In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [0]
Title Page
Praise
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
About the Author
Also by Elizabeth Adler:
Copyright Page
PRAISE FOR IN A HEARTBEAT
“KEEPS READERS IN SUSPENSE. . . . Adler is
a talented novelist who has added to her
luster with In a Heartbeat.”
—The Brazosport Facts (Me.)
“A MOST ABSORBING EVENING’S READ.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Ms. Adler does her usual stunning job
of defining personalities and a story that will
entrance you. . . . The murder mystery,
with several unusual twists, adds
dimension to this love story.”
—Old Book Barn Gazette
“SOMETHING SPECIAL . . . ENJOYABLE
CHARACTERS . . . LIVELY DIALOGUE.”
—Booklist
“As always, [Adler’s] direct, razor-sharp style
doesn’t waste a word—or anyone’s time.”
—Kirkus Reviews
1
It was a beautiful flight. A blue-gray dusk had fallen over Manhattan. Lights twinkled as brightly as the new stars, delineating streets that, for him, were paved with gold, and traffic that, for everyone else, came straight from hell. The little single-piston-engine Cessna Skylane 182 responded so fluidly to his touch he almost felt he had sprouted wings. Forget jets, he thought as he began his swooping descent through Manhattan’s sparkling towers into LaGuardia. This was what flying was all about. The freedom of it, escaping for a couple of hours from the mundane world, pretending, like a little kid, that you could really fly.
He hadn’t expected to be en route to New York tonight, but the phone call had been urgent. He was in negotiations for an important Manhattan property and somebody was determined to outbid him. Who, exactly, was what he was about to find out. Tonight.
He grinned as he touched the tiny plane down, bumped lightly once or twice, then taxied smoothly toward the hangar. He felt about his customized silver plane the way some people felt about a racehorse. After a flight, he almost wanted to rub it down, throw a blanket over it, feed it some fresh hay and a carrot. . . .
He was laughing at himself as he brought the aircraft to a stop, unbuckled, and climbed out. He patted the fuselage affectionately, then remembered he had left his briefcase inside. He was about to climb back in when he heard his name called. That would be Jerry, the mechanic. He was expecting him, and he was the one who would currycomb the Cessna, check out its innards, make sure it was in tip-top shape for the flight back to Charleston tomorrow. When he had taken care of this business.
“Mr. Vincent?”
“Yeah?” He was smiling as he swung round.
He stared right into the barrel of a Sigma automatic.
And then all the world went red.
2
“He’s not going to make it.”
Ed Vincent heard those words clear as a bell, but it was several seconds before he realized it was him they were talking about.
The gurney bounced agonizingly as they rolled him out of the medevac helicopter. He heard the whoosh of automatic doors opening as they raced him into Emergency; heard the medevac nurse calling out the circumstances of his shooting and his injuries and condition; heard the shouted commands. “Does he have a femoral pulse? Heart rate’s down to thirty-six—he’s crashing. . . .”
He felt the clothes being cut off him. Then he was lying naked, like a just-landed