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From the Live Wire Brain of Eileen Dreyer comes BRAIN DEAD

Timmie Leary-Parker has just come home. It's the last place she wants to be, and she's doing the last thing she wants to do. But her father, succumbing to Alzheimer's disease, needs her. Unfortunately, Timmie's discovers the only place that can handle her father is also the deadliest place in town. In her fight to unearth the terrible secrets kept in Puckett, Missouri's newest medical facility, she enlists the help of burned out, Pulitzer Prize winning reporter Daniel Murphy. So how do both of them end up in more jeopardy than the people they're trying to save?

EXCERPT:

"Jesus, Murphy, what happened?"

There was blood on his face, all down the front of his shirt, caked in his hair. There were bruises and scrapes on his knuckles, a couple of good rips in what was probably his only sports coat, and a funny catch to his breathing Timmie recognized all too well. Either Murphy had run afoul of the only grizzly in the state of Missouri, or he'd had the crap beaten out of him.

Timmie didn't even notice her nylon snag on the hardwood floor as she dropped to her knees next to him. "Murphy?"

"Nnngh."

At least he was getting his eyes open. Timmie tossed aside her bat to check his pulse. A little fast, but not thready. Not slow and bounding, which would have signaled a head injury. She lifted both eyelids to make sure his pupils were round and reactive to light. They were. Timmie also saw a spark of cognizance flickering in that deceptive green. He was in there, he just hadn't decided whether or not he wanted to make an appearance.

"Oh, Murphy!" she called as if he were a kid she wanted to come out and play. Unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his tie loose, she did a quick assessment with knowing hands to find a couple of lumps behind one ear, an impressive cut at the hairline, and more than one tender area over left ribs and right kidney.

"Come on. You got all the way to my house. Now tell me what happened."

He blew out a breath and flinched. So did Timmie. She could have stoked a bunsen burner on that breath.

She sat back, disgusted at them both. At him for having evidently jumped off the wagon right into a bar fight and herself for feeling disappointed.

"Tell me what happened or I'll roll you right back out the door," she demanded, ready to get back up.

He didn't open his eyes again. "You're going to tell me...I had a drink."

"I don't think it'll come as a surprise to you."

He nodded his head fractionally and winced again. "Couldn't seem to...get here without a little painkiller."

"So you got beaten up before you got drunk?"

That at least got one eye open. "I'm not drunk, Leary. Trust me...I know the difference."

"And you got beaten up how?"


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