The Killing League

57.

Blue Blood

It was a typical book signing for Victoria Pugh. She was disappointed in the turnout. Disappointed, but not surprised. In fact, she’d never been happy about the number of fans attending one of her signings. Tonight, there were maybe ten. If you subtracted the employees from the bookstore, eight.

The scary thing was, Victoria Pugh was a highly successful thriller author. She’d never made it to #1 on the New York Times list, but she’d been as high as #12. Which was pretty damn good, she had to admit to herself.

She wondered, though, what did other authors experience at their signings? The authors who weren’t on The List at all? Did one or two people show up?

Victoria Pugh wasn’t judging, she honestly wondered how they did it, because when she made ‘The List’ she had assumed money and fame and glory would roll in like big surfing waves in Hawaii.

It hadn’t happened. Her option money was small, and her advances weren’t all that big either.

Now, looking out at the ten people, eight if you didn’t include the bookstore workers, she steeled herself with a positive attitude.

They were lined up for her to sign her new novel KILLING MARCIA, and she put on a smile.

It wasn’t until she got to the last person in line that her interest perked up. The last fan was a good-looking man, with that look of success and money. He had on a sportcoat that was clearly high quality, jeans, perfect skin, beautiful teeth, and hair that was casually elegant. The kind that resulted from two hundred dollar haircuts.

He approached the little desk Victoria sat behind. She looked up at him, and at the book in his left hand. Her pen was ready and a smile was on her face.

But he didn’t hand her book to her.

Instead, his right hand came forward.

It held a gun.

For a brief second, a laugh began to escape her lips.

What, was he going to ask her to sign his gun?

She was about to ask him, but the bullet made its way into the middle of her brain before the question made it out of her mouth.