GENOCIDE

PAT KRAPF

Description

Sean Ireland, the first gay presidential candidate in US history, is guaranteed the election-until he's found dead at the Palace of Fine Arts in San Francisco.Stunned by her friend's murder, private investigator Darcy McClain is determined to hunt down Sean's killer.A In shock, she returns home to find someone has broken into her home, assaulted her sister, and stolen Bullet, her giant schnauzer. While frantically searching for Bullet, Darcy's worst fears are realized. She finds a tranquilizer dart, shot from a crossbow, lying in her backyard. Only one person she knows uses such a weapon-Solis, a rogue CIA agent who years earlier tried to kill Darcy.A After Sean's death, more grisly murders follow, leading the police to suspect a serial killer. Darcy isn't convinced. But before she can pursue her hunch, she is framed for Sean's death. On the run from the law, she's forced to go underground to solve the murders and to get Bullet back.A In the course of her investigation, she's astounded to discover evidence of a high-level government conspiracy to exterminate gays and lesbians. Thousands are already dying horrible deaths. Is Solis part of the conspiracy? Is he the murderer? Taunted by Solis, who threatens to kill her dog, Darcy vows to track down her adversary, save Bullet, and discover the truth.A

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Thunder Glass Press
• Date de parution: 01 juin 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781941300046
• Langue: English

Extrait

DARCY McCLAIN and BULLET THRILLER SERIES

GADGETS

BRAINWASH

Copyright © 2017 Pat Krapf
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
ISBN 978-1-941300-04-6 (E-book Edition)
ISBN 978-1-941300-05-3 (Print Edition)
Title: Genocide / Pat Krapf.
Description: Southlake, TX, USA : Thunder Glass Press, 2017. | Series: A Darcy McClain and Bullet thriller ; [3]
Subjects: LCSH: Presidential candidates--California--San Francisco--Fiction. | Assassination--California--San Francisco--Fiction. | Women private investigators--California--San Francisco--Fiction. | Gays--Crimes against--United States--Fiction. | Intelligence officers--United States--Fiction. | Conspiracies--United States--Fiction. | Dogs--Fiction. | LCGFT: Thrillers (Fiction)
Classification: LCC PS3611.R36 G46 2017 (print) | LCC PS3611.R36 (E-book) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
Edited by Caroline Kaiser, Leslie Lutz, and Arlene Prunkl
Proofread by Zetta Brown and Courtney Hlebo
Book design by Fiona Raven and the BookDesigners
Darcy and Bullet illustrations by Nancy S. Hilgert
Printed and bound in USA
First printing June 2017
Published by Thunder Glass Press
P.O. Box 93234
Southlake, TX, USA 76092
Visit patkrapf.com
To my editors and proofreaders
Caroline Kaiser
Leslie Lutz
Arlene Prunkl
Zetta Brown
and
Courtney Hlebo
1
D arcy rose at dawn, descended the stairs two at a time, and yanked open the front door, eager to read the headlines of her morning Chronicle. She scooped the newspaper off the walk and chuckled as she saw the faces of her two friends plastered across the front page. Never had she been so absorbed in a presidential election.
Before she headed back indoors, she paused to survey the quiet cul-de-sac with its houses stacked close together, their gray outlines awash in the jaundiced glow of the streetlights. No one stirred in the neighborhood. Too early. Even the local cat who loved to sleep on the front porch was nowhere in sight.
A light breeze kicked up. Dead leaves cartwheeled over mowed lawns, and the cold spray from the neighbor’s automatic sprinklers misted her from head to toe. She dodged a second dousing and ducked into the house, collecting Charlene’s skateboard as she entered the foyer.
Freshly brewed coffee drew her to the kitchen. She poured a cup and slid onto the window seat in the breakfast nook to devour every word of the three-page article. Most of the content she already knew, but she never tired of reading about Governor Sean Ireland and Senator Magdalena “Mags” Cortés. Even though Darcy thought she knew her friends, the past few months had brought one shocking piece of information after another. In all the years Darcy had known Sean—dating back to their college days at Stanford Law School—not once had he ever alluded to running for the presidency. When he became governor of California, he claimed he was more than satisfied with his current role and had no intention of running for any other office. Yet a year ago, he declared his candidacy, and in a bold (and some said premature) move, announced his vice presidential candidate, Senator Mags Cortés. Mags and the Latino community had a long-standing love affair, and pundits predicted she would sweep 70 percent of their vote.
While it came as a surprise Sean aspired to be president, it was no revelation Mags was his vice presidential pick. Separately, the two possessed the talent and power to accomplish anything they set their minds to. Together, The Formidable Two, as they had been dubbed by the press, packed an unbeatable punch. Before the election campaign had even started, their opponents admitted their own victory would not come easily, if at all.
Only one factor bothered the American public: the personal relationship between Sean and Mags. Not everyone was keen on the idea of a presidential candidate and his VP running mate potentially marrying. “Conflict of interest,” the opposition protested publicly and frequently, for most assumed the lifelong friends and reported sweethearts would marry one day. Neither refuted the rumors, so they persisted for years—until last month’s press conference, when both had dropped mind-blowing bombshells.
In a secret ceremony, Mags had married billionaire Gaspar Cruz. At the time of her “bolt from the blue,” as the press called it, she and hubby had been married more than six months. But Mags’s revelation paled in comparison with Sean’s shocker: a public proclamation of his sexuality. The majority of his constituents thought the decision to come out was political suicide, but they were wrong. Instead, he clinched the majority of the gay and lesbian vote and won over those who trended liberal, and because of his exemplary track record as senator and then governor, most conservatives chose to overlook his orientation in favor of his ability to bring about real change in government—a talent already proven at the state level.
The mudroom door opened and shut, cutting into Darcy’s thoughts. Charlene strolled into the kitchen with Bullet. The giant schnauzer frogged out on the tiled floor while her sister washed a handful of herbs picked fresh from their garden. Charlene looked relaxed in floral yoga pants, a pink sweatshirt, and pink flip-flops. She wore her long brown hair swept into a ponytail, and a pink headband kept the loose strands away from her oval face. Today her fingernails and toenails sparkled with pink polish.
Darcy inspected her own fingernails, next her toes. Maybe she should take a cue from Charlene and invest in a manicure and pedicure. Or a trip to the salon for highlights. She glanced at her sister. No, one high-maintenance person in the family was enough.
Charlene lowered her sunglasses and leveled her hazel eyes at Darcy. “You aren’t reading about that campaign again, are you?”
Darcy folded the newspaper. “I am.”
Charlene opened the refrigerator door and began setting items on the countertop in preparation for the brunch she promised to fix while on spring break from Stanford. “I’ve never seen you so absorbed in an election. Sean should hire you as his campaign manager. Do you think he stands a chance? Being gay, that is.”
Often her sister took the opposing view simply to create conflict or to get a rise out of Darcy, but today she refused to bite. “Why not? We’ve had a black president and a Catholic president, so why not a gay president with a Hispanic VP? What I care about is his ability and whether he has the intestinal fortitude and bipartisan support to do the job he pledged to do.”
“He’s certainly made a great governor.”
“Yes, he has. By the way, thanks for fixing brunch ... on your first day of vacation.”
“Better to do it today or I’ll be off doing a gazillion other things and will forget completely.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Tell me, when do you plan to move into the digital age? As in ditch the newspaper and read it online?”
“Never. I love the smell of newsprint in the morning.”
Metal clanged.
Bullet cocked his head.
Charlene frowned. “Mail? At this hour?”
Light spilled across the entry. An envelope sailed through the mail slot and landed on the tile. In a barking frenzy, Bullet scooted off the floor and limped into the foyer.
Darcy sprang out of her seat and snatched up the letter before Bullet could pounce on it. Baffled by the early delivery, she flung open the front door. “Stay.” Bullet sat. Darcy jogged to the curb and glanced down Mandalay Lane, expecting to see a courier or a departing vehicle of some kind, but the neighborhood of mostly elderly people still slept.
She examined the envelope. Plain white and nothing written on the outside. No courier service had delivered it. She ripped the seal with her fingernail and removed a card along with a check. The note read, “Meet me. 9:00 a.m. Palace of Fine Arts.” No date?
She flipped the check over and whistled low and long. Why would Sean write her a check for 250 grand? A retainer, no less—for the word was scrawled in the memo section. And why hadn’t he rung the bell and stopped in for coffee, or at least for an explanation?
On her way back into the house, she petted Bullet on the head and said, “Good boy,” releasing him from his stay.
The hall clock chimed as she locked the front door. She had better get moving if she planned to be home in time for brunch. And, she was dying to hear why Sean had written her a retainer for a quarter of a million dollars.
“Time to go.” Darcy placed the check and note in the writing desk in the kitchen.
“You haven’t been for your run?”
“Too busy reading the paper. Need anything from the store? Nothing big, of course.”
“Nope,” said Charlene. “I have everything planned, including dessert. Oh, and I gave Bullet his meds for his cut paw.”
“Thanks.” Darcy wiggled into a nylon Windbreaker, grabbed her water bottle off the butcher block, and kissed Bullet between the eyes. He followed her into the mudroom and waited expectantly at the side door that opened onto the driveway. She hated leaving him behind, but the vet had said no running until the cut on his pad healed. She latched the screen door and tested the handle. Lately, Bullet had gotten into the habit of letting himself out of the house. As she walked down the drive, his whines tugged at her heart.
Darcy warmed up with a slow jog as she left Mandalay for Lombard—the most crooked street in the city—and raced up the steep stairs, her knees pumping high, clearing each step with ease.
Leaving Lombard, she sprinted onto Hyde and ran at a lung-bursting speed toward the fog-shrouded streets of Fisherman’s Wharf. On the harbor, she shot down the waterfront and quickly approached the docks, the slips veiled in white. Although she couldn’t see many of the yachts or sailboats