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Retired from the Marine Corps and the California Department of Corrections, Major Matt Rommel's life has been one long exercise in applied violence. The gold rush in internet stocks made him a wealthy man. Now, he is a docent at San Francisco's Palace of the Legion of Honor. He spends his days surrounded by art treasures and his nights in the Mission District at Vince's bar. Matt Rommel is a grizzled combat veteran who is afraid of women.

The roller-coaster years of the internet boom and bust have also changed the life of Carolyn Kast, leaving her with a failed marriage to a man committed only to his forlorn hope of a technology company. Now, Carolyn is a single mother in her middle forties with a troubled six-year-old daughter who is obsessed with the scarred, giant of a man she saw on a visit to the museum.

As Carolyn struggles to make a living at her fledgling ad agency, Brand Loyalty, and keep her two new partners from each other's throats, it is becoming clear that someone is trying to kill her. Carolyn is at a loss for either a motive or a suspect.

But her daughter Aubrey knows what to do. Go to the man she has decided is an enforcer for Santa Claus: The Scary Man!

EXCERPT:

Matt Rommel stood at the door, a thoroughly surprised man. That, in itself, gave Carolyn Kast some satisfaction. She was still uncomfortable. How was she going to explain herself?

“Madam, what are you doing here? How else have I transgressed? What new injury have I perpetrated?”

Carolyn looked at Matt Rommel. “You could invite me in.”

“Yes, of course. Won't you please come in?”

Carolyn stepped into the foyer, making a deliberate effort not to be seen looking around, surveying the home, any gesture that could be interpreted as mercantile. She had to know. What was this man doing? Was he living in one place and pretending to live somewhere else? Why? Of course, she knew that before she could reasonably ask, she was going to explain why she was here at all. How was she going to explain her own actions first?

“You're probably wondering why I am here,” she began.

Matt Rommel motioned toward the spacious living room, its carpets and furniture a careful study in tans, browns and gold. The ceilings were high, but it still seemed warm. “Would you like to sit down?”

This reception was much different from the one above Vince's bar. Carolyn had an insight. This was his home and, being his home, the demands of hospitality were greater. “No thank you,” she said. “When I left the bar, I got turned around in traffic. When I finally got things straightened out, I noticed your Cadillac. You were driving so slowly that I thought you might be having car trouble so I followed you in case you had to pull over. When you pulled into the garage, it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't car trouble. I thought maybe you were ill, so I…”

“Knocked on the door to see if I was all right?” Rommel ventured.

“Exactly. I gather you are. All right, I mean,” Carolyn continued.

“Yes, thank you. I'm fine.”

“I'm glad,” she said. “Well, I have to be going. You just remember that little talk we had.”

“About respecting your privacy?”

“Yes.” Carolyn flushed scarlet. However lame it seemed, it was apparent that Mr. Rommel was prepared to accept the pretense so she would just have to bluff her way through. As she stood, a chirpy tune blared from her purse. “I'm sorry. I have to get this,” she said, answering the cell phone.

“Carolyn Kast.”

“It's me, Denni. Are you still in the City?”

“Yes, but I'm just leaving, and I should be there to pick up Aubrey in less than an hour.”

“I don't think so,” Denni responded. Her tone seemed strained.

“Why? Is something wrong?” Without knowing why, she braced herself. She could see, both Mr. Rommel and the dog were responding to her tension, studying her.

“The San Francisco Police called. They need you to meet them back at the office” Denni spoke slowly, choosing her few words with care. “Sarah has been murdered.”

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Angelica Chappell’s story made huge headlines. Only a few months ago, she released a new
pharmaceutical drug called Krytonix that effectively slows the spread of cancer cells. She had no idea her story would attract the attention of a serial killer. Suddenly, she is a target whether she realizes it or not. This killer is interested in more than her life. He wants her reputation, too. His first mission is to sabotage Krytonix.

William Pierce worked undercover for the FBI for five years to bring down a ruthless mobster that he ultimately is forced to kill. Two months have passed by since that assignment. Still, William saw things he can’t talk about. He did things he can’t talk about. He believes his soul is damned. Returning to “normal” everyday life isn’t an option. He isn’t the same man he used to be. He refuses to return to FBI headquarters, and instead, becomes a rogue agent with an agenda.

When Pierce's agenda leads him to Chappell, it will take both of them to keep Angelica alive and figure out who is after her. William soon finds himself developing feelings for Angelica. Too bad for her killer, William worked as a trained hit-man for the mob. Will he find her killer and hand him over to the legal system to see that justice is served, or will he search and destroy?

EXCERPT:

She wished he would leave her alone. She even considered putting up the optional privacy window between the front and back of the car. Of course she wasn’t okay. Didn’t he understand just how serious this situation was?

“Want me to turn the radio to that funky station you like?”

The “funky” music he referred to was a hip-hop channel that played a combination of some rock, some rhythm and blues, and a bit of rap. It was actually the most listened to station of the area. It was also Patrick’s favorite. The old man had odd tastes. One of her grandfather’s rules was that the station had to be turned off, or tuned into a classical station unless otherwise requested by the passenger. That rule applied to Chappell family or guests. Patrick was asking if she wanted that music so he could listen to what he really wanted to. She wondered if he knew she was onto his little deception.

“Sure,” she said.

“Here you go.”

A new Justin Timberlake song filled the car. It didn’t help Angelica to relax. Her chest burned with stress and fear. The air she breathed actually hurt. Her life as she knew it could be over.

After another couple of minutes, Patrick tried again to start a conversation. “This will blow over, honey. Trust me. Everything does. People aren’t going to blame you. Everybody loves you.”

He was so wrong on so many levels. The public would want someone to blame and she would get that honor. She would be crucified. She expected that reaction and it was justifiable. She knew the burden was hers. Truth be told, she didn’t care what people thought and never had. Why should she? She never saw anyone outside of the lab anyway. She didn’t care if people hated her because of Krytonix. She did care that people were going to die because of her drug. It was her failure. It was her responsibility to figure out what was wrong. People’s lives were on the line. She accepted that accountability.

“Oh shit. Hang on.”

The hair on Angelica’s neck stood up when she heard the panic in Patrick’s statement. Her stomach nosedived to her feet and returned in utter turmoil. Her eyes darted to the road to find the source of the problem. They were close to home, a quiet part of town where tourists didn’t venture and traffic was far less dense. The road was curvy, leading to a steep grade to the top of a deserted hillside that held the Chappell Mansion.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Patrick said again.

They were traveling much too fast for the winding road, even heading uphill. Patrick was wildly stomping on the brake, but nothing was happening. The car continued to accelerate as if he held the gas to the floor. He fought for control of the steering wheel, but it looked as if it simply rotated round and round with the ease of an arcade game. Patrick’s face was flushed bright crimson and sweating, his eyes wide and glazed.

“Do something!” Angelica cried in desperation, torn between shock and fear.

It was obvious Patrick was doing his best. The sharp curve before them would be upon them in seconds, and unless some kind of miracle intervened, they were going straight ahead—over a sand dune and into the ocean.

Angelica grabbed onto the seat and held as tightly as she could. The car continued to accelerate. Everything seemed loud. Patrick was groaning. The radio was blasting. The roar of the tires was like drums beating a tune of anticipation.

In the last second, when all possible hope of rescue was gone, Patrick screamed. Angelica dipped her head in her lap and closed her eyes. The Lord’s Prayer was on her lips when she felt the car lurch into the air and plummet into empty space.

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When the case of an alleged suicide of a local poet is handed to her detective boyfriend, and things just don't add up, Police department counselor Alayne Vaughan pursues the case, almost losing her love,
career

-and life-

in the process.

EXCERPT:

“Yes, I mean, in the middle of a protective order, you don’t sleep with your ex. How can you do this kind of work?”

“Lance, we slept together in the middle of my restraining order.”

“Those restraining orders don’t mean anything.” Lance moved his chair back from the table so he could sit with his legs spread wide.

“My boss took it pretty seriously.” Alayne was in the last month of her six months’ probationary period at her job, so she could still get fired.

He flapped his hand. “The only reason Norma Jean got one—she knew the judge. What Norma Jean wants, she gets.” He frowned. “And now she wants me.”

“She has you.”

“No—marriage.”

“Well, you knew there’d be a price to pay.”

“I would rather marry you than her.”

Another country music song yodeled to a close. “Can you see what you’re playing at?” When she was mad, Alayne occasionally slipped into her mother’s phrasings. “When it’s safe, you come forward. If I
moved one step toward you, you’d run a mile. Angel does the same thing.”

“If he was here, he probably wouldn‘t even let me talk to you, right? You know I never stopped you from talking to whoever you wanted to.”

“At least I know he cares.”

“Then why are you here all alone?”

“He’s mad because I keep wanting to find out what’s happening in his case. Remember that night we went to the poetry reading—Kaitlin Sommers?”

“That girl who killed herself?”

She nodded. “Did you think she was beautiful?” She had been jealous of Kaitlin that night at the reading. She had accused Lance of staring at her, but he pointed out that as Kaitlin was the only person on stage, who was he supposed to look at?

“Sure…what a waste.” At his words, she realized she experienced no jealousy. She was over him!

“It might not have been suicide.” Alayne pitched her voice lower. Not that anyone had returned from the dance floor. “Supposedly, she had coke residue in her nasal passages, and there was a dirty condom under the bed, freshly used.”

“Why would you kill yourself after having sex?”

“I can think of all sorts of reasons,” she said. “But Angel won’t even try to find out who it was.”

“He’s the investigator?”

“Yeah, but he’s convinced it’s suicide—the gun shot wound, the suicidal tendencies.”

“And you don’t think so?”

“I’m going to look into her death, find out what happened.”

Alayne was about to tell him more when, suddenly, a flash of white descended on them—Mary Beth in her wedding dress. “You can’t spend the whole night talking to people you already know. Circulate!”

After Lance left, Alayne pretended to be absorbed in her wedding cake, but the granules of sugar coagulated in her throat. As she convulsively tried to swallow, she told herself she had done the right
thing by leaving Lance. He had cheated on her with Norma Jean.

Then why was she sitting at a wedding reception alone while he danced with a rich, blond lawyer? And why, on the nights she had been unable to sleep, had she driven out to West Lake Hills to see where they now lived together? That last night—she still couldn’t think of it as stalking even though that’s what Norma Jean had called it in the police report—the sleek black BMW in Norma Jean’s slanting driveway had invited Alayne to stop her own little Toyota, grab the jack from the back, and smash in the head and tail lights of
the BMW. Alayne would have broken the windshield, but hadn’t known until she took a big thwack, that it was basically impenetrable. She had scuttled away, horrified at how far she had gone. Norma Jean’s house had been dark, but at the sound of glass breaking and neighboring dogs barking, lights flickered on before Alayne drove off, her foot shaking on the accelerator.

Go on a Journey...

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Author Mark McGrath discovers that to raise four children as a single parent, along with continuing a career in nursing, he needs more than a pair of ruby red slippers. He needs the help of family and friends. Tears and laughter flourish throughout his many adventures, trials and unforgettable moments as a nurse and as a father. Join him as he makes...

the journey home.

EXCERPT:

And we all continued to watch Rico.

Still he struggled, and his breathing remained in the high forties. His daughters were each holding an arm and his wife was stroking his face telling him it was all okay now, that they would be fine and to please go to wherever he needed to go. They all told him to let go, that the family loved him and would miss him, but that his suffering needed to end. His breathing came in short pants, much as a winded athlete breathes after a long race or shift of ice time on a hockey rink (something yours truly can personally relate to).

I listened silently and struggled with the scene myself as it was heart rendering and touching to
witness. I thought to myself how lucky he was to have a family who loved him so much that they wanted him to die so that the pain and illness he was suffering would finally come to an end. The girls were begging Daddy to please let go and stop suffering. The sobs coming from them were unbearable for me to hear.

I watched intensely as another half hour rolled past and Rico continued to writhe and moan. As soon as I was able, I increased the drop rate to eight mg an hour and went about monitoring his progress. His respiration rate dropped from the mid fifties to around forty. But even though the rate had dropped, he still was uncomfortable and was extremely rest-less.

I called Barbara when I increased the rate and asked her to please come speak with me on my dinner break. She told me she would be there shortly and to meet her in the conference room. I told her I would and got myself ready to leave for a well deserved half hour break.

I quickly gave my relief nurse an overview of what was going on and told her that I would change the drip rate if needed when I came back. Both of Rico’s daughters had left to get something to eat themselves and his wife had her head on his hand in what seemed to be a prayer vigil.

I met Barbara in the conference room and gave her the latest news on how he was doing. She knew I was still struggling with things and she sat listening again about how I felt. I told her that I felt I was contributing to his death and that I was having an issue increasing the drip to 16 mg.

What she said to me made a profound difference in how I have approached life and death since that day in the ICU. She told me to put myself in Rico’s place, and asked what would I want?

“Not to be in pain, that’s for sure,” was the first thing I said.

“Mark, he is terminal. You are smart enough to under-stand what’s happening and know that nothing more can be done. The family wants his suffering to stop. Whether he dies now, five minutes from now or five hours from now, don’t you think that the best thing is be humane and make him as comfortable as you can? You can’t kill someone with humanity, Mark. What you can do is treat him as best as you can given what you know, and make the last hours as pain free and comfortable as humanly possible. You need to increase the drip and not worry about how things look. Remember that you are the nurse in charge of making sure he is getting what he needs to be comfortable and pain free. If that was you there, what would you want your family to tell me to do?”

As I listened to her words, I realized that she was right. Both rules applied here: he was one of those patients who got sicker and was going to die, and nothing I knew or did would ever change the fact that he was going to die. So, I did what I would want someone to do for me in my time of dying, in pain, and suffering unbearably.

I went back into the ICU and turned the drip rate to 16 mg.

Outline of Murder- Now available!

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Tired of the politics as well as the bureaucracy of his job, Lieutenant Brad Schrader is contemplating early retirement and pursuit of another career, that of a mystery writer. His endeavors prove useless when he’s called upon to investigate the murder of Melody Anselmo, a Radio City Music Hall Rockette. While searching for the killer, Brad becomes personally involved with the twin sister of the victim.

The story is based on Lieutenant Brad Schrader’s notes while working the case with his partner, Sergeant Detective Phil Barrecca. During the investigation, the pair discover something neither ever expected, something best left unsaid. They agree to let matters rest and not expose the killer even though they know the consequences of their actions could be disastrous.

To this date, the murder of Melody Anselmo is still on the books as a cold case in New York City.

EXCERPT:

It was the worst case of bad timing that I had ever seen. Everything seemed to be happening at once. The girl, carrying two mugs of coffee, entered, while at the other end of the room, with hat in hand, Phil came strolling in from the foyer.

"Lieutenant, I…" Barrecca's words died in his throat. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the girl. He made a feeble attempt to recover his shock, but failed.

I slowly rose to my feet, taking the whole situation in hand. "Melissa," I said, "this is Sergeant Barrecca. We work together."

"Sergeant," she nodded.

"Phil, this is Melissa Anselmo, Melody's sister."

"Miss Anselmo," he said, and managed to smile.

The moment was awkward and as the girl leaned over to set the mugs down, I gave Phil a high-sign not to say anything.

"Will one of you kindly tell me what is going on around here?" she asked while straightening up. "I'm sure you didn't come here to feed Mr. Tibbetts, Sergeant. Or did you?"

"Who's Mr. Tibbetts?" Barrecca said in complete bewilderment.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she said. "Thank you for your honesty." With unbridled contempt, she looked at me. "I believe he called you Lieutenant. Exactly what division are you in, Lieutenant?"

"Homicide."

Her shock was genuine. I could tell by her lower lip; it trembled. Fear flashed into her eyes. "It's about Melody, isn't it?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Something dreadful has happened to her."

There was no easy way of putting it. "She's dead, Melissa."

"Dead!" Unbelieving, she shook her head from side to side. "It was minor surgery…one doesn't die…"

"The surgery had nothing to do with her death," I said.

"How? How then!" She lashed out at me.

"Melody was murdered."

"Murdered," she gasped. "I…I don't believe you. Why? Why would anyone…?" She started to back away from me as if I were an escapee from a loony bin. "You're wrong," she cried, eyes frantically searching the room. She spotted the fancy white phone on the end table and headed directly toward it.

I followed.

"You're wrong. You'll see," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "There's been a mistake. I'm going to call the hospital right now. How could you make such a horrendous mistake?"

Time and time again, I had witnessed the same reaction. The truth was tearing at her guts while her mind was clinging to the hope that a mistake had been made.

I roughly pulled her hand away from the phone. "Stop it, Melissa," I said, "there's no mistake."

My words struck her like a blow.

"Oh, God," she groaned. Her knees buckled beneath her and I caught her about the waist, backing her into the couch.

"Phil, see if there's some brandy in that cabinet over there."

"Sure thing."

Phil managed to get some brandy into her and then we waited. With a terrible feeling of helplessness, we waited. We waited until she was all cried out.

"Is there someone you would like us to call?" I said.

She shook her head in answer.

Finally, through red, swollen eyes, she looked over at Phil and me sitting in the occasional chairs opposite her. "Who…" she sobbed, "who would do…such a thing?"

"We don't know," I said.

"You never knew my sister, did you? All—all this time you knew she was de—dead, and yet…and yet you led me to believe—" she stopped, fresh tears clouding her eyes.

I swallowed hard. "No, I never met her. I'm sorry, but I had good reason for not telling you sooner."

She glared at me. "What reason could you possibly have?"

I didn't answer. If she despised me, I couldn't blame her. For that matter, I wasn't too pleased with myself. "What you might think of me isn't important," I said. "The important thing is to catch the person responsible for Melody's death. You can be of great help to us by answering questions that concern your sister."

"I can't," she whispered, voice filled with despair. "I haven't seen her in over two years." With the handkerchief that I had given her earlier, she brushed at the wetness of her face. "There's something I have to know," she said, making a strong effort to pull herself together. "How did my sister…"

I drew in a sharp breath. "Suffocation. A bed pillow was used."

Even from where I was sitting, I could see the sudden quiver of chills that ran through her body. In an attempt to control the trembling, she folded her arms across her chest. "I knew it," she said, "even before you told me, I knew it."

Phil and I exchanged a puzzled glance.

"How?" I carefully asked. "How did you know?"

She vaguely looked over at Phil and me. "I don't think you would understand," she said.

What's Better Than Chocolate? Find out!

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Years ago Van Marshall, lead singer and guitarist of the metal band Bleeding Passion, let the love of his life get away because he lacked the courage to tell her how he felt about her. He has been plagued by the memory of her ever since then, unable to fully commit to another because of the love he still held for her in his heart. Now, she is thrown unexpectedly back into his life, bringing with her all of the feelings he has hidden inside for so long.

Because of a brutal assault, Kat Vauss hates men and trusts no one. She is a martial arts expert and devotes all of her time to her work and her training. The only person to ever come close to her heart was a shy, awkward boy she knew in high school who she thinks is gone forever.

When Kat is given an assignment to shoot a DVD for Bleeding Passion, she is not prepared for the way her body and heart react to the sensual singer, who coincidentally helped her out of a sticky situation some years before. His presence stirs to life dormant feelings inside of her, but will he show her that not all men are evil and life can still be beautiful and worth living?

EXCERPT:

He reached over to a bowl that was on the floor next to the couch and he offered it to her. “Chocolate?”

Kat looked at the chocolates and picked one out, smiling to herself. “I have very good memories of these,” she murmured.

She frowned. “My chocolate?”

He grinned. “No. Your memory.”

She looked away sadly and the deepest kind of sorrow welled up inside of her. She felt tears sting her eyes and she swallowed. “It was a long time ago,” she whispered.

He gave her a look of concern, as if wondering why the memory should cause her such sadness. “Are you all right?”

She tried to mask her grief with a fake smile and nodded. “There’s nothing better than chocolate,” she said, trying to change the subject.

He regarded her with an expression that was solemn, but exuded warmth. It was one of those unnerving looks that made it seem like he was looking straight into her soul. It made her squirm and her pulse accelerate in a way that was extremely abnormal for her.

“Some things are,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

Kat’s heart lurched and she felt sick to her stomach. She looked away and pretended to be interested in a thread on the couch.

“Van!” Lance cried. “Dude! This girl’s whipping us all! I’m gonna be naked soon!”

Kat and Van both looked over to see Lance sitting only in his boxers and one sock. Van laughed and Kat took the opportunity. She snapped her book open again and pretended to read, sticking her nose further into it than she needed to, trying to escape. She glanced at Van out of the corner of her eye. He looked at her and smiled knowingly, then stood and went over to Lance. She let out a relieved sigh and didn’t move for the rest of the trip. She had never been so happy to see a hotel in all her life.

Hank helped Rochelle and Kat with their luggage and got them checked in. Kat listened to Rochelle go on and on and on about Lance’s chest, Lance’s torso, Lance’s tattooed arms and rippling biceps, etc., etc., etc. as she put her pajamas on, glad to be in her own room and away from Van. Though she had refused to show any sign of life for the last leg of the journey, she noticed his continued quiet watching of her. He kept to himself, but she could feel his eyes burning into her. It had been the longest ride of her life.

“So I saw you talking to Van,” Rochelle said.

Kat sighed as she set her suitcase inside the closet. “Yeah.”

“What did you talk about? Did he hit on you?”

Kat rolled her eyes. “No, we talked about work and he gave me a chocolate. Big whoop. I’m gonna go find the ice machine.” She left the room and wandered through the halls for awhile, trying to regain her usual composure. Van had rattled her much more than she would have liked. She was always in control, always cool and collected and reserved, but he had made her feel completely neurotic. The things he had said…. The way he had looked at her…. It was freaky. He made her remember things she had tried to forget a long time ago. Things that still hurt like they had happened yesterday.

She paced restlessly for a while longer, until she felt like she had control over herself again, then meandered back to the room, never actually having located the ice machine. She stopped in the doorway and frowned when she saw a folded piece of paper on the floor. She picked it up and stared at it for a moment. Her name was written on the outside of it. She felt instant dread. This was something else that was going to freak her out. She could feel it. She opened it reluctantly.

Waiting for Mary Elizabeth: Now available and 1/2 off in ebook!

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Gregory is a world renown artist, drop-dead gorgeous and sincerely believes a promise should never be broken. At the age of twelve he promises to wait for four year old Mary Elizabeth to grow up. Every day of his life since then has revolved around keeping that promise. Now the time has finally arrived to discover if she still wants to marry him.

While Mary Elizabeth doesn't believe in fairy tales, she believes in Gregory. Her parents keep insisting he won't come for her, but she knows he will. At four years of age her young heart recognized the person it belonged to. But just when she believes her perfect future is coming true, a spiteful adversary causes her to doubt Gregory's sincerity. Now the future doesn't seem quite so bright or certain. Gregory and Mary Elizabeth will have to overcome many obstacles in order to stop waiting and to finally begin living and loving.

EXCERPT:

After a moment of silence, Gregory grinned through the railing. "Well, here we are. It isn't exactly how I
thought our first meeting would go."

A fluttering in her chest made it hard to breathe, but she somehow managed to smile in return. "How did you think it would go?"

He leaned backward until both elbows rested on the cold, concrete flooring. "I thought I would ask about your life and then I would tell you about mine." He shifted his weight. "I wanted to ask about your future plans." He leaned over slightly and grinned. "What are your plans for after graduation?"

The way he studied her mouth made it difficult to concentrate. "I want to open my own floral shop, but my parents want me go to the university to study business. They think I should understand business first before I rush into ownership of a shop."

He gave the tips of his shoes some serious consideration before finally nodding. "That sounds like wise advice."

A comfortable silence surrounded them. Mary Elizabeth leaned on the railing and finally broke the silence. "Why are you really here?"

He sat up, leaned forward, and wrapped both arms around his knees. "I needed to know you still wanted me to wait for you." He glanced over for a brief moment before looking back down at the steps. "You were very young when you asked."

She wanted to reach and touch his hair. Just to see if it was as soft as it looked, but she resisted the urge. "Why have you kept your promise? Even my parents said you wouldn't."

He looked up and locked eyes with her. "But someone did expect me to. You did and I did. Did anyone else matter?"

She did reach over then and touched the sleeve of his shirt. "There's more. Isn't there?"

He completely covered her hand with his. "I wanted you to know that I believed you that day. It never mattered to me that no one else did. I did." He gave a shy grin. "I want you to enjoy this time in high school and at the university. Don't give up living just because you know where our journey ends." He increased the pressure on her hand for a moment. "Promise me to do this, okay?"

She nodded.

He released her hand and stood. She stood as well.

"When I return, I don't want you to have any doubts about if we belong together or not."

Before any more could be said, the cab arrived behind her father's car.

Gregory passed Mary Elizabeth at the bottom of the steps. She slipped his jacket off and handed it to him. When he reached over for it, his fingers lingered on the top of her hand in a final caress. The touch was so brief Mary Elizabeth would have thought she had imagined it, but he paused in mid step and smiled before continuing toward the cab.

They both stopped and looked at each other before opening their respective car doors.

I'll wait for you if you'll wait for me.

"I made you a promise. It is still just as good today as it was the day it was made. Enjoy your time here at school. Go study your business classes and then open your floral shop. I'll be back soon."

There were a million things she wanted to say.

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, but this time, you have to give me a promise. You have to promise me to live and enjoy this time of your life."

"How do I do that?"

"You take each day as it comes. You live each day as if it were your last day on earth."

She could feel her father staring from inside the car, but the only person who mattered at that moment was Gregory. "I'll try."

He laughed. "You have to promise."

His smile made her laugh as well.

"I will. I promise."