Blood Ice

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Overview

Sam Goren retired from a career as a successful jeweler in the diamond industry and was enjoying life ... until he ended up dead. He left behind a daughter, Danielle, who had taken over the family business five years before. As many come to honor her father, Danny wonders about their reasons; she never liked the man. Even so, there is one man there to pay homage who she likes even less.

Rafi Cardinel is part of a diff rent diamond family. Both Danny and Rafi were raised with the...

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Blood Ice

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Overview

Sam Goren retired from a career as a successful jeweler in the diamond industry and was enjoying life ... until he ended up dead. He left behind a daughter, Danielle, who had taken over the family business five years before. As many come to honor her father, Danny wonders about their reasons; she never liked the man. Even so, there is one man there to pay homage who she likes even less.

Rafi Cardinel is part of a diff rent diamond family. Both Danny and Rafi were raised with the legacy of family business. For some reason, however, Danny's father took a liking to Rafi , which left her cold. With Sam dead, she can move on with her business and not think about Rafi . Little does she know that her father's death is tied to a mystery that threatens one of the biggest diamond houses in the world.

Now, Danny must work with Rafi -her nemesis-in order to save the diamonds she worked so hard to acquire. It won't be easy, especially since someone wants her dead. In and out of danger, her feelings grow toward Rafi and his for her. But they soon realize the mystery is much deeper than murder, and in this case the sins of the fathers could kill.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781469787213
  • Publisher: iUniverse, Incorporated
  • Publication date: 4/3/2012
  • Pages: 192
  • Product dimensions: 5.50 (w) x 8.50 (h) x 0.56 (d)

Read an Excerpt

Blood Ice


By J. Mykle Levitt

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 J. Mykle Levitt
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4697-8720-6


Chapter One

On the third floor of the abandoned warehouse festooned with peeling paint and dust-ridden floors, the old man stood in front of the broken panes, waiting. His Fedora covered his head. His wool coat covered his body.. His glove-covered hands lay to his sides, showing his diamond cufflinks, which enhanced his shirt. His shoes shone glossy; his face worn. He was watching, waiting, for soon it would be done and he could concentrate on his true mission—a mission that began years before.

Then a young, muscular man with a large, oblong bag slung over his shoulder came into the old man's focus from across the street. The bag bobbed with each jogging step he took in the late-October rain. He headed for the alley that housed the entrance to the warehouse and then came into the warehouse from its side.

The elevator's hum came to the third floor, then stopped, with a clatter. The old man heard footsteps coming up behind him across the floor. The old man didn't turn. He didn't look. He didn't need to. He knew what was in the bag, and he felt a smirk growing on his face. The young man walked across the creaking floor and dropped the bag with a thud next to the old man. Then he stood, awaiting his next orders.

"Goot," the old man said as he turned to look at his prize. "Open de bag."

The young man unzipped the bag, and a smile from the old man took the place of his smirk; either way, his features looked treacherous at best. The old man's eyes twinkled. The first leg of his plans was almost finished. From his pocket, the old man took out a diamond signet ring, leaned down, and put it on the pinky of the wide-eyed corpse. Oddly, it fit, and that angered the old man. He sneered and then threw the corpse's arm back atop its body.

"I carry your bags no more, Sam Goren. No more," the old man said to the eyes that looked into nothing.

The old man chuckled. It was a perfect sight. Sam Goren was dead and gone from the old man's life forever.

"Hans," the old man said, "finish him. I vant no remnants of de bastard."

From inside the corpse's bag, the young man pulled out a wooden four-by-four post and began.

The old man watched as the end of the post heaved onto the face of the dead with brutal force and bludgeoned it to a pulp, blood seeping from the fresh kill. Now for the teeth. Those that escaped Hans's post, he plucked out and pulverized on the floor, which mixed well with the dust. A smile came to the young man's lips as each tooth was ground into powder, and then he looked at the old man.

The old man smiled, for the bloodletting did the dead justice. He couldn't be more pleased.

"I've had enough of your prowling," the old man said to the corpse. "Enough. Now you're a shell of a man who can never take vhat's not yours again. Never again, Sam Goren. Never again. You'll no longer take from me, you bastard. You're finally vhere you need to be—out of my life. Dis was long overdue—thirty-seven years overdue."

With that, the old man spit on the kill without a second thought. He sneered. Seeing the mutilated face of Sam Goren was sweeter than any expectations he could have. There were no words to describe the old man's enthusiasm.

"Set de charge. I vant no fingerprints or any udder problems," the old man barked as he turned and shuffled to the elevator.

The young man pulled a stick of C-4 from inside the bag that had held the corpse. The explosive was wired with a mercury detonator, and the young man placed it close to the body while the old man entered the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. The old man refused to get his hands dirty. That was for Hans. Hans would do his bidding. The old man was in the clear.

Soon the elevator hummed as it climbed to the top and then back to the bottom. Once it reached the bottom, Hans helped the old man across the street as fast as the old man could go. Hans egged him on against the hard rain. As they crossed the street, they ran past Sam Goren's car and continued on. The plate read SG1. Halfway down the street sat an old Chevy. As they reached the old clunker, Hans opened the passenger-side door and helped the old man inside. Then he closed the door and ran to the driver's side.

"Let's go," the old man said, and they drove away from the dead district, as well as the dead Sam Goren.

From the glove box, the old man took out a signaling device. He pulled the antenna to its fullest extent and then pressed the red button. Within a millisecond, the sound of a massive explosion blew through the warehouse district. A ball of fire followed that turned night into day.

"Ve must hurry. Dhey're vaiting," the old man said. The district had flames of life again—his life, his flames.

They turned a corner and were gone.

After a good twenty miles, they arrived at a forgotten airstrip north of the city. There, a private jet was idling, ready for passengers. Hans stopped the car, jumped out, and ran around the car to aid the old man's exit and got him to the plane, but the old man shoved Hans away. He needed no help. As the old man walked to the plane, Hans left another stick of C-4 with the same detonator on the passenger's seat. With haste, Hans hurried to the old man, who'd taken the stairs of the jet. The door closed as the old man took his seat.

"You know vhat to do, Hans," the old man said and patted the young man on the arm.

Hans nodded, went to the front of the plane, and gazed upon the Chevy through the jet's window. As soon as the plane was up and in flight and the Chevy was the size of a peanut, he took another signaling device from his pocket. He pulled up the antenna and pushed the red button. From their altitude, Hans saw a flash of light explode into the night, almost like a firecracker with muscle. He went to the old man and stood as if waiting for his puppy treat for doing well.

The old man smiled at him and then leaned back into his chair with closed eyes.

It was done.

Chapter Two

"Sam Goren," the newspaper reported, "was a successful jeweler in the diamond industry and a loving father, survived by his daughter, Danielle."

She tossed the obituary onto her loveseat with little regard. "Loving father my ass," she retorted, quite satisfied the s.o.b. was dead, and zipped up her leather skirt. Danielle didn't need to read the whole piece. What she'd seen was enough.

She would have liked to have shaken the killer's hand, but she didn't want to seem over the top. Instead, she stepped to her bed and, from under her pillow, pulled out a Walther PPK, a nice pistol without a lot of kick. "With Sam gone, I won't be needing you anymore. Good bye, ol' friend."

She softly smiled at the gun and then dropped it into her nightstand drawer. She grabbed her diamond signet ring from the top and put it on.

After she walked to her floor-length mirror to give herself a once over, Danielle donned her heels and grabbed her matching blazer.

"No more Sam. I don't believe it." She shook her head. "So what's wrong with this picture?" she murmured and then headed for the door without another thought—at least for now.

Sam was killed a month before; it took that long to identify the body. It was next to impossible except for his signet ring and car in the front of the building. DNA couldn't be used to identify the corpse, he was so crispy. They could only assume and let it go at that. Quite frankly, she could have cared less as long as the bastard was going in the ground. Danielle knew it was a horrid thing to say or even think, but she had to be honest. During that month, she hadn't even missed him. To her, he was in Europe like he had been so often for the past five years. It had only had been a week since the police told her, but she didn't care. During that month it was like a breath of fresh air—just like any other time the bastard was gone. Then she heard, "Danny," from the bottom of the staircase.

As she walked down the open stairway, she saw a portly woman at the bottom. It was Danielle's maid, but more importantly, her confidante, Beatrice "Bert" Arnold.

"Now Danny, if you can't look unhappy, at least fake it," Bert said.

"Of course ..."

This was all a game to Danielle—just niceties. No one but Bert knew the love between her and her father; no one.

"Rafi flew all the way from Tel Aviv for the funeral," Bert mentioned.

"And you were expecting ...? He's giving the damn eulogy. Criminy, I hope he doesn't carry on for hours."

Bert just pursed her lips. She knew there was no love lost between Danielle and Rafi. It was too bad; they would have made a good pair. But that was Bert's maternal side talking, and she knew it.

"Is the limo here yet?"

"I don't know." Bert went to the window in the large entry to look.

"Aren't they the ones who ring the doorbell?"

Just as Danielle asked, the bell rang.

"Now, Danny, try to be good," Bert said, shaking her finger.

"Going to the funeral is being good. Don't push it."

Bert rolled her eyes, grabbed her coat, and opened the door. "We'll be with you in a moment," she told the driver.

The driver tipped his hat and walked back to the limo.

Danielle walked out into the fresh air. The November leaves had all but gone, and the trees seemed so frail and sad, all but the oaks. They looked like arthritic fingers looking for a handout. She snickered. Great Neck, New York, never looked so uninviting. From her window in the limo, she gazed at the estates of large lawns and small castles. With an overcast sky, everything looked so dead. Her snicker widened. Sam was dead—as dead as the weather. She'd rather be at the office than dealing with this crap, but the one light in her life at that moment was that Sam was going in the ground. That seemed to brighten the dreariest of days.

Dear God, she thought, if people only knew. A bittersweet smile came to her face as she lit a cigarette and thought of Sam.

* * *

Danielle could hear the pandemonium at the funeral home. Everybody and their brother seemed to want to say good-bye to the late, great Sam Goren. He was quite the philanthropist good guy when needed. Since Danielle was in the family room off to the side of the main receiving room with Bert, Danielle couldn't see everyone there, except for Rafi Cardinel. Out of respect, she'd called him with the news about Sam's death on the night she found out. It was righteous indignation on Danielle's part. Sam and Rafi had been close for eighteen years or so. Sam had helped Rafi build up his diamond business in Israel. Rafi was the son Sam never had.

Danielle had her own father-daughter relationship with Abe Stern. He'd taken her under his wing at around the same time Sam had Rafi. Sam and Danielle had no relationship except for their hatred. Both were guilty of that—but there was always a reason for all emotions, no matter how misplaced. Out of the blue, Sam had given Danielle free reign over the business five years before, and she ran with it. Danielle was more than qualified and did very well. Abe was always there to help if needed since he was in the same business, but Sam never was. She was bold and daring, and no one could do what she'd done with the business. Her quotas were far reaching.

Danielle had listened to the BS about Sam from the rabbi and now the eulogy from Rafi. Danielle cringed as she listened to his acclaim of Sam. It was truly sickening.

"Too bad I couldn't have given the eulogy," Danielle said to Bert.

"Danny, the man is dead."

"See, every cloud does have a silver lining."

"Danny ..."

"How long is this going to take?"

"Why? You planning on going somewhere?"

"I'd like to."

Bert just sighed in resignation. She knew all about Sam and Danielle's relationship. She was front and center and the only one who knew about it; not even Rafi knew. Danielle was all alone in that regard.

At the cemetery, the services were shorter than at the funeral home. To Danielle it was a blessing, but more than that, it gave her a chance to see who was there and who wasn't. That prodded her to narrow her eyes through her sunglasses. It was strange that Abe wasn't there. Abe didn't like Sam, but Danielle figured he'd be there just to make sure the bastard was really dead. So where was he?

The consolation meal was held at Danielle's house. Caterers ran in and out of the kitchen and into the dining room with their goodies for the dog and pony show. Cars lined the driveway and spilled out into the street. Danielle thought it was a fucking circus. Hell, even the clowns were all present and accounted for. As Danielle and Bert peeked into the dining room, Bert grabbed Danielle's arm and said, "Now, Danny, be good."

"This isn't a day to be good. It's a day to be careful."

And speaking of all the clowns, all of Sam's cohorts were in the dining room. In the corner was the largest of the clowns, Baron Edmond DeViamond. He was a pompous prick and Sam's best buddy. He put his monocle to his eye and gave Danielle a nod. A true sleaze bucket from way back, he was in the diamond industry as well. It was his family business. Danielle just tipped her head, crossed her arms, and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. She figured that was all he deserved.

Bert stood behind Danielle and looked over her shoulder into the dining room. "A lot of people," she commented.

"Sam was always quite the personality when in motion," Danielle replied. "And all this for Sam. Good Lord."

"The baron looks distraught," Bert noted.

"About as distraught as a plague salesman."

"Danny, the man flew all the way from Amsterdam to be here."

"Funny, his arms don't look tired, and as far as Amsterdam goes, it's deductible."

"Danny ..."

Danielle next looked at a waif of a woman standing next to the baron—Lydia Small. She had been Sam's secretary for over twenty years. Danielle had always wondered about that woman. How could she be with Sam for that long?

"Lydia looks good," Bert mentioned.

"Yeah, for someone who'd been screwin' Sam."

"Danny ..." Bert poked Danielle in the ribs.

"Look, I'm just happy Boris is working out for me."

"As happy as Sam was with Lydia?"

That voice. Danielle didn't need to turn. She didn't need to look but did and placed a gracious smile on her lips without looking too artificial.

"Well, Cardinel. It's nice to see you here."

"I could say the same thing to you, Danielle."

Danielle's graciousness dropped like the mercury on a cold day. "Oooh, that hurt. I didn't think we were going to get nasty until the bonus round."

Bert just looked down, not knowing what to say. She knew their history as well.

"Excuse me, Cardinel. There's a lot of people here I don't want to see," Danielle said and then walked away.

* * *

In her library, Danielle fell back against the double doors as if to keep the ills of the world out or possibly to a dull roar. She admitted she'd been sarcastic, droll, and dry, but Cardinel always did bring out the best in her.

Rafi Cardinel, she thought. Sam's son or the son of Sam might be more appropriate. And what was she to Sam—chopped liver? Quite frankly, yes. Was she jealous of Sam's and Rafi's relationship? No. She knew what Sam was capable of because she'd been at the other end of the stick. (She knew the Jekyll from the Hyde.) Sam's death was merely a tit-for-tat.

She had Abe, yet he wasn't at the funeral, which was more than odd. As she'd thought before, he should have been at the funeral, if nothing else but to ease her pains—like there were any. That's why Danielle went to the funeral—not out of necessity, though it did look good on her part. But Rafi ... She knew she sounded like she'd been vaccinated with a phonograph needle, but Rafi was the son Sam never had. But then, Rafi had been manipulated by the master. She didn't mean to make it sound as if Sam didn't really care about Rafi, because he sincerely did. She knew that for a fact.

Rafi Cardinel had been a thorn in her side for over eighteen years, yet he was a man to be reckoned with, though she'd rather not. He was intelligent, forthright, and a damn good person. Sam had helped Rafi turn his small diamond business into an empire unto itself. It wasn't that Danielle didn't like Rafi because she did. She just couldn't understand how an intelligent man like Rafi Cardinel could fall for Sam. She couldn't down him for it. Sam's eloquent pandering could bullshit anyone ... anyone but her. Shrewd, cunning, and far from being naïve, Sam was the kind of man who'd stab you in the back while paying for the dinner he'd just served you, and all with a smile.

Danielle walked to her desk and pulled out the middle drawer. There, in plain sight, was Sam's half-melted ring. The initials were barely legible, but the one-carat diamond was still housed in the ring. It didn't mean a damn thing to her. She felt no emotions as she picked it up and looked at it—not one damn emotion except maybe the one she shouldn't: relief. Either way, she wouldn't give it much more thought.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Blood Ice by J. Mykle Levitt Copyright © 2012 by J. Mykle Levitt. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 9, 2013

    Icestatic's Bio

    Name: Duh!<p>Gender: Female<p>Age: 32 moons old<p>Rank: Warrior<p>Clan: Sunclan<p>Apprentice: None<p>Former Mentor: None, self-taught<p>Skills: Spying, tracking, hunting, fighting<p>Powers: Control over ice<p>Weaknesses: Extreme heat, her family and clan<p>Looks:<p>Fur: Dark grey fur<p>Eyes: Bright green eyes<p>Mate: Yes; Blackshine<p>Crush: Blackshine<p>Kits: Nightshade, Firestatic, Lightkit, Bluestorm, Skypelt, Darkstripe (Deceased), Waterflower, Birchstream<p>Siblings: Goldraven (Deceased), Badgerkit (Deceased)<p>Parents:<p>Mother: Moonglow<p>Father: Foxtail<p>Other In-Laws: Blade, Toxin, Sage<p>Theme Song: Die Another Day by Madonna<p>History: She was born in a clan that rejected kits with powers. Her parents took their entire litter and fled. While traveling, her parents and Badgerkit, her brother, were killed by a pack of foxes. Goldkit and Icekit barely escaped and found their way to another clan. They received their app names, but right after the ceremony, they left camp to look for their parents in case they had survived. A terrible storm rose up and Goldpaw and Icepaw were seperated. Icepaw arrived in Sunclan and Goldpaw continued to wander lost in the woods. Eventually, Goldpaw found his way to Sunclan and they trained together. After and accident, she sucessfully healed a cat and decided to become a med cat. Because Sunclan needed a med cat, both Goldpaw and she got their warrior names early. The world was awesome for three moons, but then Goldraven went on a solo hunting mission. He ran into a rouge and they started fighting. His screeches attacted another patrol which had Icestatic in it. They arrived just as both cats delt the killing blow. Goldraven died of bloodloss and Icestatic carried his body back to camp for vigil. She moved on with her life until she was 21 moons old. While out collecting herbs she was forcemated and learned she was going to have cats a few moons later. Asking for advice, she met Silentfang, the son of Blade and Toxin, two known assasins. She didn't know his heritage and asked for his clan to hide her until she had her kits. They protected her and she snuck out once she realized they were evil. She attacked an assasin named Flamecrash to save some captured kits before going to a secret place to have kits. Silentfang tracked her down and protected her and her kits. Flamecrash attacked when silentfang was offline and she had to flee constantly until she settled in sunclan again. She took on a secet role as arsenic to spy on the GOA and got to know Silentfang before revealing her true identity. (History continued in the next result.)

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