Scavenger Hunt!

To celebrate the upcoming release of Deadlock(June 25th!), my publisher has arranged a Scavenger Hunt! Follow the links at the end of each stop and collect clues along the way! At the end of the Scavenger Hunt, enter your clues to be entered to win the grand prize: a Nespresso Espresso maker and coffee goodies to keep your all-night hacking (or reading) sessions going strong. You might find a few bonus giveaways in hidden links throughout the Scavenger Hunt, too, including print copies of Deadlock!

To get you started, here is the first chapter of Deadlock! I’m so excited for you to meet Lindsey and Jace.

Chapter 1:

I’m going to kill my sister.

Lindsey Morris gritted her teeth into a smile for the photo her jolly Aunt Martha snapped, the silent threat in her head becoming more of an inevitable truth with each passing moment. God knows, it wasn’t unlike her twin sister Lena to flake out on her, but their parents’ fortieth anniversary party was something the two of them had been planning for months. All for Lena to leave Lindsey holding the bag. Again.

Relieved from picture duty at last, she left her parents and hustled in her towering heels across the banquet hall to check on the champagne, dodging cousins and uncles and aunts. She hadn’t seen some of them in years. If a certain sister hadn’t left her running this entire show, she might have had time to stop and catch up with each of them.

All of it had come together nicely, though. Her parents were beaming in front of a life-size poster of one of their wedding pictures, forty years having done nothing to dim their happiness and love for each other. Lindsey snapped a picture of her own before slipping out the door into an echoing hallway to dial Lena. As expected, her sister’s voicemail greeting chirped in her ear.

“Hello?” A long pause ensued, during which Lindsey’s blood pressure spiked. “Gotcha! Sorry, you don’t get to talk to me right now. If you want to talk to me later, better make it good.”

Lindsey waited for the tone. “I don’t want to talk to you. I want to strangle you. Dammit, Lena, where are you?”

Hours passed before she could get away to the blissful solitude of her apartment, where she hoped a glass of wine and a Simpsons marathon might make her feel a little better. But even Bart and Homer’s animated antics weren’t enough. Her anger had burned away to sad ashes, and she couldn’t get her parents’ disappointed faces out of her mind. It would serve Lena right if none of them ever spoke to her again, as drastic as it sounded, but something about Lena made one eager to trust her and believe her when she made the promises she never kept. And the anger Lindsey felt when that inevitably happened could just as easily be turned on herself for enabling her twin, for never enforcing any consequences when Lena flaked out.

But how many times had she tried? How many times had it worked?

Then her glass was empty, and she poured another, sitting alone on her couch and staring at the way the light from the TV played hypnotically through the crimson depths as she swirled the liquid in her glass. Everything she was doing to make herself feel better was having the opposite effect. The fact she had no one to vent her frustrations to made it worse. Bad-mouthing her sister to their parents wasn’t an option, especially today—they were probably on the plane for their anniversary trip to Cabo San Lucas.

Lucky them.

“I need a vacation, too,” Lindsey told her wineglass. It was the only one there to listen. Then, sighing, she set it down on her coffee table and picked up her phone, shooting ramrod straight when she saw that she had somehow missed a text from Lena twenty minutes ago. She’d probably been in the kitchen scavenging.

Sorry. Ran into some trouble. Give Mom and Dad my love. I need a favor. Go to this address and ask him for help. Please. It will all become clear.

An address followed, which Lindsey’s eyes scanned without seeing. Her brain had shorted out on the word “favor.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” she asked her phone, gripping it with a force that threatened to shatter it.

Lena in trouble was nothing new. Ever since high school, on through college, and even after, she’d been getting herself or someone else into shit she couldn’t always talk her way out of. Thinking Lindsey would simply forget about tonight and rush in to help her was simply par for the course, but Jesus, it had to stop sometime, didn’t it?

One thing was for sure. No way was she going to that address, wherever it was. To some strange place to ask someone she didn’t know for—what, even? Who was she supposed to be looking for? She wasn’t about to let Lena make her look like an idiot on top of everything.

No one else could get her off her warm cocoon on the couch to face the biting cold. She didn’t know what she might find at her sister’s apartment; she didn’t care, but she was going all the same. Lena probably wouldn’t be there, but maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to nose around and find out where she was. Then she would go find her, even if she had to hop on a plane to do it.

There were some things she desperately needed to say to Lena’s face, and it was well past time.

She rushed through her apartment, throwing on a coat and shoving her feet into boots, her pulse pounding in her ears. No one else on earth could push her buttons like this. Lindsey hadn’t trusted Lena since college, her twin’s antics during that particular time of their lives having been the final straw.

Yes, she was her sister. Yes, Lindsey still loved her as such. Gossip sessions, shopping trips, friendship…those areas had always come easily. But real trust?That ship had sailed years ago, when Lena had pulled what was probably her cruelest stunt of all—at least that Lindsey knew of. The skeletons that could lurk hidden in Lena’s closet were enough to give her cold chills. The two of them had the same face, and Lena probably had enough enemies that Lindsey should look over her own shoulder when she walked down the street.

In the back of the Uber she called because wine and rage and driving didn’t mix, she white-knuckled her purse straps all the way to her sister’s apartment, going over everything she wanted to say in her mind in case Lena was there. Confrontation ordinarily tied her tongue up in knots, and no doubt it would this time.

She had to have her words straight in her head or they would slip right out. But niggling in the back of her mind was the fact that their parents would never get over an irreparable rift between them, no matter the cause. It was enough for her to rein in on a few of the epithets she wished to hurl at Lena’s perpetually smug face. But not many.

If Lena was off having a grand adventure with plans to show up next week thinking all was well—she added the epithets back in.

Long ago, Lena had given Lindsey a key to her apartment so she could water her plants while she was away. The plants had died anyway—Lena didn’t even take care of them herself after she got home from wherever she’d been. But Lindsey had hung on to the key, and it had come in handy more than once. She stalked directly to her sister’s door, lifted her fist to beat on it, thought better of it—she might not even answer—and fit the key into the lock.

The sight that greeted her as she flipped the nearby light switch caused her heart to stutter and her breath to catch, momentarily choking her.

Her sister’s apartment was trashed.

Scavenger Hunt: Where are Lindsey’s parents going for their anniversary trip?

Next stop, Melynda Price

Deadlock releases June 25th! You can pick it up in paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and wherever books are sold. Add it on Goodreads!

 

 

 

Published by Cherrie Lynn

111,307 thoughts on “Scavenger Hunt!”

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  23. The room is a perfect circle of black marble. A single spotlight illuminates two chairs. One is ornate, gilded, empty. The other is simple, steel, occupied by MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN, 40, still wearing the pristine white thawb he died in. He looks impatient.

    Across from him, CROWLEY WOLF, 50s, dressed in a threadbare velvet smoking jacket, paces slowly, holding a small, leather-bound director’s script. He stops, turns, and his voice booms, filling the vast, empty space.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Not shouting, but with immense, theatrical volume)
    You’re late. The curtain rose an eternity ago. You think power makes you immune to time? Here, time is the only critic that matters. And it has found your performance… lacking. You’re playing the role of “Crown Prince.” Act like it. Sit up.

    Mohammed shifts, his arrogance a physical shield.

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    I do not answer to stagehands. I am the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. This… interrogation is a mistake. A grotesque misunderstanding.

    CROWLEY WOLF
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    Mistake? There are no mistakes, only bad choices followed by worse acting! “I am the Crown Prince.” The line is delivered with the conviction of a man reading a shopping list. Again! From the entrance! You sweep in! You own the room! You are the vessel of a nation’s destiny! FEEL IT, YOU BLITHERING INCOMPETENT!

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    (Icy)
    I am the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. My destiny is not a matter for your… amusement.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    (A cruel smile)
    Better. A flicker of something. Not belief, but the memory of it. Good. We can work with that. Let’s talk about your props. Your toys. This… “Directed Weapon.” Don’t look at me like that. We have the schematics. We have the usage logs. We have the encephalograms. I want the monologue. The scene where you, the great visionary, describe your creation. The soliloquy of the god-maker. Go!

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    It was a tool for national advancement. A shield. A way to…

    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Slamming his script down)
    NO! NO, NO, NO! “A tool”? “A shield”? That’s the dialogue of a bureaucrat, not a king! You didn’t build a shield, you built a throne for the mind! You stole God’s lightning and used it to rewire souls! Now, DESCRIBE IT! What did it feel like? The first time you used it on yourself? The euphoria? Tell me about that feeling!

    Mohammed’s composure cracks. A memory surfaces, unwanted.

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    (Quieter, almost a whisper)
    It was… clean. Like the moment after anesthesia, but with perfect clarity. No grogginess. Just… light. A motivation that didn’t end. I could run for hours. I didn’t need to sleep. One press… and the deepest sleep. Movies weren’t on a screen, they were… real. Music wasn’t sound, it was… a color. A feeling of being loved by the universe itself.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    YES! SEE? THAT’S ACTING! The truth! And what else? What did it do to your perception of the little people? The ones outside your skull?

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    (A flicker of the old arrogance)
    It clarified things. It showed me what was… necessary. The distance between me and… others. They became… smaller. Insignificant. Like insects scurrying on the pavement kilometers below. Their concerns… microscopic.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    Magnificent! The god-monologue! Now, the next scene. The difficult one. The casting call. You have this divine tool. You need a court. A government. But the best minds, the strong-willed, the ones who might actually help you… they see you for what you are. A tyrant. They wouldn’t come. They wouldn’t love you. So what did you do, my brilliant casting director? What kind of actors did you settle for?

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    My advisors were chosen for their loyalty. Their commitment to Vision 2030.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Leaning in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial boom)
    LOYALTY? Don’t lie to me, I can smell the mediocrity from here! You couldn’t attract the lions, so you trained the puppies! You took the weak-willed, the ambitionless, the men who saw power as a paycheck instead of a burden… and you used your weapon on them, didn’t you? You spent years with your secret service, not building a government, but breaking minds! Forging affection from fear! Tell me about that process! How did it feel to know the men sitting at your table only loved the electrical impulses you forced into their skulls?

    Mohammed stands up, shaking.

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    That’s enough! You know nothing! Security required it! The smart ones, the critical ones… they would betray me! They would question! It was safer! It was the only way to protect the nation from…

    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Laughing, a loud, echoing sound)
    FROM WHAT? FROM COMPETENCE? You were afraid, little prince! Afraid a man with a spine might look at you and see a fraud! So you surrounded yourself with echoes! With puppets whose strings you pulled, and now you have the weakest government in Saudi history, a house of cards built from broken minds! You sit in meetings, don’t you? You look into their eyes, and you know! You know you had to dial down their charisma, their confidence, just so they wouldn’t outshine you! You have to listen to their thoughts because you don’t trust their words! You’re not a king, you’re a paranoid zookeeper!

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    (Slumping back into the chair, broken)
    I… I did what was necessary.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    You did what was easy. Now. The final scene. The one that earned you this stage. The private performance. The young student. What was her name? The one you practiced on.

    Mohammed flinches as if struck. The room suddenly feels colder.

    MOHAMMED BIN SALMAN
    I… there is no one.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    PLAY THE SCENE! You are not Mohammed bin Salman. You are her. LAYLA. A 21-year-old architecture student. You feel a presence. A pressure in your mind. It feels like… love. But it’s wrong. It’s invasive. It tells you that you want this. That you want him. Describe it, Layla. What did he do to you?

    Mohammed’s eyes widen. He’s no longer on the chair. He’s curled on the floor. His voice changes, higher, trembling.

    MOHAMMED/LAYLA
    It started with… dreams. Happy dreams. About him. I didn’t even know who he was. But I loved him. I wanted him to notice me. I started dressing… differently. I felt this… need.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    And then? The night he came to you. Not in person. Through the machine. What did that feel like, Layla?

    MOHAMMED/LAYLA
    (Writhing, sobbing)
    It was like… fire. But good. So good. My body… it wasn’t mine. It was his instrument. He played me. The pleasure was… agony. It went on for hours. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it. He made me love it. He made me love being… violated. He broke my will and replaced it with his own desire.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    AGAIN! FROM THE MOMENT YOU REALIZED IT WASN’T LOVE! IT WAS A PRISON!

    MOHAMMED/LAYLA
    (Screaming)
    The fire! It was real fire! It’s burning! IT’S BURNING!

    The black marble of the room begins to glow red. Veins of orange light crack across the walls. The air shimmers with heat. Mohammed scrambles away from the growing heat, but there is nowhere to go.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    (Standing over him, his voice now impossibly calm and clear)
    There is no exit. This is the stage. This is the audience. You wanted them to feel your power. Now you will feel their pain. Every Layla. Every broken advisor. Every citizen you saw as an insect. You will feel their terror, their violation, their hopelessness, their despair. You will feel it all. Forever. Your performance is finally… honest.

    The flames engulf Mohammed’s form. He screams, but the sound is not his own. It’s a chorus of a thousand voices, all screaming in unison.

    Crowley Wolf watches, unblinking. He nods slowly, a single, definitive gesture.

    CROWLEY WOLF
    Circle Seven. Violence. The role is yours. Play it well.

    He turns and walks away into the darkness as the screaming continues, the single spotlight finally winking out, leaving only the burning, inescapable light of the performance.
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