Back to Life. Linda Johnston O.
The pounding rhythm—the chanting, the keening—started once more in Skye’s mind
There was another decision to make. Was the officer lying on the concrete floor yet another fallen hero she needed to help to the other side?
She took the man’s hand and a sensation pulsed through her, startling her. There was something this officer had left to accomplish—needed to accomplish. Something utterly critical yet to come in his future. Something important to her? A bond of some kind between them?
She sensed some intense emotions inside his mind as well as a determination to survive.
The cop could not die.
You will live. It is not yet your time. Open your eyes. The unspoken voice was hers, and it was inundating him with a life force that flowed intentionally, excruciatingly, from her.
Officer Owens groaned and opened his eyes. They were dark, the deep brown of polished mahogany, and stared straight into Skye’s.
He was going to live.
LINDA O. JOHNSTON
first made her appearance in print in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and won the Robert L. Fish Memorial Award for Best First Mystery Short Story of the Year. Now, several published short stories and many novels later, Linda is recognized for her outstanding work in the romance genre.
A practicing attorney, Linda enjoys juggling her busy schedule of writing contracts and other legalese, along with creating memorable tales of the paranormal, time travel, mystery, and contemporary and romantic suspense. Armed with an undergraduate degree in journalism with an advertising emphasis from Pennsylvania State University, Linda began her versatile writing career running a small newspaper, then working in advertising and public relations and later obtaining her J.D. degree from Duquesne University School of Law in Pittsburgh.
Linda belongs to Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, and is actively involved with Romance Writers of America, participating in the Los Angeles and Orange County chapters. She lives near Universal Studios, Hollywood, with her husband and two Cavalier King Charles spaniels.
Back to Life
Linda O. Johnston
Dear Reader,
A few years ago, I was fortunate enough to take a Baltic Sea cruise. I visited several Scandinavian countries, and was interested to see that very little today spoke of the fascinating legends of their past. I started doing research on my own—and Back to Life was the result!
Nordic legends abound with stories involving Valkyries—a term evolved from an old Norse word meaning “choosers of the slain.” In some tales, Valkyries are terrible, ugly creatures that cause death. In others, they are lovely, virginal women who decide which mortally wounded warriors are worthy of saving for future battles, and whisk them to a wonderful afterlife in Valhalla. I liked the latter idea, although the Valkyries in my mind were real women with sexual urges they could fulfill.
In Back to Life, Skye Rydell, a K-9 cop, is the descendant of generations of Valkyrie women with the power of deciding, in many situations, who will live and who, if dying, will cross a rainbow bridge and face a peaceful afterlife. When she makes a split-second decision to save the life of mortally wounded SWAT officer Trevor Owens, her life is changed forever.
I hope you enjoy it! Please come visit me at my Web site: www.LindaOJohnston.com, and at my blog, www.KillerHobbies.blogspot.com.
Linda O. Johnston
A special, but belated, welcome to the family to Tara, who married our older son, Eric, in September 2008. Love to you both. May you both be as happy together as Fred and I have been over the years. That’s not to say you won’t face hurdles, but it’s worth leaping over them together! And lots of love also to our younger son, Keith.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Chapter 1
The Angeles Beach SWAT team leader held up his gloved hand to signal the guys to get ready.
Oh, yeah, Officer Trevor Owens was ready. Poised to rush into the auto parts warehouse, he aimed his modified AK-47 assault rifle toward the building. All set for this potential high-risk entry.
Just give the word.
This would be one hell of a dynamic infiltration. His team would shoot to disable. But if they had to kill, they would.
This suspect had gotten away with sexual assault and murder at least once, probably more. It wouldn’t happen again. No matter what happened here today, Trevor would see to it that this guy couldn’t harm another innocent civilian.
The team leader, Wesley Danver, signaled the breach man, who immediately busted the door open with a ram. “Angeles Beach P.D.,” Wes yelled. “Arrest warrant for Jerome Marinaro.”
The five officers, all clad in protective gear, barged in, weapons ready. Even in the dimness, Trevor could see the place was a mess. Stacks of pallets of different heights formed uneven rows on the concrete floor—all filled with boxes and metal car parts and stuff Trevor wasn’t about to figure out now. He sighted along his weapon, aimed and let up as no one appeared. Then he rushed forward, pivoted and did it again.
“Go! Go! Marinaro? Where the hell is he?” Shouts reverberated through the place—Trevor’s among them—amplified by the electronic equipment in his headgear. The warehouse reeked of gasoline, motor oil and mustiness, and he inhaled it all as the adrenaline rush made him breathe hard.
Where was their target? The tip that had sent them tearing over here had seemed reliable.
The suspect could be hiding behind one of those damned uneven piles or even on top of one. A cornered animal with no regard for human life, preparing to fight back.
Unless he wasn’t here. The tip could’ve been wrong. Or he could have heard or seen them, fled already. Or—
“There he is!” came a shout from Trevor’s right.
“Drop your weapon,” yelled another voice. “Do it.”
Trevor saw the figure off to his side, aiming something in their direction. It fired, the explosion loud in this vast warehouse.
In front of him, Wes went down.
“You SOB,” hollered Trevor as he aimed his assault rifle. He fired as he heard more reports from the suspect’s weapon.
Suddenly he felt pain. Excruciating pain—in his neck, just above his protective vest.
Then nothing.