Timeless Treasures

Timeless Treasures
Stories of the Heart
October 15tth, 2014
Amazon USA

Medal of Honor in Timeless Treasures ~ Stories of the Heart

When a Chicago surgeon is informed her homeless father has been murdered, she’s shocked to discover he won the Medal of Honor years ago in Vietnam. Now the killer has her in his sights, but the detective on the case has no intention of letting anyone hurt her. Ever.
Two days before Christmas, a burned-out Chicago detective adds a new homicide to the pile of active cases on his desk—a homeless man gunned down in an alley. The case hits him hard when he discovers the victim is an Army vet and a Medal of Honor recipient. He and the victim’s estranged daughter have to work fast to find the killer, because she’s next on his kill list. As they investigate the murder, they discover their fathers served together in Vietnam and they share the same Native American heritage. This warrior and medicine woman will need a miracle to evade the evil stalking them, but during the season of love, anything is possible.

Excerpt:

Dead men tell no tales, but this guy wasn’t done talking yet.

Chicago detective George Eaglefeather crouched next to the homeless man struggling to breathe on the ground of a dank, dark alley. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth caught and shadowed the weak street light fifty feet or so away, making him look washed out and skeletal. Thinning hair, long and limp, and a scraggly beard made it almost impossible to distinguish his facial features. He could have been anywhere from sixty to one hundred and ten years old.

“No, no. Ali, I’m sorry.” The words were garbled and slurred. There was blood all over the guy’s clothing and the ground underneath him.

“Sir,” George said, grabbing the man’s bloody hand. “Who did this to you?”

The grip on George’s hand was strong enough to make him wince.

“Tell Allison I’m sorry.” Frothy blood bubbled out of his mouth and dribbled down the side of his chin. He tried to lift his head, but it only wobbled before gravity brought it back to the alley’s oily asphalt.
Goddamn it, no one deserved to die like this, as if he were another piece of garbage tossed aside with a casual cruelty he’d seen far too much of this past year. “Who’s Allison?” George asked, putting his face in the man’s line of sight.

Instead of answering, the homeless man shoved a paper bag at him.

George took it and glanced down at the crumpled mess. When he raised his head, the homeless man was dead, his eyes fixed on a point the living couldn’t see.

Shit. Who the hell was Allison? Wife? Mother? Daughter? The waitress at his favorite diner?
He looked the body over. The victim was probably wearing three or four layers of clothing, all of it crusted in dried mud and torn like he’d been hiding in a hole in the ground. He reeked of sweat, smoke, and human filth.

Murder was a dirty business. That this one took place three days before Christmas added an extra level of grime. Christmas was a time to show your fellow man mercy and forgiveness, but there was no mercy in this crime. The victim had nothing of value. Why kill him?

The callousness of the killing started a slow burn under George’s skin. Didn’t people have better things to do than kill each other? You know, like donate money to a shelter or toys to kids?

Behind him, the fading wail of an ambulance echoed down the alley and the lights of the vehicle bounced off the cement walls of the surrounding buildings.

George stood and faced the paramedics running toward him. “Sorry, fellas.” Did he sound as tired as he felt? As disgusted? “This one is destined for the morgue.”

“Great. Why didn’t you radio it in?” one of them asked.

“He just passed.” With no one at his side besides a burned-out detective who had been shocked into giving a shit for the first time in months. “Poor bugger.”

Grumbling, the paramedics walked their gurney back to their vehicle, passing two uniformed cops on their way in.

“Hey, Feather,” one of them said. “What have we got… Whoa, what a stench.” He stopped and took a couple steps back.

“He’s a murder victim,” George told them. Where was their respect for the dead? “I was eating at the sushi place right across the street. Two shots and I was out the door, but the perp was already gone, and the victim was still breathing.”

“Mugging gone wrong?”

“I don’t think so.” George clenched the paper bag tighter in his hand. “Someone named Allison was important enough to make her name almost his last word.”