Dead Man’s Touch
by Kit Ehrman
Summary
Steve goes undercover at Washington Park to discover who’s been doping some racehorses and gets caught up in the unique lifestyle inherent to the backside. But it is not a life without peril because some men are willing to do anything to get the right horse under the wire first . . .
Excerpt
I gradually became conscious of my breathing. Slow, deep breaths, indicative of sleep, then a subtle shifting of air currents that set off an alarm somewhere in my brain. I told it to shut up and slipped back into blissful oblivion, only to be awakened by a tickling sensation on the back of my neck, like a shirt tag that had twisted out of place.
When I remembered I wasn’t wearing a shirt, I came fully awake.
A hand clamped down on my neck.
I opened my mouth to yell, and he shoved my face into the pillow, the sound getting lost in the foam stuffing. I swung wildly at him and was surprised when he let go. As I pushed upward, I heard a click. Something touched my lower back.
Pain jolted through my spine and slammed me against the mattress. Sharp, brutal pain. Air shot out of my lungs. A scream.
My scream.
Fingers twisted into my hair, and he held my face against the pillow.
“That was just a taste,” a voice above my head whispered, “so you know I mean business.”
Spasms racked my arms and legs. A million burning needles. Nerve endings firing uncontrollably.
I was dimly aware of the mattress depressing as he climbed onto the bed and straddled me, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop him. He yanked my head backward, and somewhere among the confused jumble of thoughts bouncing around inside my brain, I thought that I should scream for help. Yell at the top of my lungs. Do something. But the thought never made it to my mouth or anywhere else. A hand came around in front of my face and slapped something across my lips.
“What if he vomits like the other one?” someone mumbled. Nervous. Distant. Close to the door. “He’ll choke.”
“Shut up,” the one on top of me said. More like a growl than a voice. Low. Under his breath.
He let go of my hair then, and my head dropped back onto the pillow. Somewhere overhead, the sound of ripping. He jerked my head off the pillow and pressed something over my eyes. I tried to open my mouth, and this time I felt a response. The correct impulse traveling along the right nerve. Muscles trying to move. But my lips were stuck together.
Tape. It had to be tape.
He bound my wrists with it.
“Look at this.”
The words jarred me into the present. Not the nervous voice by the door. Not the one who had put the tape on my face, either. A younger voice. Casual.
“You were right,” he said. “He’s got background info on everyone in Kessler’s outfit. And look at this.” Papers rustled. “This ain’t no kinda paycheck I ever seen.”
Reviews
"Another heels-up thriller." ~The New York Times
"A contender for the winner's circle." ~Publishers Weekly
"Ehrman is excellent at establishing a lingering sense of dread.” Mystery Ink
Author's Biography
Award-winning mystery author Kit Ehrman pens the equine-oriented mystery series featuring barn manager and amateur sleuth Steve Cline. The series has received outstanding reviews in The New York Times, Publishers Weekly, Library Journal, Booklist, Kirkus, The Denver Post, and the Chicago Tribune among others. To learn more, visit http://www.kitehrman.com.