Product Description
Private investigator Jim Knighthorse (from DARK HORSE) takes on a very, very cold case. When historian Willie Clarke dies of mysteriously of dehydration in the California deserts, ex-football hero Jim Knighthorse is hired to dig a little deeper--and discovers a shocking connection to one of the West's oldest mysteries.
Over a hundred years ago, an unnamed cowboy was murdered in the California desert and, due to freak weather conditions, would become mummified within twenty-four hours. Now known to the world as Sylvester the Mummy and displayed in a creepy curiosity shop, Sylvester and historian Willie Clarke will be forever linked in mystery. That is, unless private investigator Jim Knighthorse can survive long enough to untangle one of the West's greatest unsolved murders.
READING SAMPLE
To the east, high on the high cliff above, something flashed. Instinctively, I turned my body, narrowing myself as a target. Beside me, next to my left elbow, a section of the boulder exploded in a small cloud of dust, pelting me with rock fragments. I dove, rolling.
The report from a rifle followed, echoing throughout the valley.
It kept echoing even as I kept rolling.
* * *
I rolled to the relative safety of the boulders, dirt and sand going up my shorts and into places it had no business going.
Worry about sand in your craw later.
Good idea.
The rocks gave some shelter, but not as much as I would have liked as I was forced to stay low to the ground with my face pressed against the hot earth. I removed my Browning, hoping sand hadn’t gotten lodge in the barrel.
A second shot thunked near my shoes. I jerked my exposed legs in closer as an earsplitting echo followed the shot.
Jesus, that was close.
Blindly, I eased my arm around the boulder, let loose with two shots of my own in the general proximity of the spot I had seen the reflection. The two shots were to give the shooter something to think about. I had seven more to be more careful with.
My return fire seemed to work. The shooting from above stopped, at least for the time being. I lay there behind the boulder, trying to make myself as small as possible—a difficult task at best—alert for any sounds or movement.
And then I saw movement, but not the kind I expected....
Over a hundred years ago, an unnamed cowboy was murdered in the California desert and, due to freak weather conditions, would become mummified within twenty-four hours. Now known to the world as Sylvester the Mummy and displayed in a creepy curiosity shop, Sylvester and historian Willie Clarke will be forever linked in mystery. That is, unless private investigator Jim Knighthorse can survive long enough to untangle one of the West's greatest unsolved murders.
READING SAMPLE
To the east, high on the high cliff above, something flashed. Instinctively, I turned my body, narrowing myself as a target. Beside me, next to my left elbow, a section of the boulder exploded in a small cloud of dust, pelting me with rock fragments. I dove, rolling.
The report from a rifle followed, echoing throughout the valley.
It kept echoing even as I kept rolling.
* * *
I rolled to the relative safety of the boulders, dirt and sand going up my shorts and into places it had no business going.
Worry about sand in your craw later.
Good idea.
The rocks gave some shelter, but not as much as I would have liked as I was forced to stay low to the ground with my face pressed against the hot earth. I removed my Browning, hoping sand hadn’t gotten lodge in the barrel.
A second shot thunked near my shoes. I jerked my exposed legs in closer as an earsplitting echo followed the shot.
Jesus, that was close.
Blindly, I eased my arm around the boulder, let loose with two shots of my own in the general proximity of the spot I had seen the reflection. The two shots were to give the shooter something to think about. I had seven more to be more careful with.
My return fire seemed to work. The shooting from above stopped, at least for the time being. I lay there behind the boulder, trying to make myself as small as possible—a difficult task at best—alert for any sounds or movement.
And then I saw movement, but not the kind I expected....
