"Abbie Cooper has a heck of a story to tell. One that is full of suspense, twist, turns, loyalty is tested and questioned. This author will keep you at the edge of your seat!!!! [...] Hate, love, murder, extortion, attempted murder, conspiracy all in a very well written and very well thought out storyline.
I URGE YOU, BEG YOU to go give this amazing author and make sure to read this beauty." - Goodreads, Romance
Description:
Published: February 24th, 2016
A desperate act, an explosive secret, and a diabolical enemy—all part of a treacherous game, with no limits.
Overachieving good girl Abbie Cooper has her future all planned out. As senior year at her elite private school kicks off, she has one simple goal: get into the Ivy League. But at St. Matthews Academy, nothing is ever simple. The pressure is overwhelming, the secrets are dirty, and the games are wicked. Abbie has a dirty secret—one that could destroy her chances of getting admitted into Princeton, and the lives of those closest to her.
One morning, she discovers a note in her locker with the warning, “I know what you did”. Then a photo arrives in the mail. It captures her most shameful deed—the shocking blunder she can never erase, in glorious detail. Someone is out to ruin her, but who and why? The answer lies with the sender of the photo, a mysterious girl known only as The Avenger. For a price, she assures Abbie her secret will remain safe. There’s only one problem: The Avenger may not exist at all. If Abbie doesn’t uncover her true identity before acceptance decisions are made, it’s game over…
EXCERPT
Black Friday, 9:00 p.m.
I pull
into Shoppers World off Route 9 in Framingham. I score a parking spot close to
the cluster of stores that include Starbucks, Old Navy, and Taylor Books, the
place of the drop. I text the girls to let them know I’ve arrived at the
bookstore. They tell me they’re hanging out at a fast food joint on Route 30, a
five-minute drive from me. I take a visual sweep of my surroundings, looking
for anyone suspicious. My hands are clammy. I wipe them on my dark jeans,
several times.
At 9:15
p.m., I take a deep breath, calm my nerves, and exit the car with the big brown
paper bag with the handles and a plain, black scarf on top. I walk at a steady
pace, careful not to appear nervous or in a hurry. I enter the store, and I’m
greeted by the smell of new books and an extensive display of fiction
bestsellers. Customers are scattered in every section of the store. I mentally remind myself not to let my
eyes wander. Look straight ahead. The cameras are embedded in the ceiling.
I stroll
past the eReader Center, toys, games, and the teen section. I stop in the diet
and nutrition aisle and pretend to browse.
“Can I
help you find something?” I feel my leg muscles tightening, my body ready to
make a run for it but I don’t. A store
employee is assessing me with a forced smile. She is an older lady, perhaps in
her fifties with glasses perched on her nose, and barely-there lips.
“No,
ma’am. Just comparing these diet books.”
The
woman backs up a little and presses her glasses further down her nose. She
takes a good look at me. I mentally scold myself. The diet section? Really?
“It’s for a friend,” I explain.
She
raises an eyebrow.
“You
know what, she can come look at the books herself. I’ll probably get yelled at
for picking the wrong one, anyway.”
Another
fake smile.
“Excuse
me.” I ease past the skeptic. I can feel her eyes on me as I head to the back
of the store, my heart hammering in my chest. I must be giving off that nervous
vibe. There was no reason for her to be suspicious of me. I look back to see if
she’s still staring at me. She is. I have
to drop the money before she calls store security. I’m on her radar. Soon, she
will start following me around the shop.
What if
someone already moved the decoy bag? What if people witness the exchange? It’s
now or never. I glance backward again. Ms. Skeptical has her head down, looking
at some paperwork in the customer service center. I duck into the next aisle
and ease my way to the opening where the newsstand and magazines are. Two
people are browsing through the magazines, their backs to me.
Decision
time. Do I swap the bags while their backs are turned or wait until they leave?
The risk in that strategy is that more customers might show up in the area,
increasing the odds that one of them may take the bag to the front of the store
and explain to the staff that someone forgot it.
My body
is suddenly freezing. My hands are shaking so badly I’m afraid I’ll drop the
bag. One of the browsers turns around. Her eyes land on me, then the bag on the
bench. “Is this your bag?”
“Um…yeah.
My friend is in the ladies’ room, and she sent me over to get it.”
“Okay.”
She
won’t leave. She just stands there, waiting for me to make a move.
“Are you
going to pick up your friend’s bag or just stare at it?”
I want
to yell at her and tell her that it’s none of her freaking business. Instead, I take tentative steps toward
the bench with the bag identical to the one growing heavier by the second in my
hand. I pick up the decoy bag loaded with empty shoe boxes and the same black
scarf on top. I turn around and take a slow, tense walk down the aisle of
biographies. I stop in the middle, drop both bags on the floor, and pretend to
browse again.
Painful
seconds tick by. She’s still here. The other customer browsing the section has
left. The store will close soon. My plan is to wait out Ms. Nosy. Another
minute goes by. I can’t stand it. I’m sweating profusely. I want to take off
the baseball cap, but I can’t. I walk casually to the end of the aisle and take
a book off the shelf. I scan through the pages, unable to absorb any of the
content. I then peek around the corner. She’s gone.
I
exchange the bags and duck back to the biography aisle, careful to keep my head
down, and then slowly backtrack through the store. The double doors are only a
few feet away from me. I’m moments from a clean getaway when I hear someone
call out.
“Miss,
Miss, you forgot something.”
That’s
it. They’re going to haul me off to jail. They’re going to call the cops if
they opened the bag and saw the money. If I make a run for it, it makes me look
guilty, and they’ll definitely call the
police. My only chance of walking away unscathed is to turn around slowly. Damn
it. Miss Nosy again.
“Yes?” I say, my voice as sweet as honey.
“You
forgot this,” she says, holding up the scarf. “You dropped it on the way out.”
What did
she do, follow me and pick up the scarf the minute it dropped? I remind myself
to look at the positive side of things. She thinks it belongs to the empty
shoebox bag I’m carrying.
“Thank
you.”
I take
the scarf from her and rocket out of the store. I don’t stop until I reach my
car. I jump inside, dump the bag on the passenger seat and burn rubber out of
the parking lot. Once I’m safely on Route 9, and certain no one is following
me, I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket. I give a voice command to call
Frances.
I let
her know the drop was made.
“I have
an idea,” she says.
“What?”
“Callie
and I should drive to the store to see if anyone walks out with the bag.”
“Whoa.
That wasn’t part of the plan. I don’t want you guys caught in the middle of
this. She could be dangerous. She could have another accomplice. There are too
many unknowns, Frances. It's a good idea
but too risky.”
“Okay.
We’ll meet you at the house then.”
I know
she’ll go against my advice. I don’t have the energy to argue further.
I make a
second call, to Ty, and I leave him a message.
***
“We got there too late,” Frances says. “It was ten minutes
before closing when we got to the store, and mostly employees were still
around. The bag was gone.”
“She
must have been watching me from somewhere,” I say.
Callie
concurs.
We’re on
the sofa in my bedroom, recounting the evening’s events. I’m relieved that the
drop was made, but this story is far from over.
“It has
to be somebody familiar with this area,” Frances says. “What if she was in the
store the whole time?”
Goosebumps
appear on my arms, and I shudder. I think back to the store employee who looked
at me with suspicion, and the woman who chased me to return the scarf I
dropped.
“What’s
wrong, Abbie? Callie asks.
I tell
them about the two ladies at the store. The only problem is I don’t know either
one of them. The store employee was older. Sidney hates anyone over thirty. The
younger lady, the one who just happened to be at the spot where I was supposed
to make the exchange, seemed to be just a customer. But was she?
“That is
odd,” Frances says.
“The
younger lady could have been there to pick up the cash. Which means, The
Avenger was afraid I would recognize her face.”
“Which
brings us back to Sidney,” Frances says.
“Right.”
My cell
phone rings, putting an end to our supposition. I scurry off the sofa and grab
the phone off the bed. It’s better to stand when I answer. I don’t say a word
when I accept the call.
“You’re
competent after all,” she says, her tone scornful. “I knew this game would be
fun.”
“You got
what you wanted. Now it’s your turn to hold up your end of the deal. You know
what I want from you.”
“I’m not ready to quit this game, not when
things are just starting to heat up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your
next assignment.”
“We had
a deal,” I shriek, anger rising like bile in my throat. “You promised the photo
in exchange for the money. I followed your instructions. Now, it’s time to step
up. Are you going to add ‘filthy liar’ to your list of crimes, too? Extortion
is a crime. You do know that, right?”
“Did you
really think I would make it that easy?” she asks. “This was only a test. You
passed. Congratulations.”
“You
can’t do this.” My voice gets louder as my panic mounts. I pace the room. The
girls follow the conversation from the sofa, disbelief in their eyes.
I have
to get through to her, somehow. “So you want to even the score? Who made you
the moral police? Without me propping up your extortion scheme, you have nothing, you hear me. Nothing. You know what,
send the picture to the Easter Bunny or whomever. I don’t care. I’ll survive
the fallout. I’m that desperate to get rid of you.”
I hang
up on her, and then make my way to the bed where I collapse.
Frances
and Callie join me, looking as if they have grave concerns about my mental
state.
“I’m
sorry, Abbie. Are you okay?” Frances asks. “Why did you do that?”
“Do
what?”
“Hang up
on her. Now, you’re in for it. You don’t know what she’s going to do next.”
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About the author:
Gledé Browne Kabongo writes intense psychological thrillers—unflinching tales of deception, secrecy, danger and family. She is the Amazon Bestselling Author of Game of Fear, Mark of Deceit (Eye of Fear Anthology), Swan Deception, and Conspiracy of Silence. Her love affair with books began as a young girl growing up in the Caribbean, where her town library overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. She was trading books and discussing them with neighbors before Book Clubs became popular.
She holds both an M.S. and B.A. in communications, and worked as a freelance news reporter right out of college. After she abandoned the dream of winning the Pulitzer Prize as a reporter for the Boston Globe, she jumped into marketing management for over a decade. Gledé lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two sons.
Thank you for the opportunity.
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sounds like an interesting book.
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