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Authors: Dennis Larsen

With Cruel Intent

BOOK: With Cruel Intent
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With Cruel Intent

A Romantic Thriller


Dennis F. Larsen


With Cruel Intent

First Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names,

characters, places, and incidents either are

products of the author’s imagination or are

used fictitiously. Any resemblance to

actual events or locales or persons, living

or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Dennis F. Larsen

All rights reserved, including the right to

reproduce this book or portions thereof in

any form whatsoever.

For information address:

Dr. Dennis F. Larsen

Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

ISBN: 978-0-9918431-0-7

[email protected]

Cover Design by Sean Strong for



“There is no fire like passion, there is no

shark like hatred, there is no snare like

folly, there is no torrent like greed.”

---Siddhārtha Gautama ~ 400 BC


The hammer snapped forward

sending the firing pin into the primer cap

of the 9mm cartridge. Smoke arose from

the barrel as the metal-jacketed slug

whined through the air towards the

intended target. He rarely missed; hours

near the little shed pumping rounds into

soup cans had perfected his aim and honed

his craft. Gunpowder now filled his

nostrils propelling his memory back in

time; his dad standing with him on the

makeshift gun-range, the Beretta seemed

much larger then. He could almost hear the

patient, soothing whisper of his father's

voice very close to his ear. The strong

embrace as he wrapped the boy in his






comforted the eager student, holding the

handgun outstretched and shaking slightly.

"That's it son, breathe easy, when

you're ready to fire, hold your breath and

squeeze the trigger. Don't jerk it! Slow

and easy, now go ahead, take the shot."

Oh, how he desired to hear those

words again. To feel his father's presence,

to smell his aftershave or to be wrapped

in his arms; he would give everything he

had for just a brief moment in time.

The weight of the gun bouncing off

his thigh brought his thoughts to the

present and the work at hand. An

anonymous source had requested his

'special talent' and was willing to pay

mightily for it. In the back of his mind, he

knew it was almost too good to be true,

but who was he to question as his ego

reminded him that he was certainly in a

class by himself.

"Stir things up!" they'd said.

That was something he knew how

to do and the gun would be his insurance.


Thick humidity hung in the air,

countless, tiny particles collectively

suffocating Blanche as she stood on the

corner of 300 Woodrow Wilson Drive.

Sunshine streaked through the branches of

the ancient oak that stood as a sentinel

over the once prominent public library.

Recent years had taken their toll on the

regal structure that housed both the library

and the regional museum. Weather, heat

and public indifference had worn on the

old girl and she was showing her age

much like Baby Jane had in the classic

Southern thriller. Gone were the days of

government funding and the money pouring






Carnegie. Self interest and a soaring debt

had taken care of almost all of the money

needed to keep the library operational,

however, a small donation here and there

and some money still left over from a

grant provided at the death of the towns

“Bookmobile Lady” had kept the doors

open, at least for now.

Blanche took a white, neatly

folded and starched handkerchief from her

small clutch and noted the dampness even

prior to its use. Gently, she blotted her

forehead and nose being careful not to

smear her makeup and returned the hanky

to her purse.






expected,” she muttered to herself,

realizing that she was indeed in a public

place and talking to oneself was perhaps

not uncommon in the South, but still could

label one as ‘odd’.

Doing her best to push the heat,

humidity and lack of confidence aside she

smoothed her silk-lined pencil skirt over

her flat abdomen and ran her hands

quickly over her behind for good measure.

“Okay, here goes nothing,” she

mused, as she took the first few steps to a

new life and the unknown that awaited her

in Valdosta, Georgia; fifty six thousand

strong in the heart and soul of the 'never

say die' confederacy.

Ms. Blanche D. Delaney was born

in a rather quaint, unassuming town in

southern Utah. Grew up as most kids did

in the late 70’s, her days spent in class

and evenings playing ‘kick the can’ until

dark then ‘no bears are out tonight’ until

parents would call them in for the night. It

was a simpler time. Two recent wars

behind them, people were getting back to

work, the economy was thriving and

families didn’t perceive a rapist or serial

killer behind every closed door. Children

were able to roam the streets, playing at






mischief. On one memorable outing,

Blanche and her ever-eager friend Holly

had snuck into the local theater to catch

the R-rated, taboo flick,
The Fearless

Vampire Killers
. When her parents

learned of the incident, one would have

thought the world was coming to an end,

ranting about the lack of morals and the

decay of modern society. The reaction

was a little overblown for Blanche who at

12 didn’t care much about rock and roll,

drugs, the hippie culture and certainly not


She was, however, very interested

in the forbidden love of a crazed fiend or

the swashbuckling antics of every

Harlequin romance villain she had read

about from the time she could put two

words together. Hours had passed in a

fantasy land filled with beautiful women

and savage men traversing uncharted

landscapes in search of treasure but

usually only finding love and lust. Her

affair with literature and in particular

romance novels had led her to college in

Arizona where she obtained her degree in

library studies and met Anthony, or Tony

as he liked to be called, in her last year.

Looking back on their relationship

Blanche could not figure out what it was

about him, beyond his strong jaw and

blonde wavy hair that she found

appealing. So it came as little or no

surprise that after seven years of living

together he greeted her at the door of their

apartment, suitcase in one hand and their

dog, Cuddles, in the other and announced,

“I can’t hide my need to be me any longer,

I’ve found someone who understands me

and my urges and I’ll be moving in with

him. Please put my things aside and I’ll be

by to get them in a day or two.”

Blanche had to catch herself to

prevent tumbling down the stairs of the

complex, “Did you say, HIM?” her mouth

hanging open, arms lifeless at her sides.

Tony had acted very matter of fact

about the whole thing, suggesting that she

was standing in his way of a brighter

future. What did that mean anyway, and no

wonder she’d never felt any connection or

burning intimacy with him. She craved and

longed for a ‘Jessie’ to ride into town,

pull her into his arms and ride off into the

sunset, but no, here she was, two jobs

later, the economy tanking and no mystery

man, no ‘Count Dracula’ and thankfully no

Tony Two-steps.

At 33, Valdosta had come as a bit

of a shock, after all she’d put her resumes

out to over 100 jurisdictions including

Saginaw, Michigan, voted ten years

running one of the worst and most

dangerous places to live in the USA,






librarian and anything was better than

wasting away in Podunksville, AZ

collecting unemployment. The offer was

enticing especially considering that they

were prepared to hire her without an

interview thus sparing her the cost of a

plane ticket and the possible let down that

would follow if she didn’t get the job. The

Internet had been encouraging, listing

warm temperatures, friendly small-town

atmosphere, lower cost of living and lots

of parks and trails that would lend

themselves to Blanche’s need to keep her

body toned.

Her years in Arizona and Utah had

harbored within her a yearning to feel the

warm rays of the sun caressing her limbs

as she jogged the many river washes and

ravines that crisscrossed the southwest

desert. In Blanche’s mind she was an

attractive woman, not really anything

special. She had to admit that she was in

good physical shape and had been amply

blessed in the bosom department, although

she never saw herself as busty. Her

brothers had never given her any

indication that she was shapely and

continued to call her flat-chested even

when the boys at school noted her

sweaters were taking on a life of their

own. She ate well, salads and nasty

looking green ‘shakes’ that were supposed

to cure anything. Holly, still her best

friend, had characterized her meals as

such, “You can live on 'em, but they taste

like shit.” All in all, she was pleased with

the possibilities of moving to Georgia and

was looking for a fresh start, a new job,

and even the notion that Mr. Right might

come along and inject some excitement

into her life. Barring that, she’d take a

steady paycheck, a decent TV and maybe a


The decision to leave Arizona had

not been so cut and dried that she didn’t

have second thoughts as she sat on the

plane, knowing that everything in the

world she owned was in the luggage

BOOK: With Cruel Intent
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