“Don't say it was
delightful; make us say delightful
when we've read the description. You see,
all those
words (horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite)
are only like
saying to your readers Please will you do
the job for me.”
― C.S.
Lewis
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Little White Lies
Mimics of Rune #1
PNR / Romance
by Aimee Laine
When the government needs a body double for a covert operation, they hire shape-shifter Charley Randall. For two centuries, she's played every part from foreign dignitary to office drone. The role she wants most, though, is one she's denied herself three times already.
FBI Agent Wyatt Moreland believes Charley's photographic memory is the key to his latest assignment. He's oblivious to the true extent of her abilities, but he can't deny the sense of déjà vu at their introduction.
Unlike Wyatt, Charley knows this isn't their first meeting.
It's their fourth.
The girl he vowed to love, sixteen years before, stands in front of him in her true form — one he'll never recognize.
With each reconnection, Charley loves him more though she realizes this is her last chance to explain. Only absolute truth can bring them happiness, but can Wyatt forgive her deceptions? Or will lies tear them apart forever?
FBI Agent Wyatt Moreland believes Charley's photographic memory is the key to his latest assignment. He's oblivious to the true extent of her abilities, but he can't deny the sense of déjà vu at their introduction.
Unlike Wyatt, Charley knows this isn't their first meeting.
It's their fourth.
The girl he vowed to love, sixteen years before, stands in front of him in her true form — one he'll never recognize.
With each reconnection, Charley loves him more though she realizes this is her last chance to explain. Only absolute truth can bring them happiness, but can Wyatt forgive her deceptions? Or will lies tear them apart forever?
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Excerpt:
The in-dash display of Charley Randall’s burgundy roadster read eleven fifty. She needed every minute until midnight to reach her destination. Pedal to floor, the car hugged the curves with nothing more than a slight adjustment left or right.
Headlights burned through the dark, illuminating the double, center lines.
Charley blew past warning signs for fallen rock, deer and the oncoming dead end at double the posted speed. She relied on her knowledge of her mountain’s terrain to get her home in one piece.
Another check of time revealed only eight minutes remained.
Her teeth ground together, knuckles paled. “You’ll make it, Char.” She blew out the breath she held and pounded the leather wheel with her palm. If she hadn’t stayed late for a celebratory drink, she’d have been on time.
The clock blinked eleven fifty-five.
She pressed the accelerator, as if to will the car faster, but slowed as the most dangerous of turns approached.
Eleven fifty-six.
The rapid blink of a vehicle’s emergency lights jumped into view as she rounded the curve. A single gasp accompanied the swerve. The steering wheel shook under her palms as the tires objected to the force of her turn and squealed into the dark of night. A cloud of dust rose around her as the car slid to the edge of the road and came to rest in a shallow ditch.
Eleven fifty-eight.
The engine stalled; the blink of the other car’s lights continued as voices called out in cries of worry.
Charley pounded the wheel with her fist. She grabbed a tendril of hair. The ends reflected her natural onyx while the rest shimmered with the gold she’d chosen for her last assignment. “I have ’til twelve!”
A double beep signaled the hour.
She stole a glance in the review mirror. Her eyes, once a bright green, swirled with a mix of hues. She cringed as pain radiated from the tip of her nose, shooting through to her toes.
“Hello?” a young male voice broke through. “You okay in there?”
The ultra-dark windows kept her hidden as hands cupped against the glass and a face peered between them. A flashlight beam attempted to penetrate the tinting.
Call James.
Charley struggled against her own body’s need to shift from blonde to black hair, five-four to five-seven, size two to size eight, and thirty-five to eighteen years old again for the two hundred and fourth time. She grasped for her phone but caught only air until her fingers met a solid form. She yanked it from the passenger seat and speed-dialed.
He answered on the first ring. “Where are you?” His tone reflected concern as well as urgency.
Lips pursed, Charley pressed her feet against the floorboard, gripping the steering wheel tight. Her head snapped back and forth. Curls stuck where heat dampened her skin. “Up—al- most—” Her lungs fought her as she spoke. “Car accident—”
“On our mountain?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll find you; just don’t let anyone see you.” He clicked off.
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