From Chapter 1 of TIGHTROPE:
“There is no need to fear robots,” Dr. Pickwell declared. It
was clear that the suggestion that robots would displace workers annoyed him. He raised his
voice to be heard above the murmurs of the crowd. “I urge you to consider that these
machines could take the place of soldiers. Wars of the future will be fought with robots, not
human beings. Think of the lives that will be saved.”
“You’re mad,” someone else shouted. “You want to create
robots that can kill? What if these machines of yours decide to turn on their creators and try to
destroy us?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pickwell snapped. “Robots are nothing
more than mechanical devices. Fundamentally, they are no different than the cars we drive or
the radios that we use to get our news.”
“Futuro looks mighty dangerous to me,” the man in the front
row called.
“Nonsense,” Pickwell said. “Allow me to demonstrate how
useful Futuro can be. Futuro, what is the forecast for tomorrow?”
The robot answered in a scratchy, hollow voice. “There will
be fog in the morning but by noon the day will turn warm and sunny. No rain is
expected.”
Pickwell faced his audience. “Think about how useful it
would be to have Futuro in your home at your beck and call. It won’t be long before there will
be robots that can cook and clean and do the laundry.”
But the crowd was no longer paying any attention to
Pickwell, because Futuro had once again lurched into motion.
“What’s that thing doing?” Hazel whispered.
“I have no idea,” Amalie said.
They watched along with everyone else as the robot opened
the suitcase that it had just placed on the bench. Pickwell finally realized that he had lost the
attention of the crowd. He turned away from the podium to see what was going on at the
bench.
Futuro reached into the suitcase and took out a gun.
There was a collective gasp from the audience.
“No,”
Pickwell shouted. “Futuro, I command you to put down the gun.”
The robot pulled the trigger. Twice. The shots boomed
throughout the theater.
Pickwell jerked under the impact of the bullets. He opened
his mouth to cry out but he could not speak. He collapsed onto his back.
Futuro calmly clanked offstage, disappearing behind the
curtain.
Stunned, Amalie stared at the unmoving figure on the stage.
It was a trick, she thought. It had to be some sort of bizarre charade designed to shock the
audience.
Most of the crowd evidently believed the same thing. The
majority of the people in the seats did not move. They appeared stunned.
But not everyone was frozen in shock. Amalie glimpsed
motion out of the corner of her eye. When she turned to look, she saw that Luther Pell and the
stranger who had accompanied him to the theater had left their seats and were making their
way to the stage steps. They were moving fast, almost as if they had been anticipating
trouble.
When they reached the stage they were joined by Oliver
Ward, who had managed to move with surprising speed, considering that he had a noticeable
limp and was obliged to use a cane. His wife, Irene, was not far behind. She had a notebook in
one hand.
Luther Pell and the stranger vanished behind the curtain.
Ward crouched beside Pickwell and unfastened the inventor’s tuxedo jacket to expose a
blood-soaked white shirt.
The theater manager evidently had been watching the
demonstration from the last row. He rushed down the center aisle toward the stage.
“Is there a doctor in the house?” he shouted.
Amalie saw a middle-aged man in the center section make
his way quickly down the aisle.
“I’m a doctor,” he said in a loud voice. “Call an
ambulance.”
The manager disappeared through a side door, presumably
in search of a telephone.
Onstage, Ward was using both hands to try to staunch the
bleeding. The doctor arrived and quickly took charge.
Luther Pell reappeared from behind the curtains. He looked
at Oliver Ward and shook his head. Ward looked grim.
The stranger finally emerged from behind the curtain. He
was in the act of reaching inside his white evening jacket. Amalie caught a glimpse of
something metallic just before the elegantly tailored coat fell neatly back into place.
It took her a couple of seconds to comprehend what she had
just seen. Then understanding struck. Like any self-respecting mobster, Luther Pell’s friend
from out of town had come to the theater armed with a gun.
(C) Amanda Quick, Berkley, 2019
Burning Cove, California
#3
An unconventional woman and a man shrouded in mystery
walk a tightrope of desire as they race against a killer to
find a top secret invention before it's too
late.Former trapeze artist Amalie Vaughn moved
to Burning Cove to reinvent herself, but things are not
going well. After spending her entire inheritance on a
mansion with the intention of turning it into a
bed-and-breakfast, she learns too late that the villa is
said to be cursed. When the first guest, Dr. Norman
Pickwell, is murdered by his robot invention during a
sold-out demonstration, rumors circulate that the curse is
real.
In the chaotic aftermath of the spectacle,
Amalie watches as a stranger from the audience disappears
behind the curtain. When Matthias Jones reappears, he is
slipping a gun into a concealed holster. It looks like the
gossip that is swirling around him is true—Matthias
evidently does have connections to the criminal
underworld.
Matthias is on the trail of a
groundbreaking prototype cipher machine. He suspects that
Pickwell stole the device and planned to sell it. But now
Pickwell is dead and the machine has vanished. When
Matthias's investigation leads him to Amalie's front door,
the attraction between them is intense, but she knows it is
also dangerous. Amalie and Matthias must decide if they can
trust each other and the passion that binds them, because
time is running out.
Romance Historical | Romance Suspense | Suspense Historical [Berkley, On Sale: May 7,
2019, Hardcover / e-Book, ISBN: 9780399585364 / eISBN: 9780399585371]
Amanda Quick, a pseudonym for
Jayne Ann Krentz, is a
New York
Times bestselling, award-winning author of contemporary and historical romances. There
are nearly forty million copies of her books in print. She makes her home in the Pacific
Northwest with her husband, Frank.
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