Gypsy Hunted - Andrea Drew

Gypsy Hunted

The Hunter knows where you live

by

Andrea Drew

andreadrewauthor

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

2014 Andrea Drew. All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

Version 2014.10.02

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES . . .

DEDICATION

To my three children, for putting life in perspective and loving me, especially when I least deserved it.

To Stephen, for giving me the support I needed to write this.

To my Father Eric, for never giving up on my writing dreams, even when I did.

To Eve, my writing buddy, for brainstorming with me and helping me give birth to my first Gypsy child.

And for Pete Godfrey, the wizard of words, for inserting a (metaphorical) rocket up my butt when I really needed it

“No one can tell, when two people walk closely together, what unconscious communication one mind may have with another”

― Robert Barr, AUTHOR

Authors Note:

Although the book is set in Melbourne, Australia, it was written with a view to release on amazon primarily for the US market.

For this reason, I have used US spelling.

I hope my readers from Australia and the UK will enjoy the story enough to forgive me.

1

What would you do if you witnessed a kidnapping and found yourself suddenly unable to tell anyone about it? What would you do if the kidnapper was someone that you loved?

On the night I met Connor Reardon, I had barely an instinct, just a hunch, a mere fluttering in the stomach and a warm delicious rush in my chest. I had no idea of what was to come. Of course, none of us knows what’s around the corner, not even me, and if I had known, I might have run for the hills. After all, I’m a telepath, not a damn fortuneteller.

It was pitched to me as a casual get together, but something was off. I saw through Chloe’s forced off-the-cuff description of the night out. They were setting me up with a random guy. Despite my doubts, I was nervous and had been planning the night out since yesterday. My yellow post it notes that were stuck across the refrigerator in an even line, reassured me that nothing would be forgotten. Oven and cupboards reminded me to check the toaster, heater, and iron, which I had done twice.

I bounced on my toes as I checked my reflection in the mirror. My lipstick didn’t seem to be smudged or bleeding and the eye make-up was staying put. I reconsidered my outfit. I’d gone for the classy look, black slim line jeans, dark tailored waistcoat, and a chiffon shirt underneath, sleeves billowing. Cleavage and legs were covered. No time to change now. My nerves were jangling, but then I’d only gotten five hours sleep the night before. I checked my watch again and realized that if I didn’t get moving, I’d be late. What felt like a minute, was actually half an hour, and if I didn’t get a wiggle on, then my dramatic entrance would be humiliating rather than grand. So, the time had come to get my butt out the door.

As my feet hit the street, I headed off uncertainly. My heels connected with the footpath and I concentrated on not wrenching an ankle. I took a deep breath of the crisp, chilly air, and glanced up as my breath formed globules of mist in front of my face. I blinked and quickened my steps to make up some lost time.

I rubbed my hands down my designer jeans as I noticed my car at the curb−as yet virgin and undriven. Other than Chloe, I hadn’t admitted to anyone that I’d spent a fortune on it as motivation to start driving lessons, finally. The driving itself wasn’t the problem, more the idea of some lunatic smashing me to smithereens.

As the wind bit into my skin and made my eyes water, I braced. I bowed my head in a vain attempt to buffer