Memories in Blood

Jane Blackwood has more problems than her attraction to two men--a movie mogul and a homicide detective who wants to prove that her brother is a serial-killer. Someone from her past wants her dead. Can she dredge up her long-buried childhood memories before an assassin catches up to her?


Published: 04/2013
Length: Mid Novel
Word Count: 78,183
Genre: Contemporary Romance/Romantic Suspense
Rating: Sensual
Available formats: PDF, RTF, Epub, HTML, Mobipocket (.prc)



L. F. Crawford


© Copyright by L. F. Crawford, April 2013
© Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, April 2013
ISBN 978-1-60394-792-3
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636


This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.


Finally his wife was on her way to her 30th high school reunion, waving goodbye from her Mercedes. David Cervantes had begged off with a migraine, so he kept a rigid mask of pain on his face, until he shut and locked the door. Then he smiled to himself and headed straight to his study. Once inside the dark, wood-paneled room, he locked that door, too. Taking precautions had saved his ass too many times in his CIA career to not do it now.

He moved past all the fake diplomas and awards that had matched his fake job for the last twenty-odd years, ignored the wall of built- in shelves, and went straight to the one painting in the room that hung behind his desk. The Monet copy of water lilies hid his wall safe. Pressing the release switch on one side of the painting allowed him to pull it away from the wall like opening a book, exposing the safe behind it.

He punched the combination into the wall safe, pressed his face against the monitor so that it could scan his eye, and listened to the electronic click as the safe unlocked. Brushing aside the legal documents, false IDs, and several stacks of cash, he reached to the very back of the safe until he felt the plastic casing of the old VCR tape.

He took the video out of the safe and stepped over to the wall of built-in shelves where he opened a cabinet and shoved the tape into a new VCR beneath a 32-inch TV. Both whirred to life as he settled in his chair. The screen stayed black for almost a minute.

Adjusting the sound, he kept the volume low—to where he could barely hear her weeping. If anyone ever found this…well, his life as a decorated, retired, operative would be over.

Just hearing the sound of her voice excited him. Sixteen years, and she still got to him.

He leaned forward in anticipation.

The screen suddenly lit up, exposing a naked woman, tied to a wooden chair.

Back then, El Serpiente hadn’t known about the second video tape. The copy was David’s insurance that he didn’t disappear into an unmarked grave.

Jenna de Cordoba, wife of Carlos de Cordoba, AKA El Serpiente had been raped and beaten by her husband before David’s arrival. For six months they’d been searching for her, following a trail that led all over the States and finally to Canada. She’d changed her name, gotten a job, an apartment. And stayed in Vancouver too long.

David had seen the hope flare in her eyes when he came into the isolated warehouse. Then, as he’d prepared her for her husband’s next interrogation, her hope had flickered out.

She hadn’t fought when they lifted her into the chair. He’d been surprised at how light she was. Barely a hundred pounds, if that.

From the sound of her wheezing, Carlos had broken a rib or two. Blood all over her body, it looked like most of it came from the cuts on her face, and the rape.

Not that Carlos would call it rape; they were married. But David had seen Carlos treat his dogs better.

David used a voice modifier when he spoke and made sure to stay out of the camera range, so he wasn’t on the tape.

“Jenna,” he said, “Focus. Go over your story again.”