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Synopsis
Dr. Hallie Mara, an attractive young MD, and
her friend Reed Kincaid learn that someone has singled out many
people, men, women, and children to die in ten cities across the
U.S. in just a few days. But because Hallie has no hard proof,
the police refuse to investigate.
When Hallie and Reed attempt to secure
that proof, what they unearth is beyond their worst fears. And
as they start zeroing in on the killer, the killer quickly zeros
in on them. Barely escaping with their lives, they finally convince
the police. But when the police start investigating, there's an
even bigger problem. It may be too late.
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He
stood and watched Hallie Mara walk toward the house. Her thick,
dark-brown hair, wind-tossed over her eyes, could not conceal
her beautiful face any more than the bulky green sweater and slacks
could conceal her stunning figure. He loved her creamy complexion,
leggy stride and every other genetic gift her Irish mother and
Japanese father bequeathed her. The fact that Hallie was an M.D.
in molecular genetics, trilingual, and a fun person with no obvious
psychological zits, were also nice touches. He'd never known anyone
like her, and had felt that way about twenty seconds after he
walked in her office two months ago.
Opening the front door, he was once
again lured into her large, emerald eyes. He had to force himself
to look down at a plastic container in her hand.
"Sorry Miss, I have enough
Tupperware." He started to close the door.
"With warm chocolate chip cookies?"
He opened the door. "Mi casa
es su casa."
Smiling, she stepped inside and
looked around at the rooms and furniture. "Hummmm ... very
nice. Great potential."
"I feel the same about you."
Another smile. "You mentioned
a sick room?"
"Rooms." He led her to
the den and gestured toward the two older leather chairs, one
with a faint red wine spot, a coffee table, VCR and his brand-new
large screen television that occupied most of a nine-foot section
of wall.
"Wow - a drive-in theater!"
she said. "Where do you park cars?"
"Hey,
I need a big screen. See my commercials better. Check details
up close."
"Like nasal hair?"
"That, gingivitis, and the
infernal horror of hemorrhoids."
She laughed a nice laugh. "By the way, how are your new Mason
Industries commercials doing?"
"Great. Mason's currently setting
new sales records. But the account director, as usual, wants to
fix the commercials."
"Which aren't broke?"
He nodded, "Not at all."
She walked over to his computer
screen which displayed a television commercial script he'd been
working on, looked at his stacks of work papers, bulging green
file folders and a tower of TV commercial cassettes.
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