"5 Stars!...Here is a medical thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat from cover-to-cover. Loaded with non-stop action and suspense, I found it very hard to pull myself away. The characters are well structured and it is easy to think of them as real people. Author Lori Soard has a winner with this title."—Detra Fitch, The Huntress Reviews

"Lori Soard has given us a story of murder and intrigue...You are swept a way with Celeste and Jake as they try to solve Ben’s murder and find out who had taken Ben’s notes. This story has one twist and turn after another. Pick up a copy of this story and find out if Celeste and Jake can find the fountain of youth before someone ends their lives."—Lydia Funneman, Writers Unlimited Reviewer

"...An exciting tale that begins with a bang almost from page one and keeps turning up new and exciting things all the way to the end, which is very exciting and extremely satisfying. But, there, I have already probably said too much. I give it a 7 of 10 on the Weaver meter. You should pick up a copy as soon as it hits the bookshelves. You won't be sorry."—Sid Weaver, Mainly Mysteries

Deep shadows lurked in unseen corners of the parking garage. An icy chill brushed past Benjamin Monroe's ankles, reminding him he'd forgotten to buy new socks. The ones he wore were threadbare and no protection against the coming winter.

He gripped the handle of his briefcase and walked faster. He didn't have time to worry about socks or anything else at the moment. It was more important he get his discovery to a secure location. A gentle click-clack-click reached his ears and trailed shivers down his spine.

He stopped, breathing heavily, very aware of the smell of spilled oil and musty corners. "Who's there?"

No answer. Benjamin laughed-the sound ricocheted off the concrete pillars. He was paranoid. Few knew of his secret, but soon his discovery would help millions.

It would earn millions in the right hands, a sinister voice whispered through his head. He'd spent the last thirty years working on this research, living off of the small salary Evan Van Ester and the E.V.E. Corporation paid. He wasn't about to sell out at this point. The discovery represented a legacy he could pass on to his daughter Celeste—and her children after her.

Benjamin spotted his Ford Taurus and juggled the briefcase and his keys. Click. Clack. Click. He stopped, spun around and searched the empty garage. It was late. He'd lost track of time again and the building was all but deserted. Yet, the presence of someone else—back there, somewhere in the shadows—caused him to pick up his pace yet again.

Click. Clack. Click.

Panting, Benjamin broke into a run.

Click. Clack. Click. Click. Click.

He wrestled with his keys, trying to find the right one and wondering why he hadn't invested in a keyless entry system.

Click. Clack. Clack.

Silence.

Benjamin didn't have to look behind him to know someone now stood in the weak light of the garage lamps. He could hear the breathing, smell the heavy sweat, and feel the presence of evil ripple across the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He turned.