WolfSinger Publications

Don't Write What You Know;

Write What You Care About -- Passionately!

Eye for Eye

- F. Lynn Godfriaux

While recovering from a gunshot wound and the death of her sister, Mattie Tyler is taken hostage by a team of mercenaries on a mission to avenge their leader, who died deep in the Colorado Rockies.

 

When Mattie disappears, her husband Jeremiah becomes the prime suspect as investigators follow a trail of murder and destruction in rural Oklahoma, otherwise known as the notorious Tornado Alley.

Retail price $12.95

WolfSinger price $12.00

Amazon.com

(Trade Paperback)

(Kindle)

Books 2 Read UBL

(Multiple eBook formats)

Purchase all three Blind Eye Books together and save an additional $3.00.

Blind Eye / Eye for Eye / Mind's Eye

​​Separately - $38.00 / Bundled - $35.00

Prologue

“Mattie, you might have asked me to retrieve a glass for you,” Hawk admonished, his British accent sounding tense.

“I don’t have the energy to tell you where to look.” I stood on my left leg and clung to the kitchen counter as pain streaked up my broken right leg encased in Plaster of Paris.

“Where is your domestic help?”

I sighed. “I sent William and Anna home. They’re both ex­hausted. I can manage on my own.” Gritting my teeth and wishing my husband were present to help me, I hopped one-legged along the counter and opened expensive cherry cupboards until I found a glass.

Shaking his head, Hawk plucked the glass from my hand, crossed to the sink and filled it with water. His black long-sleeved turtleneck and dark gray trousers heightened the iridescence of his gray eyes. I drained the glass empty, set it on the counter. The outside floodlights suddenly blinked on and through the kitchen windows I spotted a large white moving van disappear down the long winding drive.

“Sit down.” Hawk’s curt order distracted me from the curious presence of the van, and I tried and failed to hide my wince as I lowered myself into the wheelchair. He lifted my cast onto the steel leg support. I stared at the wrinkled black cotton T-shirt funeral dress I still wore, reflected miserably over the sunny warm mid-June Monday morning that now dragged into a warm stormy Monday night.

The outside floodlights blinked off. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, and I opened my mouth to ask Hawk to retrieve my sister’s urn from the music room.

Without warning the double kitchen doors burst open and five men in black assault gear spilled into the kitchen. With spine-chilling silence, they fanned into a semi-circle, their eyes glaring with outright hatred at me through their black balaclavas.

Behind me, Hawk leaned over and curled his hands around my wrists, his fingers like steel cuffs as they pinned mine against the arms of the chair.

“H-Hawk…?” My throat constricted, my heart pounded hard against my chest and my lungs shriveled until I couldn’t breathe as I stared at the lethal end of five automatic rifles.

WolfSinger Publications / PO BOX 31036 / Colorado Springs, CO 80931

editor@wolfsingerpubs.com