And even though it all went wrong...

The first page of killerbyte - the first book in the byte series and the first time anyone met me.

Chapter 1

“Jaded”

You’re gonna die – you bitch!

I looked at the words sitting alone on the expanse of white. A ridiculous thought occurred to me. The words were innocent. They had no volition. Just photons squirted out by a display system.

“Uh huh,” I said to myself. It was a shame this moron couldn’t see my eyes rolling. Woo hoo, someone else wants me dead. I held the cursor poised over his idiotic nickname, Addictedtolove, waiting. Sunday nights bring out the miscreants; the later it is, the worse the behavior. It was almost Monday.

I’m serious. You are gonna die.

I typed a reply, I’m sure you are, bye-bye. Then hit the twenty-four-hour ban and watched him disappear. The chat room went quiet; to enjoy the moment I clicked off Real Player and with it, the latest Grange album I’d been listening to. The room plunged into deep silence. I stretched my legs out under my desk and tapped away at the keyboard. What’s that now, Stormy? Twelve death threats? I looked up to see her answer on the screen.

Yup, she replied.

I’d set a new record, the most death threats received in one night. Excellent.

I typed, well, that’s me for the night then, best check my doors and windows.

Stormy replied, LOL. Talk tomorrow.

I shut down the computer, not tired, but not interested in sitting at my desk all night either. The house creaked and grumbled like an old man settling into a rocking chair.

I prowled around the house, both upstairs and down, checking every window, door and deadbolt. It wasn’t fear that motivated me. It was boredom. Funny really, boredom wasn’t something I tended to suffer from. Perhaps I was wrong about the boredom. Maybe it was me being just a little sick of my own company. It sure as hell wasn’t empty threats from chat room weirdos. I mean, what were they really going to do? Turn up on my doorstep and shoot me? I think not.

I live outside a very small town, west of Lexington, in Rockbridge County, Virginia; more an old village than a town. It’s a long way from anywhere and not the type of place where one has unexpected visitors.

I stopped thinking about chat room weirdos and made a firm decision.

In the morning, I would drive north and visit Mac. What I needed was fun, and he was the perfect person for the job. Mac was fun with a capital F. It didn’t hurt that he was drop-dead yummy either.

Half way up the stairs, I heard a car door slam, followed by heavy footsteps moving in the direction of my back door. The chat room screen flashed in my mind. People I know would not be visiting at this hour of the night. I scurried up the remaining stairs to my office, snatched my gun from the desk, and crept back down. The kitchen light was out, but from the glow of the security lights outside, I could see the silhouette of a head through the back door’s frosted glass window. A stupid rhyme popped into my head, ‘One two, they’re coming for you, three four, don’t open that door’. I slipped through the darkened room and stood on the hinge side of the door. It took conscious effort to keep my breathing calm and mind centered. My body was willing to react without the go ahead from my brain and controlling the twitch in my trigger finger wasn’t going to be easy; it didn’t like being disturbed in the middle of the night.

The door handle moved, keys rattled. The door handle moved again, this time twisting back and forth. The frame groaned under applied force to the door. Keys rattled once more and the handle now moved freely, unrestrained by the lock, but the secondary deadbolt kept the door from opening and seemed to annoy the person outside the door. It was almost ghostly as the handle twisted back and forth, even if mortal cursing emanated from the dark silhouette. My cell phone rang in the other room.

I backed into the living room and answered the call as I kept my gun trained on the door. I had to wonder how and why someone had keys to my house, as I thanked God for the extra deadbolts that this person didn’t expect to find.

Copyright Cat Connor 2009 

She tied you to a kitchen chair...

In keeping with the current trend... may I present the first page of Terrorbyte:

Chapter One

If That’s What It Takes

“Are you sure this is the alleyway?” I stared down the dreary lane, hoping Lee would say no.

The whole place reeked of urine and discarded syringes. With a sense of foreboding, I pulled my badge from my pocket and hung it around my neck by the lanyard. My eyes flicked up and down the close walls of the alley, looking for cameras. I spotted a bracket that may have once held a camera. How handy.

A heavy bulletproof vest hung from my arm. Begrudgingly, I pulled it on. They were uncomfortable and I preferred not to wear one unless absolutely necessary. Lee already had his on. They were definitely better suited to male bodies.

“This is the one she said,” he replied, and slung his badge over his head. Lee didn’t seem in any hurry to venture in.

“This is exactly how I imagined my Saturday morning would be,” I said with a wry grin.

“Yep, me too. Life is good.”

“Where’s the nearest camera?” I asked.

“The bank, beside the alleyway. They have two cameras located on an outside wall, both covering the street.”

“If we don’t find anything we’ll go visit the bank. We might get lucky with their footage.”

Lee nodded. I was tempted to abandon the alley in favor of the bank right off.

I pulled the hair tie from my ponytail, scraped my hair back off my face and retied it higher and tighter. I felt a prickling sensation in the pit of my stomach. Adrenaline surged.

“Ready to rock?”

“Right with you, Ellie.”

I stepped into the deep shade of the brick buildings that surrounded the alley, took a breath of cool air and decided it might be a pleasant place to spend an hour. A blast of strong urine odor hit the back of my throat and I changed my mind.

Lee flipped out his notebook and scanned a few pages. “The girl, Rose Van den Berg, said she looked back and saw a blue door with chipped peeling paint.”

The door nearest me was a rusty red so I continued walking. Lee caught up in two strides and fell into step. The next door was a faded green showing patches of pink undercoat. We glanced at each other and moved on, noting two large dumpsters against the opposite wall just past the green door. At the end of the shadow-shrouded alley were two more dumpsters. I took an unfortunately large breath – stale, foul air caught in my throat, making me choke. I coughed into my elbow, trying to limit the noise and not hack up a lung.

I looked left: a blank brick wall rose up blocking out the sky. No windows or doors broke the monotonous wall. I kicked at discarded fast-food wrappers tangling around my boots.

“There it is.” Lee said. His notebook was gone, in its place a Glock 22.

We were about ten feet from the door. Above our heads were small frosted louver windows. I counted three windows. The door appeared to have an opaque glass panel at the top, but on closer inspection, it was dirt that obscured the glass. I removed my gun from my hip holster: it was time to see if this was the place the girl remembered. The place she said she was held captive and the last place she saw her older sister.

We approached the door with caution. If the shit hit the fan there was no cover. We’d be in the open until we reached the dumpsters.

Lee knocked. We both stood to the hinge side of the door, against the grimy brick.

Inside, someone shouted. The words were unintelligible. Maybe it wasn’t English.

Lee knocked again.

Another voice called out.

Again, I couldn’t understand the words.

I shook my head at Lee.

He reached over and knocked again, this time he followed up with a deep bellow, “FBI. Open the door.”

Noise erupted. Yelling. Shuffling. Panic. 

Copyright Cat Connor 2009-2010

I've seen your flag on the marble arch...

Because she said I could - and while Cat's delighting in the knowledge that she finished the edits for Flashbyte - here is the first page of EXACERBYTE. (First page and a little bit, I didn't want to cut it off mid-sentence or anything silly.) 

Chapter One

Every Intention

My phone chirped like a demented cricket. It was the second call in two minutes. Demented crickets are never good. I pulled over to the shoulder and stopped. Cars whizzed by me. The phone chirped again.

“SSA Conway.”

“Ellie, Chrissy here. Just reminding you about the high school visit.”

“I hadn’t forgotten – there’s plenty of time yet.” I checked the time on my watch just to be sure. “I’m dropping by Cassie’s then I have a few things to do. I don’t have to be at the school until later this afternoon.”

“Tell her she’s invited to my place next weekend. My turn to cook for us all.”

“I’ll pass it along.”

I dropped my phone on the passenger seat and pulled back into the traffic.

Ten minutes later, I parked in the driveway behind Cassie’s Subaru. Icy rain splattered from the gray sky as I cleared some mail I noticed poking from the mailbox. Clutching a few letters, I wrapped my jacket tighter against the cold wind and hurried to the front door.

I knocked and waited, shuffling from foot to foot to keep warm. I knocked again. There were no signs of life beyond the stained-glass inset in the door.

“Cassie!” I called.

No reply.

I walked along the porch. The curtains were open. It was difficult to see into the room; even weak winter light caused too much glare. I cupped one hand against the window and placed my eye up to it. No one moved within. I knocked on the window as I peered. For a second I thought I saw something moving by the living room door. “Cassie!”

There was a skittering of paws on wood. Suddenly Roscoe’s face was pressed against the window, his huge paws on the windowsill. Tongue lolling.

“Roscoe! Sit!” The large dog dropped to his hairy backside, tongue still hanging from his open mouth. He wasn’t the brightest of dogs but he was sweet.

He’d left a large reddish smear across the glass. I craned my neck to see if the dog was bleeding but couldn’t see anything. I jogged around the back of the house, letting myself in the back gate. Still no sign of human life.

I pulled out my cell phone and called Cassie’s cell. From where I stood I heard it ring. It had to be in the kitchen. I hung up before it went to voicemail and hammered on the solid back door. The only noise beyond was the dog tearing across the house and sliding into the kitchen cabinets.

It just wasn’t right. Cassie never left without her cell. Her car was there. Roscoe was in the house, not in his centrally-heated dog run. I counted rocks in the garden beside the back porch until I found the hollow one and the back door key. I knocked, turned the key and handle and then called out as the door swung open.

Roscoe hit me like a freight train, knocking me back. I scrambled to my feet and wiped my slimy hands down my jeans. “Damn drooling dog.”

Roscoe bounced around me, slobber flying.

“Sit!”

He plopped like a stone sending a cloud of fluff into the air. His yellow fur was stained red in patches. His large hairy feet were matted and messy.

“What’s on you?” I held his collar and leaned down. There was no mistaking the smell. “Blood.”

I couldn’t trust the dog to stay, so with a firm grip on his collar and my Glock in the other hand I started searching the house. We were in the laundry. I followed his dark footprints into the kitchen. My eyes scanned the immediate area. My nose prickled at the smell of fresh blood. On the corner of the kitchen counter, there was blood and long strands of dark hair. Blood dripped down the front of the cabinets. I held the dog tightly, stopping him from putting his hairy feet in any more evidence.

Above the dog’s panting, I heard a click. I closed my eyes and concentrated. A door clicked shut. Someone was in the house. Dog, gun, no hands left for the phone. I crouched down next to the dog and pried my cell from my belt. This wasn’t going to work. I stood up and put a leg over the dog, successfully trapping his head between my knees. I managed to send an emergency call to Delta A. An open line was all I needed. I slipped the phone into my shirt pocket.

“I hope you can hear me. I’m at Cassandra Smith’s home in Reston. Possible home invasion. There is blood all over the floor. Can’t find Cassie. I need back-up and paramedics.”

Voices jumbled in my pocket. Sam’s overrode Lee and Chrissy’s. “We’re on our way Chicky Babe. Notifying local police.”

Copyright Cat Connor 2010-2011

I know this room, I've walked this floor...

Because Cat is trying to get back into finishing the edits for Flashbyte - she said I could share the first pages of all four bytes so far. Working backwards from Flashbyte - the newest byte which is due for release in Feb/March 2012.

Flashbyte: Chapter One

Gotta get away

 “You’re a smarmy piece of shit,” I murmured under my breath. My mouth was dry. I could barely swallow. Every nerve in my body was on edge.

I took a swig of water from my canteen. The cool liquid fought my tight dry throat until it won and forced its way down my esophagus.

“Demelza my dear, you spoke?” Ameer’s voice oozed artificial sweetness as he turned toward me.

I shook my head and bit my tongue.

What was keeping Dion? It was supposed to be as a short recon trip. He was late and it was driving me to distraction. Wouldn’t have been so bad but I was stuck with Ameer, and the greasy sonofabitch turned my gut. He expressed his views on female operatives working inside Iraq with open derision and no regard for my position or training. If it were possible to like him less I would have after that.

My eyes refocused taking my brain with them.

Heat rose from the sparkling sand. From where I stood within the thick -walled building the outside looked bright and hot.

Dion emerged from the sand as a dark silhouette against tawny beige. My ears filled with pleas and shouting. A chill raced up my spine sending cold barbs into my bones. Wind blew grit across the open landscape. Dion blurred.

It was all wrong. Beads of icy sweat trickled down my face.

Panic rose on a tidal wave of adrenaline.

With a jolt I was awake. My damp hair coiled around my neck like a noose. It wasn’t the first time I’d woken like that. I doubted it would be the last. My dreams were trying to kill me. The Freddy Kruger aspect made my skin crawl. A cell phone buzzed, loud and insistent. The display flashed, illuminating the clock on the screen.

“It’s zero-four-thirty. This better be good.” I shook off the remnants of the nightmarish reenactment of a past life.

“A woman was found strangled in a parking lot an hour ago.” Lee paused as if collecting his thoughts.

I waited.

“She was carrying identification,” he said, his voice sounded a little stressed for so early in the morning.

“Good, that will make it easier for police,” I said sitting up and turning on the bedside lamp. “I’m awake. I’ll play your silly game … who is she?”

“You,” he replied.

“Nope. Don’t think I’ve been strangled tonight, try again.”

How life mocks my waking state.

Death by dreaming.

Glad I don’t live on Elm Street.

copyright Cat Connor 2011