A.P. Greenwood - Writer, Author & Story Teller

Three hours after a prominent Houston philanthropist is murdered, a mysterious man leaps into the murky gulf waters from a fishing pier in Galveston, Texas, disappearing in front of six stunned witnesses. Rhett Sanders, by random chance, had met the apparent suicide victim just weeks before, and his experience in market research tells him that something doesn't make sense. He enlists the help of his girlfriend, Toni, and his best friend and criminal attorney, Chris Beck, to investigate these deadly incidents. They uncover a connection between the suicide victim, the murdered philanthropist, and a doctor with a taste for killing. But more dangerous is the threat presented by an ex Navy SEAL, who has more than a taste for killing—he has the experience.

“How will you get past the security guard?”

Since the guard spent most of his time at the entrance to the posh Timberwilde Drive community, and only made rounds once an hour from inside an SUV, he wouldn’t pose much of a problem.

“I’m coming in the back way. From the bayou.”

Yesterday afternoon, he made a trial run. Parking his car under a bridge a mile away, he walked invisibly through the thick woods along Buffalo Bayou. Tonight, the same route would be a piece of cake.

“How will you get in?”

The questions annoyed him.

“The French doors on the back patio. I’ll break the glass. There’s no alarm, and he’ll be asleep upstairs.”

“How will you, uh, you know. Do it?”

The man shot back a look that said this had better be the last question.
“You don’t need to know that.”

###

Four hours later, just before ten o’clock, he was in the mansion’s backyard, squatting under an oak tree, behind a row of azaleas. The moon provided enough light to make the walk along the bayou easier than he expected. And he could easily see the security guard drive to the end of the cul de sac, and circle back to the guardhouse a half-mile away. He was dressed in dark colors, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, jeans, and running shoes. He held the hammer he’d use for the initial break-in, but carried nothing else. He didn’t need a weapon.

Within a few minutes, he watched the lights upstairs go dark. He looked at his watch. Give him twenty minutes. He was ready. Ready to do the job. Ready to cash his biggest paycheck ever. He checked his pulse. Fifty beats per minute.