An Ocracoke Affair
By T.L. Peters
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About this ebook
A staid corporate attorney travels to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a quick vacation but finds more than he bargained for when two beautiful and raucous young women take charge of his life and then threaten to kill him when he doesn't go along with their bizarre and violent plans. Try this page-turner for a quick and entertaining read. And while you're at it, take a look at Peters' two other fun and fast-paced thrillers set along the beautiful coastal region of North Carolina, Nags Head Affair and An Outer Banks Vacation.
"There's no doubt that Peters is a master wordsmith." Gerry B's Book Reviews
"Great Read. An Ocracoke Affair was a fast-paced read with captivating characters and beautiful descriptions of the dunes and vegetation along the Outer Banks. Highly recommended!" Theodora
Praise for a companion novel, A Pittsburgh Affair
"I found [A Pittsburgh Affair] to be thrilling and full of suspense." Tanya at All Things Books
"[I]t was a fast-paced thriller, sometimes even a bit humorous. I especially loved Moonglow. She was super awesome, and she kicked ass. Literally." Ashton The Book Blogger.
"A Pittsburgh Affair is very fast paced, and I soon found myself whisked away on Spencer's adventure of suspense and intrigue….Suspense is prevalent, especially as the novel develops, yet Peters juxtaposes it nicely with comic relief as the characters find themselves in harrowing situations and making unorthodox decisions." Shana at A Book Vacation
T.L. Peters
"There's no question that Peters is a master wordsmith." Gerry B's Book Reviews About the author: T.L. Peters is an ex-lawyer who enjoys playing the violin and giving his dog long walks in the woods. In between, he writes novels.
Read more from T.L. Peters
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An Ocracoke Affair - T.L. Peters
An Ocracoke Affair
By T.L. Peters
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 T.L. Peters
License Notes
This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
To read more about the author and his other books, go to http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tlpeters.
T.L. Peters’ way of writing is wonderful.
Kyanara
Chapter 1
I was fed up with the cold rainy weather we were having in the northeast that spring and decided to take a few days off and drive down to the North Carolina Outer Banks for a little sun and R & R. Some of the firm's senior bigwigs were starting to get on my nerves too. I was a partner now, after all, newly minted and contractually guaranteed a healthy share of the firm's profits, at least until the other partners got together and voted me out. But I doubted if my departure would take place anytime soon since, like most everybody else, lawyers don't like to admit their mistakes, at least not right away. Because I didn't want them bugging me in my free time, I decided to take off without e mailing anybody where I was going except my secretary. Joanne needed a break too, since I wasn't exactly the easiest guy to work with, or so I had been told.
I drove all night to beat the traffic and arrived at the little beach town of Nags Head around eleven o'clock in the morning. The weather was overcast and the wind was blowing cold and hard off the ocean. I'd heard that the water was warmer a little farther south where the beaches picked up the Gulf Stream current and decided to keep going past Cape Hatteras all the way to Ocracoke Island, which I had read was a pristine and thoroughly charming vacation spot. I was hoping to get there by mid-afternoon and still have some lazy beach time before enjoying an early supper. I hadn't eaten a thing all day except a bruised gala apple I'd brought along with me and I was starved.
Hatteras Island is a narrow strip of beach and lush marshes between the Pamlico Sound on the west and the Atlantic Ocean to the east. The island extends about seventy miles from the Oregon Inlet just south of Nags Head to the Hatteras Inlet, both of which had been formed when hurricanes at various times had whipped up massive ocean surges that had washed over parts of the land and never receded. Now the Oregon Inlet was a famous haunt for fishermen, and I watched them meticulously set up their gear on the white beaches below as I sped over the mile-long winding bridge supported by long sturdy concrete columns embedded deep beneath the choppy inlet waters. If I were any kind of outdoors man I might have joined those hardy souls in trying to snare a nice bill fish or even a wahoo or a king's red drum, but the most adventurous I had gotten lately was spending a few nights at cheap hotels on business trips.
I passed a number of rugged little beach communities on Highway 12, a fine two lane paved beach road with sand constantly creeping up on either side, and in about an hour I was entering the village of Frisco, the last resting stop before the dock where I would board the ferry over to Ocracoke, which was the only way to access the island from Hatteras other than by private plane or boat. I decided to get some gas at a little combination general store and filling station right off the highway. After I'd pumped about twelve gallons of mid-grade octane into the tank of my little yellow Pontiac sunfire, I noticed a weather-beaten gray wooden walkway that reached about fifty feet over the low lying grassy dunes toward the beach. I couldn't resist taking a close-up look at the ocean and maybe rubbing my toes in the soft sandy turf.
The weather was still cold and drizzly though, and I didn't feel like getting my shoes and socks full of wet sand. So after a minute or two gazing out at the brackish waves pounding on shore I was heading back to my car when I heard a voice, a woman's voice, asking me how long I was planning to stay. I turned around and there stood a sun-burnt blond about five-six wearing a tight black skirt and a loose white short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned all the way down to her massive cleavage. She didn't have any shoes on, and I figured she was just taking her morning stroll.
When I answered that I was only planning to stay a few days, she said that was hardly enough time for a proper vacation and then she sauntered right up next to me. Despite all her luscious curves, what intrigued me the most about her were the well defined lines of tough lean muscle running below her neck and along her forearms. But I had just extricated myself from a dreary relationship and wasn't anxious to strike up a new romantic acquaintance quite yet, even with a hot young babe sporting a flashy smile and a soothing Southern drawl. Maybe in a few days when I was more rested and relaxed, but not now when the unseemly mental residue of the workaday legal world of contracts and remainder interests was still clinging to me.
I was backing away when she pivoted both her sturdy legs behind me, grabbed my shoulders and roughly threw me down onto the sand. I was more startled than hurt and jumped up right away wondering how to respond. My legal training soon kicked in though and I realized that I better not hit a woman, even in self defense. It was just her word against mine, after all, and the last thing I needed was a lawsuit. So I quickly decided to make a run for it back over the walkway to the safety of civilization, where I figured I'd stand a better chance of escaping legal liability with a few witnesses on hand. But the blond was faster than I was, and maybe a little stronger too, and she quickly tackled me from behind, wrestled me to the ground and then pinned my shoulders between her knees. As I squinted up at her, I couldn't help admiring her dazzling smile.
So, Tommy, you're getting a little careless in your old age, letting yourself be so easily spotted.
Nobody had called me Tommy since my mother died. I tried to recall if I had ever met this woman, but I was drawing a blank.
Who are you? How'd you know my name?
She laughed and then stood up slowly and rocked her husky shoulders forward a little, as though she were crouching into some exotic martial arts stance. I wanted no part of any fist fight with this Valkyrie,