Nikki Garcia, former international fraud auditor turned private investigator, escapes to Spain with her fiancé after a death threat on her last assignment in Mexico. She puts the past behind her and turns the trip to Barcelona into her destination wedding. A week later, Nikki and the love of her life, Eduardo, find themselves caught up in a terrorist attack at one of the city’s major tourist attractions. As events unravel, Nikki discovers she is being stalked. Worse, she may have been the target of the deadly bombing.
In a foreign country, where the authorities are investigating a terrorist attack, they ignore that Nikki, an American woman, might have been the intended target. The newlyweds must navigate behind the legal and law enforcement systems to uncover the sinister person who seeks revenge against Nikki. Private investigators often encounter threats, but why would someone follow her to Spain?
To find out who has plotted against her, they consider international connections to people she encountered her past investigations in Latin America. Weaving their way through Barcelona in an attempt to get facts, Nikki and Eduardo further endanger their lives upon discovering a series of suspects, from flamenco dancers to foreign nationals. Will they be able to outsmart the would-be assassin’s attempts on Nikki’s life?
Targeted Age Group:: 35 +
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Kathryn credits her imagination to growing up in Mexico, a country which was rich in storytelling and steeped in cultural traditions. After a college degree she joined a multinational corporation where she attained her dream job of traveling abroad.
After two decades in the corporate world and having visited over 90 countries, Kathryn left to fulfill a second dream – writing mystery and suspense novels.
Fans of strong female protagonists and suspenseful stories are likely to enjoy Kathryn’s work.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Four years ago, writing became an urgent need, and like giving birth to a child, writing comes with responsibilities of immense proportions—from small bits like waking up at night from a dream that develops into a short story or a paragraph I struggled with during the day awakens me in all its descriptive splendor or a character reveals secrets to take on more complex and elaborate traits. Nurturing the imagination leads to much larger endeavors such as creating characters.
As Olani finished preparing the evening meal, she became aware of a rare camaraderie between her husband Kenny and his twin, Taiwo, as they waited for her to serve dinner. They sat cross-
legged on floor cushions reminiscing about their childhoods. The aroma from the kitchen permeated the living area.
All three adults ignored the simple fact that hot-headed Taiwo and quiescent Kenny had little in common despite being identical twins. They never had been close—not even as children growing up in Nigeria. Kenny, the studious one, fell back on diplomacy to resolve disputes. Taiwo used bullying tactics to solve conflicts, and when that did not work, he unleashed his wrath on those who opposed him. Different as their personalities were, they had fallen in love with the same woman. Olani had refused the hot-headed one. Instead she had chosen the quiet, unassuming Kenny.
Olani moved serenely between the brothers as she served. Her homemade garri—a mashed cassava dish—and an okra-spinach soup, both cooked with pungent spices, made the men ask for seconds.
The twin brothers had straightforward Yoruba names indicating which one came into the world to claim the honor of being firstborn. That was Taiwo. Kehinde, meaning the second-born, had left the comfort of their mother’s womb twelve minutes later. Their names were hardly unique, since the Yoruba have always experienced a high incidence of twin births.
An oil lamp in the corner of the living room provided light. Olani’s tall, sinuous body cast dancing shadows on the walls and floor as she placed food on the men’s plates.
When she brought the main course, a communal dish of chicken with vegetables slow-cooked the Moroccan way in a clay tagine, Olani sat with them to partake of the meal. Not comfortable with Taiwo, she kept her head covered and her eyes cast downward, even while eating. The brothers, like Olani, had light skin. And for the same reason—their ancestors included either British explorers or British missionaries. Yet Taiwo’s skin seemed a shade darker, possibly due to being out in the sun more than his twin brother, who had a clerical job in the Spanish city over the fence.
Kenny, with his full beard, looks so much like his brother it scares me, she thought. Only their personalities are different. Olani sensed Kenny’s increasing anxiety as dinner progressed. She also knew his anguish was not on the grounds he’d married the woman his brother had wanted for himself. Nor was it owing to the fact that her husband had not seen his twin in five years. No, Kenny’s discomfort, she knew, came from his fear of Taiwo’s temper. Whenever he encountered his sibling, the normally tranquil Kenny always ended up trading punches with his twin—yelling, screaming, and kicking as he dodged Taiwo’s fists. As dinner drew to a close, Olani took the plates to the kitchen where she washed them in a small sink by the light of another oil lamp set in an open cupboard. She boiled water for tea as she cleaned up. Mint tea, made with fresh leaves she’d cut earlier from her garden and placed in a glass of water where she had kept them crisp, was the drink of choice. As soon as the boiling water hit the leaves, the entire house smelled of fresh, sweet mint. She added raw cane sugar to the tin cups and swirled the hot liquid with a spoon to dissolve the sugar. She tasted it before serving. She’d barely set the cups down in front of the men when Dayo, who had been asleep, started crying in the young couple’s bedroom at the back of the house. Olani took the oil lamp from the kitchen to light her way as she went to tend to her daughter’s cries. The house was small. Only a wooden screen separated their bedroom from the living area. She put the lamp on a table in the bedroom and comforted the child. With her daughter in her arms, Olani stood close to the wooden
screen to watch the men in the living area and listen to their conversation.
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