Beware the Kiss.

J. Alex Acker.

Raven Delaire has sworn vengence on the women who betrayed her. Tayler Windquest is the only woman with the power to save them all. She just doesn't know that...yet.

Tayler Windquest is practical. As a journalist, she has little use for anything not written in black and white. Until the night someone tries to kill her.

Saved from the a.s.sailant by her mysterious and beautiful neighbor, Erica Kirsten-Laird, Tayler realizes she's fascinated by the intensely private woman...and not just as a journalist.

As the plot against her unfurls, Tayler finds herself deeply immersed in an ancient and formidable curse. When additional threats on her life occur, Tayler realizes she must find a way to destroy Raven...or be destroyed herself. And when she needs her strength the most, Tayler finds she's hopelessly in love, but to make love to Erica would kill them both.

Tayler must trust her instincts and newfound powers to destroy the evil Raven has created, and to save the woman she loves.

About the Author.

J. Alex Acker has been a corporate communications writer and promotional copywriter for over 17 years. She also teaches business writing seminars.

Alex's writing accomplishments include several newspaper articles, poems, a personal essay and a chapter in a professional textbook. In 2000, she was named a finalist in the Southwest Writers Conference writing compet.i.tion.

She lives with her partner Rita and her dog Wylie in Saint Paul, Minnesota.

One.

The late August evening was filled with burning logs and decaying dreams. For twelve years, no matter where she went, Erica Kirsten-Laird stopped each night to read the curse. She did this to remind herself of the curse's tragic implications and destructive power. Though it had originally been written on white parchment, the folded paper was now torn from handling and yellowed with time. Its texture was as soft as a satin ribbon, but the words on the page were written with revenge. It was unnecessary for Erica to read the words since she had already engraved them on the walls of her soul.

With the curse held tightly in her hand, Erica eased out of her deck chair and stood stiffly. She placed the tattered paper on the table, walked to the edge of the deck and leaned on the wood railing. A spirited breeze rolled off Lake Mahala, feathering Erica's mahogany hair and blowing away the paper.

The waxing moon's reflection rippled on the surface of the water in the pool below. Erica looked away from the moon's watery image and focused on the brighter stars in the night sky. She located the Big Dipper and tried to identify other constellations, but when she caught sight of a falling star she quickly looked away. The p.r.i.c.kling sensation of fear ran down her spine. She placed her hands over her eyes. Unable to rid herself of the feeling that this falling star was some ominous sign of her own impending death, Erica tightly gripped the railing.

The notes from George Benson's version of the Beatles tune "The Long and Winding Road" spilled gently on to the balcony. Erica sighed. The cherished melody could not erase the harsh words on the doc.u.ment and the signatures in blood on the bottom of the paper. After twelve agonizing years, the words on the yellowed paper were still haunting. She began to pace.

In the shadows of her mind an elusive demon stalked her. It was dictated in the parchment that if the curse was not destroyed, Erica would die on Hallow's Eve. Only two months remained.

The yard lights next door went on and lit the pool area. She stopped pacing and turned toward her neighbor's yard. A woman dressed in a short white robe slid the screen door open and walked into the light. From her second-story deck, Erica could clearly see her neighbor. At the deep end of the pool, the woman bent down and tested the water with her hand. She paused for a moment looking into the water's depth. When she finally stood, she walked toward the shallow end, where she hung her towel on a nearby wicker chair. Erica watched her new renter descend the steps leading into the cool, clear water.

When her attorney first suggested to Erica that she rent out the second house, Erica resisted. She had purposely designed and built the two houses close together so she could watch over her aging grandparents. She had been so fearful that they would die unexpectedly-just like her parents. When her grandparents did die six months apart from natural causes, the house had stood empty.

Built on six acres of land, wooded with large maple and oak trees and towering Norway pines, the houses overlooked Lake Mahala. The elaborate, contemporary structures provided Erica with quiet solitude. A wooden fence and bushes were the only edging between the two houses. Over the years, this property had become Erica's fortress, a place where she could let both her grief and her creativity flow freely. Her success as an architect, wealth and charitable contributions, and single status made her feel uncomfortable with a public that viewed her, ironically, as the most eligible woman in Minnesota.

While out of the country, Erica finally agreed to rent the house. She faxed her attorney detailed instructions. Erica wanted a renter who would respect her privacy and live a tranquil life. She was specific - no photographers, reporters, or news editors. After an extensive search the house was finally rented. That evening before walking out on the deck, Erica had taken a brief glance at her renter's file. Her attorney could not have caught the one thing that now unnerved Erica. She turned her gaze across the lawn, paying closer attention to her new neighbor.

The woman's hair was so light it seemed to glow. When she turned her head in Erica's direction, Erica stepped back into the shadows, afraid she had been seen. She silently reprimanded herself for not making a formal introduction earlier in the evening, but her flight had been late and she wanted to get home.

In her mind Erica scanned the woman's file again. It had to have been a dreadful trick of fate that her renter's last name was Windquest. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body and watched as Tayler Windquest began to untie the sash on her white robe. The wind grew stronger and a large dense cloud blocked the moon's light. Erica watched the cloud pa.s.s. When it did she looked back. Tayler remained in her robe silently transfixed on the steps.

In the shadows near Tayler's pool another movement stirred. A darkly clothed figure crept along the fence in Tayler's direction. Erica held her breath. For a brief moment she wondered if the image was a figment of her exhausted mind, but when the figure leapt from the darkness and the blade of a knife caught the glow of the moonlight, she yelled. With her heart pounding against her ribs, Erica pushed herself down the deck steps.

"This is Erica Kirsten-Laird," she shouted into the cellular phone, miraculously close at hand from an earlier business call, "at five Oaks Trail...my neighbor Tayler Windquest is being attacked.. .her address is seven Oaks Trail...please hurry."

Erica stretched her five-ten frame and dashed across the yard, reached the fence and threw open the gate. For a fleeting moment she wondered why it was unlocked. The dark figure at the shallow end of the pool leaned over the edge and held Tayler Windquest's head under the water. Tayler struggled in vain to free herself, but the loose-fitting, slippery material her a.s.sailant wore was difficult to grab. A cloudy substance swirled in the waves near Tayler's head.

"Let her go!" Erica shouted over the splashing.

The a.s.sailant looked up and eased the grip on Tayler.

"I said let her go - " Erica lowered her voice. She cautiously approached the shallow end of the pool.

Releasing the victim, the a.s.sailant grabbed the knife off the cement, stood and pointed it at Erica. The sight of the bloodied knife stopped her.

The a.s.sailant took several calculated steps toward Erica and then lunged toward her. She dodged the knife, barely missing its sharp, silver blade. The two turned and faced one another again. Erica's chest heaved for air, her breath coming in short, quick gasps. The black mask over the a.s.sailant's face concealed the ident.i.ty, but there was something familiar about the mouth. The eye teeth were long and pointed. The wail of approaching police sirens cut her off mid-thought.

The a.s.sailant glanced toward the pool and Erica's gaze followed. Tayler's body was sinking deeper into the water. Erica looked back toward the a.s.sailant, but a black blur dominated her vision. She tried to recover her balance, but stumbled instead. The a.s.sailant's knife missed her chest by an inch, slicing deeply into her left arm. The knife was roughly pulled out. Erica grabbed her arm and fell to her knees. Blood seeped through her fingers and dripped on her jeans. She watched the a.s.sailant dash around the pool and disappear through the open gate. The sound of sirens warbled in her head and the concrete lurched in front of her.

"Oh G.o.d," Erica rose slowly and staggered to the edge of the pool.

She half-fell, half-dove into the water. The cool water helped to clear Erica's senses and she seized Tayler's robe with her right hand. She struggled to the steps and dragged the unconscious woman out of the water. She rolled Tayler over and saw the ugly gash in her neck. The numbness in Erica's arm abated and pain shot through her body.

Too dizzy to stand, Erica sat down on the top step and cradled Tayler's head in her lap. She pulled the bottom of the robe and brought it up to Tayler's neck. She held the wet satin material on the gash to stop the bleeding. A noise from inside the house startled Erica as several police officers rushed through the door.

The emergency room bustled with activity. The phone rang constantly, people in white coats ran in every direction, and security guards tried to keep the cameras and reporters out of the lobby.

"Can you give us a statement?" a reporter yelled at the approaching figure.

"How bad is she?" shouted another.

A path was cleared for a fat, balding man in his late forties. His stomach was so huge that the two pieces of his tie parted around the unsightly ma.s.s like a divining rod. The reporters gathered around him, shouting out their questions.

"Detective, can you give us any information on the attack? Is Miss Laird okay? Who is the other woman?"

"We're just starting our investigation, boys. We'll let you know as soon as we've got something," Detective Lucas Steffan smiled for the cameras and walked into the hospital.

"Miss Laird, I'm Detective Steffan with the Lake Mahala Police Department."

He held up his badge for Erica, but all she could see was his pudgy, yellow fingertips. She leaned back and noticed several teeth were missing and those that remained were a dull gray.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions before the doc comes in. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I've already given the information to the Sergeant."

"I know. I'd just like to hear what happened in your own words." He ran his tongue over coa.r.s.e dry lips. "Do you have any ideas on who might have wanted to see Miss Windquest dead?"

"No. Do you?"

"Well, we're still searching the area for clues, but it looks like our a.s.sailant just vanished into thin air."

"That's impossible. No one just vanishes."

"Miss Laird-"

"Ms.," Erica corrected.

"Yes, yes. Ms. Laird, we're doing everything we can." Steffan scribbled in a small black notebook. "We're looking at a couple of things right now, but two things are clear. First, the a.s.sailant attempted to cut Miss Windquest's throat and, second, there was the attempt to drown her."

"Yes, I know. I was there." Erica ran her fingers through her wet tangled hair. "What's your point?"

"My point being that whoever is after Miss -Ms. Windquest -has a major psychological inclination toward violence. In simple words, Ms. Laird, we have a killer with a vengeance." He scribbled another note. "Do you know what time the attack occurred?"

"It was around midnight."

"Did you notice anything unusual before the attack?"

"No - " Erica stopped abruptly.

Her stomach curdled and a strong feeling of nausea washed over her. She quickly reached for a blue plastic container and brought it to her mouth. Steffan retreated several steps. When she finally lifted her head he returned to his questions, but his eyes were focused several inches above her head.

"How about during the attack? Was anything out of place?"

"The gate," Erica took a deep breath. "The gate between the two yards was unlocked."

"Why is this so unusual?"

"Because that gate is always secured, Detective."

Intense brown eyes glared at Steffan. He began to fidget with his soiled tie.

"How long have you known Ms. Windquest?"

"I don't know her."

"Excuse me?" Steffan eyed Erica with suspicion. "Hasn't she been renting from you for the past," he consulted his notes, "two months?"

"Yes, but I've been out of the country the entire time. And, I didn't have a chance to 'officially' meet her before the attack."

"Where were you?"

"Spain."

"Nice place, good food." Steffan's stomach rumbled as if on cue. "When did you get back?"

"This evening."

"Great homecoming. Is there someone we could contact to let them know about Ms. Windquest?"

"My attorney has copies of the renter's application and reference forms. I've already given the number to the Sergeant." Erica's arm throbbed and she wanted to go home. The stench of stale smoke from Steffan's jacket permeated the room. When the door opened and a doctor and two nurses walked in, Erica could feel the fresh breeze on her face. One of the nurses hung up the x-rays of Erica's arm on the lighted viewer.

"Erica, how are you?" A short, pet.i.te doctor with graying hair walked in and put her hands on her hips.

Erica turned gratefully toward the voice. "Ev, how did you know-"

"I was just finishing an exam of another patient when I heard you were coming in. I'm sorry you had to wait." Dr. Susan Evans squeezed Erica's good hand. She peered at Steffan and looked back at Erica, her hazel eyes blinking in disbelief. "What a horrible thing to come home to."

Under the florescent lights Ev carefully removed the gauze pad and examined the wound. Erica winced. Ev walked over to the viewer and peered at the x-rays with the bloodied pad still in her hand.

"It's a deep cut, but luckily the knife missed the bone. It looks pretty clean. I'll use small st.i.tches to reduce the scarring, but altogether, I'd say you're going to need about ten st.i.tches." Ev turned to the nurses and gave them instructions. She turned back toward Steffan. "Lieutenant - "

"It's Detective Lucas Steffan, Doctor."

"Whatever. Detective, you'll have to conclude your questioning for now." Ev approached him with the b.l.o.o.d.y cloth. "Unless you don't mind the sight of blood."

Steffan's face went white and sweat began to bead on his forehead. "Fine, Doc, just one last question. Ms. Laird, did you see the knife?"

"Yes, I saw it on the ground."

"What did it look like?"

"It didn't look like something you'd use in a kitchen."

"What do you mean?"

"It had a black handle and the blade was curved."

"Here, why don't you draw me a picture." He flipped over a clean page and handed his notebook and pen to Erica.

"I think the blade was about six inches long. It looked like some kind of ceremonial knife."

Steffan eyed Erica suspiciously. "I take it you're familiar with knives?"

"Detective," the tone of Ev's voice warned him to finish his questioning.

"Okay, okay." Steffan flinched as Ev inserted a two-inch needle into Erica's arm. She slowly emptied the syringe filled with Novocaine. "Can you recall anything else about the knife? Did it have any markings or anything on the blade?"

"I don't know. It was covered with blood."

Ev withdrew the needle and placed it on the tray. She picked up a clean gauze pad to soak up the blood.