Pepperman Mystery Series
Book Two
When Earl’s bride Morgan vanishes in the Smoky Mountains on their honeymoon, the former Navy SEAL is certain she’s been abducted. The park rangers disagree, and after a storm washes away any potential evidence, they call off the official search. Then another man loses his daughter in the same area. Can one last lead help Earl find Morgan before he loses her forever?
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CHAPTER ONE,
PART ONE OF
PANIC POINT
BY Bill Briscoe
EARL HELMSLY
August, 1993
Morgan lay cuddled in her sleeping bag in our small two-person tent. I turned on my left side, braced on my elbow, and watched my new bride sleep. Her slow, easy breaths brought me peace.
The third day of our honeymoon and marriage was already rounding off my rough, Navy SEAL edges. I reached over and stroked her sculptured cheekbone and jaw line. Her face was a combination of strength and beauty.
“Good morning,” she said in a slow, soft voice without opening her steel-blues eyes, the eyes that could hypnotize a Yeti. The corners of her lips peaked upward. The tips of her fingers and the long muscular legs reached from one end of the tent to the other.
I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Good morning.”
“What are you getting ready to do?” She sat up, wrapping her arms around her pulled-up knees.
I unzipped my sleeping bag and slipped on my cargo pants. Pulling a camo T-shirt over my head, I looked around the tent. “Where are my socks and combat boots?”
She giggled the sort of impish giggle that exuded orneriness. “I told you last night not to leave them outside.”
I picked up my pillow and tossed it her way. “A good wife would’ve brought them inside.”
“A thoughtful husband would’ve thanked me for the reminder.”
“Okay, should’ve listened.” I hadn’t been married long, but long enough to know I needed to wiggle myself out of this tight spot.
She gave me a wink and an easy nod. “Of course. What are you going to do right now?”
I pulled back the flap of the tent and saw my boots and dirty socks where I left them.
“I’m going down to the waterfalls. It’s just about a hundred yards from camp. You want to come?”
“No, I’ll start breakfast. How long will you be?”
“Thirty minutes. Will that be long enough for you to make yourself beautiful for your fantastic husband?”
She lowered her chin to her chest, and stared up at me, and that stare was an A to Z World Book Encyclopedia stare, implying—don’t go there. “Careful big boy. Don’t cross that line.” A Colgate smile spread across her cheeks. She waved her index finger back and forth.
I had a pretty good idea where she was going with that comment. I gave her a proper military salute. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Oh, Earl, before you go, would you loosen the rope and lower our food from the tree cable? I’ll get the salt pork frying and cook some powdered eggs.”
The two-person tent didn’t allow me to stand so I knelt on both knees, placing my hands on her cheeks, and gave her a good kiss. “You’re the best, and you look great when you first wake up.”
She gave me a gentle nudge. “Flattery will go a long way.”
Click to read part two of Panic Point, chapter one
Bill grew up in the oil and gas refinery town of Phillips in the Texas Panhandle. After graduating from college with a master’s degree, he spent most of his career working for a major insurance company as an agency manager and consultant.Two Winners: Autographed Copies of Panic Point
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4/16/19
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Book Trailer
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4/16/19
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Notable Quotable
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4/17/19
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Excerpt
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4/17/19
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Excerpt
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4/18/19
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Review
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4/19/19
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Review
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4/20/19
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Scrapbook Page
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4/20/19
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Character Interview
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4/21/19
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Review
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4/22/19
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Author Interview
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4/22/19
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Series Spotlight
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4/23/19
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Review
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4/24/19
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Promo
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4/25/19
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Review
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4/25/19
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Review
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Wow- This book sounds amazing. I love mysteries. Linda Broday And Jodi Thomas speak highly of Bill. If they say the books great I know it is.
I agree, Tonya. I’m hoping to read this myself!
[…] Click to read part one of Panic Point, chapter one I pushed through the tent door flap and stood. The day was foggy with a bit of chill in the August air. The beauty of the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee was spellbinding. Crows squawked in the distance, and a gentle breeze pushed its way through the tops of yellow birch trees, slowly moving the branches. A squirrel scampered across our campsite, paused and munched on his breakfast, totally oblivious to me. I turned toward the tent. “Morgan, do you want me to leave the pistol?” She stuck her head out. Cute. My heart rate ticked up a notch or two. I knew we belonged together. “Nope. Won’t need it.” I placed my old service handgun, the durable Sig Sauer P226, in my holster and headed toward the falls. The mountain was steep and the forest dense with undergrowth. I had to angle and twist my way through the straight, large birch trees. Morgan’s choice for the honeymoon was the perfect spot for me to unwind. Special Ops missions sucked the happiness out of you. The public rarely heard about our operations. You couldn’t know that true evil existed until you saw evidence of people burned alive, were told about children beheaded for playing soccer, or women taken from their homes and never seen again. But I’d be danged if I was going to let those events dominate my life. When I reached the spectacular falls, the power was overwhelming. The awesome roar of the churning water made me feel insignificant. I balanced against a rock on one arm, bent and cupped my hand, filled it with the pure, clean, cold water, and splashed it on my face. It took my breath. I was mesmerized for fifteen or twenty minutes sitting next to the stream. Then a weird feeling someone was watching caused me to shudder, and my adrenalin spiked. I looked around, but saw no one. The high pitched scream of a cougar far across the mountains rammed hot ice picks of fear into my heart. Panic spread through my body like a kindling fire. Morgan. I had to get back to Morgan. It started to rain, and I pulled my pistol and raced up the mountain, weaving in and out of the trees. My lungs pounded, desperate for air. I reached camp. The tent was crumpled. The salt pork smoldered in the pan. And the powdered eggs were scattered next to the fire. My legs felt like they’d been beaten with a rubber mallet. Paralysis set in, my feet anchored in cement. I lowered the gun to my side and screamed for Morgan over and over. But she was gone. […]