelope. “Fifteen hundred. Start looking for another chinchilla, male or female, doesn’t matter, worth two grand.”