March Madness
About
March Franklin is teetering on the edge. When right and wrong begin to blur during a spree of vigilantism against his most sinister foe, he finds himself in a desperate battle, both for the life of the woman he loves, and for his own sanity. But a mysterious new group of killers appears determined to settle things for him.
Danner and Franklin Consultants, LLC is finally getting its shot in a case for the FBI. If only Sophie can bring March back online. She soon realizes that he’s been up to far more than she could have imagined in their time apart, and if they ever want a shot at using his abilities and her cunning for good, she may have to save her partner from himself first.
– NO GENERATIVE AI was used in the creation of this novel or its audiobook production –
Sneak Peek:
With a groan of awkward effort, March struggled up out of the foot well and into a crouching position on top of the unconscious man. He stood awkwardly until his back was planted against the rear of the front seat, while pointing the gun upwards at the back window. But his right hand was numb and shaking too violently to find the trigger with his finger, so he switched the pistol to his left hand, bobbling it and nearly dropping it into the darkness again. He regained his grip and pointed the pistol squarely at the small square in the center of the rear window.
He pulled the trigger. The explosion was once again deafening within the confines of the cab, but not as debilitating as the one right next to his head had been. A hail of pebbled window glass rained down on him as the sliding portion of the rear window all but disappeared. March nearly tossed the gun away in his haste to lunge for the opening, but thought better of it at the last fraction of a second. He closed his eyes, squeezed the hood tight around his head again, and sprayed four more shots into the larger parts of the rear window, moving from left to right.
This time he didn’t feel the same shower of glass. He squinted his eyes open to see that three of the shots had hit their mark, leaving gaping spider-webbed holes in the entire surface of the glass. On the right where two of the shots had hit side by side, the window was sagging inward slightly.
March tossed the gun aside and kicked out at that section with one foot. After two kicks, the entire window came loose and fell inward on top of him, one section smacking him squarely in the face. As the water rushed forcibly through the shattered rear passenger window and the truck surged downward, March sprung upward through the rear window, latching both arms over the lower edge, kicking and scrambling to pull his body up and through.
As his feet finally found the back side of the truck cab, the water was racing to catch up, now pouring into the upended bed and closing in on March’s feet. Feeling the truck sinking further beneath him, March lunged upward again, grasping for the side of the bed as his right foot found purchase on the inner hump of the wheel well. With another scrambling lunge, he found himself teetering in a split-legged position at the high point of the near vertical truck, straddling the top edge of the tailgate.
The truck made another surge downward as the swirling black water worked on claiming the cab and closed in on the forward part of the bed. With no thought for technique or an eventual landing, March swung his right leg over to join the left on the outside of the tailgate and launched himself into a flailing leap. His breath was pummeled from his lungs as he landed on his chest and face upon the snow-covered ice, his legs arcing over so his boots nearly hit his shoulders in painful rag-doll fashion.