Ann has been a writer since junior high, but to
pay the bills she has waited tables, delivered newspapers, cleaned other
people's houses, taught school, and had a stint as a secretary in a rock-n-roll
radio station. She also worked as a 911 operator and a police dispatcher. Her fiction began to win awards during her college days. Since then she's published several short stories, novels, and novellas. She’s always reading and always writing, but even if she never sold another story, Ann would not stop writing. For her it's a necessity, like breathing. Most of the time, it even keeps her sane.
They call him the Killer Cartographer because he
carves the map coordinates of each victim on the femur of the one before. Then
he tattoos the information on his skin.
Can Detective Kendra Dean bring him in,
or will she become his next tattoo?
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Snippet:
The bones were wet and cold. The clay in the
soil trapped the moisture as efficiently as a layer of mulch in a flowerbed.
When Edgar held the femur up to the moonlight, he was thrilled to observe how
fully the dirt and mold had settled into the cuts. It created an inky
labyrinthine abstract on the once-white
surface.
He caressed the soil around the bones, and
then lifted the rest of them from their shallow bed. “Welcome back,” he
whispered.
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