Brain Storm (A Taylor Morrison Novel Book 1)

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Coming Soon

  Your Help Please

  Brain Storm

  Cat Gilbert

  Brain Storm is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Cat Gilbert

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2015

  ISBN-13: 978-1517073060 (Paperback)

  PROLOGUE

  I LOOKED OUT over the debris field that used to be my dining room, more than a little appalled at the damage I’d managed to inflict. Heaven help me, there were actual dents in the walls from where I’d thrown the spoons, which had then bounced off and were now littered across the floor. I had gone through all the teaspoons of my everyday cheap-ware, as I liked to refer to it, and in a moment of pure insanity, moved on to the good silver service that I had inherited from my Grandmother. My thinking was that maybe the difference in metals would make a difference. But no. Didn’t make a bit of difference at all.

  There was one spoon left in the chest and I eyed it carefully, debating whether to give it one more try or just skip the process and throw it across the room to join the others. The indecision was probably a good thing. My anger was apparently ratcheting down a bit. The morning had been a real roller coaster of emotions. It had started out fairly normal, then that whole fear and panic thing came into play. That had evolved into desperation, which instigated the whole spoon idea and finally the anger, which resulted in the dents in the wall.

  I was a little ashamed of the dents. I’d always prided myself on being able to keep a lid on my anger. I’d had a lot of practice at it. In my line of work, as a criminal investigator, it was imperative, as there was a lot to be angry about, and more times than not, negative consequences if you couldn’t keep it under control. The trick was to channel it. Use it for good and all that. This time though, I’d lost control and it bothered me, but what bothered me even more, was the fear that had nearly consumed me, before the anger had taken hold. Anger I could deal with. Fear was fatal and something I couldn’t afford to let in. I knew that from experience. Just the thought of the morning’s events sent a dangerous trickle down my spine and I tamped it down quickly. How had it come to this? I had no idea, but I knew how it had begun. Or at least I thought I did.

  IT HAD ALL started a few months before. How many, I couldn’t say, but it was before I had moved into the condo. It wasn’t one of those things that you really pay attention to. I mean, if someone asked you the last time you wore something blue, you’d be hard pressed to remember the exact date and time, right? How are you supposed to remember when something huge happens, when you don’t realize that it’s all that important at the time?

  The first time, that I was aware of, it had just been one of those quirky things. I had come home from the grocery store and it had been doing that rainy sleet mix type of thing that you hate to have to go out in. The stuff that stings your face and manages to somehow get down the back of your coat no matter how much you bundle up. It doesn’t happen that often in central Arkansas, but it does happen, and when it does, we are totally unprepared for it. They do fine with snow plows and sand, but people forget how to drive in those conditions, as infrequently as it happens, and only a few people, mostly skiers, have the proper clothing for it. Not being a skier, I was neither prepared, nor dressed properly, so I was understandably irritated when I remembered that I, unfortunately, couldn’t pull into the garage as it was full of junk, which is a whole other problem, and doesn’t have any bearing on this except to say, I had to use the front door which was taking the brunt of the storm.

  Observing what seemed to be a slight lull of the onslaught, I decided to make a run for it. Clenching my keys between my teeth, I grabbed my purse, two bags of groceries, a mega pack of toilet paper and pushed my way out past the steering wheel. Both hands full, I somehow managed to kick the car door closed while keeping the other leg under me and successfully made the mad dash to the front door.

  Why I didn’t leave the toilet paper in the car until later, I’ll never know. That’s one of those decisions you question after you get to the door and realize you don’t have a hand free to use the keys and get inside. By then it’s too late and you just have to deal with it. I had just shifted the load and was reaching for the keys, when somehow they fell onto the porch and into a puddle of watery ice.

  There was no way I was going to set the bags down in that slush. Again, a decision that seemed reasonable at the time and in hind sight was incredibly stupid. It would have been so much simpler to at least put the toilet paper down. It was encased in plastic and stood a good chance of surviving the slush. But no. I did what any other person would have done in my situation. I jammed everything up against the door and tried to hold it there while reaching for my keys. This would have worked fine except for the fact that I needed arms about 12 inches longer, but with that ‘never say die’ attitude that rears its head at the most inopportune moments, I strained and wiggled, hoping to keep the bags up and somehow reach those keys at the same time. I was to the point of one last try, knowing I’d never reach them, when suddenly the keys were in my hand. At the time, I was a little surprised, but relief outweighed surprise and I had pretty much managed to forget about it until the following week.

  This time I was after a jar of peanut butter. I store all the spare stuff on the top shelf of one of my wall cabinets and that particular day, I was in need of a fresh jar of peanut butter. I could see it from my vantage point - right there toward the front, but stretch and strain as I might, the jar danced around just at the end of my fingertips. Do I have a step stool just for such circumstances? Yes indeed. Did I stop and go get it? No, I did not. I mean it was clear in the
other room in the storage closet. I had managed to get it up there without help from the step stool. I just knew I could reach it, but try as I might, it persisted in evading my scrambling fingers. Finally, on what I had decided was my last try before breaking down and getting the stool, it happened.

  Standing on tiptoe, one foot coming completely off the floor in the effort, the jar was suddenly in my hand. I mean in my hand as if someone had slapped it in there. Like a baseball in the catchers mitt. Startled, I jumped back and managed to drop the jar of peanut butter, which then hit the floor and pretty much exploded, leaving globs of brown greasy goo on just about everything, including my pant legs and shoes. I just stood there staring at it, not really seeing the mess. Instead I was remembering the key incident and how they too, had practically jumped into my hand.

  That’s when the thought first flashed across my mind. I dismissed it almost as soon as I thought it, as it seemed utterly ridiculous. Unfortunately, for me though, the spark had been lit and it started to smolder. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something weird was going on, but since there wasn’t any explanation for it, or at least a logical one, the best choice seemed to try and put the whole thing out of my mind. Which worked great until this morning when my whole “just forget about it” plan was laid to waste. The fact that something was definitely, lets’ use the word “off” here, finally hit me about the same time the coffee did.

  IT BEGAN AS a normal morning. I was stopping for my regular coffee at my regular coffee shop. Everything was as it should be except, this morning, everyone else in the city had decided to stop for coffee too. The line was long and I am not the most patient of people, especially when I haven’t had my hit of caffeine yet. There were seven people ahead of me in line. Seven. And the guy ordering was having a hard time deciding what to get.

  Now who does that? Stands in line and hasn’t figured out his order by the time he gets to the front? This guy. That’s who. I wanted to smack him on the back of head and knock some sense into him. I thought we were making progress until he couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted whipped cream. I felt my eyes narrow into slits as I shot imaginary daggers at his back. MAKE UP YOUR MIND!

  Finally, he opted for the cream. Bad choice. He ordered my drink- white chocolate mocha. It was my once-a-day treat, the perfect start to my work day. Full of flavor, yummy milky goodness and loaded with calories. Adding whipped cream was just redundant in my opinion and here he had wasted a good 10 seconds making the wrong decision.

  He turned around and I decided to forgive him. Maybe. From the back he looked like a normal guy, but from the front, there was a definite resemblance to Denzel. The Denzel. As he turned around, he caught me looking at him. I must have still looked irritated, because he had the decency to look a little contrite. Well, okay then. Maybe I had been a little harsh in my condemnation. If I had to stand in line, at least there was a view to be had, so I could cut him some slack. There is always a silver lining if you look hard enough.

  Unfortunately, the silver lining effect dissipated pretty quickly. If possible, the next person in line was even slower. I was never going to get my coffee! I leaned over to get a better view and see what the hold up was. Ah ha. Jason, my regular barista, was missing! Some guy I’d never seen was there and he was as confused as Denzel had been. No wonder the line was backed up.

  They called out Denzel’s order and he stepped up to the counter and grabbed his drink. I could see the whipped cream swaying as it floated on top and had to admit maybe I was wrong. It looked pretty good. In fact it looked real good. I could practically taste that whip cream and my mouth started to water. I decided that I deserved the same treat after having to wait in line so long and looked longingly at his cup as he slowly raised it to his lips for that first delicious sip. That’s when it happened.

  I remember standing there thinking that he had my coffee and wishing I could just get it and go and the next thing I knew, it was suddenly flying toward me. It was probably the stricken, horrified look on the man’s face that clenched it. It was like the cup had been ripped from his hand. The thought, what did I do? barely had time to flash through my brain before the coffee impacted with what had been, up to that moment, my favorite coat, drenching it and my shirt with extremely hot coffee. But flash it did and panic started to rise in me, along with the conviction that Denzel had nothing to do with this. I had done this. I just didn’t know how. It was freaky. And it terrified me.

  It was as if, for a second, time stood still. Everyone froze, like the proverbial herd of deer caught in headlights. I was sure I had whipped cream up my nose and I knew for certain a large amount had made its way into my eyes. My nerves automatically registered the Hot! Hot! Hot! warning and I grabbed at my shirt, in a vain attempt to peel the soaked, steamy fabric away from my skin, while trying to wipe the whipped cream out of my eyes. I was busy flapping my shirt around trying to cool it off, my mind reeling with my recent revelation, when I glanced over at the guy whose coffee I was now wearing.

  His previous ‘I don’t know what happened’ look had changed to a calculating, accusing one. I stopped mid flap, confused. It didn’t take a genius to know whether or not you threw coffee at someone, but from the accusing glare he was nailing me with, he had made the leap to blaming me. Somehow he knew. Almost before I did.

  My gut clenched as instinct kicked in. This guy was trouble and I had managed to put myself right in his sights. I felt my hands start to shake as I gripped my shirt, my heart pounding in my chest as adrenaline surged through me. Locked in his gaze, I couldn’t seem to look away from him, so I had a ringside seat when the guy who had been in front of me in line, stepped over and popped Denzel a good one. Right in the kisser.

  The sight of his head snapping back from what appeared to be a really strong right cross brought me back to reality. I watched him stagger, but kudos to him, he kept his feet. Whoever he was, this guy could take a punch. My rescuer was preparing to follow up with left hook, and I quickly stepped into the danger zone between them. Everything in me was screaming to get away from there, but I couldn’t very well leave, and let him get beaten up for something he didn’t do. There was some sort of code, wasn’t there?

  “Whoa! Whoa there!” I had my hand splayed across the puncher’s chest, trying to keep him at bay. “It was an accident!”

  “That’s right, buddy. It was an accident,” Denzel chimed in.

  I looked behind me, exasperated. He might have been talking to his attacker, but it was me he was looking at, the accusing look still on his face, mockery in his voice. I might have felt badly about him getting punched for something which technically, he didn’t do, but he certainly wasn’t helping to calm things down now. His attitude, along with the too familiar ‘buddy’ didn’t go unnoticed by my defender. I felt his muscles bunch up under my restraining hand, ready to let fly with another punch and braced to hold him back.

  “Back off!” I silently mouthed the words at Denzel, hoping he’d take the hint. Apparently he wasn’t completely oblivious to his peril, because he held up his hands and took a step backward in retreat.

  “Please. It really was just an accident,” I said, turning my attention back to my defender. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but it’s not necessary.”

  “It sure didn’t look like an accident,” he mumbled the words, glaring over my shoulder at Denzel. He was still simmering, but the pressure against my hand was easing. He was coming around. He looked down at the hand I was pressing against his chest and I knew he could feel me shaking through the connection when he squinted one eye at me.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” I assured him, shaking my head like a bobble head doll. “I’m fine, really. Thank you for your help, but everything’s under control.”

  He gave me another once over, shrugged, threw one last glare over my shoulder to my assailant and turned around to resume his place in line. Relieved, I took a deep breath. One down, one to go. I heard someone
clear their throat behind me, and steeled myself for the next round as I turned to find Denzel staring holes through me.

  “Care to explain what just happened here?” he growled out angrily. “You and I both know I didn’t throw that coffee at you.”

  I hadn’t imagined it. Somehow he knew I’d done it, and now he was waiting for an explanation I didn’t have. Even if I did, I certainly wasn’t going to give it to him. There was something about him that had my danger signals firing on all points. All I knew for sure was that I wanted to get away from him as fast as possible. I racked my brain for any semi plausible excuse to throw at him, but nothing was coming to me. He took a step toward me, so I did the only thing I could think of and went on the offensive.

  “Just what right have you got to be angry? I’m the one soaked with coffee!” I said, jabbing my finger at my stained clothes for emphasis.

  I thought I came off sounding quite offended and insulted. The fact that my finger was jumping up and down from nerves was an added bonus to my damsel in angry distress bit, which is why I was somewhat surprised to see his brows lower and his eyes narrow down to little pinpoints. He wasn’t going for it.

  “I’m the one who got hit, if you’ll remember!” He was practically stepping on my toes now and I looked up at him, uncomfortable with him invading my space.

  “You’re right,” I said apologetically, deciding to change tactics. “I got soaked and you got hit.” As I was looking pointblank at his jaw line, I got a close up view of the results of the hit he took. The blood had almost quit seeping from the cut on his lip, but I thought it a safe bet that he’d have some pretty spectacular bruising tomorrow. I expected to feel worse about it, but this guy was creeping me out. I needed to get out of there. Fast. “I say we call it even and leave it at that.”

  He wasn’t about to leave at that and was about to say so, when the manager stepped in with some towels effectively ending the conversation. Perfect timing. I grabbed up his offering and mopped off my face. Looking down I could see my shirt and coat were candidates for the cleaners, if not the garbage. The manager had started talking to Denzel, asking questions about what had happened and I took the momentary diversion as a sign to make my exit. I quickly slipped out the door and all but ran across the parking lot to my car.