Deadly Holiday - Excerpt from First Chapter

December 21

Anne Mason-Brandt peeked through sleepy eyes at her clock, noticing it was five forty-five in the morning. The handsome man sleeping soundly next to her, who was the county prosecutor, would wake up in fifteen minutes.  She rolled over to wrap her arms and legs around his warm, hard body.  As his arms tightened around her, Anne felt she was the luckiest woman in the universe.  She was married to the man of her dreams, who'd given her two beautiful children, and a happy life she'd once thought was beyond her reach. 

Anne traced Michael's broad shoulders and hard-sculpted body with her fingertips, smiling when his eyes fluttered open.  He pulled her close and planted tiny kisses on the sensitive places around her neck that sent a delightful shiver up her spine.  Anne sighed, tilting her head to give him better access.  She sighed again, this time in frustration, because he abruptly stopped when they heard a knock at the door, and two loud barks from an excited dog.

Michael softly whispered, "We'll continue this later," as their five-year-old twins, Melissa and Michael Jr., bounded into the room and onto the bed, followed by their Giant Schnauzer, Harley.

Melissa wrapped her little arms around Anne's neck and said, "Grammy-Daisy said that Santa is watching us to see if we're being good."

Anne smiled as she visualized Daisy, housekeeper, friend, and the children's Grammy, using this holiday bit of information to get the sometimes-unruly twins to behave.  "Honey, if you are behaving, then you've nothing to worry about.  Right?"

Stroking the big dog's head, Michael Jr. shot his mom a skeptical look and said, "Does Santa watch Harley, too?  Because yesterday Grammy got mad because he tracked in dirt on her clean kitchen floor."

Anne glanced at her husband who was trying not to grin, and said, "It sounds like Harley should wipe off his paws when he comes inside.  Maybe we should get him some boots."  The twins giggled at the visual and their dad pulled them into a bear hug, sending them into shrieks of laughter.

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After breakfast, Anne helped her husband with his tie and kissed him before he left for work.  She wandered into the formal living room where she admired the six-foot Christmas tree that Michael and the kids had chosen from a wooded area of their farm, along with Hank, their farm foreman.  Michael had made hot chocolate that they'd sipped by the fireplace, as the children decorated the tree.  The memory made her smile.

Upstairs, Anne pulled off her nightgown and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water stream down her body.  Squeezing some rose-scented shower gel into her hand, she rubbed each arm until a cloud of suds appeared.  Anne put more gel into her hands to wash her left breast then her right.   Warning spasms of alarm erupted within her when she felt a pea-sized lump as hard as a stone in her right breast.  Panic like she'd never known before welled in her throat. No, it couldn't be.  Anne had lost Marion – a friend who was more like a mother – to cancer, and the horrible disease had become her greatest fear. Perhaps she was imagining something that wasn't there.

Anne ran her fingers over the area again.  The lump was still there.  She leaned against the shower wall, staring but not seeing, her breath bursting in and out.  She slid against the water-slickened shower wall until she sat cross-legged beneath the pounding water.  She hugged herself, rocking back and forth, as she wept.  Anne indulged in her personal pity for a few minutes before she got on her feet.  She resolved to tap into the strength she knew she had deep inside.  She wrapped herself in a towel and called her doctor.

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Prosecutor Michael Brandt looked at the frightened boy in his office and wished he could avoid the discussion that would ensue.  The kid, sitting stock-still, was thin with auburn hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his nose.  His legs weren't long enough to reach the floor, and he nervously kicked one back and forth.