The Incumbent (The Madison Glenn Series #1)
An abduction...a trail of disturbing clues... Politics are about to become deadly. As the controversial mayor of the beautiful coastal community of Santa Rita, Madison 'Maddy' Glenn likes to face things head-on. But nothing can prepare her for a hostile visit from the chief of police---or his terrible news. Lisa Truccoli, Maddy's friend and the treasurer of her last campaign, has been kidnapped. All that remains at the crime scene is a shocking clue...with Maddy's name on it. The ensuing hunt for answers only turns up more sinister clues in a terrifying game the abductor wants to play...with Maddy. Caught between a haunting past and a dangerous present, Maddy finds the walls that keep her from faith beginning to crumble. The stakes turn lethal with a second abduction and a clue that reveals inside information about Maddy's run for Congress---a decision she has not made yet. Someone is going to dangerous lengths to make the choice for her...but it is a choice she'll survive?
had been a waste of time. I knew what I wanted before I left the office. “Cool,” Michele said. Celeste sat quietly, staring at the menu. I doubted she was at all hungry. Paul returned with our drinks and set them down with practiced precision. “Is everybody ready?” I looked around the table and everyone but Celeste nodded. She had, however, set her menu down. “I would like a shrimp salad and a cup of the gumbo,” I said, then turned to the others. “I love the gumbo.” Randi ordered a bowl of
number is unlisted. The last thing a mayor needs is a number anyone can call at any time. I suppose he could find out where I live if he is smart enough and persistent enough. I’m not listed in the phone book, but there are ways around that.” “So he could find us here.” “Unlikely but possible.” Celeste’s lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. “On a more positive note, we’ve been invited over to my parents’ house for dinner. How about it?” “I’m still not hungry,” Celeste said. “I know, but it
the biggest reasons the box remained closed. During the sentencing phase of the murder trial, the prosecution painted a graphic and garish picture of the events, describing the condition of my husband’s body. He pulled no punches and laid out the sickening scene like a passage from a Stephen King novel. I don’t know how many times he used the word blood. There were more than personal possessions in that box. My husband’s lifeblood was in there as well. I’d had to pay a fortune to have his car
away. I drove faster than necessary and I caught myself chewing a fingernail. Dayton was gone. That was obvious. He had not returned to the house, and the campaign file was on his desk with the drops of blood. The pattern was consistent. But why, then, did the video show him walking leisurely from his house, never to return? If he was abducted elsewhere, how did the file come to have the two drops of blood on it? Nat’s cameras didn’t show anyone approaching or entering the house. I supposed it
looking for—his little finger. Seizing it, I yanked it back as hard as I could. Something snapped and a scream that made my skin tingle filled the vehicle. Truccoli released me and I bolted from the SUV. The rear door opened. Truccoli was climbing out of the back, a half second behind me. My instinct was to run, but I needed a bigger lead if I was going to have any hope of escaping. Instead I charged the door with my hands in front of me. I hit it with all my weight and the heavy metal door