In her early career, she employed at least three additional pseudonyms! In , the prolific Krentz launched The Arcane Society series — crossover thrillers written under all three noms de plume that feature members of a secret organization devoted to the study of the paranormal. It would be hard to find a more passionate advocate for romantic fiction than Krentz. In , she edited and contributed to Dangerous Men and Adventurous Women: Romance Writers on the Appeal of the Romance, an award-winning nonfiction essay collection that serves an eloquent apologia for the genre. The Romance genre is the only genre where readers are guaranteed novels that place the heroine at the heart of the story, she says on her website.
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Zinnia Orchid For Louisa Edwards, with thanks for the title. Yep, you were definitely cut out for a career in publishing! It is, however, the opinion of this analyst that such a conclusion would be a mistake.
On the contrary, it is likely that the perpetrator may have deliberately staged his crimes with the goal of ensuring that investigators will view them as the creations of a deranged mind.
This analyst suggests that the key to unlocking the hidden message of this dream is the red scarf that the dreamer saw when he opened the closet door.
Lacking additional context, this is as far as it is possible to take the analysis. Submitted by: I. Wright PS: This analyst cannot help but notice that the dreamer Client 2 again reports the excessive and disorienting noise of the roller coaster in the gateway dream.
This is the third such dream in which that occurs. It indicates that the dreamer is still experiencing a considerable degree of physical pain.
Although Client 2 is clearly capable of controlling this discomfort while in the Level 5 lucid dream state, it is, at the very least, a serious distraction. Additional steps to help manage the pain and discomfort should be taken immediately. This analyst suggests that the dreamer make an appointment with an acupuncturist.
All of these blue elements the hammer, computer, photograph and mirror have at least two things in common: 1 each is an object that is not customarily aqua blue in color, and 2 each is an object that does not appear to belong to the setting in which it was found. It is no doubt for these reasons that Client 2 has identified them with an odd color while in the Level 5 lucid dream state. It is strongly suggested that these items be reexamined in light of this analysis.
More detailed context would, as always, be greatly appreciated by this analyst as it would allow for a more complete interpretation. Wright PS: This analyst is pleased to note that the extreme roller coaster noise of the earlier gateway dreams has receded in this dream report.
She hopes this means that the acupuncture was successful and that the dreamer is no longer experiencing as much physical pain as was previously indicated. It is also assumed that Client 2 is continuing to follow the steps this analyst recommended at the outset of this consulting relationship.
They are obviously much too similar to your Level 5 dreams and will tend to reinforce the violent imagery. Romance novels are highly recommended instead. Knowing that it was probably his screwup that had put Katherine Ralston into the ground made things a whole lot worse for Ellis Cutler that afternoon. He was supposed to be able to predict the actions of his quarry. Everyone who had ever worked with him said he was a major dream talent.
Hell, he was a legend back at Frey-Salter, Inc. But in spite of his track record, the grim truth was that it had never even occurred to him that Vincent Scargill might kill Katherine.
The sky was heavy and leaden. Wind stirred the old oaks that stood sentinel in the cemetery. Ellis could hear thunder in the distance. He kept apart from the crowd of mourners, occupying his own private space. The others were all strangers to him. He had met Katherine on only a handful of occasions. She had been hired after he officially resigned from his position at Frey-Salter to pursue other interests, as Jack Lawson put it. He still freelanced for Lawson, however, and he allowed himself to be dragged back half a dozen times a year to conduct seminars with the new recruits.
Katherine had attended a couple of his workshops. He recalled her as an attractive, vivacious blonde. Lawson loved high-tech gadgets but had no aptitude for dealing with them. The malevolent cloud cover made the wraparound, obsidian-tinted sunglasses he wore unnecessary, but he did not remove them.
Force of habit. He had discovered a long time ago that dark glasses were one more way of keeping a safe distance between himself and other people. The solemn service did not last long. When the final prayers had been spoken, Ellis turned and started back toward his rental car.
There was nothing more he could do here. Ellis halted and looked back over his shoulder. A young man who appeared to be in his early twenties was approaching swiftly across the wet grass. There was a churning intensity in the long, quick strides. He searched for something that might sound appropriate and came up empty. No one recognized you. Some theory about the killer showing up in the crowd. My name is Ellis Cutler. She said you were practically a legend. Picked it up at the airport.
Katherine had been shot at close range. Not for a minute. The last thing the director wanted was to draw attention to his private fiefdom. After all, Frey-Salter, Inc. She said that Frey-Salter was real big on confidentiality. Lot of secrecy involved.
When she took the job she had to sign papers promising not to discuss sensitive information with anyone outside the firm. He had his own issues.
Anger vibrated through him in visible waves. Maybe someone killed her to keep her quiet. You work for Frey-Salter. Maybe that theory about the murderer showing up at the funeral is for real. Ellis exhaled slowly and crossed the grass to where he had parked the rental. He peeled off the hand-tailored charcoal gray jacket, sucking in a sharp breath when the casual movement sent a jolt of pain through his right shoulder.
One of these days he would learn, he thought. The wound had healed and he was getting stronger. The visits to the acupuncturist had helped, much to his surprise. But some things would never again be the same. He put the jacket in the backseat and got behind the wheel. But he did not start the engine immediately.
Instead, he sat for a long time, watching the last of the mourners disperse. You never knew. Maybe there was something to that old theory about the killer showing up at the funeral. If Vincent Scargill had come to bear witness to his crime, however, he succeeded in keeping himself out of sight. Not an easy thing to do in a small town in Indiana. When there was no one left except the two men with the shovels, Ellis fired up the engine and drove toward the road that would take him back to the airport in Indianapolis.
He had barely made it to the funeral. The storm struck twenty minutes later. It unleashed a full barrage of the spectacular special effects that make storms in that part of the country famous. The torrential rain cut visibility down to a bare minimum. He could have driven the complicated maze of roads and state highways that led back to Indianapolis blindfolded. He had driven them once to get to the cemetery and once was all he needed when it came to learning a route.
The part of him that intuitively picked up on patterns and registered them in his memory was equally adept at navigating. Lightning lit up the ominous sky. Thunder cracked. The rain continued, deluging the fields of soybeans and corn that stretched for miles on either side of the highway.
The rear wheels of passing cars sent up great plumes of water. He felt the rush of adrenaline, wonder and awe that he always experienced when the elements went wild.
He savored powerful storms the way he savored driving his Maserati, the way, once upon a time, he had savored roller coasters. The raw, exhilarating passion of the thunderstorm made him think of Tango Dancer, the mysterious lady who sometimes walked through his dreams.
He wondered what it would be like to have her sitting in the passenger seat beside him right now. Did she get a kick out of storms? His intuition, or maybe it was his overheated imagination, told him she did but he had no way of knowing for sure. He wondered what she was doing at that moment out in sunny California.
Although she had appeared in his fantasies more times than he could count during the past few months, he had never met her in person. That situation was supposed to have changed by now.
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