Scar Tissue by M.C. Domovitch Genres: Romantic Suspense
SYNOPSIS
When successful model Ciara Kelly wakes up in hospital,
remembering nothing of the weeks she has been missing, her only clues are the
ugly words carved into her skin. According to the police she was a victim of
the Cutter, a serial killer who has already murdered three women. For her
protection the police and her doctors give a press conference, announcing that
because her amnesia is organically caused, her memory loss is permanent. But,
whether her memory returns or not is anybody’s guess. Overnight, Ciara’s
glamorous life is gone. Her scars have killed both her modelling career and her
relationship with her rich boyfriend. With nothing to keep her in New York, she
returns to her home town of Seattle, moves in with her sister and goes about
building a new life. But when her sister lets it slip that Ciara’s memory is
returning, the killer comes after her again. If Ciara is to stay alive, she must
keep one step ahead of the Cutter.
EXCERPT
I don’t want to die.
That single thought pounded through her mind as she hurtled
through the woods. The blackness had dropped all at once, and now the trees
were merely darker shadows against a dark night. The rain came down hard. Lightning
cracked, sounding so much like a gunshot that she muffled a scream. But she had
not been hit. She was still alive. She ran on.
Branches and bushes whipped at her, scratching her arms and
legs. She tripped over an exposed root and crashed to the ground, but was back
on her feet in an instant.
A brilliant flash of lightening was followed by thunder. Ka-boom. Everything that had been black
a moment ago became white. Had she been spotted? No, surely not.
A crunching sound came from her right. She whipped her head
toward it and picked up her pace. Her breathing was ragged, short puffs of
steam in the frigid April air. It couldn’t have been more than fifty degrees.
Sweat and rain mixed with the dirt and blood from her countless wounds and ran
down her face and neck in rivulets. Thanks to the adrenaline pumping through
her veins, she was numb to the cold and the pain, but she would feel it
later—if she got out of here alive.
Please God, let me live.
But she’d had no real food for days, no water except the
occasional sip. Her body couldn’t keep going much longer. She was close to
collapsing.
Must. Keep. Going.
If she wanted to stay alive, she needed to put as much
distance as possible between herself and her captor. She had no idea how long
she’d been running or in which direction she was going. Had her kidnapper even
noticed she’d escaped? Was that monster already on her trail, getting closer
with every passing second? A horrendous thought came to her. She could be
running in a circle, her every step bringing her closer to her jailer. A sob
escaped her throat.
Dear God. Please.
Please.
She squinted, trying to see through the inky night. There
had to be a road, a house, something, and then she saw them. Some distance away
there were lights, and her last vestiges of hope crashed.
Flashlights.
Had a posse been formed? Were they closing in on her? In her
panic, she tripped and came down hard, again. This time she thought she might
have broken an arm. She was crying now. She’d come so close. But she would be
caught. And she would die.
She looked up at the lights moving through the trees, and
blinked. Could her imagination be playing tricks on her? She stared, and in
moment of clarity she understood. Those weren’t flashlights. They were
headlights. Headlights meant cars, and cars meant a road. Just ahead, maybe a
few hundred yards farther, lay safety.
She had to keep going. She struggled to her feet, cradling
her sore arm. She made her way, pushing through brambles and bushes until she
came to a steep embankment. She crawled up and then over the guardrail. A car
whizzed by, blaring its horn.
“Wait. Stop!” she yelled at the next one when it was still a
distance away, but it drove by too. “Help me!” she shouted after it. She limped
into the road, determined to make the next one stop. Tires screeched. There was
a thud. And then she went flying through the air, coming to a bone-crushing
thump on the hard pavement.
Through the mist in her mind she heard the sound of running
footsteps, then a woman’s voice. “Oh, my God. Is she dead?”
A man’s voice, pleading. “I swear. It wasn’t my fault. She
ran right in front of me.”
The woman again. “I think she’s still breathing. Call an
ambulance. Now!” She leaned into her. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The words came to her from a great distance, growing further
and further away, until they were only a faint echo. She drifted into
nothingness.
PURCHASE
Monique was born in the small town of Hearst Ontario, the oldest
of ten children. “You can’t imagine the pressure,” she says,laughing. “Anything
I did wrong—and I did plenty—was sure to lead my siblings into a life of sin. I
therefore accept the blame for any wrongdoings by all member of my family.”
When she was twenty years old she moved to Montreal, where she
became a successful model, winning the prestigious Modeling Association of
American Contest and continuing on to an international career. During this
time, she worked with many top photographers and graced many designer runways.
“Modeling was a wonderful career,” she says. “I met so many interesting and
talented people. I travelled all over the world. After ten years of facing
cameras and audiences, I became very comfortable with the public. I had no idea
at the time, just how much this ability would serve me later in life.”
When Monique retired from modeling, she founded Beauties Modeling Agency in Montreal. Through her tutelage, many Canadian models gained international renown. “I wanted to accept my age rather than try desperately to look young for an unforgiving camera. That was the main reason I retired from modeling when I was still young.”
When Monique retired from modeling, she founded Beauties Modeling Agency in Montreal. Through her tutelage, many Canadian models gained international renown. “I wanted to accept my age rather than try desperately to look young for an unforgiving camera. That was the main reason I retired from modeling when I was still young.”
Later, she became a financial adviser and planner, and soon
found herself hosting her own national television show about personal finance.
After four years on the air, the series ended and Monique soon retired from her
financial career, remarried and embarked on her new career in writing. Her
success was almost instant. She was singed on by an agent within months of
finishing her first novel and soon signed two contracts for a total of six
books. She is now hard at work on her ninth, due out in winter of 2015.
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