Sample Chapter – Conspiracy of Angels

Just out of prison, ex-convict Mitch Turner is determined to put his life back on track and find out the truth about his daughter’s mysterious death. But when his daughter’s best friend, Geneva, discovers a cryptic piece of top-secret technology, the two of them are thrust into the cross-hairs of a deadly living weapon.

It’s known only by a code name: Archangel. It’s fast, invulnerable, inhuman. And its next target is Mitch.

The Archangel is more than just a relentless killer. It’s a gatekeeper of the dangerous boundary that divides this world from the next. And it’s Mitch’s only chance of learning the dark truth about what happened to his daughter.

Outnumbered, outgunned and on the run, Mitch and Geneva race to outsmart an elite force determined to silence them. Can they uncover the conspiracy before the Archangel unleashes its deadly secret on all of humanity?

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CHAPTER ONEConspiracy of Angels FREE Sample PDF

 

When Mitch heard the crash in the back yard, he thought about getting his .45, and then remembered it was all the way upstairs in his bedroom. He set down the plate of barbecue ribs on the kitchen table and picked up the big steel spatula Bryce had given him as a parole gift. As quietly as he could
manage, he crept over to the back door and peered outside.

The back yard was knee-deep in weeds, the leaves shaking in the
cold Colorado rain. A big tree limb had busted off the apple tree
just inside the wooden fence. Bare splinters of wood littered the
ground. As he watched, a girl climbed out of the branches,
trailing leaves. She had straight black hair and eye shadow he
could see from across the yard. The rest of her was lost inside
an old black overcoat. She looked young, barely out of her teens.
About the age Jocelyn would’ve been, if she were still alive.

She spotted him through the clear glass door, so he slid it open
and stepped out onto the chilly back patio. As she brushed off
the leaves, she never took her gaze off him. She had eyes that
were older than her years. Tense, but not scared. Her breath
steamed in the cold air.

Mitch had the impression she was sizing him up. A sleepy-eyed
ex-con pushing fifty, sandy hair edging toward gray, arms thick
from killing too much time lifting weights. She didn’t look too
impressed.

She brushed long strands of wet hair out of her face. “Your name
Mitchell Turner?”

He walked out to the grill, ignoring the rain, and shut the lid.
He leaned on the warm handle, suddenly conscious of the fact that
he was still in his bathrobe in the middle of a Tuesday
afternoon, when ordinary decent people were at work. It
embarrassed him a little. “Tell you what, kid. First, maybe you
should explain to me why the hell you’re trespassing in my
backyard.”

She came closer, her chin thrust out, trying to look mean. Like
maybe she didn’t trust a big, half-dressed ex-con who was old
enough to be her dad. Of all things.

Her gaze went to the open door behind him, checking it out, then
back to him. That seemed more than a touch suspicious. He didn’t
know what she was planning, considering she was half his size.
Maybe she had friends out front. Mitch straightened up.

Quietly, she said, “Are you Jocelyn’s dad?”

It caught him off guard, this punk kid bringing his daughter’s
name back from the dead, like it was no big deal. Like maybe
Jocelyn had just run out for cigarettes and she’d be back any
minute now.

Sometimes, he felt like that. Like she would just walk in, the
door would bang, and she’d be home. Mad at him for something or
other.

But she wouldn’t. She was dead, four years now, died in a
hospital in some mountain town he’d never heard of. He’d been
called out of his cell and told by a counselor. He’d had to use
the grimy prison phone to arrange the funeral.

“Hey, hello?” The girl waved a hand in front of his face. “Are
you Jocelyn’s dad or not?”

He cleared his throat and looked down at the girl with the eye
shadow and black lipstick. “Jocelyn’s passed away. I’m sorry.”

“But you’re Mitchell Turner. You’re Jocelyn’s dad. Yes or no?”

That caught him off guard. “You knew my daughter?”

“I’m the one asking the questions here.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Mitch felt his temper lighting up. “Look, what the hell do you
want, kid?”

“I want to know what they told you. About Jocelyn’s death.”

Mitch wanted to ask, What who told me? But he felt himself going
into a slow boil. “Listen, kid. Whatever business my daughter had
with you, it’s finished. It’s done. Now get the hell out.”

“It was your project that killed her. It was your fault.”

“You turn around and get the hell out of my backyard. Better
yet, how ’bout I throw you over the fence myself?” He took a step
toward her, went to grab her by the arm.

She stepped back out of reach, quick, and brought up a chunky
black pistol in both hands. “Don’t even.” She didn’t blink. The
pistol didn’t shake. She aimed it right at his chest.

It made Mitch hesitate.

He held his hands up slowly. This changed things. But he figured
that as long as she kept asking questions, she wouldn’t really
shoot him. Not yet, anyway.

“Drop the thing,” she said.

“What?”

She pointed with her chin. “The thing.”

The spatula. He was still holding it. “All right, fine.” He
reached over to set it on the grill.

“Drop it. Now.”

“Take it easy. This is my favorite spatula.” He set it down
gently.

“Whatever.” She glanced at the open doorway, then back at him.
“You know, you don’t look much like a scientist.”

This kid just kept getting weirder. “Science wasn’t my best
subject. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll say ‘billions and billions’
a couple times. How’s that?”

She didn’t even hint at a smile. Probably didn’t get it. And she
was still aiming that funny-looking gun. Mitch didn’t recognize
it. He figured maybe it was one of those plastic guns, the kind
that fooled metal detectors.

He tried a different tactic. “Honey, look. I just got out.
Okay?”

“Out?”

“Of prison. You obviously got me mixed up with some other Mitch
Turner. There’s a lot of us in town. Just look in the damn phone
book. I’m not a scientist. I’m not anything.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m not your honey.”

“Okay, fine. Long as we understand each other, you can put the
gun down, huh?” He waited. “No? All right, listen, why don’t we
get in out of the rain, at least?” That way, Mitch figured, maybe
there was a chance Bryce would pull his head out of the computer
long enough to hear them and do something. God only knew what.
Hopefully not call the cops. That was the last thing he needed,
giving the cops an excuse to crawl around his house and find the
guns he’d just bought.

She didn’t budge. “I want to know why you started Project
Archangel.”

“Project what-what?”

“Don’t play games with me. You’re Jocelyn’s father. You were in
charge of the program.”

“Honey, I never been in charge of anything. And that’s a good
thing. A guy like me takes charge, things get a habit of turning
all screwy.”

She started to look a little unsure of herself. She glanced back
over her shoulder, the way she’d come in. But with the tree limb
busted off, there was no climbing back out. She was stuck here.

“So what’s your name?” Mitch said.

She looked all around, like she was weighing her options.
“Geneva.”

“Geneva. That’s a place.”

“Ha. Ha. No, really, I’ve never heard that before.”

He shrugged. “I’m going inside. You want to come in, you better
put the hardware away. You like barbecue ribs?” She didn’t
answer, so he stepped inside and leaned on the door handle. As
she walked by, he got a good look at the gun.

It wasn’t real.

It was made out of plastic, for one thing, and a little green
light glowed near her thumb. The barrel didn’t end in a hole, but
a lens, like one of those video game guns Bryce kept up in his
room.

Mitch let out a long breath. Every muscle in his body seemed to
unclench, and he felt like bursting out with a laugh. At least
now he knew what he was dealing with. Some nutball kid with a toy
gun.

She looked around the kitchen. “Nice place.” The sarcasm was
obvious.

He went around to the table and sat down. “Yeah? My brother kept
it up while I was inside. All the comic book stuff, the Nintendo
in the living room, that’s all his. Don’t touch it.”

“So. Prison. What did you go for?”

“Breaking into people’s houses and asking them stupid
questions.” Mitch picked up the biggest rib on the plate. The
steam coming off of it made his eyes water. It looked so good, so
charred and spicy and perfect, he had to swallow before he opened
his mouth. “I been waiting five years for this rib. You know
that? Five freakin’ years.”

He sank his teeth into it, and for a moment his mouth was
overloaded with sensation. It was every bit as good as he hoped.
Spicy, but not too hot. Tangy, with a touch of smoke. When he
opened his eyes, the girl was still standing there, glaring with
eyes thickly lined in black.

Still chewing, he pointed at the plate. “You want one?”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Project Archangel.”

“Oh, for the love of . . .” Mitch put the rib down and wiped his
mouth. Damn, it was good. And she was ruining it. He talked
around a mouthful of barbecue. “Look. I’m going to say this one
last time. And that’s it. So listen. I’m no scientist. I don’t
know any angels. And no amount of you standing there giving me
the Morticia Addams is gonna change anything. You got that? So
you can either get out of here, or sit down and have a rib.
Either way, shut up and let me eat. That’s the deal.”

“Nice performance,” she said, a hint of fake sweetness in her
voice. “You get an Oscar.”

Mitch hung his head. This kid was going to give him indigestion.

He heard Bryce come out of his bedroom and come thumping down
the stairs. Please, Mitch prayed, let him be dressed. The last
thing he needed to add to this mix was his three-hundred-pound
brother walking in wearing tighty-whities and a Superman shirt.

Bryce stopped midway down the stairs. He was wearing pants,
thank God.

Bryce looked at the kid, then Mitch. Mitch figured Bryce
couldn’t see the toy gun from the stairs, not with the way she
was holding it down by her hip.

Bryce looked completely at a loss. Not used to visitors. “Who’s
this?”

“Bryce, this is Paris.”

“Geneva,” she said.

“Whatever. She was just leaving. You wanna get the door for
her?”

She squared her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere until I get
some answers.”

“What are you gonna do? Change my channel?”

“You don’t want me to shoot you.”

“Oh, yes I do. Go ahead.” Mitch held his arms open wide. “Come
on, you can’t miss me from here.”

She brought the plastic gun up in both hands.

Bryce gripped the banister like it was going to fall off. “Dude,
she’s got a gun!”

Mitch sighed. “It’s not a gun.”

“That’s right,” Geneva said. “It’s a pulse weapon. Just like the
one your people designed. It’s the only thing that can hurt the
Archangel. But it can’t kill it. And that’s what I need to know.”

“You lost me in the middle there.”

Slowly, she said, “How do I kill the Archangel?”

Mitch turned to Bryce. “You see what I’m up against?”

Bryce’s forehead wrinkled up. “I think she’s serious.”

“Oh, for the love of God. You.” Mitch stood up and came around
the table. “Get the hell out of my house. Right now.”

She backed up, the gun aimed steady at him. “Don’t make me do
it.”

“You know, this was funny for a little while. Now you’re pissing
me off.” He grabbed her arm.

The world went instantly white, like an insanely bright
flashbulb had gone off with him in the middle of it. A bolt of
lightning scorched through his body. Time stopped, and all of his
thoughts crashed into each other in a mad jumble of white heat…


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