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The Prince of Keegan Bay - print View larger

The Prince of Keegan Bay - print

The Blenders, 1

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Where else could a baby in danger from his relatives be safer than surrounded by senior citizens?

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  • Desperate to save her son, the American born heir to the kingdom of Kushawa, Moira Robbins hides him in an age-qualified retirement community, Keegan Bay. Where else could he be safer then surrounded by senior citizens?  

    Doll Reynolds has suspicions about the goings on at her neighbor’s. When her investigation leads to dark revelations, she unifies The Blenders, a group of feisty senior citizens, to engage in a battle of wits and tactics with the Kushawan Alliance of Royal Princes (KARP) who are determined to eliminate the heir. 

    As Doll and The Blenders pull together to protect the boy’s hiding, his mother risks her life to lure the KARP assassins away from Keegan Bay. 

    Doll and The Blenders need to use all of their experiences to save the life of an innocent child. Will it be enough?

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The Prince of Keegan Bay - print

The Prince of Keegan Bay - print

Where else could a baby in danger from his relatives be safer than surrounded by senior citizens?

Excerpt

Several miles and a whole world away Moira Robbins drove along the roughly paved road through the rundown trailer park toward her latest hideaway, still angry with herself for getting fired and then for the traffic stop. She’d bought the old Honda so she could drive around unnoticed, never realizing it had a burned out taillight. As for the job, it was her first since college more than ten years ago. Early in her shift she’d dumped a tray of beers onto a customer; the last in a series of blunders as far as her boss was concerned. Then, to make matters worse, when she was stopped by the officer, she’d handed him her real identification instead of the fake one she’d paid so much for in New York. When she rolled down the window, the beer soaked t-shirt made him suspicious.

“Step out of the car, ma’am.”

She knew she was in trouble as she waited by the back of her car for him to check the computer in his car. Cars sped by the busy interstate, some slowing to ogle the tall brunette in the tight shorts and t-shirt. Perspiration dripped into her eyes, but she was afraid to move.

He sauntered back to her within minutes and handed her the driver's license. “Just do me a favor, ma’am, and get that light fixed.” With that, he saluted and returned to his vehicle then waited for her to pull back into traffic.

Puzzled at being let off without even a Breathalyzer test or being made to walk a straight line, she focused on the road ahead, desperate to keep her hands from trembling on the steering wheel.

As she stepped into her single-wide trailer furnished in Early Thrift Shop, an odd odor made her hesitate before entering, but then she realized, in such close quarters, it was probably the beer still damp on her tee shirt. She threw her purse on the divan. Dishes were still in the sink from two nights ago, the last time she’d eaten at home. Ignoring them, she headed for the bathroom at the back of the unit to take a shower. There would be no late night trip to the Wal-Mart parking lot to spend a few moments with her baby tonight. But her heart was breaking every day she couldn’t see little Hamid, Hamilton Robbins on his American birth certificate. She didn’t think they’d figured that one out, yet.

Tomorrow, she’d go on another job hunt. She could try a dress shop, though as a salesclerk she might overawe women with her size. Being as tall as she was, six feet one inch, and weighing in at one sixty, her friends told her she often came across as pretty intimidating.

Her minuscule shower made her feel claustrophobic, so it was only five minutes before she stood in her tiny bedroom changing into her pajamas. The peculiar odor lingered.

She slid between the six hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, one of the few luxuries she refused to give up, and turned out her light. The German Shepherds next door barked.

Every time any of the neighbor’s dogs barked she became alert, waiting for men in black hoods to slide through her windows to slit her throat. Though most of the other neighbors complained about the big shepherds living in such close quarters, she was grateful for their existence. Bruno and Maxwell had become her best friends and the nicest part of their watchfulness was that she didn’t have to take care of them. Unfortunately, they not only barked at strangers, they barked at any moving, living thing. Stray raccoons, squirrels, armadillos, or even moles poking their heads up from their burrows set them off in a barking frenzy.

“To sleep; perchance to dream,” she sighed. “Hamid, Hamid, Hamid. There is something amiss in Florida. I wish we could go back in time and start over. I miss you.”

The dogs settled down. She drifted off to sleep, only to wake again suddenly, sitting bolt upright, her heart racing. The German Shepherds barked right outside her bedroom window. Her closet door creaked. Someone was in the room with her. Moving slowly, she reached under her pillow to pull her Smith and Wesson Model 66 from under her pillow. She slid it down by her side, index finger on the trigger. Perspiration oozed out of every pore of her body. She dared not breathe. In the faint glow of the moonlight, she detected a dark form move toward the door to the hallway.

Her mind raced, seeing black-clad men in every corner of the room, swarming over her, smothering her. Maybe her mother was right, nobody was looking for her; it was her over-active imagination and this phantom in her room was part of another bad dream. In one dream little Ham was being tossed from one villain to the other across her bed just out of her reach.

The dogs’ barking turned to low growls. They sounded like they were almost in her bedroom Tears wet her face. I can’t go on! I can’t do this, Hamid. Why did you have to die? Why? A silent question, a useless cry into the void. Should she shoot the intruder now? Though she’d learned how to use a gun as a young girl, she’d never actually shot at any living thing.

Whoever it was didn’t realize she’d awakened. The odor she’d detected earlier permeated her claustrophobic bedroom. The shadow moved on into the hallway. She slowly leaned forward to watch the silhouette advance toward her kitchen.

Sliding quietly from the bed, she eased her way to the hall and stuck her head out far enough to see what the man was doing. Using a small flashlight to guide him, he had reached the desk connected to the end of her kitchen counter and was rummaging through the drawer. He was dressed in black, looking like a paper silhouette against the light. Her heart stopped.

She gasped.

He dropped the papers and turned toward her. “You will be coming with me,” he said with a trace of a middle-eastern accent, reminding her of Hamid. “And now I have the evidence of your child, I shall find him and be richly rewarded.”

He couldn’t possibly have any evidence. There was none to be found in her trailer. It could only mean that he’d been following her and had seen her at the parking lot, then trailed her mother. He knew where Hamilton was living. She caught the glint of a gun barrel pointed in her direction. With each portion of a second feeling like a minute, she contemplated her own death, thought of her son as an orphan, and knew she had to surprise this intruder before he became aware that she carried a gun.

She raised the Smith and Wesson and pulled the trigger.

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