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    Smith's Monthly #15

    Page 22
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      “Maybe in hell,” Lott said, laughing.

      “I swear, Detective,” Williams said, “You can really get on a person’s nerves.”

      “I’ve been told that,” Lott said.

      Williams reached for the door handle and pushed the door open.

      Then suddenly Williams’ face went white and he scrambled to do something under the dash.

      “Down everyone!” Lott shouted and dove for the weed-choked ditch.

      And for the second time, an explosion triggered by Williams smashed into Lott’s back.

      A moment later, but what seemed like an eternity, he heard Agent Munn shout to see if everyone was all right.

      Lott could barely hear her, his ears were ringing so loud.

      But all he could do was smile, because burning in the brush against the hillside about ten feet in front of him was what was left of Willis Williams.

      And never had Lott seen such a perfect sight.

      A moment later, an angel appeared over him, looking very, very worried.

      She asked if he was all right. Lott rolled over slowly onto his back in the weeds and he reached up and indicated she should come closer.

      She leaned in, even more worried.

      Then he kissed her.

      He planned on doing that a lot more very shortly.

      CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

      May 17, 2015

      9:20 A.M.

      McCall, Idaho

      Julia smiled at the wonderful man asleep in her bed.

      The suite around them was wonderful and Doc said she and Lott could use it as long as they wanted.

      The sun was already up and full and she had ordered them both room service breakfast.

      After the explosion on the hill and the death of Williams, they had spent some time giving statements, then promised more today and for the next week or so.

      They had flown back to McCall, and Doc had suggested they just stay in the Shore Lodge suite for the night, since Lott was again covered in dirt and mud from the ditch.

      They both liked the idea.

      Lott had gone into the shower after they got back to the room to get clean and she had decided they had waited more than long enough. She took off her clothes and joined him, helping him wash his back.

      And then he helped her.

      Then together, they tumbled into the soft featherbed and made love in the most wonderful and slow way.

      After so many years, she couldn’t even believe that was possible for her. But it clearly was.

      Then they had gone out for a late dinner with Doc and Annie and Fleet, then had come back and fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

      It had felt so natural.

      The sun through the drapes woke her and she had gotten up, ordered breakfast, and then gone back to bed.

      Now she lay there staring at Lott. She couldn’t believe it, but she had fallen in love again. She had thought that part of her life was over. But it clearly wasn’t.

      She touched him gently, just wanting to feel his skin. Then she cuddled against him, her body pressed against his.

      Lott smiled and turned slightly so he could look into her eyes. “Even though I hurt in more places than I care to think about, that feels wonderful.”

      She laughed. “We are getting a little old to be blown up twice in one day.”

      “Anyone’s too old for that,” Lott said.

      “Have I ever told you I love you, Detective,” she said, smiling at him.

      “You haven’t,” Lott said, smiling back at her. “And I love you as well, you know that, Detective?”

      “I do,” she said.

      She kissed him.

      He kissed her back.

      And then for the next thirty minutes, until breakfast arrived, they did some pretty amazing things for two retired detectives.

      BEING YOUNG

      A young woman,

      maybe twenty-two,

      bent over

      without a thought

      and without bending her knees,

      to pick up a dropped water bottle.

      An elderly woman,

      slumped over in a wheelchair,

      watched,

      sadness for lost years

      filling her eyes.

      Human aging isn’t measured by years,

      but by lost freedoms

      taken from the human body.

      The old woman

      in the wheelchair understood that.

      The young woman

      was still decades from catching a clue.

      If you enjoyed this volume of Smith’s Monthly, don’t miss the next: Subscribe today!

      Subscriptions are available in electronic or trade paper formats and begin with the very next issue.

      Find out more at www.SmithsMonthly.com

      Missed a volume? No problem. Buy individual volumes anytime at your favorite bookseller.

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      USA Today bestselling author Dean Wesley Smith published more than a hundred novels in thirty years and hundreds and hundreds of short stories across many genres.

      He wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds. Writing with his wife Kristine Kathryn Rusch under the name Kathryn Wesley, they wrote the novel for the NBC miniseries The Tenth Kingdom and other books for Hallmark Hall of Fame movies.

      He wrote novels under dozens of pen names in the worlds of comic books and movies, including novelizations of a dozen films, from The Final Fantasy to Steel to Rundown.

      He now writes his own original fiction under just the one name, Dean Wesley Smith. In addition to his upcoming novel releases, his monthly magazine called Smith’s Monthly premiered October 1, 2013, filled entirely with his original novels and stories.

      Dean also worked as an editor and publisher, first at Pulphouse Publishing, then for VB Tech Journal, then for Pocket Books. He now plays a role as an executive editor for the original anthology series Fiction River.

      For more information go to www.deanwesleysmith.com, www.smithsmonthly.com or www.fictionriver.com.

      Table of Contents

      Introduction

      Daddy is an Undertaker

      ONE

      TWO

      THREE

      FOUR

      FIVE

      SIX

      Cutting Down Fred

      ONE

      TWO

      THREE

      FOUR

      They're Back

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      Gus

      Dear Bill,

      Dear Fred,

      Dear Bill,

      Dear Fred,

      Dear Bill,

      Telegram

      Article from the local Monday newspaper.

      Dear Bill,

      Dear Fred,

      Dear Bill,

      Dear Fred,

      Dear Bill,

      Dear Fred,

      Dear Bill,

      The Last Burp of a Very Good Woman

      Poem: Gutter

      Cold Call: A Cold Poker Gang Novel

      AUTHOR’S NOTE

      Part One

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      Part Two

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      Part Three

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      Part Four

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      CHA
    PTER TWENTY-FOUR

      CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

      Part Five

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

      CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

      CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

      Part Six

      CHAPTER THIRTY

      CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

      CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

      CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

      CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

      CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

      CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

      CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

      CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

      CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

      CHAPTER FORTY

      CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

      CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

      Poem: Being Young

      Subscription Information

      About the Author

      Copyright Information

     

     

     



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