View Full Version : Lethal Dreams

Anne Patrick
June 29th, 2010, 05:50 PM

Dr. Erin Jacobs is making a name for herself in the sports world. Drawing on her own life experiences, she encourages and inspires athletes to recover from career ending injuries. So why would someone want to hurt the good doctor? Detective Logan Sinclair is determined to find that answer. He’s been mesmerized by Erin from the moment she found him and his partner shot in an alleyway. Since that night their lives have never been the same. Will Logan be able to solve the puzzle of who wants Erin out of the way before it’s too late? And if so what impact will those answers have on their lives? Lethal Dreams can be purchased here: http://www.whimsicalpublications.com/anne_patrick/lethal_dreams.html (http://www.whimsicalpublications.com/anne_patrick/lethal_dreams.html)


Logan drifted in and out of consciousness. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. He never imagined getting shot would hurt this bad.

“It’s not a serious wound. You…you’re going to be fine.”

He looked up at his rescuer. Moments ago she’d sounded so calm and collective as she’d given a detailed description of the driver over his police radio. She was far from that now. Even her hands shook as she applied pressure to his wound. Though she avoided looking at him, he had seen the tears glistening in her eyes.

She had a gentle touch, soothing even. And she was beautiful. The rain had drenched her green scrubs and her dark, shoulder length hair was matted to the sides of her face and neck. She was wearing credentials. The photo ID turned so that only, ‘Mercy General Hospital’ could be seen. “Are you a nurse?”


He heard sirens drawing near. “A doctor?”

She started to stand, but he tightened his grip on her hand. “Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go.” The words seemed ripped from her lips. As if she had no choice.

Logan watched her run awkwardly the length of the alley. She was hurt. Had she been shot too? She stooped over, picked up a backpack, then slipped it over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed. He saw a bike lying on its side. Relief swept over him. She hadn’t been shot, only wrecked her bike. He recalled the description she’d given of the shooter—so much detail. If she’d gotten that good a look at the shooters then they had gotten an even better look at her. As he watched her disappear into the darkness, he prayed the Lord would watch over her until he was back on his feet and could find out who she was.