About the Author:
Cat Klerks has a degree in English from McGill University and a lifelong fascination with Canadian art. She lives and works in Banff, Alberta.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Back home, it was winter. Snowstorms raged, fires crackled on the hearth, and children dreamed of Christmas delights. Here, in this island paradise, the windows were thrown open wide, allowing cooling night breezes to blow in off the sea. The hotel guests leaned back in their plush armchairs, signaling the white-jacketed waiters for rum punch and other exotic, fruit-filled drinks. They dabbed at their foreheads with sweat-dampened handkerchiefs, loosened their silk ties, shrugged off their tailored jackets. Ash fell from the tips of their Cuban cigars and scorched the expensive rugs underfoot, but the men were oblivious to this destruction. Though they had the look of prosperous businessmen, something cold and disturbing lay behind their eyes. It had been a decade and a half since these men had last gathered together. From time to time, someone would catch sight of an old comrade and leap to his feet with a joyful cry of recognition. As glasses clinked and chandeliers sparkled overhead, men embraced each other in the Italian tradition, with a smacking kiss to each cheek. Then, at the urging of the crowd, the skinny, blue-eyed guest of honor rose from his seat. The music swelled. With microphone in hand, he dazzled his audience with an impromptu medley of his greatest hits. The room erupted with cheers, whistles, and applause. The kid from Jersey was one of their own, after all. But there was another man in the spotlight that night, a figure as threatening as he was charming. With his scarred, pitted features and sinister, drooping eye, this man would never get the bobbysoxers screaming the way Frank did. In his own way, though, he was just as influential. And far, far more dangerous...
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