Ripple Effect
Cocoa Beach, Florida
Mack Bolan, aka the Executioner, walked along a quiet, nearly vacant beach at sunrise. It was nearly vacant, since a beach bum and his lady had apparently camped out the night before, somehow avoiding the nocturnal beach patrol to plant their sleeping bags above the high-tide waterline. They were engrossed in each other as he passed, ignoring him, waking to yet another day of—what?
Good luck, he hoped, and wished them well.
A small crab scuttled out of Bolan's path, chasing the white Atlantic surf as it retreated. In his short-sleeved shirt, Bolan was conscious of a chill wind off the ocean, but he trusted that the sun would warm him soon enough.
Right now, the chill felt good, a respite from the heat he knew was coming, guaranteed.
It was a rare day when he could escape the heat.
He'd spent the past two nights at the Wakulla Inn, taking a unit with a kitchen and more bedrooms than he needed, just to have the space. Two days of beachfront R and R had tanned him, while meandering along the main drag, two blocks from his pad, briefly immersed him in the tourist scene. He'd poked around Ron Jon's a ... read full excerpt from Ripple Effect ebook
