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A DIFFERENT BLUE Publication date ebook: March 29, ​Publication date paperback: June 27, via Spencer Hill Press Genre: Contemporary. A Different Blue eBook: Amy Harmon: Kindle Store amy harmon A Different Blue By Amy Harmon Preparing the books to read every day is enjoyable for many people. A Different Blue – Amy Harmon - PDF Free Download. PDF OF A DIFFERENT BLUE BY AMY HARMON - In this site isn`t the same as a solution manual you download in a book store or download off the web. Our.

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We are so proud to bring you….. When he is slow and careful, peeling back your clothes with reverence and awe, when the words whispered come from somewhere beyond the lust, beyond the need, and are grounded on history, time, and endurance…sex like that is different. There were no wine glasses and lit candles. No canned music or small talk. Wilson was itching to be done with the school year. Not because he hated his job; he loved it. But we had planned a trip to China to personally deliver my carvings to Mr.

His fingers slid beneath the cotton of my tank top to rest on my skin. My hands moved from his sand paper cheeks to grip the curls at the back of his head, and the kiss that had been playful licking became more like desperate devouring. He broke away for a moment, pressing his forehead into mine, gasping for air. His hand reached up to grip the braid swinging down my back, and his eyes were penetrating, as if he were trying to transmit a memory through his gaze.

That night, you wore a braid like this one. I wanted to unravel it like you were unraveling me. I wanted to slide my fingers through your hair and kiss your loneliness away. But I knew I had to wait. Wilson gripped the fabric of my shirt, sliding it upwards with the palms of his hands, and I felt the air brush my exposed abdomen. Then he kissed my shoulder gently, lifting one hand and moving the strap of my top aside so my shoulder lay bare against his mouth. My skin prickled and my heart galloped like a wild horse.

I held my breath as he slid the other strap down my arm and laid a kiss against the side of my throat. His mouth was warm and open, and as he kissed my neck he slid my tank top down my arms and around my waist. I wore a thin lace bra beneath and for a moment neither of us breathed as he continued to push the top past my hips, freeing my arms.

My shirt surrendered meekly, sliding down my legs and pooling at my feet. We stood looking at each other, our faces only inches apart. The way he looked at me was mindblowing. Like he adored me. Like he saw past every blemish. Like I was his, and he could hardly believe it. No plea. It was a statement.

A declaration. But I nodded all the same. Wilson smiled then. His beautiful mouth curving upward slowly as his arms wound around me once more. And then he lifted me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he had done that night months ago when he confessed his desire and I suppressed mine.

That night I told him to leave. Letting him stay would have broken me then. Letting him go would break me now. With his arms braced beneath me and his lips on mine, Wilson carried me up the stairs to my apartment. I thought briefly of my tank top lying abandoned on the concrete floor.

And then his shirt was abandoned, too. Tossed on the kitchen floor. And my shorts were discarded in the hallway. And that is when we closed the door, and I became lost once more. Lost and then found. Yet…now I see. Sex is different with someone you love. The darkness was a relief, even if it was still over degrees outside, plus it made them less conspicuous.

The air-conditioner worked well enough as long as the car was in motion, but they had been sitting in a wedge of paltry shade watching the truck for two hours, waiting for the man to come out. The woman behind the wheel bit at her fingernails and debated whether or not to give it up.

What would she say to him? But she needed help. The money she had taken from her mother hadn't lasted long. So she'd done a few things along the way she wasn't proud of, but she rationalized that she did what she had to do.

She had a kid now. She had to take care of her, even if it meant trading sex for money or favors. Or drugs, a little voice whispered inside her head. She pushed the thought away, knowing she wasn't going to last long. She needed another hit. She had come so far. She couldn't believe she had ended up here, not that far from home. A few hours is all. And she had been halfway across the country and back with nothing to show for it.

Suddenly, he was there, walking back toward the truck. He pulled his keys from his pocket and attempted to unlock the passenger door. He was met by a scruffy grey and black dog that had been sleeping beneath the vehicle, waiting, like she was, for the man to return to his truck.

The dog circled the man's legs as he jimmied the handle back and forth. She heard the man curse under his breath. Gonna have to replace that handle. The man shut the door behind the dog and wiggled the handle once more. The man didn't see her watching him. He just walked around the front of his truck, climbed in behind the wheel, and eased the truck and trailer out of the parking space he had occupied for the last few hours.

His eyes slid right over her as he rumbled past, not pausing, not hesitating. Wasn't that just typical? Not even a second look. Not even a second thought. Anger welled up inside her. She was tired of being looked over, passed by, ignored, rejected. She started her car and followed him, keeping far enough back that he wouldn't get suspicious.

But why would he? He didn't even know she existed. That made her invisible, didn't it? She would follow him all night if she had to. His shift was about to end, but he told dispatch he would respond and pulled into the parking lot of the Stowaway. If the name was an indicator, only stowaways would want to stay at the dumpy motel. A neon traveler's trunk with a head poking up out of the lid fizzled in the afternoon heat. Officer Moody had lived in Reno all of his twenty-eight years, and he knew as well as anyone that a good night's rest wasn't the reason people frequented the Stowaway.

He heard the wail of an ambulance.

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Obviously the desk clerk had made more than one call. He had had a gurgling gut ache all afternoon. Damn burritos. He had wolfed them down gleefully at noon, loaded with cheese, guacamole, shredded pork, sour cream, and green chilies, but he was paying for it now. He really needed to go home.

He desperately hoped the desk clerk was wrong about the guest in an upstairs room and he could wrap things up quickly and be done with the day. But the desk clerk wasn't wrong.

The woman was dead. No mistake. It was August, and she had probably been closed up in room for 48 hours. August in Reno, Nevada was hot and dry. And the body reeked. The burritos threatened, and Officer Moody, without touching anything, made a hasty retreat, telling the paramedics hurrying up the stairs that they wouldn't be needed.

His supervisor would have his head if he let them trample all over the scene. He closed the door to room behind him and told the curious desk clerk that police would be swarming all over the premises and that they would need her assistance.

Then he called his supervisor. We've got a woman, obviously dead. I've secured the scene. Paramedics have been turned away. Requesting assistance. Detective Andy Martinez, Officer Moody's supervisor, had commandeered the surveillance camera. Miracle of miracles, there actually was one at the Stowaway. The coroner had been called and was en route.

When questioned, the desk clerk claimed they had not been renting out the room because the air conditioner was broken. Nobody had been in or out of the room for more than two days.

A repairman had been scheduled, but fixing the air conditioner had not been a huge priority. Nobody knew how the woman had gotten into the hotel room, but she definitely hadn't signed in and used something as helpful as a credit card to pay for her stay.

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And she didn't have any ID on her. Unfortunately for the investigation, the woman had been dead for two days or longer, and the hotel wasn't one that attracted long stays.

The Stowaway sat just off the freeway on the outskirts of town and whoever may have seen or heard anything from the night she had died was no longer at the motel. When Officer Moody finally made it home at eight o'clock that night, he felt no better than he had earlier, and they still hadn't made an identification of the woman found dead with nothing with the clothes on her back to guide the investigation.

Moody had a bad feeling about the whole thing, and he didn't think it had anything to do with the burritos. It bothered him all night. It wasn't his case. Patrolmen didn't head investigations. But Martinez was his supervisor and was willing to share, especially when the case seemed to be coming to a rapid close.

Any luck? She's got a few priors, mostly drug related. Got a name, an old address.

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Just turned nineteen. August 3 was her birthday, actually. Detective Martinez could be pretty close-mouthed. But when the coroner rolled her, the back of her head was bashed in. Now they were looking for a murderer, too.

It looked like she'd taken a little bit of everything from some of the paraphernalia at the scene. She was a cheerleader at a little school in Southern Utah. It was in the police report. She apparently shared some Ecstasy with her teammates and was caught and charged with possession. Only reason she wasn't locked up was because she was a minor and it was her first offense.

And she was sharing, not selling. We've touched base with local authorities there. They're going to notify the family. Just as plain as can be. We have her walking into the lobby about midnight and climbing through the reception window, over the front desk, right into the office area. Desk clerk claims she usually locks everything up when she has to step away from the desk, but she had the stomach flu and rushed to the bathroom without buttoning things up.

They still use the actual keys, you know. No modern key cards for the Stowaway. Desk clerk says the key had been pulled and set aside because of the air conditioning problems. There was a work order with the key.

Girl wasn't a dummy. She took the key knowing she could probably hang out in the room for the night and nobody would know. And that's not all.


The camera shows her car coming into the motel with her in it and leaving an hour later with a man at the wheel. We've got an APB out on that car. Listen up. You have a description and a picture of the woman on the flyer in front of you. At this point, we have had no indication that a child was with her in the hours leading up to her death. There was no sign of a child in the surveillance video nor any sign that a child had ever been in the motel room.

The family of the deceased had not seen the woman or child in over a year, so we have no way of knowing at what point the woman and her child parted company.

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We have also notified the appropriate agencies as well as inputing this information in NCIS. We need to start canvasing the area again with the flyer. Let's get this woman's picture out as fast as we can. See if anyone remembers seeing this woman and whether or not she had a child with her.

We have no current pictures of the toddler, but the grandmother gave us a basic description. Child is believed to have dark hair and blue eyes. Native American, although the father of the child is believed to be white, which may account for the blue eyes.

The mother has been dead now for five days, and we all know how transient the clientele at the Stowaway is. We've lost some precious time and need to work fast. Let's get on it, people. Actually, the truth was I didn't care, so why would I worry?

The first day of school was useless anyway. Most of the teachers didn't mark tardies on the first day or yell at you in front of the class. It was the last period of the day, and my mind had already left the building and fled out over the desert and into the hills in search of shapes and silhouettes. Already, I could feel the wood beneath my hands.