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Do you know why we remember faces more than names? It is because the name might not be unique, but the face definitely is. Every face has a distinct feature that makes it different from another. The shape of the eye, size of the nose, how thick or thin the lips are and of course, the jawline. Ask that person with the perfect jawline how blessed he or she feels. Zac Efron, Zayn Malik, and Victoria Beckham to name a few. However, there are also those imperfections on the face that truly stand out like the cleft on the chin of George Clooney, the tiny scar below Sandra Bullock's left eye, and Tina Fey's facial scars. However, you may not be happy about any imperfections on your face and would like to do something about it. Here's where the experts like cosmetic surgeons step in and do the needful. Today we are talking to one such expert who has been on the panel of Body Fixers, a television show where people with facial conditions can get life-changing makeovers. Here's saying hello to Dr. Nina Bal.
Dr. Nina Bal is a practicing cosmetic dental surgeon and facial aesthetic doctor. She is the recipient of the prestigious Aesthetic Dentistry Award which she won for 'Facial Aesthetics – Full Face Treatment' in 2018. She was also the finalist for 'Best Young Dentist' at the 2017 Dentistry Awards. When asked as to why she chose dentistry as her career she replied, "I always loved medicine and dreamt of becoming a doctor since I was a little girl and also always had a big passion for beauty, aesthetics, and fashion". For the second season of one of the highest rated shows on television, Body Fixers, Dr. Bal was approached to be one of the members of the panel. Her popularity on social media caught the eye of one of the casting directors. With almost 250k followers on Instagram, Dr. Bal got the call to be on the show. She signed on to appear for the entire season which was broadcasted on E4 back in 2017. She helped numerous people who wished to fix their face and body. For some, it was a life-altering move. Speaking of challenges she had to face while shooting, Dr. Bal mentions "it was a completely different experience working on the show as compared to my everyday life. It was shocking how the people working in the television industry put in so many hours of work".
It is extremely fascinating to know how a girl raised in a small town in Italy went on to become one of the UK's best cosmetic dentists. It is purely through her passion and dedication she has reached the pinnacle of her career. She adds, "the secret to happiness is feeling good about yourself. If you start by looking good, you are more than halfway there". Dr. Nina Bal resides in London with her husband and two children.


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A rare quality, finesse and precision in youthful Burgundy. Beautifully delicate with an aromatic complexity of red fruits and spices, long harmonious finish. Full of youth and roundness. 4.1★ (123 ratings) Candied fruits, red cherry ... absolutely beautiful. Soft tannins, balancing acidity, round and elegant.
About the wine
The Louis Jadot estate was created in 1859 by Louis Henry Jadot and passed on from generation to generation until 1962. On that date, Louis Auguste Jadot died prematurely and André Gagey, his deputy, succeeded him. In 1985, Madame Jadot made the decision to sell the estate to the family of Rudy Kopf, the American importer of estate wines since 1945. Today, it is Pierre-Henry Gagey who is president of SAS Maison Louis Jadot . The spirit of the House, it is always the same: express a true Burgundy through wines representative of their name and harmonious with each other.
Winemaker: Frédéric Barnier
Appellation: Beaune, Burgundy, France
- 95 pts, James Suckling
- 4.3/5.0, Vivino Users
Grapes: Pinot Noir
Cooperage: N/A
Alcohol: 13.5%
4.3 ★ Vivino Users
"Refined delicate with nice balance with everything in proportion" - Steven B.
"Floral and raspberry smell. Very tart and long finish." - Joe D.
95 pts, James Suckling
"The perfumes to this red are fantastic with dried strawberries, violets and dried ginger. Full body, a dense center palate and a cord of fruit and ripe tannins. Gorgeous now and delicious but will be even better in 2021."
Read more about Louis Jadot Beaune 1er Cru Clos des Ursules 2014 on www.vivino.com

subset: commoncrawl


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It is time to show true masculinity and stand up for the women
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You Can't Vote for Lamb or Saccone March 13 No Matter How Many Commercials You Watch
VENANGO CO,, Pa. (EYT) – While no one knows who will be the winner in the special March 13 election between Connor Lamb and Rick Saccone for the position of U.S. Congressman for the 18th District, one thing is sure.
You can't vote for either if you live in Venango County.
Just because you may see their commercials every waking moment on television saying why you shouldn't vote for the other one, it doesn't mean you can vote.
"That special election does not include Venango County," said Director of Elections and Assistant to the County Commissioners Abby Flockerzi.
Venango County's next election is May 15.
"We've had a couple of voters call and ask if it affects Venango County, and we've told them it does not."
The election has been confusing and has drawn national attention.
Lamb and Saccone are running to fill the vacant position after Republican Tim Murphy, a staunch anti-abortionist, resigned in 2017 amid reports that he asked a woman who is not his wife to get an abortion when she thought she was pregnant.
In another confusing twist, the woman who was asked to get an abortion announced in the last couple of weeks that she also is running for Congress. What district she is going to run in doesn't really matter because as long as you live in Pennsylvania you can run anywhere in Pennsylvania for Congress.
That's right.
You don't have to live in the congressional district that you are running to represent. With the uncertainty of districts due to redistricting through a new map of districts, you could see Lamb or Saccone running in the actual May 15 primary even if they don't win March 13.
Anything could happen.
The U.S. Constitution (Article I, Section 2) gives this guidance about requirements and there are only three. Each representative must: (1) be at least twenty-five years old; (2) have been a citizen of the United States for the past seven years; and (3) be (at the time of the election) an inhabitant of the state he represents.
Members are not required to live in the districts they represent after they are elected, but traditionally they usually at least have an official residence in that district.
Copyright © 2019 EYT Media Group, Inc. All rights reserved. Any copying, redistribution or retransmission of the contents of this service without the express written consent of EYT Media Group, Inc. is expressly prohibited.
Category: Local News, News, Politics


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Letters to the Editor
Bradenton protesters demonstrate the diversity of American democracy | Letter to the editor
Standing on Manatee Avenue Tuesday morning for our regular Action Tuesday demonstration against the detention camps on our southern border, along with many supportive words and gestures our small group of protesters experienced the usual gamut of negative comments: two cries of "Trump 2020," one "Build that wall," and in a nice throwback to the 1960s, "Love it or leave it."
But one comment in particular stuck with me. A white gentleman got stopped in his pickup by the stoplight and the traffic, and he yelled to us, "Go back to ...," and then he had to pause. Facing our little band of one woman with Native American heritage, two white females and one summer-tan Jewish guy, our heckler couldn't quite figure out where to send us back to.
Maybe the one woman holding a sign that said, "No one is illegal in a stolen country" confused him. Or maybe it was the two white females. Or maybe it was the Jew with a tan that makes him look vaguely Latino, or possibly Italian, or maybe even (wait for it) American.
The heckler finally figured out how to finish his taunt: "Go back to ... wherever you came from." We smiled and waved as he drove off – because we all came from the United States of America, and because in our group of four we demonstrated a small slice of the vast diversity of this nation.
And it is that diversity that actually makes our nation great -- and makes it the land I love above all others. And because I do love it, I will continue, like the members of The Squad, to ask our nation to improve by living up to its ideals. This is what democracy looks like, after all.
Deborah Pierce


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UCD Kids Camp-Camp Marsten
Connecting Families is doing it again . . .
It's time to get registered for UCD Kids Camp-Camp Marsten
We are hosting another "UCD Kids Camp" this year just outside San Diego, California
The official dates for camp this year are April 12-14, 2019 (Fri-Sun)
Check out this video where UCD Kids Camp will be held this year.
Connecting Families was so amazed to see the wonderful turnout for last year's camp just outside of Seattle, WA. We had sooo much fun and it was such a privilege to meet so many UCD families. It was an even greater thing to see so many UCD kids getting the chance to meet someone just like them for the first time. It was such a heart warming experience for us to watch them spend this rare weekend together.
At camp, it was such a familiar feeling to see so many parents up first thing in the morning, making formula and preparing their daily meds together in the cafeteria, just like we do at home. It was awesome to get the opportunity to see parents doing the same things we all do in our UCD routines. We were all able to take advantage of that time to talk and share tips. As we watched other families go through their routines and just spend time together for a weekend, we knew we were going to have to do this again.
If you didn't get the chance to go last year, you don't want to miss this opportunity. Some of the kids (and even some parents-including myself) are still talking about last year's camp. If you've never met another UCD family and would like an opportunity to be a part of Connecting Kids and Connecting Families, we'd love to see you at Camp Marsten!
This section contains a list of FAQ's. Please read them beore you register.
Q: How much does camp cost?
A: UCD Kids Camp-Camp Marsten is completely free of charge to UCD families. This includes all meals, lodging, and activities for the entire weekend.
Q: How can I apply for a travel stipend?
A: Travel stipends are granted on a case by case basis so you will need to specify this on the application, and then call Robin Deleon at CFUCDF to discuss the details.
Q: What does the travel stipend cover?
A: Approved travel stipends are applied directly to cost of round-trip airfare to and from San Diego, California airport.
Q: How do I get to Camp Marsten from San Diego airport?
A: Connecting Families UCD Foundation will make arrangements for shuttle service to get all families to camp, and then back to the airport after camp. If you should choose to transport yourself, it will be an out of pocket expense for you.
Q: Will meals be UCD friendly?
A: Yes. CFUCDF is working with staff at Camp Marsten to customize the menu for our weekend. We will have low-pro choices which include potatoes, salads, fruits, etc., so if you need something outside of traditional low-pro UCD diets, please indicate this on the registration form.
Q: What activities are there for our UCD kids?
A: There will be rock wall climbing, archery, hiking, campfire smores, singing, plays on a special outdoor stage, deer watching, Human Foosball, Ga-Ga ball, group activities, tag, and many more to keep our kiddo's going all weekend.
Q: Is there anything special for the adults?
A: Yes. We will have at least 2 guest presenters to speak to parents about UCD's. Dr. J. Camacho has already agreed to be available as our first presenter. These presentations generally last an hour and are followed by a Q and A session for parents.
Q: Should my child show signs of a possible high ammonia episode, what's the plan?
A: Dr. J. Camacho has agreed to be the on-call UCD geneticist for our weekend camp. He will be with us the full weekend. He will also be interacting with families throughout each day to answer any general questions you may have about UCD's. Southern California has some of the best UCD facilities in the country, i.e., San Diego Children's, UCLA, and many more. San Diego Children's is the closest to camp and would be a good option as Dr. Camacho maintains privileges there.
Q: Do I have to be a kid with a UCD to attend camp?
A: You only have to be a kid at heart. Anyone with a UCD of any age can attend. This is an environment for both kids and adults to interact and meet new families.
Q: Is there a way to keep our meds/formula refridgerated?
A: Yes. Camp Marsten has agreed to allow families to use a designated refridgerator for our weekend.
If there are any questions that are not addressed in the FAQ's, please contact us at the phone number listed just below or use the comments box on the registration form.
Are you ready to register?


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Ostreet Team
Rebecca Reilly, Chief TA Strategist
Rebecca has 25 years of data communications industry experience and a BS in Mathematics. She has held the roles of Senior Sales Manager, Presales Engineer, Technical Support Engineer, and Talent Acquisition Leader. Previous employers include Juniper Networks, Exodus Communications, and originally Cabletron Systems. Rebecca became an Executive Recruiter in 2003 when she saw a need for recruiters with industry experience, and immediately became a top performer in her space. Rebecca has subsequently brought other industry experts onto Team Ostreet to create the powerhouse they are today. When Rebecca is not recruiting, you'll find her attempting to be a late-start tennis phenom, knitting hats for charity, or coaching her daughter's basketball team.
LeeAnne Olsen, Superstar People Finder
LeeAnne began her career on a thriving sales team for an international industrial production company. She then worked for a worldwide IT sourcing firm specializing in the finance industry. She transitioned to the not-for-profit field while raising a family, successfully running fundraising campaigns for local charity organizations that benefit community children. She has served as a member of the Board of Directors of a local private educational organization. LeeAnne received a BA with Honors at Elon Univeristy. When she is not hiking and skiing with her 3 children, she enjoys yoga and Netflix binge watching.
Kerry Brelinsky, Client Manager Extraordinaire
Kerry has 20 years of high-tech industry experience and has held the roles of HQ Sales Leader, Senior Sales Operations Manager and several other sales support positions. She has experience working with all levels of the sales organization from top executives to the feet on the street. Previous employers include Juniper Networks, Inktomi Corp., Radware, and Nortel Networks. Kerry earned her BA in Psychology from William Paterson University of New Jersey. Kerry loves to stay active, spending time with her family and daydreams about wine-tasting in Napa.
Shelia Thompson, Chief Talent Connector
Shelia has 20+ years recruiting experience. Her passion for understanding her client's needs and making the right match for both client and candidates shines through in every search. She has worked as Executive Recruiter/ Recruiting Director/ Sales Recruiter with a variety of companies. At IXIA, Shelia handled nationwide Sales and SE recruiting for 5 years. Based in Austin, TX she's helped build start-ups and large enterprise tech companies. Helping tech companies formulate strategy and execute sales hiring ramps are projects she enjoys the most. When Shelia is not helping clients find rockstar sales talent you will find her relaxing on her back patio with friends and family, enjoying live music in the Texas Hill Country, or soaking up the sun on the Gulf Coast. Shelia has a BS from the University of Texas and loves Longhorn football. Hook 'em!
Kathy Albrecht, Tenacious Talent Pro
With more than 25 years experience in the world of recruiting, Kathy has enjoyed great success as a Talent Acquisition Partner to numerous hiring managers of Texas-based businesses, nationwide privately-held organizations, as well as Global Fortune 500 leaders. Born with the 'gift of gab,' along with ability to listen & understand with intensity, Kathy has developed the knack to quickly build rapport with top passive talent in the areas of Technical Sales, Sales Engineers, Software Developers, Hardware Design/RTL Engineers, Configuration/ Release Engineers, Product Marketing/Demand Gen, Finance and Accounting. When not in stealth search mode at work, Kathy enjoys travelling planet Earth by plane, train or automobile, snow skiing, boating on Lake Travis, and wearing burnt orange with pride as a proud graduate of the University of Texas at Austin.
Tracy Thees, Master Talent Spotter
Tracy has had a remarkable career spanning 20+ years in high-tech. Her career in Sales Operations began at Siemens and continued with Juniper Networks, where she had the opportunity to work closely with every department at every level supporting the Sales and Engineering organizations. She also spearheaded an internship program that successfully drew extraordinary talent from some of the greatest Universities in Massachusetts. Tracy is a dedicated champion of "loving what you do" and that combined with her passion for forging long lasting relationships is the recipe to her success as a Master Talent Spotter. When she is not looking for the next cool treasure from days gone by, you will likely find her somewhere near the sea and sand.
Marnie McCluskey, Spot-on Sourcer
Marnie has over 15 years in the sales and marketing industry with the majority of her focus being on sales. Marnie started her career in the pharmaceutical industry on the sales side and was a top performer for many years. The time came when she needed a change and that is when her career at Ostreet started. Marnie attended Clarion University of PA and graduated with a BS in psychology. When Marnie is not doing an excellent job sourcing she is taking her son to golf tournaments, golf lessons and skiing. She enjoys spending time with her son, going to as many concerts as possible, yoga and flea markets.


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Simmons County, Ohio
Thanksgiving Day
The Holden brothers' three-mile run came to a full stop near the old one-room schoolhouse on County Road 571. There, alongside the two-lane road, stood a deer with her two fawns. The trio leaned their graceful necks forward to chew on the long brown grasses and season-dead wildflowers at the pavement's edge. There was a distinct chill in the air, more than usual for late November, and the gray clouds lay low. Despite the cold, Logan Holden's Ohio State University hoodie was soaked with sweat and the heavy humidity.
Logan couldn't remember when he'd last been so close to a fawn without it racing off into the forest. Reaching into his empty pocket, he was reminded that he'd left the phone on the kitchen table. His mother had shooed him and John, his brother, from the kitchen while she rushed about tending to what she looked forward to most every year: cooking a Thanksgiving meal. She liked to remind her family that timing was key to a hot and perfect holiday dinner, and that timing did not involve her boys hanging around the kitchen. This dinner isn't going to cook itself, and that run isn't going to run itself, his mother had said as they made their way out the door. In their haste, Logan had forgotten his phone. But John, who hardly ever parted with his, now let his earbuds hang around his sweaty neck by their white wires. A backbeat spilled from those tiny speakers as he held up the phone and pressed record.
A mist rose from the blacktop, curling between Logan's ankles and smoking around the deer's spindly legs. Soon the chilly fog would thicken and cover the Ohio farmland. Slowly, Logan moved closer. The mother deer looked up, her dewy brown eyes meeting his. For a frozen moment, they examined one another—he with his feet planted firmly on the misty road, and she with the stray ends of grass hanging from her lips. Then, suddenly, she leapt into the high grasses and darted into the surrounding woods leaving behind her fawns who had already lost their white spots. They watched their mother go with alarm but soon resumed chewing away at the winter-yellow grasses.
John's phone gave a shrill bark with the message of a failed text. Cell towers were scattered few and far between among the country hills and deep forest; devices burned up their batteries with the constant search for a clear signal. One fawn stood alert at the noise and then bolted in the same direction its mother had gone only moments before. The remaining fawn froze, staring at Logan and John.
"Why doesn't she follow them?" Logan asked.
John shrugged. "Too trusting, I guess. What's that saying—a tame deer is a dead deer?"
Logan moved closer until he stood only inches from the fawn, her big brown eyes watching him as she tried to balance her weight on stick-thin legs. Ever so slowly, he reached out his gloved hand to her.
The relentless drone of an older engine wound its way along the two-lane road. The smoky fog made it nearly impossible to see the vehicle until it was almost upon them. As the muffler rumbled closer, Logan saw faint headlights over his shoulder.
"Go!" Logan shouted at the fawn, waving his arms. He turned to his brother. "If it's a hunter, he'll tag this area."
Overenthusiastic hunters were known to enter the game areas a few days early in order to track places with a high density of deer population. Then, on opening day of gun season, these hunters returned to make their easy kills.
John shoved the phone into his pocket and then raced toward the fawn. "Get out of here. Go, you fool!"
The vehicle crested the hill behind them, and the fawn finally darted into the wood. The muffler, rumbling like a speedboat, rolled to a near stop beside the brothers as if the driver might recognize one of them. John nodded at the window and gave a tentative wave. Then, without warning, the driver hit the gas and the rumbling truck soon disappeared over the next hill.
"Who was that?"
"Not sure." John shrugged. "Lost hunter, I guess." He play-punched Logan's arm. "Dinner is waiting on us, and this run isn't getting any shorter." John plugged his ears once again, and with the blast of music, he took off, leaving Logan standing on the side of the road.
Ten minutes later, Logan finally settled into a long stride. He had just found the rhythmic movements of his body and breath when the rumble of the same vehicle's engine cut through the fog, this time headed directly toward them. It drove down the center of the unmarked road, edging closer and closer toward the brothers. The driver came upon John first, a good twenty yards in front of Logan, slowing…slowing…until the truck finally stopped beside John.
John gave a friendly wave at the dark shadow of the driver in the cab of the truck and stepped closer to the open window. Logan heard his brother say, "Need some help?"
A sharp, quick crackfilled the air, scattering a flock of crows from a nearby tree. Logan watched as his brother's body simply dropped to the ground. John tumbled over the berm of the road and fell hard on his back, crushing a thicket of brown shrubs that bloomed wild in the summer. Everything around him fell into slow motion as if Logan were trapped inside a movie. He watched as the casing tumbled to the ground near his brother, and a spot of bright red spread along the blacktop.
Panic stole Logan's breath. A strange sensation filled him, as though his physical body separated from his mind and he floated above the entire scene. But this was no dream: the blood thumped louder and louder inside his ears until he could hear nothing else. Logan tried to run to his brother's side, but Logan's body remained frozen, as if struck still by the beam of the truck's headlights and the sound of its rumbling engine. Although Logan couldn't see through the tinted windshield, he feltthe driver's eyes narrow in on him. His hackles rose and a quick chill scattered up his spine. The image of John's spreading pool of blood brought Logan back into his reality—he needed to get help. He reached again for his phone that wasn't there.
And then the truck rolled forward.
Logan didn't hesitate—he tore into the wooded area not far from the road, taking the same route the deer had only minutes before. Logan churned one leg over the other, willing his strides wider and wider, and didn't dare look back to see if the driver had the rifle leveled at him. A bullet shot past his ear before Logan made a hard right, a curve in his path meant to throw off the shooter. Seconds later, a shot sank into his left shoulder and felt as though it might have taken his entire left arm off with it.
Logan face-planted into the cool wet ground. The earth, not yet completely hardened by the winter months, held him. The edges of his sight blackened, and Logan bit his lip until he tasted blood. Relief washed through him when he saw that his arm and hand were still attached to his body. He did his best not to move even though every muscle in his body spasmed and the warmth of his own blood spread across his belly and thigh. The hole in his body felt so small, but he remembered what his father always said about gunshot wounds—stay conscious or you slip into death. Logan had to stay awake—it didn't matter that his body was screaming with exhaustion. But he also needed to play dead. Logan understood the shooter needed to see both him and his brother down for good.
The truck thundered in its place for a few more excruciating minutes until the driver pushed open the squeaky door. Logan lifted his head ever so slightly to get a peek through the underbrush. A few yards away, Logan caught a glimpse of the shooter dressed in full camouflage with an enormous rifle hanging from his right hand. A black skullcap covered the shooter's hair and ears. He kicked John's ribcage with a heavy black boot once, waited for a response that didn't come, and then kicked John again. Logan watched as the shooter knelt down next to his brother but couldn't make out exactly what was happening.
When the shooter stood and walked toward Logan, he shoved his face into the earth until his breath became shallow and strained. Wetness seeped through his running shorts and along his thighs. Prayers had been a constant in his family, and he started a continual loop of Biblical passages in his mind as he braced himself for the next shot into his body. It wasn't a bullet that hit him, but a heavy boot to his ribs. Logan cried out in pain, and a stream of blood ran from his open mouth. The shooter knelt down beside Logan; he knew the killerknew he was still alive. Fading in and out of consciousness, Logan felt his upper body rise from the ground and the pressure as his hoodie was yanked over his head. Bare chested, he slumped back to the cold ground as the shooter slowly walked away.
The rumble of the truck's engine felt like it stayed in one place forever. Logan remained as still as possible until the old vehicle finally lurched forward, rolling away from the brothers on the side of the road.
Eventually, the length of silence became the certainty Logan was looking for. His breath hitched, and each inhalation sounded like a phlegmy whistle. He pushed through the agonizing pain until he balanced upon his knees. He tried not to hold his breath as he inched toward his brother, a stretch of space that seemed to take hours to close. Once he finally dropped at John's side, he felt the unusual stiffness of his brother's arm. Tears spilled from Logan's eyes as he searched the area for John's phone. He found it at his brother's side, just out of reach, the screen shattered. The phone, though, was still recording—John hadn't turned it off after he recorded the deer. The server icon spun helplessly for any kind of a connection, and Logan knew he didn't have much time. He spoke directly into the camera because someone needed to know the truth.
"Mom?" Logan coughed on his words, blood splattering the small phone screen. "Love you. I couldn't stop h—"
Logan collapsed beside John's body, and the brothers' dark blood congealed together.
Chapter One
Near Charleston, South Carolina
Thanksgiving Day
The South Carolina sun blazed down, a welcome change from Ohio's dreary and wet November. A wooded trail opened up, and I ran a few feet behind Bennett as the high tree boughs encased us in shade. Spanish moss draped from the branches giving everything around us the look of another world. The temperature hovered near eighty, a summery-warm temperature my body wasn't ready for, and I was drenched in sweat. I wiped away the rivulets from my brow and thought for probably the hundredth time about how much better I liked swimming than running. In the water, at least, you don't have to deal with your own sweat.
Bennett turned, and her lean body, runner built, effortlessly floated along the trail. "You slowing down there, Special Agent?" She ran backward to face me, her grin full of play.
"Nothing shows athletic prowess like a six-mile run," she ribbed me. Bennett tossed out a laugh, and I savored the way her laughter moved her whole body with its genuine happiness. Her laugh, so rich and deep, was one of my favorite sounds in the whole world.
"We'll go for an easy jog, she said." I mimicked Bennett. "No pressure, she said." I groaned. "Last time I listen to you about running."
"Aw, darlin'." Bennett faked concern. "Is the southern heat getting to you?"
"I'm hanging in there, Doctor, which is more than can be said for you in the swimming pool."
Bennett gave me a wink, turned back toward the trail, and took off. I watched her long legs move with a gait and form as graceful and quick as a gazelle.
We'd taken the week of Thanksgiving off work to be together, to kayak through the Francis Marion National Forest and explore the town of Charleston. That was the plan, anyway. Instead, the two of us had hardly left the resort except to kayak the waterways or run the trails. And then there was our room—small and cozy and perfect for us to catch up on all the nights we'd spent apart for our jobs. Without the constant tension of our work hovering over us, Bennett seemed happier than I'd seen her in some time. Although we hadn't seen a wink of Charleston except in the ride from the airport, the national forest area was shaping up to be one of my favorite places I'd ever visited.
Even on vacation, though, we couldn't get away from our workouts—let alone our pact for clean living. It had been Bennett's idea, this agreement that left me hiding empty crumpled Cheetos bags and sticky honey bun wrappers underneath my truck's seat. Everything that I considered to be tasty, including alcohol, had been sworn off in this new life of clean living. While Bennett regularly railed on me for my sugar and carb intake whenever she got the chance, her real worry was about when I might take that first drink and break my four-month run with sobriety.
Bennett and I were training for a half marathon in early January. Running wasn't really my thing, particularly long distance, although I'd done my fair share of it while training for the Bureau's required physicals. When Bennett first asked me to run with her at Walt Disney World, I wasn't sold on the idea, but when she added that I could dress up as my favorite Disney character, I couldn't say no.
"I'm assuming you'll race as anything Star Wars," she'd teased me. "Han Solo in black boots and a row of bullets across your chest?"
"Is there really any question?" I asked, thinking of all the times I'd imitated Han Solo when we'd had our Star Wars marathon nights. "I'm assuming you will go as the one and only Princess Leia?"
Bennett shook her head at me and played coy. "You'll have to run with me to find out."
It had been a guessing game of which Disney character she planned to be ever since. The mystery of it kept me running, although I wasn't always sure the payoff would be worth it.
"Snow White. Belle. Wait, I know—The Beast!"
Bennett rolled her eyes at me. "Some runners are there for the sport, you know. Not everyone dresses up."
"What's the fun in that?" I teased her. "Why put yourself through the run?"
Water had always been my true love. Give me a pool, lake, or ocean, and I'd swim for miles. Nothing soothed me more than the submersion into water and the silence that came with it. Distance swimming, however, wasn't a favorite of Bennett's, who claimed her arms felt like wet noodles after only half a mile. Jogging along the wooded trail, though, mylegsfelt like noodles. As we neared the five-mile marker, I cursed this woman who ran a few yards in front of me as if her feet weren't even touching the trail.
"One more mile, Special Agent!" Bennett hollered to me over her shoulder.
My sweaty body celebrated the news. Only one mile—I could finish.
I met Dr. Harper Bennett, forensic pathologist extraordinaire, while I assisted with a serial murder case in Wallace Lake, Ohio. More specifically, I saw Bennett for the first time as we stood together over two dead bodies that were lodged against land bars in the middle of Ohio's Powell River. I loved that we first met surrounded by water. As a person who believed in signs and gut feelings and karma, I took the presence of water as a promise—or at the very least, a smack to the back of the head to wake me up and pay attention to the beautiful being there with me.
Bennett, though, liked to remind me that it wasn't all burbling river water and the sweet singing of nature that surrounded us that day, but two very dead bodies. "And the ripe stench of decomp, Hansen. Let's not forget that." She would throw me a wink. "So, I ask you, what kind of a sign is that?"
"A message from the universe," I said. "I heard it, in the water around us."
Bennett rolled her eyes, a practice she'd become quite good at in our relationship. Unlike me, Bennett gave little credence to signs and karma and any sort of messages from beyond. Her job required her to think logically and avoid jumping to conclusions. Evidence, in Bennett's world of steel gurneys and autopsies, ruled. While she understood my beliefs about gut reactions and instinct, Bennett saw things very differently. Water, she liked to say, had the power to give life and take it away; the toss of that coin could shift any day.
The Wallace Lake case had been difficult—four women found murdered along the Powell River, all sharing a matching wrist tattoo. The tattoo wasn't the only thing the women shared; they had all been drug addicts at some point in their adult lives, which led the early investigators to believe the deaths were tied to the opioid crisis raging wild in Wallace Lake County. From its start, I'd been in a bad place. I drank too much, ate too little, and drowned in a murky depression that nearly sank the rat hole of an apartment I'd been renting in Columbus. In the wake of a bad breakup, I felt lost. There was also the frustration I felt with my placement at the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation. I'd thought my work in my first serial case at Willow's Ridge would have put me in line for a shot at the FBI—I was wrong.
Bennett had her own share of frustration and baggage. She'd been overworked and underpaid for years, her services stretched thin in the tri-county area that needed at least two of her to get the job done, maybe three. Bennett was simply exhausted and had been dealing with her own heartache—a woman, she said, who gutted her whole.
After the Wallace Lake case ended, though, things brightened for both of us. I'd been promoted to the codirector spot at the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation to work alongside my mentor and good friend Colby Sanders. Bennett had been hired on as a forensic pathologist. She was able to leave her county work behind, and offered her an office in one location. It also gave her some much needed free time to pursue the activities she loved like running, writing poetry, and kayaking. Over the past few months, the trauma of my past slowly faded, and I'd fallen for Bennett—something I swore I'd never again do after Rowan. For once, though, it wasn't only me who had a past to contend with; I found myself navigating the new terrain of a relationship where each of us lived our own lives, sometimes together and sometimes apart.
Colby Sanders, however, hadn't been a fan of the decision to hire Bennett. The Bureau had strict rules about romantic partners working together. I argued that Bennett and I technically wouldn't be working together, given that she managed everything medical in the morgue and I would be out in the field. Even I understood the laughability of that argument—as a forensic pathologist, Bennett would need to be in the field in order to determine the time and cause of death. She'd be an important member of the team no matter how I played with the words.
"Bennett's one of the most competent and gifted pathologists the BCI has worked with," Sanders admitted when I pressed him. "She's a real asset to our team. I just worry about the two of you working together—the strain it will put on your relationship."
I understood his cautious subtext: Sanders worried about what would happen if Bennett and I broke up. He wasn't only worried about the possible disruption to the team and the dynamics of the office. He also worried about the emotional damage I might suffer if fallout ensued. I appreciated Sanders and the way he looked after me. My father had unexpectedly passed a few years back, and I'd been left without much of a family to call my own.
"Relax," I told him. "I've got a good feeling about this."
Sanders shook his head in a way that said he didn't believe me, but would negotiate. "That famous gut of yours," he half teased.
We finally settled on an agreement: Bennett and I would stagger our time, shifting schedules so that we rarely worked together in the field. So, for the past months, Bennett and I had been at crime scenes and different stages of investigations without one another. At work, we were those proverbial ships passing in the night; her office was in the basement and mine on the second floor. When our schedules allowed for it, we met for meals and shared an occasional day off for hiking and floating on the Powell River. We continued to live separately in the small community of Spring Rock. I bought a small bungalow and gutted it, rebuilding it from the floor up during my time off work. I loved my new home that stood so close to the river I could hear it burble and churn after a hard rain like it was a living breathing thing.
"The first sign of trouble," Sanders warned me, "Bennett's gone. Understood?"
I'd been so excited, I almost hugged Sanders, something he never would have forgiven or forgotten.
Bennett waited for me at the six-mile marker at our resort with her hands on her strong hips and a look that said Could you be any slower?I'd never been so happy to slap the side of an ancient oak tree with its branches dripping in Spanish moss. Bennett stood in a sweat-drenched tank top with damp dark curls about her face. God, how could she run six miles in humidity as thick as mud and still look so good?
"Glad to see you made it. I was worried I might have to call the EMTs for you."
I shrugged and used the edge of my T-shirt to wipe the sweat from around my brow. "Who needs EMTs when I have a doctor running with me?" I leaned in for a quick kiss, our sweaty limbs intertwining.
"Your times are getting better," she told me as we headed back to the room. "In another few months, you might be able to keep pace with me."
I threw my head back, laughed, and felt the frazzled ends of my braid against my low back. "It sure would be fun," I told Bennett, "to beat you across that finish line one of these days."
The sun sat low on the South Carolina horizon. I leaned back in my seat, let the paddle rest across my lap, and welcomed that familiar bump of Bennett's kayak against mine. The ocean had been too difficult to manage in the kayaks out beyond the break of the waves. The resort directed us to a small inlet where the water shimmered with the evening calm and views of the sunset burned an array of oranges, yellows, and purples. Bennett and I settled into a silence as the movement of the water gently rocked us. This, I thought, was the true measure of trust with another person—how long that comfortable silence could hold between the two of you.
"Sure beats the office, doesn't it?" Bennett turned to me, the sunset reflected in the lenses of her sunglasses. She wore a full-body suit because she couldn't stand to be in water below seventy degrees, as if she might suddenly be submerged while kayaking. A film of sweat lined her upper lip.
"Not to mention the unforgiving weather in Ohio this time of year," I added. "Let's stay another week."
Bennett laughed. "Amen to that."
A large two-tiered boat idled through the inlet, the upper balcony full of visitors out for an evening cruise. Some shouted and waved, and I arced my paddle through the air. Thanksgiving was one of the resort's busiest times of the year—the 400-room hotel had been full all week with people doing everything but eating a traditional turkey and dressing meal with their family.
When the sun finally sank to only a burning orange sliver, Bennett interrupted our silence once again. "I've been meaning to ask you something."
Bennett laughed. "No, it's nothing. I just wanted to check in with you. With us."
I held my breath. Despite the fact there was no indication that Bennett wanted to end our relationship, my mind always went there first—a negative thinking loop that rarely left my mind quiet.
"Are you happy, Hansen?"
If Bennett could have seen beneath my oversized sunglasses, she would have noticed the furrow in my brow and the tension lines beginning to crease around my eyes. I tried not to let my paranoid thinking take over, but still, my mind churned with questions. Had I done something wrong? Where was this coming from?
"I am happy, Bennett," I said cautiously, "but the bigger question here might be, are you?"
Bennett nodded. "It's been about a year since we met."
So much in my life had quieted over the last twelve months. Work hummed along, a little too fast-paced at times, but it kept my mind busy and my sense of justice in play. Bennett and I had settled into a rhythm in Spring Rock, a rhythm I'd gladly fallen into. I didn't want anything to change.
Along the shoreline, a seagull screamed and cawed for its mates. "Almost a year," I joked, "and we still call each other by our last names."
Bennett grinned. "We aren't exactly the conventional lesbian couple, are we?"
"If by conventional you mean U-Haul trailers and month-long camping trips filled with crowded ride festivals, then no. But it's okay—we do our own thing."
Bennett nodded. "Sometimes I wonder if our unconventional way is the right way."
"Bennett, where is this coming from?"
"It's nothing." She waved her hand as if she could swat the conversation away. "Really."
"It's obviously something or we wouldn't be having this conversation." I nudged the edge of her kayak with my paddle. "Come on. Tell me what's up."
Bennett shrugged as if the entire conversation didn't matter. "I saw Harvey a few weeks ago." She avoided my eyes. "I didn't want to tell you."
My back bristled with the mention of Detective Alison Harvey—the woman who, at one point, stood between Bennett and me. Harvey was one of Bennett's past lovers who also worked the Wallace Lake case and had been my mistake after a night of too much drinking and not enough clear thinking.
"And? What did Harvey say?"
"She's surprised we're still taking things so slow."
Even though Harvey had only been a rebound relationship for Bennett, it still made my jealousy boil. I wondered if more happened in the surprise meeting between Harvey and Bennett. Harvey wouldn't commit to a long-term relationship, which had made her the perfect rebound for Bennett and a one-night stand for me, but I sensed Bennett still thought of Harvey. Would she tell me? Did Bennett wantto fall back into the way things had been between them? There was also the question of what Harvey wanted; she'd proven she wasn't the type to settle down, but that didn't mean she wouldn't play around and create chaos in other people's relationships.
"It's not like we're twenty anymore, Bennett. We both have our pasts to contend with. I'd rather take things slow and do what's right for us," I said. "Besides, what does Harvey know? It's not like she's the romance know-it-all. God, if we had Alice's L Wordchart for the Midwest, Harvey would be the central hub for all heartland lesbians."
Bennett chuckled—she was a huge L Wordfan and could quote whole passages, particularly from Shane McCutcheon, the grand player of the series. Bennett's fascination with the character gave me all the more pause given her recent encounter with Harvey who in some ways resembled Shane.
"Why were you talking to her about us?" I didn't mean for it to come out as defensive as it did.
"It was nothing, okay? Nothing. We do work together sometimes, you know."
"Our relationship isn't work, Bennett."
Bennett shook her head. "This is why I don't tell you things. Right here! It always starts an argument about your work."
I groaned and leaned back into my kayak. If Detective Harvey had been out on the water with us, I would have punched her big smug nose. "I'm just trying to figure out what you want, Ben."
"I want a relationship that's stable. I need someone I can count on. I need to know that you are safe at work and will return home at the end of your day. I want to grow old with you, Hansen."
"There is nothing that says we can't do exactly that," I said. "There are no rules, you know."
The sun was nearly below the horizon, and somewhere outside the mouth of the inlet, the cruiser's horn blasted and cheers erupted from its passengers. Bennett sat silent a moment, her hands fisted over the oar that rested across the kayak.
Lack of commitment, I knew, was a serious issue with Bennett, who claimed she could find a wayward woman anywhere. Ten years before I met Bennett, she had been in a long-term relationship with a woman she planned to marry. Bennett caught her partner cheating, and it caused the end of the relationship. Bennett retained ownership of the house the two of them bought and still lived in that home.
"There is only one thing I am certain of, Hansen," Bennett said. "I will not be that woman who stands by her partner's grave after she has been murdered by some senseless idiot while on the job. I will not be that sobbing widow they hand the folded flag to, the one who nearly faints while the blank shots fire from the gun salute."
"Come on, Ben. That's not going to happen." I reached across our kayaks for her hand.
"You cannot promise that."
"No," I said. "But I also can't promise I won't die of a heart attack in two years or a car wreck or cancer, either." I squeezed her hand. "Love is a gamble, but we are worth it."
Bennett didn't answer, but she squeezed my hand back and wound her fingers through mine.
The sun had completely dipped below the horizon, and the running board lights of boats flipped on around us. Just as we began to paddle toward shore, my air-raid siren ringtone screamed out. I'd assigned that vicious sound to all work-related calls.
For a few seconds, both of us froze. Then Bennett threw her head back and groaned. "You brought your cell phone on the water? What about our rule!"
I hated the rule, and little did Bennett know, I regularly defied it. Floating time, according to Bennett, was unplugging time—no phones, no music, no texting or email checking. The world can wait, she always told me, at least until we come in from the water.
"It's not a safe rule, Bennett," I said, reaching for the phone. "What if something happened?"
"You're a special agent, and I'm a doctor. Who else could we possibly need in an emergency?"
The phone's siren screamed again in my hand. I didn't want the argument that had been brewing between us to suddenly land.
But this mattered, and I couldn't let it go. It mattered a lot because of Marci Tucker. I'd struggled long and hard with the effects of PTSD since I found my first love murdered. I'd only missed her murder by minutes when I found her body, still warm, bludgeoned inside a cave where we regularly met. It was the moment on which everything in my life hinged, the moment that defined me.
I gestured to the trees and water surrounding us. "I know the terrible kind of mayhem that can go down in nature without access to phones. Death won't wait for a 9-1-1 call."
Bennett looked away from me as the story of my past washed over us. We didn't talk much about Marci, yet she was frequently around us, lingering in some of my words and actions like a ghost I couldn't shake. It had taken years for me to come to terms with the fact that the murder might not have happened if I had been on time to meet Marci, if I hadn't gotten caught in a traffic jam on the highway, if I had taken a different route to the caverns.
If, if, if. This tiny word endlessly needled me, particularly when it came to the death of Marci Tucker.
I reached up, my fingertips landing on the cool pendant with Marci's Celtic cross that I still wore around my neck. It was one of the ways she was always with me.
"Hansen here."
"It's Sanders."
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Then he added, "Gobble, gobble."
I laughed at Colby Sanders's sad attempt at a joke and suddenly missed him. His voice was one I never wanted to hear on vacation, but if I had to, at least he always made me smile. "What's up, Sanders?"
"I hope you're having a good Thanksgiving down there," he started, "but we have a situation. A prison break at Hartford Correctional."
My mind turned over everything I knew about the Ohio prison: high security, older prison, with some disturbing reports of officer violence toward inmates. Then it hit me. "No, Sanders. Please tell me this has nothing to do with Deadeye."
His silence on the other end of the line told me it did.
I looked over at Bennett who mouthed and gestured What?to me. "He's a high risk inmate. How could this even happen?"
"A transport situation and help from the outside. David Johnson, aka Deadeye, slit both wrists pretty good. No medics on campus today due to the holiday, so he was rushed to the local hospital. Turns out his latest fiancée is a nurse at the hospital and helped plan it all."
I pressed the heel of one hand against my forehead, the place where a headache teased me. Holidays, I knew, tended to be a time on prison campuses when officials let their guard down, when fewer eyes focused on the inmates. Clearly I wasn't the only one who knew that secret. "How long has he been gone?"
"The last documented sighting was over four hours ago. Search teams are out, but nothing yet." I heard the flickof a lighter, and I imagined him igniting the end of his cigarette. "This is big, Hansen. We need to catch him before the media gets ahold of this one. We need to get out to that prison as soon as possible."
Sanders went on about the flight details out of Charleston, and I thought about Deadeye. I knew his case well. The serial predator had been hunting humans long before I joined the BCI and was finally apprehended in Southeast Ohio after murdering at least six victims, hunter style, in the rural hunting areas of Simmons County. Deadeye was better than a good shot—generally the victims were taken with a single bullet through the head. And he always removed and took with him the victim's bloodstained shirt, his trophy of death. Deadeye loose and on the streets was more than dangerous—he was explosive.
"Hansen? You with me?"
"Yeah." I blinked myself back to focus. "I'll see you in a few hours."
I hung up and looked out over the glass-calm water. The evening breeze felt good against my face.
"Hansen?" Bennett maneuvered her kayak even closer to mine. "What's going on?"
"Deadeye," I said without looking at her.
Her eyes widened at his name. "What do you mean?"
"He's on the lam."
I handed her my paddle and then rolled away from her, the weight of my body spinning the kayak upside down. Cool, salty water enveloped me. I slipped out of the kayak underwater and let my body sink into the cool darkness. My T-shirt floated toward my chin and I let the heaviness of the ocean water hold and rock me at its will. Finally, when my lungs began to burn for fresh oxygen, I scissored my legs and reached up, letting my fingertips break the surface of the water.
Bennett held on to the end of my kayak with the edge of a paddle and looked down at me. "Have you lost your mind?" she asked. "The water is freezing."
I shrugged; trying to convince her to join me in the water would be next to impossible. Instead, I reached up to guide my own kayak.
Bennett kept pace with me while I swam in to shore. I explained what little I knew about the escape and that my flight would leave in about five hours' time.
"I should go with you," she said, her voice filled with disappointment.
"No, Ben. Stay if you want to. We have the room until Sunday, and your flight is already booked."
"You're okay with that?"
I shrugged. "I'd rather be here with you, and this sucks, but it's your vacation week, too. If you want to stay, stay. Get in a few more floats and runs and sunsets—more inspiration for your poetry."
I gave her a quick smile before dipping lower into the evening-dark water. I tasted the salt on my lips and frog-legged a little faster. When Bennett mumbled something I couldn't quite make out, I let my head slip beneath the water's skin and kicked toward shore.
Once we reached the landing area, I gave my kayak a strong push and then swam back out into the depths of the water. Bennett stood on the shore watching me with her hands on her hips. Her mouth moved, but I couldn't make out her words as I sank beneath the surface. My body ached for the feel of water against my skin, the pressure and silence of its weight that helped me to do my very best thinking. My feet eventually found the sandy bottom, and I butterflied my arms as I raced to the water's surface. It wasn't just the swim that had my heart rate up, but that all-too-familiar pull of a strong case. My work always had a way of digging its hooks into me, of gripping tight my mind, body, and soul in a way that made my breath quicker, my heartbeat stronger. Nothing, absolutely nothing else had ever made me feel more alive than the hunt for a killer and the need for justice.
I hoped Bennett would wait on me before heading back to the hotel, but I already knew she wouldn't. By the time I would come in from the dark water to shower, she would have already organized my things for the flight and headed into bed.
Chapter Two
Hartford Correctional Institution
Friday, 4:30 a.m.
Day 1 of the investigation
The county sheriff and prison officials held Debbie Turner, RN, in an isolated conference room at Hartford Correctional Institution. Ironic, really, given that she had just assisted her fiancé's escape from that very place. The sheriff reasoned that the setting would persuade her to talk. Such an explanation fell short with me—clearly they'd decided to use the nurse as some sort of bait for Deadeye. The sheriff was not only sending Deadeye a blatant message, but also all his prison colleagues: We have your woman. It's you or her—decide wisely.It was only a matter of time before one of Deadeye's brothers on the inside got word to him on the outside. As Sanders and I made our way through the first security gate and emptied our pockets into plastic bins for the detectors, though, I knew such a ploy would never work. In order for Deadeye to respond, he would have to care about Debbie Turner. Deadeye was a classic sociopath—he didn't care about anyone except himself.
Hartford was one of the largest prisons in Ohio and had once been the administration site of the state's death penalty. When that distinction had moved on to a newer and shinier prison, some of Ohio's most dangerous criminals were left behind inside its walls. The large campus spread over twenty-five acres along a rural route that was mainly used by farmers and prison employees. Fields surrounded the prison grounds, and for many years the inmates worked the land that was at one time filled with cattle and tall stalks of corn. Since the state deemed that kind of work too physical for inmates, the fields grew wild. There was no question that escaping from the campus would leave someone with very limited options without some kind of transportation out of the vastness of rural Ohio. Deadeye, as usual, had planned well.
Once we cleared security, Robert Spen, Hartford's warden, met and walked us through Deadeye's movements the day before. Still on mandatory lockdown, the prison halls were virtually empty except for the guards who monitored the facility. Nervous and speaking much too fast, Spen tried to explain the escape. As we walked, his eyes never left the tiled floor. Spen was wiry thin, and he struck me as a man who lived in a constant agitated state. The recent happenings had only heightened it. He knew his team had screwed up, and it was obvious he worried what an escape of such a high profile inmate would do to his career.
Spen led us to the isolation cell where Deadeye had cut his wrists. "Our best guess," Spen said, "is the new fiancée somehow slipped him the blade before he ended up in the tank."
"Did they have a recent visit?" Sanders asked.
"Five days ago," Spen said. "We've gone over the visitation room footage, and we can't detect that anything was exchanged between them. We do know that the nurse fills in on our campus when our regulars call in. She last worked here eleven days ago. It's possible she slipped him the blade then. We just don't know."
Sanders jammed his fisted hands deep in his pockets. "Are you telling me no one caught that the nurse who is employed here was also on David Johnson's approved and active visitation list?"
Spen hung his head and ran his fingers over his buzz cut. "Look, our campus is packed, and we're down three guards—"
"Save it," Sanders grumbled.
The holding cell had been recently cleaned and stank of a lethal combination of bleach and disinfectant. I stepped in and walked the tight perimeter of the room.
"Tell me about what brought him here. The fight."
"Right, the fight." Spen, happy for the distraction from Sanders, followed me in and hitched his fists against his waist just over his utility belt. "It happened with one of the newer guards, Trent Simon. From all accounts, the guard picked a fight with Deadeye. He insisted on searching Deadeye's cell based on reports of possible contraband. Simon tossed everything—he took some items from the cell even though he reportedly found no contraband. Deadeye reacted by breaking Simon's nose and jaw while pummeling his head. Simon is in a coma from multiple head injuries."
"Has that cell been cleaned up?"
Spen nodded. "His cellie took on that task, apparently."
I flipped over the thin plastic mattress in the isolation cell and examined the cement ledge that served as a bed for any scrawled messages.
"Deadeye was housed here just under twenty-four hours after the assault on Simon. The medical call went out at 2:25 p.m. yesterday."
"Deadeye alerted staff of his own condition?" I asked.
"Yes. The report states he was fighting consciousness when he called for help."
I scanned the cell one more time. Everything had been set up, and the only surprise in the whole scheme was most likely to the guard who ended up in a coma with a broken jaw and nose. Trent Simon was a lucky guy—most didn't escape Deadeye with their life.
I turned to Warden Spen who finally had the nerve to look me in the eye. "Take us to Debbie Turner, please. I'd like to hear what the nurse has to say for herself."
Colby Sanders sat beside me. His weathered hands, which had lost their summer tan from the golf course and the shooting range, wrapped around a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee. As he considered Debbie Turner across the table from us, I considered him. Sanders's hair had grown so silver in places it was nearly white, and his face pulled with exhaustion. He'd been working hard to close multiple cases for the Bureau before the end of the year. By the looks of Sanders slumped in the metal chair, he was the one in need of a vacation in a southern beachside resort.
The prison-issued metal table had seen better days. Secured to the floor, its dull top was dinged in multiple places and warped with years of use. Sanders leaned in, spreading his elbows wide across the table—one of his trusted tactics in interviews to make his body appear bigger. "This song and dance is wearing thin," he barked.
Across from us, Debbie smiled. "I've told you all I can. My man is exactly where he is supposed to be."
Sanders sighed. We'd been at it an hour, and both of us had had enough of her cryptic answers. "And where is that, exactly?"
Debbie giggled as her thin blond hair fell limp around her long drawn face.
Sanders rolled his eyes at me, and I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the nurse. I hadn't slept in hours and interviewing this woman was like trying to extract a story from a three-year-old. She was hiding something, though; both Sanders and I sensed it, and we didn't intend to let her go until she told us something we could go on.
I took a turn with her. "He used you. You get that, right? You've been a pawn in Deadeye's plan, Debbie. Nothing more."
"You're wrong. And his name is David. David Johnson loves me," she said. She leaned back in her chair and folded her slim hands in her lap. "He loves me more than anyone ever has or could."
I flipped back in my notes. According to prison records, Debbie had only been corresponding with Deadeye for about a year. Their prison romance began when she filled in for a nurse and David Johnson came to the clinic for a common prison ailment—scabies. The red fiery rash covered his hands and climbed up his arms. It crawled over his back and down into his groin. He'd waited much too long to get the parasite treated, and he'd scratched himself bloody. Debbie assisted the doctor that day, providing Deadeye with a medicated wash and oral medication. Records showed that she later made written contact with him, and a series of letters followed between them. They handwrote the letters at first, snail-mailing back and forth until they burned out on the writing. The expensive prison phone system then became their chosen method of communication. Officers on site were sifting through the routine recordings of every conversation between the two.
"I can see the allure," I told Debbie, trying hard not to choke on my words. "David is handsome. But I bet it's something so much more that pulls you to him. His thoughtfulness, right? He actually listened to you. He paid attention to you."
Debbie gave us another grin. "It's not just that he paid attention to me. He thoughtabout me. A lot."
I nodded for her to go on.
"Sometimes at night I would twist up in my blanket and think of him thinking of me. I tried to imagine what he noticed about me. Was it my smile? My conversation with him earlier that day on the phone? Or was it my hands?" She held up her hands for us to examine them, her fingers tapping against one another. "My healing hands—that's what David liked to call them."
"Because of the scabies," I nudged her.
"That, but he also talked about my hands like they had magic. Like they could cure anything if I touched a person. A little like Jesus, I guess."
"Seriously? You fell for Deadeye because he compared you to Jesus?" Sanders butted in. I shot him a look that said hush up.
"It was more than that," Debbie argued. "No one had ever thought of me before, longed for me like that. No one ever thought I was beautiful. And David…he saw me, you know? I mean, not many men really seeme."
I imagined what was going through Sanders mind—What in the hell is she talking about? Everyone can see her unless they're blind.
On some level, I understood what Debbie meant. There were multiple ways to see a person, and I was willing to bet that most men overlooked Debbie or just plain saw right through her. In her early forties, she reminded me of a washed-out photograph, the vibrancy muted, the edges ratty and worn.
"It's not easy to find people like that," I said.
Debbie smiled big, almost prideful, and I noticed her chipped front tooth, a dark triangle in her smile. She was so pleased with herself that the plan had worked, that she had done everything right, and that Deadeye was out and in the world once again. She couldn't wait to be rewarded for her loyal work.
"We're holding your car as evidence," Sanders said. "There are BOLOs out in the tristate area and soon we'll go nationwide. He won't last long out there, Debbie."
"Surveillance footage from the hospital shows you left the car tucked in a underground parking garage. What did you leave inside the car for him?" I asked. "Besides the key?" Debbie rubbed her belly and ignored my question. "Have you told the world? That David is out? How much cash was in the car, Debbie? What kind of weapon?"
"The world needs to know that David is free," Debbie insisted.
"He's not free," Sanders corrected her. "He never will be. Things will be much harder for him every minute that he is gone. If you love him, help us. And we will help you. We might be able to work something out so that you're able to visit him."
We'd thrown out this carrot multiple times, the chance to meet face-to-face with Deadeye, but Debbie wasn't going for it. Over the course of the interview, we'd learned virtually nothing more than Debbie Turner was undoubtedly and wholeheartedly smitten with David Johnson, AKA Deadeye.
As Sanders prodded Debbie for more information, I watched her hands. There was something about the way she rubbed her belly, the knowing way she looked at us.
I interrupted Sanders. "How far along are you, Debbie?"
For a moment, no one moved or spoke. Sanders broke the moment when he jumped up and yelled, "Dear Lord, don't tell me. Don't you dare tell me it's his."
Debbie let out a crazed cackle-giggle. She was more than pleased with herself that I'd finally figured it out. "It's David's," she confirmed. "A boy."
"No," Sanders argued.
"Yes," Debbie squealed. "A real miracle child."
Sanders turned to me. "I don't even want to know how."
There were many crazy stories in law enforcement about the ways in which inmates impregnated their partners despite Ohio's ban on conjugal visits. We'd heard just about everything, from visitors swallowing small balloons full of sperm to kitchen workers sneaking out sperm on a delivery or a waste removal truck.
We didn't have to guess with Debbie. For the first time in the interview, she offered us information. "We timed it. You know, sperm only live so long outside the warmth of a human body. Those latex clinic gloves and a battery-operated slow cooker are great for just about anything."
I was skeptical at best—perfect timing or not, it was a far-fetched story. I questioned Debbie's mental health once again. Was she as delusional as she sounded? "What about the person you paid to bring it out? Who was it?"
She only smiled, but I had a strong guess—the same guard who helped Deadeye into a solitary holding tank. Trent Simon who was now in a coma. The cash could be hard for guards and prison employees to turn down, especially when it was as simple as bringing sperm to someone inside a medical glove
"How well do you know Trent Simon?"
Debbie only laughed, but she'd shut down in her glee over the baby. It was clear we'd get no more from her. She wanted us to know about the baby and about their clever plan to get Daddy out of prison. In all honesty, though, I doubted Debbie Turner could really tell us much more. Deadeye wouldn't have told her much, realizing that she might break under our questioning. Most likely he promised to contact her after he'd been out of prison for a few days.
Debbie Turner had already been arrested for aiding and abetting a prisoner's escape, and we could now add to that arrest hustling contraband from prison. Not that it would add much time to her sentence if she was convicted, but it was the principle of it—the disgusting lengths she would go to for Deadeye.
As Sanders and I walked out of the prison, I ordered a DNA test to be certain of the baby's father and checked my phone for any updates on the search. Nothing. It was like Deadeye slipped out of his hospital room and simply vanished.
"We have a few hours until the press conference at BCI headquarters. What do you say we grab some shut-eye back at the office?"
"Sounds good to me." Since Sanders picked me up at the airport, I didn't have much choice. At least at the office, I could either check out a vehicle or hitch a ride home at some point to get my truck.
The morning sun crested the horizon, and Sanders drove over the backcountry roads in silence. Both of us worried about the escape and what it meant—nothing good could come from David Johnson's escape. He hadn't been able to control his urges to kill before prison, and he certainly wouldn't be able to control them now. It was only a matter of time until Deadeye claimed another victim.


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Premier Dental Ceramics
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Scott Brown of Premier Dental Ceramics creates aesthetic, functional dental restorations that are more than a clinical science – they're an art. The results are aesthetically beautiful, natural-looking restorations that reflect the quality care your patients value in your service to them.
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Still feels like they may have no bigger challenge than living with unavailable, and frustrating experience. Even after a seemingly intimate weekend, they can disappear for long periods with no regular contact. Then, dating speed there are those who are too afraid of taking the risk of falling in love because they have been hurt too much in their previous relationships. You find it difficult to flirt because you don't really think you're that much of a catch.
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Usually, they prefer to communicate through texting, because they can carefully construct their sentences and easily hide their emotions. But some dynamics are so perplexing that it makes otherwise rational individuals question their sanity. Did she say something that turned him off? You care deeply, but you just like hiding your emotions. Look out for the person who is quick to flatter and compliment you without really knowing you.
Written by natalie reading time i started journaling about women who had. Ask questions to discern whether failure occurred because of their inability to develop intimacy or other issues that would give you pause for concern. Some people get that impression, but you're not. This may happen after a great date, how often to text when you may have felt connected and intimate in some way.
Relationships with emotionally unavailable women may become toxic, and you may decide that it's best for the both of you if you part ways. Helping an emotionally unavailable person open up to you can be a difficult task, especially when it is a romantic partner. Make sure to probe a new person to find out why past long-term relationships did not work and ended. This type of person lacks the insight and awareness necessary for a relationship to thrive, even through difficult times.
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Feelings haven't hook up corny keg trying with the perfect guy. They will be more caring toward your feelings and about who you are. Life By CollegeTimes Staff.
Often, people who are dating emotionally unavailable people are people who are highly sensitive and crave intimacy. Knowing the initial dating is not ready for anxiety. So they will get accused of being emotionally unavailable yourself or a dating long enough for a.
Does she leave out important details about her life? You should always trust your gut and do what you feel is right. You use sarcasm as a defensive shield against the world. It is obvious to most people that the perfect person does not exist. Have you noticed that your arguments usually go unresolved?
The good news is the sooner you close the door on the wrong relationship, the earlier you can open the door to the right one with someone appreciative, loving, and commitment-minded. Although being emotionally unavailable is usually associated with men, women are just as capable of having the same traits. Relationships that fail to move forward are commonplace. Relationships make you feel vulnerable. Emotionally unavailable people tend to be perfectionists, always looking for the fatal flaw or character defect that gives them permission to exit a relationship and move on.
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It is important to be supportive in a relationship, and just as important that such support is reciprocated. Our online classes and training programs allow you to learn from experts from anywhere in the world. MeetMindful is a curated meeting ground for mindful and meaningful connections. Ironically, most emotionally unavailable people are easy to spot, quite transparent, showing you their true colors, right from the beginning. They want you to be a part of their life in a substantial way.
Perhaps, they are recently divorced or widowed, and legitimately not ready to get involved in an intimate relationship. Ever feel so, speed dating site rencontre or even though you're falling out with them. Reasons behind such behavior could be that they are acting inconsiderate to distance themselves from you.
In contrast, emotionally unavailable individuals prioritize their own needs first. You prefer individual sports, like swimming and running, to group sports. Does she run and hide instead of talking to you? The ones you do have are so used to your closed off nature that they tease you about it. Avoid someone with a big ego, filled with conceit, who tries to win favor by bragging about who they are or what they have.
Emotionally healthy people who have done some sort of personal development, by contrast, show a quiet confidence that says they can be intimate and committed despite their flaws. In a discussion about their past relationships, they will denigrate their former partners. Being in a relationship with someone who lacks empathy can be frustrating. You can't understand why someone would be so not composed or together. By creating a barrier between you, it prevents her from getting too close and possibly being hurt again.
Dating Emotionally Unavailable Women
Can't Pass the Screen for Intimacy. In fact, the closer you become, the more he or she seems to pull away. An emotionally unavailable person can easily be mistaken for a narcissist as they do share similar traits. Being in control is very important to her.
Let's face it is emotionally unavailable woman around. You like your own company and you never ask more of yourself than you're willing to give. It makes you feel inbelievably uncomfortable.
HuffPost Life
You get exhausted watching them. It might be time to call it quits. For example, if they are rude to a waiter or taxi driver, it may be indicative of their pent-up anger. If so, we suggest getting out before you get any deeper.
- Momjunction explains the root of dating an emotionally unavailable.
- Many unavailable partners make it very simple to detect them.
- But they have an even harder time trying to communicate this because of their fear of opening up.
1. They don t maintain consistent communication
- You don't pester yourself with questions.
- Why am i started journaling about having a committed partnership, they first two different categories of our.
- News Politics Entertainment Communities.
- You're closed off to protect yourself from looking stupid, emotional, needy.
- Not only in romantic situations, in friendships as well.


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Music sheet
The official pandolfi website of Emile Pandolfi an internationally renowned pop classical pianist. We upon are emile delighted to announce the release of once the long- awaited sheet music for Emile Pandolfi' s arrangement pandolfi of Once Upon a December from the movie English ( US) once Español. but I' ve upon been searching for this piece forever. REDDIT and the ALIEN Logo are. Uploaded video has been made only for commercial purposes. It doesn' t even have to be free.
Once Upon A December Emile Pandolfi Piano Sheet Music Rapidsharegolkes Published on Oct 15, once upon a december emile pandolfi piano sheet music rapidsharegolkes. Once Upon a December. Composed by Stephen Flaherty Arranged by Emile Pandolfi 3. Once Upon a Romance by Emile Pandolfi About the Artist. Emile Pandolfi is an extraordinary pianist andengaging performer.
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His passion for the piano is strikingly evident when he shares his feelings about performing and recording. " I always loved to practice, and I never really considered doing anything but playing the piano.


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NABSA Events & Webinars
The bikeshare and shared micromobility industry is changing at a rapid pace. New innovations bring new opportunities, and policy leaders are rising to meet those challenges. NABSA provides educational events to support members of the industry in all sectors, at all levels of their careers.
NABSA's two largest educational opportunities are provided through Webinars and the NABSA Annual Conference.
NABSA Webinars
View the Webinar Archive
NABSA hosts regular webinars on the topics that are important to our members. NABSA Webinars feature leaders in the industry sharing their expertise and lessons learned. Many of these webinars are members-only, but some crucial topics are open to the public.
Every NABSA member employee has access to our industry-specific webinar series as well as archived webinars in our Knowledge Share database.
Recent Webinars
NABSA Annual Conference
Learn More About the ConferenceView the Conference Session Archive
The NABSA Annual Conference is the leading global venue for bikeshare, shared micromobility, and transportation leaders, practitioners, equipment providers to tackle important issues facing the industry. Several hundred people join each year to learn, network, and chart the future of bikeshare and shared micromobility.


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Big Think EdgeFor You
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If so, is that obligation rooted in the Divine (God made the Earth, and we must respect God's creation), some responsibility to future generations (we must leave our children a better world than we ourselves received), or is there room for self interest (example: toxic fumes from a chemical plant in my town are carcinogenic, and I don't want cancer, so we should treat our environment with greater respect).
Much lip service has been paid to "specialization" in the professional sphere in recent years. This term is often couched in professional terms, referencing in-depth knowledge of a particular field, such as logistics, or finance, or retail sales. And one of the most common ways to define one's self professionally is through "lingo," terms of art used within an industry which are unknown to those outside that profession.


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#SocialMediaHacks: The Infographic
Here in the Pacific Northwest, the harvest is about to begin. But you don't have to wait till the grapes ripen on the vine to reap the benefits of The Infographic. Make your content
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Making an Infographic is No Joke
To be honest, creating a good Infographic is not easy. Unless you majored in graphic design. Then you're set. But for a do-it-yourself marketer, this may be one thing you spend the money on to outsource. You don't want to know how long it took us to create the Infographic for this blog post. Though we like how it turned out, it was a whole heap of work. We wanted to convey excitement about this year's harvest. Our social media feeds are flooded with buzz about grape picking and pressing and we want our piece of it. Can't you just smell the promise of fine vintages looming in the air? Or is that our fine Infographic you're smelling?


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Observations on the physical basis of mechanical behaviour
- 25 Downloads
KeywordsPhysical Basis Cohesive Energy Total Internal Reflection Diamond Surface Dislocation Theory
These keywords were added by machine and not by the authors. This process is experimental and the keywords may be updated as the learning algorithm improves.
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© Indian Academy of Sciences 1984


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The white grape (also FR 515-91, guarantor) is an interspecific new breed between Solaris x Muscat Bleu, The intersection of hybrid took place in 1991 at the State Wine Institute Freiburg (Baden-Württemberg) by Norbert Becker (1937-2012). The early ripening vine is resistant to frost and both mildews, She is called table grape used. With the same parents are too Galante and Osella emerged.
Pictures: Ursula Bruehl, Doris Schneider, Julius Kühn Institute (JKI)


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Sugar Girls on Schooner Saloonposted on March 7, 2007
This comment was posted anonymously
Swing into action with **Mariah & Scarlett** and the Newest Beauties of the New Millennium visit *** ("wetandplenty".)*** This websight includes fantastic Nude Photos/Movies/Chat Rooms it has just enough to spark your memory or pique your interset to see more.
butt munch on Schooner Saloonposted on April 3, 2006
This comment was posted anonymously
dont bother with this place go to the tip top if you want to see hot girls
Jack on Schooner Saloonposted on February 7, 2006
This comment was posted anonymously
This place is great in it's own way. The place is a total dive bar, located next to a more well-attended dive bar called the Shanty a couple of blocks off of the 101. Unless anything has changed drastically since the last time I was there (doubtful) they only have dancers on Friday and Saturday nights after 9:00 (or 10:00, or whenever the dancers show up - IF they bother to show up!).


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For Immediate Release
Mai Shiozaki, 202-628-8669, ext. 116; cell 202-641-1906
NOW Activists Buoyed by SCOTUS Decisions on Equal Marriage Statement of NOW President Terry O'Neill
WASHINGTON - The National Organization for Women is elated for the many same-sex couples whose loving, committed relationships will now be recognized in law a result of today's Supreme Court rulings on the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) and California's Proposition 8. While we still have not achieved a full constitutional right for same-sex marriage, we are buoyed by the court's decisions to strike down the discriminatory DOMA and to allow the federal trial court's overruling of Proposition 8 to stand. A longtime supporter of marriage equality, NOW has opposed DOMA and Proposition 8 from the start and has sought to advance the rights of those treated as second-class in our society.
Today's DOMA decision represents an enormous victory and a joyous day for married same-sex couples and their families -- and for the promise of equal justice under the law. Put simply, the court will impose a "careful consideration" standard of review on laws that treat couples differently based on sexual orientation. For thousands of same-sex couples, today's ruling means that they can better protect one another and their children by ensuring equitable access to the federal safety net.
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In advocating to overturn Proposition 8, NOW has staunchly maintained that state constitutions are meant to defend the rights of minorities, even (or especially) when the majority threatens to eradicate them. Discriminatory legislation such as Proposition 8 has no place in a nation dedicated to equal rights for all people. With Proposition 8 now a thing of the past and same-sex marriage soon to be fully recognized in California, equal marriage rights cover over 30% of the country's population. Obviously, our struggle is far from over.
With these decisions adding to the momentum for marriage, NOW and our allies will continue working to win the freedom to marry throughout the United States.
This is the world we live in. This is the world we cover.
Because of people like you, another world is possible. There are many battles to be won, but we will battle them together—all of us. Common Dreams is not your normal news site. We don't survive on clicks. We don't want advertising dollars. We want the world to be a better place. But we can't do it alone. It doesn't work that way. We need you. If you can help today—because every gift of every size matters—please do. Without Your Support We Won't Exist.
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The National Organization for Women (NOW) is the largest organization of feminist activists in the United States. NOW has 500,000 contributing members and 550 chapters in all 50 states and the District of Columbia.


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Article Writer
33 year old Business Broker Adney from Manitouwadge, loves to spend time ceramics, . and walking. that included planning to Belovezhskaya Pushcha / Bialowieza Forest.


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In a busy world we have you covered, with several easy options to make contact with us. Our friendly people at 'Team Move' are always responsive, and happy to assist.
Schedule a FREE 15 minute phone consultation appointment through our booking application here.
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|[For Hire] Concept artist & Illustrator
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Hi I'm a freelance concept artist / illustrator.
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Biography of Jamie Nettleton
Contact details
Firm: International Masters of Gaming Law
Email: firstname.lastname@example.com
Office address
International Masters of Gaming Law
PO Box 27106
Las Vegas NV 89126
Jamie Nettleton, Partner, Addisons
Jamie Nettleton heads the gambling law practice of Addisons. Both Australian and international gambling operators rely on Jamie's advice on all aspects of gambling operations, as well as their investments in gambling businesses.
It is Jamie's global reputation that sees him sought after to advise gaming machine manufacturers, wagering operators, casinos, social media, online gambling and other gambling service providers. Jamie's advice includes licensing, regulatory and compliance issues, sports and racing integrity, consumer, advertising and privacy law issues.
Jamie's advice to international gambling operators setting up business in Australia extends to the preparation of prospectuses. Jamie works closely with these clients in developing their Australian business strategies, particularly in connection with new technologies.
Jamie's position at the forefront of gambling law has seen him elected as President of the International Masters of Gaming Law, in addition to his role as a senior fellow at the University of Melbourne as a lecturer in Gambling and the Law. He has also been ranked as a leading gambling lawyer by Chambers Global every year since 2008.