2017 Red Ribbon winner, The Wishing Shelf international book awards (Adult-Fiction).
A tattoo artist is pursued by the man of her dreams, but her biker-gang friends mistake him for a hit man out to get her.
It's 1995, and Galen Randall, the world'...
The ebony night sky teemed with galaxies, and tall grasses on the vast savannah below rustled with the breeze. Randall crept on his belly, silent as a leopard, through the darkness, guided by his night vision scope. The wind stirred his hair, giving him confirmation that his scent would not be blowing toward the pride of lions just yards ahead of him.
His goal was to use his night-vision-equipped camera to capture extreme close-ups of the lions as they fed on their kill — an antelope that had loped too late. A twig snapped under his knee, and he froze in place. The lions raised their heads above the long grass and scanned the horizon.
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They didn't see or sense him. They returned to shredding the flesh of the unfortunate antelope.
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Randall let out a long, slow sigh. He raised the camera carefully to his face, put a finger on the shutter, held his breath for extra stability, and —
BEEEEP went his backpack!
A young lion jerked upright, spinning to face the sound.
BEEEEP!
Randall took off running.
BEEEEP!
The young lion bounded after him.
BEEEEP!
Randall leapt, caught a low branch, and heaved himself up into an acacia tree.
BEEEEP!
The young lion stopped at the base of the tree. He looked up toward Randall, then looked back toward his colleagues, who had returned to their dining. He lost interest in Randall, and turned to trot back to his dinner.
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BEEEEP!
Randall wrestled the bulky sat-phone out of his backpack and nearly tumbled from the tree. Precariously balanced, sweating and panting, he answered the phone.
"Meriweather, you don't have to cause my death in order to take over the business! Everyone knows you already run the business! Just once, instead of endangering my life this way, couldn't you wait for me to call you?"
He heard the clacking of Meriweather's high heels and knew she was pacing.
"If I waited," she barked, "you would not call me until the day after the last boat sailed — and you'd have some feeble excuse for not being on it, like your leg being eaten by a crocodile. Unacceptable, Randall."
A strong gust shook Randall's branch, and he saved himself by roping a stouter limb nearby with his camera strap. Almost confident he was not going to fall to his death, he again spoke into the phone.
"I said I'd be there, and I'll be there. There's still plenty of time. Now, I have to go, Meriweather. The hippos are overturning the canoe."
He ended the call.
In heroffice, Meriweather stopped pacing and glared at the silent phone. "Hipposindeed!" She snorted. "He always has to pretend he's in such direperil. Big, bad Bwana Randall. Pfmpt. Unbelievable!"
~o~~o~~o~
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Where is Randall supposed to be? Why doesn't Meriweather believe he'll be there? Did he get any pictures of the lions?
We'll meet more characters and maybe get some answers in next Wednesday's installment of LOU'S TATTOOS.
Thank you so much for reading and voting, and a special thanks to everyone who shares an opinion or comment below.
