So, I am almost ready to release my Kindle Vella book Vindication into print. I’ve been editing and updating it for the past month and I even changed the title to RETRIBUTION because I like that one better.

If you aren’t a VELLA reader, this will be your opportunity to read my very first serial murder book. Long before I ever wrote romance I was obsessed with serial killers. In all honesty, I kinda still am. It stems from my psychiatric nursing background.

Here’s a little taste of the story…

Settled in the Mercedes passenger seat, Kella watched Tucker guide both cars, the agents following behind, back to the motel.

“I want to apologize for Sean,” she said. “Hedoesn’t usually behave like that. Seeing you, well, it set him off.”

Tucker fingered his bruised jaw. “You don’t have to apologize. I know he hates my guts.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Tucker.”

His left eyebrow bent into a you’ve-got-to-be-joking angle. “I know he still blames me for what happened, Kella. He feels it was my fault you almost died because of my mistake. I’ve felt the same way every day for the past ten years. And I’d feel the same way if I were in his shoes.”

“No, you wouldn’t and you know it. You’d find some way to rationalize what happened, compartmentalize it into some sort of learning experience, and try to figure out what to do better next time.”

He threw her a pained look.

Grinning, she added, “But it’s nice of you to say that.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

“You haven’t changed a bit, you know,” she told him.

“You have,” he blurted, regretting it in an instant.

“I know.” Her laugh was husky and tinged with self-deprecation.  “Three kids and a husband who owns the best restaurant in town will do that to you.”

“No, not like that,” he said, flicking a quick glance at her. “You look like you’re in the best shape of your life, actually.”

“I am. Karate plus a home gym helps.”

“It’s your hair. It’s darker, less red than it used to be. Longer, too.”

“Hormones. It darkened up with each pregnancy. I don’t look like a circus clown anymore, thank God.”

Tucker shook his head. “You never looked like a clown, Kella. Your hair was distinctive. It was part of you.”

She laughed and said, “That’s a very diplomatic way of saying it, I guess.”

“Your voice is so different. If I’d heard it on the phone I would never have believed it was you.”

She fingered the scar that ran the width of her neck from just under one ear, all the way to the other. Heavy makeup helped conceal it when clothing didn’t. Every time she looked in a mirror she was reminded of that horrible day.

“It sounds like you’ve been smoking and drinking too much,” he said.

“My doctor told me it was a miracle I could speak at all. The damage to the cords was extensive. I’m just happy to have a voice, no matter how I sound.”

“I imagine Sean thinks it’s sexy.”

Kella’s slow and thoughtful smile lit up the front seat. “Yeah. He does.”

“And you seem happy. Happier than I ever remember you being.”

“I am. I love my life.”

“It’s so different from your past.”

She thought about that for a moment. “In the big scheme of things it’s not. The main part of my life back then was spent taking care of Daddy. Now I take care of Sean and our girls.”

Tucker shook his head. “The main part of your life back then was spent using your magnificent brain to help the Bureau. You didn’t have the most normal of upbringings.”

“I survived.”

“Thankfully. I can’t imagine what your life is like now. The suburban housewife. Carpools; soccer practice.  Stepford,” he added, shaking as if an electrical current shot down his spine.

Her lips stretched into a grimace. “Not quite.”

“You were always so independent, so self-governing. Ready to pick up in a half second to run to a crime scene or fly off to one. It’s hard to think of you any other way.”

She shifted in her seat so she could face him. “Tuck, listen. My life is perfect for me. I’ve realized over these past years that before I was just moving through it, waiting for the next big case, waiting to help you or Daddy. I never did anything just for me. Everything I did involved, or was concerned with, one of you. When Daddy died and I decided to leave, I was making the right decision for me. I’ve never looked back.”

“Never?”

“Not once. I have everything I could ever want here. It’s all I want.”

“Tell me the truth —”

“Like I would lie?” she said, smiling when he turned a bemused expression on her.

“No, you never have. Do you ever miss it, even for a minute?”

She watched the streets pass by as they drove through the downtown. “Every now and again,” she began, “I’ll see you on a morning show, or the national news will be profiling the newest case you and the Posse are involved in. I’ll watch you, in typical Tucker Petrie fashion, sail through the questions and make the capture and arrest look like a piece of easy detective work, a no-brainer. And I’ll think to myself: if the people seeing this only knew what it does to you inside, how it makes you feel to get down to the lowest depths of humanity and view the world from the most jaded, sickest minds imaginable; to comprehend what supposedly civilized human beings are capable of doing to one another, you wouldn’t want the job for anything.”

She stopped, turned to him, and saw his lips tighten.

“In answer to your question, Tuck, no. I never miss it. Not even for a millisecond.”