SCARECROW JULIE HOCKLEY PDF

Kikasa Screaming in the Silence Lydia Kelly. After just a short time with Emily, Cameron has lost control over his world. Now time to start not so patiently waiting for the 3rd book!! Nineteen-year-old Emily Sheppard is losing her sanity.

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I swear that as soon as I closed the door behind me, I could smell Cameron. It was as if he were still there. Everything in the cottage was exactly the same as I had remembered it, except that there was no Cameron. And that was when I realized that I would never stop feeling this way. She would keep as many flowered plants as she could fit in her small windowsill. The only live plants she would allow were cut-off flowers that needed to come in the morning and be gone by bedtime. Maria would explain to me that she kept her plants because life brings life, that caring for another life meant caring for your own.

Though secretly, I knew she kept them because it was a place where we could both escape the coldness, the lifelessness of the mansion.

There was one early morning when she came to drag me out of bed. Today was the day that the walking iris was blooming. We had been waiting, caring for it for months. And there it was, finally with its white and violet petals. It reminded me of a starfish wearing purple shoes. The most beautiful and sweet-smelling flower I had encountered. And then, at the end of the day, the bloom was gone. That first day in the park, when Meatball knocked me over. The first day I set eyes on Cameron.

I should have known that he would change my life so much. I should have known that he was too much for me, that we were too perfect to last. If I could have just realized that my time with him would be cut so short, I would have held him in my arms and never let him go. I had been alone pretty much my whole life. Only since I had lost Cameron had I really felt my loneliness.

I waited for Meatball to finish his round of the property, let him in, and went up the shaky stairs to the loft. I woke up, but there were no tears or cold sweats this time—just a great sense of loss. The room was almost completely dark, with the only light coming from the moonlight that shone through the small cottage windows. He never really slept. Cameron found my lips in the dark. He kissed me, softly but with purpose, like he was taking a bite out of a peach for the first time.

His tongue tasted every inch. His hand climbed up my thigh to my breast, and he moved on top of me, pulling my T-shirt over my head. I wrapped my legs around his waist, taking the full weight of him on me as he took me whole. We were one skin once again.

If something actually happened the same way you remembered it while in slumber, was it still a dream? Or was it something else? Perhaps a memory. Or wishful thinking, as they say. When does dream become memory, and when does memory become dream? This dream was not just a dream.

It was exact. It was a few months ago. The night had started right here, in this bed, with a nightmare about Rocco just a few days after his death, and had ended with Cameron and me making love for the first time. Who cared? I went back to sleep, hoping to find Cameron there. I lay on my back and watched the sky through the trees, as I had done with Cameron. Even though I knew I was taking a risk by staying at the cottage for so long, I felt safe here.

Spider was well hidden within the underworld, but Victor was everywhere, on purpose. He had made a good name for himself, even though it was all a lie. I had gone to the police station.

Who would take my word against that of a hero? What evidence did I have, other than my own observation? I hoped that by finding out more about Cameron, I would find Spider. They had been partners in crime when Cameron was in high school. All this would take time, and time was not on my side. All these questions were floating around in my head; yet I was unusually calm.

I packed up whatever food was left and dragged Meatball into the car. I knew how he felt. It was weird and extremely lonely to know that my only friend, the only one who knew who I was and where I had been, was a dog.

All the streetlights were on, and so was the porch light. The door flew open, and I got dragged inside. Even Meatball had been taken by surprise. I shook my head, certain I was imagining things again.

His blue eyes were creased with worry, but his trademark grin was slowly spreading, softening his features again. I was still shaking my head in disbelief. Is it really you? I dropped my groceries and jumped in his arms. Where everything would be okay. Where just for a moment, I could be weightless. After I had deliberately left Spider in Jersey and flown to San Francisco without his knowledge, Spider started asking questions. When we finally met up in Los Angeles, we had barely spoken ten words to each other.

Then again, we were both busy planning for the biggest drug shipment of our careers. We both knew this was going to be our redemption … my redemption for the captains.

If we could pull this shipment off, it would bring more money to the captains than they had made in the last three years. Now we were on a plane heading to Montreal. A few hours together with no escape. Spider kept his eyes pinned on a drop of water that was slowly making its way across the window. Suddenly I realized that while I had been avoiding Spider, he had been avoiding me. And this concerned me. We have a business to run. Do I need to find someone to replace her? He was usually on top of everything.

I had never had to ask anything of him twice or have him do anything over. But in the last few days, mistakes had been made, by both him and Carly. Numbers were coming back incorrect, messages were being fuddled, everything was coming in just a bit late.

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I swear that as soon as I closed the door behind me, I could smell Cameron. It was as if he were still there. Everything in the cottage was exactly the same as I had remembered it, except that there was no Cameron. And that was when I realized that I would never stop feeling this way. She would keep as many flowered plants as she could fit in her small windowsill. The only live plants she would allow were cut-off flowers that needed to come in the morning and be gone by bedtime. Maria would explain to me that she kept her plants because life brings life, that caring for another life meant caring for your own.

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