Amazon Ink

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Thanks for making this book a reality go to my editor, Paula Guran, who took a chance on something a little different, and to Holly Root, agent extraordinaire and professional Slurpee splitter. Next time, you get your own straw!

And thanks to Madison, Wisconsin, for being the perfect place for a family of Amazons to blend.

Not again.

My gaze darted around the old school yard, searching for whoever had left the dead teenager on my front porch.

I was hoping the intruder was still nearby, close enough to catch and deal with myself-right now and for good-but the acre of grass and trees that surrounded our home and business was quiet.

No more than a minute or two had passed since the rattle of stones thrown at my bedroom window had roused me. I knew-this time-to go to the front door. But there was nothing. No cars. No autumn wind. Nothing. Even at one in the morning, at least an occasional car should have been zipping down the street that lay only a football field’s length away. My home was a little over a mile from the University of Wisconsin campus and it was a Saturday night, Sunday morning, technically; a few drunken students if no one else should have been traveling along Monroe Street, but the night was silent-deadly so.

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