![]() Harleigh Sinclair and the Ice Crusade
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: I stood at the doorway leading into the vaults of Mr. Walter Prescott’s most prized Neotact artifacts and debated how to steal one. Muted lights reflected over the black square of glass across from me. A hand scanner. “No keypad. Right,” I said under my breath before pulling off my leather gloves. Air conditioning hummed from the vents of the high-rise tower in San Antonio’s downtown district, and I let the cool air wash over my exposed skin. A cold shiver skittered down my spine, and I darted a glance at the dimly lit hallway stretching behind me. If things went south, it was my only escape. My new manager, King Khamron, had gotten me this far, but he’d stayed on the bottom floor near the building’s entrance to keep an eye out. Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the scanner. The glass interface seemed to taunt me. My boss would kill me if I couldn’t break inside. Why did it have to be a handprint scanner? Why couldn’t they use a no frills, super reliable—and easily hijacked—keypad? As I concentrated, I sighed in frustration. A jolt of energy sparked through my fingertips. The electrical pulses had gotten stronger since I’d returned from Egypt two weeks ago, and I chalked it up to being exposed to the legendary ankh artifact. Darrell Brownstein, a convicted serial killer and Blood Raider, had planned to kill me with it, but instead, I’d used the ankh against him. He was dead now, along with a dozen of his followers. Still, there were other Blood Raiders out there intent on taking the Neotact artifacts, which had led me to standing here at the vault of Walter Prescott, father of the famed Jagg Ransom, debating how to break in. Jagg. I shook my head as an image of his ruggedly handsome face intruded on my memories. I hadn’t seen much of him since we’d returned from Egypt. A week ago, he’d told me he was traveling. Didn’t say where. Hadn’t even texted me since. Long strands of brunette hair came loose from my ponytail and tickled my cheeks. As I pushed them away from my face, I once again attempted to concentrate on the hand scanner. Jagg Ransom was nothing but a distraction. The idea of turning around and telling King that I’d failed wasn’t a pleasant prospect. I glanced up at the glass doors barring the vault. I could always break through the glass, but I was sure every security sensor in the building would start blaring the moment I did it. No, I’d have to be creative about getting inside. I tapped my fingers on my lips, noticing the little electrical pulses popping at my skin like rubber bands. Odd that my powers were reacting this way after touching the ankh. What if my ability isn’t just different? I asked myself. What if it’s more powerful? With a deep inhale, I forced my doubts aside and placed my hand against the glass of the hand scanner. My heart raced, and I hoped the scanner couldn’t detect a person’s anxiety through its circuits. If so, I’d get fried in a heartbeat. A yellow line glowed, starting at the top and moving down. I focused on sensing the last person’s hand that had touched the screen. Closing my eyes, I paid attention to the imprint of every swirl, every arch, every loop. Then, I sent a surge of energy into my hand, morphing it until it matched each of the previously used fingerprints. I held my breath. If this didn’t work, and I got caught, I’d land in jail faster than I could blink. Please work, please work, I chanted under my breath. Sweat beaded on my brow as I stared at the scanner. Maybe it had been Jagg’s father’s hand that had been here. Maybe it had been Jagg himself. With that thought, my heart gave a sudden leap, and I could only imagine how angry Jagg Ransom would be if he knew I was breaking into his father’s prized vault. Concentrate, I reminded myself, the yellow light still scanning up and down. A single beep chimed, and the light turned green. I released a pent-up breath. The door slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing the interior of the vault. ![]()
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