Hearts of Aphra

By Glenda Norwood Petz

At 3:15 a.m., the ear-splitting alarm sounded. Seconds later, the blinding white light appeared. When it was over, five hundred Antelope Creek, Arizona residents lay dead, their remains a ghostly shade of white, their bodies completely bloodless.

Survivors are left stunned by the strange phenomena. They're scared and want answers that no one is able to provide. Not the CDC, WHO, or the EPA. This leads many of the residents to create their own theories about what transpired in their town.

Old Jedediah Hodges swears that aliens are to blame. Maizie Guthrie is convinced that the Rapture has taken place. Jimmy Ray Wheeler believes it's a Russian nuclear attack. Others worry that a deadly plague has been released upon the world, destined to eradicate humankind.

There's just one problem with those hypotheses.

They're all wrong.

The extraordinary truth is uncovered inside the bodies during post-mortems, and the reality is beyond what anyone could've ever envisioned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tiger Eye Publications
• Release date: Jun 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227128966

Glenda Norwood Petz

Native South Floridian now residing in Clarksville, Indiana.

Book preview

Hearts of

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Aphra

GLENDA NORWOOD PETZ

All rights reserved.

Copyright© Glenda Norwood Petz, 2024

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photostat, microfilm, xerography, or any other means, or incorporated into any information retrieval system, either electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the copyright owner.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Other titles by Glenda Norwood Petz:

A Requiem for Revenge

Ghost Girl

Hurricane

The Punishment Room

The Children In the Woods

Dream Weavers

The Fall of Autumn’s Becoming

Apollyon’s War

Welcome to Cowbell, Daniel Chesterfield

We’re All Dead Here

A Killing of Sparrows

The Meadows

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Manufactured and published in the USA, 2024

Published by Tiger Eye Publications, LLC, Indiana, USA

Cover Design by Canva

The Rapture ©

Written by Glenda Norwood Petz

This book is dedicated to everyone who’s ever been misunderstood, bullied, ridiculed, or ostracized because of their beliefs or lack thereof, or for questioning what they’ve been conditioned to believe and wanting answers for what they don’t understand. Don’t ever stop searching for those answers or believing in yourself!!!

‘Round and ‘round the earth spins…if it stops, nobody wins.

Stop the world, I wanna get off!

Chapter 1

Home of Maizie Guthrie

Chihuahuan Desert, Ten Miles Outside of Antelope Creek, Arizona

Population: 8

Monday, August 18th

5:30 p.m.

Maizie Guthrie stepped onto the porch of her desert adobe home and lit a cigarette. She didn’t have to continue her usual routine of going outside to enjoy a smoke. It was more out of habit than anything else. No one was around anymore to tell her she couldn’t smoke inside the house. It was forbidden while Willie was there. He’d been a smoker at one time, too, until respiratory disease and his doctors forced him to quit. But Willie didn’t live there anymore. He went away and left her all alone. Regardless, as long as she continued to engage in her habit, she’d smoke outside, no matter how damn hot the desert was. At least the walls wouldn’t turn yellow with nicotine nor would the furniture reek of stale cigarette smoke. She didn’t know why she hadn’t given up the nasty, foul-smelling addiction at the same time Willie had, but he was the one with bum lungs, not her. She delighted in it, liked the way the menthol tasted. She hadn’t quit because she didn’t want to. Sometimes she swore her habit was the only thing that kept her from going completely insane.

Taking a long draw and blowing out a trail of bluish white smoke, Maizie directed her attention to the eastern sky. Dark clouds were building on the horizon. In the distance, a bolt of jagged lightning streaked across the sky. The atmosphere felt electric and menacing, as though the approaching storm intended to rain hell down upon the earth.

She’d only lived in Arizona for nine months, long enough to know that monsoon season produced torrential rainstorms. Because of the impermeable soil, heavy rainfall frequently resulted in dangerous flash flooding that was powerful enough to wash away anything and anyone in its path. Since the local weather station hadn’t issued any warnings yet for the area, she wasn’t overly concerned.

There was a slight chill in the air, and a peculiar scent. The kind of smell that usually came after an electrical storm, not before one. God knows the desert could use the rain. The dry and cracked clay proved how arid the ground was.

As she did every evening, she came outside to enjoy the magnificent western sunset. In Arizona, they were painted with the most magnificent shades of pink, purple, and blue. Sunsets were the only enjoyment left there for her, but she couldn’t leave. She had nowhere else to go. Certainly not back to Alabama. They sold their home in Collinsville to move west. With no children or family to turn to in her time of need, staying in Arizona was her only option. This was her home now, and she needed to make the best of it. Even if it meant doing it alone.

Relocating to Arizona hadn’t been a spontaneous decision. It’d taken her and Willie months to finally take the advice of his pulmonologist and rheumatologist, both of whom had proclaimed that a drier, warmer climate would be beneficial for his rheumatoid arthritis and late-onset asthma. She would’ve moved to the North Pole if it meant keeping him healthy and alive.

How ironic and cruel that they’d moved thousands of miles away from home and friends, hoping the change would improve and prolong his life, only to have him succumb to a deadly disease five months after settling in. If she’d known beforehand how common the illness was in Arizona, she would’ve encouraged Willie to move elsewhere. Maybe Texas or New Mexico. How could she have known anything about the infection when she’d never even heard of it? She wasn’t a doctor, and the two who’d suggested they move away hadn’t mentioned a word about it. Maybe they’d never heard of it, either. That’s doctors for you, thinking they know everything because they have degrees.

So much for moving west to better his health, she sighed, watching an enormous tumbleweed cartwheel down the dirt road in front of her home.

In the nine months she’d lived there, she’d made no friends. When Willie became deathly ill and bedridden, all of her time and attention was devoted to caring for him. For the first time in her life, she was on her own. And it was hard. Harder than she could’ve ever imagined. Occasionally, she got overwhelmingly lonely being isolated way out there in the desert.

With no one to talk to or vent her frustrations to, she forced herself to find alternative ways to keep herself busy and not dwell on obsessions she couldn’t change. Reading books and magazines, crafting and sewing, watching television, or piecing together jigsaw puzzles. All of which were enjoyable every once in a while but going through the same routine day in and day out quickly became boring and monotonous.

What she needed was to find a job and go back to work. She couldn’t live off savings and the payout from Willie’s life insurance forever.

In a small town like Antelope Creek, jobs were scarce, not like back home where she could be in downtown Gadsden in fifteen minutes where scores of jobs awaited the right applicant to come along.

At forty-two, she considered herself young and skilled enough to qualify for office work. She left a high-paying executive position to move to Arizona, so she was more than competent enough to be a secretary or office manager. It was simply a matter of pursuing employment, a task she’d yet found the desire to do. Widowed for only four months, she was still in the mourning phase.

Not having a mortgage payment was a tremendous help financially. With the money they made from the sale of their home in Collinsville, they cleared enough of a profit that it allowed them to pay cash for the two-bedroom desert home with enough left over to start building a nest egg for their retirement. A lot of good that did.

She wasn’t in a hurry to rejoin the rat race. A job could wait another month or two.

Some days, she felt the urge to walk deep into the desert and scream at the top of her lungs. She would, too, if she weren’t so scared of drawing the attention of all the critters that lived there. Some that were deadly to humans. The desert was full of bugs, lizards, snakes, and other creatures that mostly came out after dark. Nocturnal is what Willie called them. Night hunters. Occasionally, a stray found its way inside the house, only to be quickly put back out by Willie. She refused to touch them. What would she do now if a snake or lizard got into the house? Willie wasn’t there to shield her from them. If one of the vermin found its way inside, which she prayed didn’t happen, she’d have to beat the shit out of it with her broom then ask for forgiveness for killing one of God’s creations. Asking for forgiveness is sometimes better than asking for permission. Especially when requesting approval to murder poisonous desert animals.

Of all the wildlife and reptiles indigenous to the desert, scorpions were undoubtedly her worst fear. Before relocating to Arizona, she’d never seen a real one. Now, she saw them nearly every day. In the yard, on dirt mounds in the empty lot next to the house, and in the street. She shuddered when she recalled how terrified she’d been the first time she saw one skittering across the kitchen floor, its tail curled over its body, stinger poised and prepared to strike. Willie assured her as he laughed and swept it out the back door that it was more afraid of her than she was of it.

Bullshit, she muttered.

It was difficult to fathom how a creature so small could deliver a sting of death by injecting a minute amount of poisonous venom into its enemy, but she knew they could. She’d seen it for herself shortly after she and Willie moved into the house. While walking the perimeter of the property trying to decide the best location for Willie’s garden, he called her attention to a battle being fought between a scorpion and a rattlesnake.

This is like watching the smallest ant in the world with an erection yelling for someone to raise the drawbridge, she laughed. That tiny thing has an ego problem. It has to know that it doesn’t stand a chance against a rattler.

Wanna bet? Watch and see.

Willie was right. After a brief and furious confrontation, in a miraculous turn of events that only nature understood, the scorpion outmaneuvered the rattler and stung the snake between its eyes. The rattler immediately started flailing around on the ground, twisting and turning, did a couple of somersaults, and then it was dead. Just like that.

A cool gust of wind wafted through the open porch, carrying with it the distinct stench of ozone. Wooden blades on the old windmill near the corner of the house screeched to life, spun a half circle, then stopped.

Maizie pulled her sweater tight across her chest. She wasn’t cold, but it made her feel safe and secure, like being wrapped in the shelter of Willie’s tender embrace.

Either the atmosphere had a peculiar aura about it, or her imagination was working overtime from thinking about her dead husband and fretting over poisonous scorpions. Yet that wouldn’t explain the uncomfortable feeling that suddenly gripped her with its cold and clammy hands.

By no means was she a psychic. Nor did she have visions or premonitions. For whatever reason, she sensed an apprehension that foretold the coming of a darkness cloaked by the cover of nightfall. It was hidden in the ominous black clouds, lying just beyond the horizon.

Maybe the coming downpour would be forceful enough to wash away the garden she despised. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at it. Vegetable gardening had been Willie’s pet project. Disregarding the boiling, dangerous heat, he spent day after day toiling and tilling the land to make room for his precious tomatoes, carrots, and cucumbers. She’d constantly badgered him about protecting his skin, pleading with him to wear a hat, sunglasses, and gloves to lessen his chances of developing skin cancer or dying from heat stroke. Although the garden was the culprit behind his death, cancer nor the sun played a part in it.

He contracted Valley Fever after handling desert soil contaminated with the fungus. Without protection to cover his nose and mouth, the fungal spores easily found their way into his body through his airway, infecting his lungs, liver, and lastly, his brain.

The emergency room doctor told her that hundreds of cases are reported every year. His prediction for Willie’s fate was grim. Survival for those infected is extremely low, even with aggressive anti-fungal treatments. The key to avoiding an infection, the doctor told her, is by getting vaccinated against the disease. Once a person contracts it, the chances of survival are unlikely. She learned much too late that there is no cure for Valley Fever.

Not a day went by that she didn’t scold herself for not getting him to the emergency room sooner. Instead of allowing Willie to incessantly refuse to seek medical attention by swearing he was suffering from a nasty summer cold, she should’ve been more forceful and demanded that he go. If she had, Willie might still be alive.

A dust devil danced across the lawn, picking up small pebbles and gravel, then slinging them aside as though it was dissatisfied with their taste.

The angry looking clouds were moving westward, advancing towards Antelope Creek. By nightfall, the entire area would be blanketed beneath a black veil.

Maizie perceived that something untoward was heading their way. Whatever it was had nothing to do with the approaching thunderstorm.

Close…closer…closing in. Fast. Icy arms of death reaching out of the darkness, clutching and clawing at her in a desperate attempt to seize her.

You’ll be with Willie soon.

The silent warning sounded more like a threat than an unspoken thought.

Alarmed by the unexpected omen, Maizie hurried back inside the house, slamming the front door after spotting a cluster of scorpions scurrying frenziedly across the baked clay ground. The sharp tips of their spindly legs clicked hurriedly across the firm surface. Their strange behavior signaled distress. They were scampering away from something that’d frightened them, although she couldn’t imagine what it could be. The only thing they feared were humans, and there certainly weren’t any chasing them. Taking safe shelter from the phantom they perceived to be a threat, the entire cluster disappeared into a hole in the ground.

Chapter 2

Home of Jedediah Old Jed Hodges

Chihuahuan Desert, Ten Miles Outside of Antelope Creek, Arizona

¼ mile from the Guthrie Residence

Population: 8

Monday, August 18th

5:30 p.m.

Ever since he was a young boy, Jedediah Hodges had been afflicted with what he called, itchin’s in his innards. That’s the only way he knew how to describe the overwhelming emotions he felt sometimes. Feelings that told him something bad was going to happen. Tingling sensations deep in the pit of his stomach that felt like thousands of bugs crawling around in there. Throughout the years, he’d had hundreds of them. Sometimes people listened and believed him when he issued forewarnings. Most of the time, they didn’t. Like two years ago, when he tried to warn that copper mine supervisor not to send his men down into an unstable hole because the mine was going to collapse. The overman laughed at him before having him forcefully removed from the property by a fella that resembled Paul Bunyan. Nine lives could’ve been spared that day if only he’d listened. The foreman filed a complaint against him, swearing he’d sabotaged the mine and was responsible for the deaths of nine innocent men. The foreman argued that the only way he could’ve known there’d be a cave-in was because he was the one who’d caused it. If not for that pretty sheriff lady named Lexi sticking up for him and vouching for his innocence, he’d probably be in prison right now instead of inventorying his bunker supplies.

He woke up that morning with a strong itchin’ in his innards. This one was fiercer than the one he’d had about the miners or the one he’d had about that little girl he’d met in the hardware store last year. The same little girl who would’ve drowned in the swimming pool her daddy was buying if he hadn’t told him to purchase a removable ladder instead of installing a permanent one. By taking his advice, he prevented a disaster and saved his daughter’s life.

Jed knew as positively as he’d known that girl would’ve drowned that a dark force was on its way to Antelope Creek. Whatever it was, it was bad. Worse than anything the town had ever seen.

For reasons he couldn’t explain and didn’t understand, he sensed that Antelope Creek wasn’t the only location that would end up being smack in the middle of harm’s way.

Even if he or any of the other residents were forewarned about what was coming, they wouldn’t have time to prepare for it. Nobody would.

He knew it was going to be awful as surely as he knew his name was Jedediah Milton Hodges. He had no idea what kind of threat hung over Tumbleweed County, only that he had to keep his mouth shut about it. The last thing he wanted was the townspeople blaming him for another tragedy he wasn’t involved in. Next time, that sheriff lady might not be so nice about it. A unique and unexplainable feeling, one that was something other than his itchin’ innards, told him he shouldn’t say anything. He didn’t know why he wasn’t supposed to, only that he was obligated to comply.

Green beans, corn, soup, he cited, checking supplies from a list pinned to the clipboard he held while standing before shelves lined with canned goods and foods he could still eat with the few teeth he had left. He had plenty of money stashed away in a secret location on his private property that only he knew about. He didn’t trust banks to oversee his thousands of dollars. What if the economy suffered another crash or depression like it had back in ’29 when financial institutions went bankrupt and collapsed, rendering them unable to return depositors’ money? If the economy tanked and a bank was holding onto funds that he needed and couldn’t get to, what would he do then? He’d learned a long time ago not to trust people who told him that a depression would never happen in America again because it damn near did only four years ago. Who’s to say it couldn’t happen now? To hell with that. Being in charge of his own cash meant he could access it whenever he needed it. He could afford to buy a fancy set of choppers if he wanted them, but he didn’t. Why bother? At seventy-nine, he’d probably die before getting to wear them for long. Besides, why go through all that trouble and pain when he was perfectly content with who he was and how he looked? He didn’t need to impress anyone by flashing a brand-new set of white false teeth.

A hundred cases of bottled water were stacked in the corner of the bunker, along with bottled soda, bags of dog food, chips, crackers, and other non-perishable food items.

He thought about constructing the bunker for years before finally building it. With all those UFO reports coming out of the Pentagon, that batshit crazy Russian president threatening to launch nuclear weapons, and China on the brink of war with the United States, he knew it was time. He was pleasantly surprised that it hadn’t taken him nearly as long to build it as he’d expected. Initially, he’d only planned to dig a three-foot wide by five-foot-deep hole, figuring that was plenty of room for him and his furry companion. Then he got to thinking. What if they got stuck down there for days or weeks? A three by five might be okay for a day or two, but not for an indefinite period. They’d both go bananas. When he drew up his floor plans, he included the installation of shelves, cabinets, a small bathroom complete with a toilet, sink, and shower, and plenty of living space for him and Fetch, his Golden Retriever and faithful companion.

When he decided that a fallout bunker was essential, he first considered using one of those old, decommissioned missile silos out in the desert. He knew where three of them were located. The more he thought about it, the less pleasing the idea sounded. Missile silos are government property, and he had no desire to get his ass blown off for taking over and residing on private land that belonged to the United States Government. It wasn’t like he could make a homesteader claim, refuse to leave, and be done with it. If he tried making that kind of bravado move, there’d be a rifle ready to fire a bullet with his name engraved on it. Besides that, what if there was residual radioactive shit in the silos? The whole purpose of having a bunker was to stay safe during a life-threatening event, not get himself killed by slowly wasting away from radiation poisoning. He didn’t much care for the thought of walking around while body parts fell off all over the place.

Then he considered building the bunker a few miles away from home, until he started adding up the costs for contractors, backhoe rental, concrete to lay the foundation, paneling for the walls, air filtration system, electrical and water connections. By the time he finished adding it all up, it would’ve cost him over three hundred thousand dollars to complete the project.

To hell with it, he swore then took matters into his own hands by doing the next best thing. Constructing it himself. It took over a year to complete because of the extensive amount of excavation that was required. After months of demanding work and long, tiring days, the cellar was finally dug next to the back of his house. The bunker was made livable by connecting secondary underground electrical wiring and water pipes to the main lines beneath his home using conduits and PVC pipe. Of course, water and power could only be supplied if utilities were available and not taken out by a terrorist attack on the main power grid and water reservoir. He kept that in mind while building, too. In fact, he thought of everything, including alternative means of supplying the bunker with necessities that would allow him to live life below the ground as easily as he did above it. Hot plate for cooking, homemade air ventilation system, fans to circulate the air, a cot for sleeping, and blankets in case it got cold down there. Without insulation, he imagined it might get a bit cooler inside dirt walls than it did with brick ones.

It wasn’t the greatest and certainly wouldn’t be featured in any home decorating or survival magazines, but it’d serve its purpose. The only feature he hadn’t been able to complete was the bathroom. He couldn’t figure out how to install a connection to the sewage system to flush out waste and he damn sure wasn’t going to pay a plumber hundreds of dollars to do it for him. He settled for placing a toilet seat over the top of a large plastic bucket and filled it half full of water. Easy to use. Easy to empty. He doubted Fetch cared one way or the other if he took a stinking shit down there. Safety and comfort was his concern. Not style and décor. If Fetch did complain, he might be inclined to remind the pooch that his turds didn’t smell like roses.

Townsfolk laughed at him when they learned what he was doing way out there in the desert, swearing that the scorching heat had finally fried his brain crispier than it already was. Prepper, they called him. Look at old crazy Jed, the doomsday prepper, buying more supplies for Armageddon, they teased. Hey Jed, why are you buying soap when you never take a shower?

Betcha won’t be laughin’ at me no more come this time tomorrow, he muttered, opening a cabinet door to make sure he’d remembered to stock non-food items like can and bottle openers, scissors, and toilet paper.

Wouldn’t do them townsfolk no good to come banging on his door begging for help once they realized he was the smart and lucky one. That’ll teach ‘em. That’s what they get for making fun of him. If they ended up getting abducted by the Martians who were on their way to earth, it’d serve them right. Probe ‘em until their eyes shine like flashlights. That thought made him chuckle.

Before he and Fetch made their permanent move into the bunker, he’d reinforce all windows and doors of the main house with heavy-duty steel sheets to keep thieves and shelter seekers out. He and Fetch would enter the bunker through a camouflaged trap door in the backyard. Once they were safely in place, he’d fortify the ground door with quadruple deadbolts to render it impenetrable.

Rice, taters, ‘sketti, he whispered, checking more items off his list.

For a fleeting moment, Jed wondered if he should drive into town and tell the sheriff about his itchin’ innards feelin’. Then he remembered that he was forbidden from saying anything to anyone. Including the sheriff. What good would it do anyway? She’d probably laugh at him like everyone else did, then tell him to go home and sleep it off.

Nuttin’ you can do, he said with a shake of his head. ‘Cept mind your own business and shut up.

Jed closed the cabinet doors and placed the clipboard on a shelf. Come on, Fetch. Let’s get to the house and grab us a bite to eat ‘fore that storm gets here. If we lose power, all we’ll be eatin’ tonight is bread and water.

There was only one thing he wished for when the shit hit the fan.

That when the mothership finally arrived, he was beamed aboard along with everyone else.

Chapter 3

Tumbleweed County Sheriff’s Office

Antelope Creek, Arizona

Population: 2,575

Monday, August 18th

5:45 p.m.

Sheriff Lexi Brandstrom swung her Ford F-150 into her reserved spot of the Tumbleweed County Sheriff’s Office. Still angered over her late afternoon meeting with the mayor, she stayed behind the wheel with the engine running, air conditioning blasting in her face, striving to calm down before entering the station. Her employees were aware of the animosity between her and the mayor, but she preferred keeping them at arm’s length after a heated dispute with him. There was no need to draw them into a debate that she considered strictly between the two of them. Her staff disliked him almost as much as she did. It served no purpose to give them added fodder to make them despise him more.

She should’ve known that Mayor Archibald Golden summoning her to his office wouldn’t begin or end well. She could’ve declined the meeting. She wasn’t duty-bound to make herself available at his disposal. The Mayorship of Antelope Creek was city government. She was a county employee governed by Tumbleweed County. Because of their rocky history, refusing to meet with him would’ve added fuel to an already blazing fire. There was enough troubled water under the proverbial bridge without triggering another deluge.

Sheriff Brandstrom. His Cheshire cat grin betrayed his poor attempt at civility. Droopy, flapping jowls shook like gelatin when he spoke, his tone filled with contemptuous sarcasm. What a delight it is to see you.

Mayor, she replied curtly.

Had he called her there to add insult to injury by reminding her again that she didn’t belong in the position of sheriff? To once more encourage her to move on and allow a better qualified person to take over?

The fact that she’d lived in Antelope Creek all her life and was employed with the sheriff’s office as a deputy for five years prior to announcing her run for sheriff was of no significance to him. From the moment she publicized her campaign, he’d been determined to keep her from getting elected, and had done everything within his power to prevent it from happening. From nasty mudslinging to outright, vicious lies about her, to campaigning for her opponent, who happened to be the ejected sheriff and a close friend of his who was deep in the mayor’s pocket.

Fortunately, people who knew her knew the negative things he said about her weren’t true. Those same people didn’t care for him, either. The town’s support for her destroyed his negative campaign against her, and she was elected to office in a landslide victory.

That hadn’t stopped him from trying to have her ousted every chance he got. She felt certain that’s why he’d called her into his office. He intended to try again. She was curious to see what strategic method or excuse he’d use this time.

I received a phone call today that could turn into a valuable arrangement for you, he said, plopping down in his black leather chair.

Since when do you care about what’s valuable for me?

Now, now, there’s no need for hostility, he smirked, popping a piece of peppermint into his mouth. All I meant was the call I received could be favorable for you.

How so?

The Indian reservation out on Highway 60 is looking to expand their department and are currently recruiting new officers. When the Reservation Chief informed me of this, you immediately came to mind. Are you interested?

Why would I be interested in a position as an officer on a reservation when I already have a job as sheriff?

People change careers and positions all the time.

Not me. I’m perfectly happy where I am and with what I do.

The pay is excellent, he continued, ignoring her disinterest. I presume it’s much higher than what you’re making now.

Lexi cast him a stony glare. Golden had no idea what her salary was. He wasn’t privy to the contents of the county budget. I didn’t choose a career in law enforcement for the money.

You have to admit that drawing a higher salary would be advantageous.

Money is of no concern to me, she retorted. What makes you think I’d be interested in an officer’s position on the reservation in the first place?

You’re qualified, aren’t you?

I’m assuming that by qualified, you mean as a law enforcement officer.

That, and your ethnicity. I figured you might feel more comfortable around your people.

Lexi’s jaws twitched in anger over his ill-intended statement. She knew exactly what he meant by his demeaning comment, expecting nothing less from a judgmental bigot. I see, she replied sardonically. You automatically assumed that because I have long black hair, an olive complexion, and wear turquoise jewelry that it makes me Native American.

Aren’t you? he asked, feigning surprise.

No, I’m not. If you’d lived here longer than two years, you’d know that.

I guess I presumed…

Forget it, she said icily, cutting him off. Not that it’s any of your business, but my heritage is Greek. Get to the point about why I’m here. I’m still on duty.

Don’t you think you’d be happier doing something else besides sheriffing? It is, after all, a man’s job. With your lack of supervisory experience, you should consider stepping down and letting someone who’s further qualified take over.

Not only was this repulsive man a bigoted prick, but he was also a misogynistic pig.

If blood truly could reach a boiling point, then hers was on the verge of exploding. Her anger raged, making it difficult to maintain her composure. What he was insinuating was that she needed to be replaced by someone he could control. A buddy of his who was as corrupt as he was and would willfully turn the other way while ignoring all his wrongdoings. Someone exactly like the ex-sheriff.

Golden knew she would never bow to his commands or allow him to control her or the sheriff’s department. That’s why he desperately wanted her gone. She was standing in the way of his illicit, money-making practices.

She knew all about the alleged shady deals he made in secret, transactions that were lining his pockets with thousands of tax-payer dollars, cheating the city out of what rightfully belonged to them, and stealing from the residents of the town he was elected to honorably oversee. The claims of