I’m grateful for the support of my family, and especially want to thank my granddaughters, Cassie and Kate, for letting me occasionally turn off the videos of Little Bear they were watching on my computer so I could get back to writing.
My wife, Kay, remains my partner in story development, my first reader, my most demanding critic, and my biggest fan. Most important of all, she taught me how to smile again. Thanks, dear.
I spent ten years as a professor at Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas, where I was privileged to work with faculty, residents, medical students, and staff. For twenty-six years before that, I engaged in the private practice of medicine. Some settings in this book are real, others are fictionalized, but none of the characters represent real people. But to all my colleagues and friends in the medical field, thanks for thirty-six great years.
My loyal readers merit a special thanks. Without your interest, my novels would still be rattling around in my head.
Last, but certainly not least, let me echo the words of Bach and Handel who signed their works thusly: Soli Deo gloria—to God alone be glory. That is indeed my earnest desire.
—Richard Mabry
AN EXCERPT FROM HEART FAILURE
AVAILABLE OCTOBER 2013
Adam Davidson and Dr. Carrie Markham strolled out the doors of the Starplex Cinema into the warm darkness of the springtime evening. As they made their way through the few cars left on the parking lot, Adam’s right hand found Carrie’s left. She took it and squeezed, and his heart seemed to skip a beat. His fingers explored until they felt the outline of the diamond ring he’d placed there just a week ago.
She leaned in to briefly rest her head on his shoulder. “I never thought I could be this happy.”
“Me either.” And if he had his way, this is how it would be for the rest of their lives. Two people in love, enjoying their small town lives, their only worry what movie to see on their regular Saturday night date.
A loud noise in the distance made them both stop. Then Adam saw a shower of color on the horizon, about where the ballpark would be. “Fireworks show. The Titans must have won.” Get a grip, Adam. Stop jumping at every noise. You’re safe.
When Adam first met Carrie eight months ago, she was fragile and hurting, as skittish as a baby deer, obviously still bearing the scars from the death of her husband almost two years earlier. Her only interest seemed to be her medical practice. Otherwise, she went through life without apparent enjoyment or direction. But, little by little, he’d seen her start to smile, to laugh, and eventually to love.
Carrie had restored the smile to Adam’s life as well. He still had his own problems, even though he hadn’t revealed them to her (and hoped he never had to), but having her in his life made him certain that the life he now lived, so long as he lived it with her, would be all he ever wanted.
These things were supposed to take time, but in just a few short months each of them had decided that the other was the person needed to fill the hole in their life. The culmination had come with Adam’s proposal and Carrie’s acceptance last week. They hadn’t set a wedding date yet, but for now Adam was content to watch Carrie plan and bask in the glow of their shared happiness.
The couple reached Adam’s car and climbed in, but had not yet fastened their seat belts. Carrie was talking about where to go for ice cream when Adam saw the dark SUV approach from his right, moving at a snail’s pace. When the vehicle was directly in front of Adam’s Subaru, its side window came down to reveal the glint of light on metal as the driver’s hand extended outward.
Adam’s next action was reflexive. If he was wrong, he could apologize. But if he was right—He was already moving when he heard the shots.
“I think a chocolate . . . no, make that a hot fudge sundae.” Carrie leaned back in the passenger seat of Adam’s Forester. “That would—.”
The impact of Adam’s arm across her shoulder pushed her down until her head was below the level of the car’s dashboard. Then Carrie heard it—a flat crack, followed by two more in rapid succession. Muffled thuds sounded above her, and she pictured bullets boring into the headrests at the place where her head and Adam’s had rested just seconds ago. Carrie cringed against an expected shower of glass, but only a few tiny pieces sprinkled down on her.
The faint ringing in her ears after the shots didn’t mask the screech of tires and roar of an engine. When the noise subsided, all that remained was the rapid thud of her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Carrie huddled with her head down, her breath cut off as much by fear as the pressure of Adam’s body atop hers, a human shield. She felt his soft breath in her ear as he whispered, “Are you all right?”
“I . . . I think so. How about you?”
“I’m okay.” The pressure holding her down lessened. “Stay down until I tell you it’s safe.” Carrie turned her head to catch a glimpse of Adam peering cautiously over the dashboard.
Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest while her mind wrestled with what just happened. After a seeming eternity, Adam bent down and said in hushed tones, “I think they’ve gone. You can sit up.”
Carrie raised her head just enough to peer through the damaged windshield. When nothing moved in her field of vision, she eased upward to perch on the edge of her seat. A few cars were still on the lot of the theatre after the last Saturday night show, probably the vehicles of employees closing down for the night. There hadn’t been many people in the last showing, and judging from the parking lot, most had left before Carrie and Adam.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Adam’s voice, full of concern, brought Carrie back to the moment. He brushed a bit of glass from her seat, then tossed the handkerchief he’d used onto the floor of the car.
Carrie unfolded from her crouch and eased onto the seat. “Just scared is all,” she said. “You?”
“Not a scratch.”
He reached across to hug her, and she turned to find shelter in his arms. They stayed that way for a long moment, and the trembling inside her slowly eased. “What . . . what was that about?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.” Adam’s voice and manner were calm, and Carrie felt comforted by his very presence. Then, as suddenly as the turn of a page, he released her and swung around to face forward in the driver’s seat. His next words were terse, clipped. “We have to get out of here.” He reached for the ignition, key in hand.
“Wait a minute!” Carrie pulled her cell phone from her purse and held it out to him. “We can’t leave. We need to call 911.”
Adam took her arm, perhaps a bit more firmly than necessary, and pushed the phone away. He shook his head. “No!”
She flinched at his response, at the tone as much as the word. “Why? Someone shot at us. We should call the police.”
“Look, I don’t have time to explain. Now can we go?” Adam’s voice was low, but the way he said them made the words an order, not a request.
What’s the matter with him? She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Twice she started to speak. Twice she stopped.
Adam turned the key and reached for the gearshift lever.
Carrie saw his jaw clench. She was terrified, but Adam wasn’t so much scared as—she searched for the right word—he was cold and determined. The change frightened her. “If this was a drive-by, we need to report it. Maybe the police can catch them before they kill someone.”
Although Adam’s voice was low, there was intensity to his words that Carrie had never heard before. “You have to trust me. There are things you don’t know, things that make dangerous for me to deal with the police right now.” He pointed to her seat belt. “Buckle up and let’s leave. I’ll explain soon.”
Carrie wanted to argue further, but she could see it was no use. She put away her phone and fastened her seat belt.
The lights on the theatre marquee went out. In the distance, a siren sounded, faint at first but growing louder. “ We’re out of here,” Adam said. He put the car in gear and eased out of the
parking lot, peering through the starred windshield to navigate the dark streets.
Carrie studied Adam as he drove. Most men would be shaking after such a close encounter with death. He wasn’t. Maybe she didn’t know Adam as well as she thought. Maybe she didn’t know him at all. And that scared her even more than what they’d just experienced.
They rode in silence for a few moments, and during that time, Carrie recreated the shooting in her mind. Then something clicked—something strange. She turned to Adam. “You pushed me down before the shots were fired. You didn’t react to the shots. You knew they were coming.”
Adam glanced at her but didn’t respond.
Carrie thought about it once more. “I’m sure of it. First you shoved me below the dashboard. After that I heard three shots. How did you know what was about to happen?
He continued to peer into the night. “I was backed into the parking space, so I had a good view of the cars moving down the aisle in front of us. A black SUV pulled even with us, and the barrel of a pistol came out the driver’s side window. That’s when I pushed you down.”
“Lucky you saw it.”
Adam shook his head. “Luck had nothing to do with it. I’m always watching.”
His response made her shiver. She hugged herself and sat silent for the balance of the trip.
When they slowed for the turn into Carrie’s driveway, Adam said, “Is there room in your garage for my car?”
“I suppose so. It’s a two-car garage, and one side is empty. Why?”
“I don’t want to leave my car where someone can see it. Open the garage, and let me pull in. We’ll talk once we’re safely in your house.”
Carrie found the garage remote on her key ring and raised the door. When they were inside the house with the garage door closed, she took a seat on the living room sofa. She watched and listened with increasing puzzlement as Adam went through the small house drawing drapes, closing blinds, and making sure all the doors were locked.
Finally, Adam returned to where Carrie waited. He started to sit beside her on the sofa, apparently thought better of it, and sank into a chair. “I’ve wrestled with this all the way home. I thought I was finally safe, but maybe I’m not. I know what I’m going to tell you may change things between us, but you deserve an explanation.”
That was the understatement of the year. Thirty minutes ago, she and Adam were a newly engaged couple, winding down a enjoyable evening. She figured that by now they’d be feeding each other ice cream like two lovebirds, talking seriously and making plans about their future together. But instead . . . “Yes, you owe me an explanation, a big one. So explain.”
“Let me say this first. What I’m about to tell you started long before I met you. My life has changed in the past eight months. I’m different, and it’s because of you. I’m . . .” Adam leaned toward her. He clenched and unclenched his fists. “To begin with, Adam Davidson isn’t my real name.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A retired physician, Dr. Richard Mabry is the author of four critically acclaimed novels of medical suspense. His previous works have been finalists for the Carol Award and Romantic Times Reader’s Choice Award, and have won the Selah Award. He is a past Vice President of American Christian Fiction Writers and a member of the International Thriller Writers. He and his wife live in North Texas.
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