Audra Beagle & Chloe West - Private Property (pdf).pdf - 04-30-11-15 - jessab

Private Property - 1

Private Property

whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical

articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock,

TX 78680

Cover illustration copyright Alessia Brio

Used with permission

ISBN: 978-1-60370-786-2, 1-60370-786-7

Printed in the United States of America.

Torquere Press, Inc.: High Ball electronic edition / August 2009

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock,

TX 78680

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Dedication

To Hayley and Clare

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Prologue

Welcome Home

Sam shut the mailbox with a little more force than he had intended and looked down at the

letter in his hand. Not another one.

Maybe it was his frustration with writing, maybe it was because no one sent him anything in

the mail, but the letter in his hand burned.

Sam jogged down the little gravel road to his newly purchased Victorian home. When he’d

signed the rather large check for the secluded property in Newport, he thought it would be the

perfect place to get his creative juices flowing again. New York City had become oppressive

and stifling. He’d needed a change of scenery. The ocean, the cliffs, the fresh sea air.

Newport was the perfect place to churn out another bland mystery novel that would sell like

hotcakes.

It had, in fact, been over a year since he’d been able to write more than a paragraph of

original fiction. Hell, Sam found that lately he couldn’t even write letters. He had writer’s

block and even the perfect atmosphere wasn’t going to help. Sam was doomed, and his

publisher was going to eat him alive.

He couldn’t be burned out at twenty-four. It seemed impossible, yet Sam felt it. Completely

burned out.

Sam slammed the door behind him and stomped up the winding staircase to his office. It was

on the third floor of the house, just below the attic, and the view was nothing if not inspiring.

The big, stained glass window overlooked the cliffs down to the sea, and in the distance, a

tall, white lighthouse flashed in the growing dusk.

It inspired Sam to throw himself into the sea.

He opened the drawer to his desk, sparing a passing glance at his untouched black typewriter,

and shoved the letter in with the other three. The letters weren’t addressed to him, so he

hadn’t read them. They were addressed to the previous owner of the house, a woman Sam

hadn’t met, as he’d purchased the house through a realtor.

He didn’t know why he kept the letters. Maybe he’d send them to her someday? Maybe he

was a masochist and liked being reminded of the fact that he was friendless and alone in this

little town of Newport.

A loud rap on the door downstairs broke Sam out of his self loathing. Okay, so he wasn’t

entirely alone. His good friend Grant lived down the shore in a grand mansion with a private

beach and dock. Sam’s three story Victorian house, though weathered by the salty sea air,

was no shack. However, it paled in comparison to Grant’s less-than-humble abode.

They’d met through Sam’s agent and had become fast friends. Grant specialized in narrating

for audio books, and though it was not what he was known for (he was famous for his voice

work in commercials), it was how he made the bulk of his income. Grant had recorded the

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last three of Sam’s best-selling mystery novels and somehow was more famous and well off

than Sam.

And that had to be Grant at the door. Who else would be harassing him after dark?

Sam almost ignored the incessant pounding, but gave in and trudged down the stairs. He

threw open the heavy, wooden door without even peeking out the window to check for crazy

fans first. Maybe in New York he’d had a few middle-aged women hanging around his

apartment, but here no one knew who he was, even if he had been on the New York Time’s

Best Seller list three years in a row.

He looked up and was about to make a scathing comment to his old friend when he realized it

wasn’t Grant standing on his doorstep at all.

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Audra Beagle & Chloe West - Private Property (pdf).pdf

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