[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Far Edge of Darkness
by Linda Evans
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 1996 by Linda Evans
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof
in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
ISBN: 0-671-87735-6
Cover art by Ken Tunnell
First printing, August 1996
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Typeset by Windhaven Press: Editorial Services, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
For Diana Hulsey, David Fletcher, and Dr. David C. Young for their
incalculable help with ancient Rome (Dr. Young's knowledge of Roman
circuses was priceless for this and previous novels); also for Dr. Lenny Land,
for her support and encouragement; for Alan Hagan and Sandon Flowers for
encouragement and willingness to share their libraries; and—as always—for
Bob and Susan, for putting up with everything.
Baen Books by Linda Evans
Sleipnir
Far Edge of Darkness
Time Scout
(with Robert Asprin)
Wagers of Sin
(with Robert Asprin)
Chapter One
Sibyl Johnson didn't own a rifle.
She wouldn't have known how to shoot one, if she had. And Tony Bartlett had vanished,
apparently right off the edge of the world.
None of which stopped Sibyl from wanting to center his face in the sights of an honest-to-
God, high-powered varmint gun. Sibyl had spent her formative years increasingly disgusted with
small-town drunken quarrels that led to knifings and shootings on Saturday nights. But if she
ever
saw Tony Bartlett again . . .
She'd do a whole lot more than
wish
for a gun.
Sibyl banged a fist against the steering wheel.
How could I have been so . . . so . . .
Stupid?
Blind?
Naïve?
Any number of scathing put-downs would be appropriate.
Another lightning strike jerked Sibyl back into the present reality of creaking VW Beetle and
steaming Florida heat. She tightened sweaty hands around the cracked plastic of the steering
wheel. Another searing flash momentarily erased everything beyond her car: the rutted dirt road,
the dust-white trees clinging to the hillside like forlorn mushrooms, the looming storm that had
boiled up out of a clear sky the way storms always did on summer afternoons.
An aftershock of thunder, shaking the very frame of her battered car, was louder than the
assorted groans, screeches, and bangs issuing from the rear of the decaying vehicle. "C'mon,
Nuggie, you can do it," she encouraged the faltering car.
Nuggie didn't want to climb the long, shallow grade. She was glad the old car was running at
all, given the repairs it needed. If she'd lived in mountainous country, like West Virginia or
Colorado, Nuggie would've gone to slag-heap heaven years ago—although things might have
turned out very differently, if she
had
lived somewhere else. Tony Bartlett would've picked a
different victim, for one thing.
Sibyl punched the gas pedal savagely. Lightning flared again, even closer. Thunder rattled
side windows in their loose frames. Sibyl winced and glanced through the driver's window, the
one that would roll neither up
nor
down all the way. The air trickling through was cooler than the
inside of her car, but not much. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck and prickled under her
bra strap. Hot as it was, it was little wonder the inevitable afternoon storm promised to be a dilly.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
