We are pleased to announce that the cover art for Jerry Gerold’s re-release of “Faith Lost” has been completed, take a peek at the new cover and read a preview of what this great book contains below… and, don’t forget to check back often for more news regarding this title.
“Where is she?”
LaSalle pointed over the ledge. Stanton looked doubtfully at him and then down. Alice’s body lay several feet below, bleeding and unmoving. He shoved LaSalle out of the way, knocking him to the ground as he hurriedly went to her.
“Alice!” he shouted. “Are you all right? Can you hear me?”
When he reached her, she was still breathing. He cradled her upper body in his arms, the sight of blood trickling from her nose and mouth sending fear and panic up his spine. He said her name again and her eyes fluttered open. Her hand moved slowly along his arm.
“Stanton,” she gasped. “It hurts.”
“Alice,” he said, his heart pounding in his head. “Alice, what happened? Did you slip?”
“No,” she whispered. “Charles…”
“Charles? Charles what?”
“He… he tried…”
“What, Alice? What?”
She attempted to respond, but instead smiled at him just as her life left her.
“No,” he said. “No, Alice, no.”
He looked up, saw Clara and LaSalle standing nearby. His gazed narrowed, focused on LaSalle.
“You rotten son of a bitch,” he growled. “I’ll kill you.”
LaSalle’s eyes widened and he turned and ran. Stanton went after him, but Clara stood in his way.
“Let him go,” she urged. “It was an accident.”
“Like hell it was.”
“No, it was. He told me. She saw a snake and screamed. She backed away and her ankle gave out, tumbling her over the edge.”
Stanton snorted. “A likely story.”
She grabbed his arm tightly. “Stanton, it’s true. I know you think he shoved her, but he didn’t. Charles would never do that.”
“Oh, Stanton,” she said and held him close.
“That son of a bitch,” he blurted suddenly, pulling away. “He’s going to try to get away with it.”
“Stanton!” Clara cried, but he was off.
He ran as fast as he could, fueled by anger, but by the time he reached LaSalle, he was already behind the wheel and driving off. Stanton darted for his own automobile and paused. He looked back and Clara hurrying after him in her long dress and high heels. He leaned against the hood of the car, still breathing heavily.
“Stanton,” Clara called when she got closer. “Charles went to get help.”
“Like hell,” Stanton spat. “He killed her.”
“Stanton, no. He—”
“Alice told me so,” he said. “Just before she died in my arms.”
“No,” she whispered. “He couldn’t have.”