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Snowflake's Revenge, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book Four): The Jake Stone Thrillers, #4
Snowflake's Revenge, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book Four): The Jake Stone Thrillers, #4
Snowflake's Revenge, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book Four): The Jake Stone Thrillers, #4
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Snowflake's Revenge, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book Four): The Jake Stone Thrillers, #4

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In this fast and furious fourth installment of the hot new series, The Jake Stone Thrillers, Jake for a change must come to the rescue of his lovely and ferocious friend, Snowflake, instead of the other way around. Is Jake up to the task, or will Snowflake's powerful enemies overwhelm him?

If you aren't yet acquainted with this rollicking new series, check out Deception, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book One)for a novel take on the battle of the sexes.

"In this fourth volume of The Jake Stone Thrillers, Jake turns introspective, Snowflake gets really mad, and when one of their old rivals unexpectedly shows up, all hell breaks loose. I loved this book for many reasons, but especially because Snowflake finally shows us her softer side. But don't worry. Her hard side is still on display and in your face. The ending of the story suggests that another installment is on the way. I hope so. Four books, about 700 pages, and nearly 200,000 words later, I'm still hankering for more." Theodora K.

"There's no question that Peters is a master wordsmith." Gerry B's Book Reviews

"T.L. Peters' way of writing is wonderful." Kyanara

LanguageEnglish
PublisherT.L. Peters
Release dateOct 18, 2011
ISBN9781465800817
Snowflake's Revenge, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book Four): The Jake Stone Thrillers, #4
Author

T.L. Peters

"There's no question that Peters is a master wordsmith." Gerry B's Book Reviews About the author: T.L. Peters is an ex-lawyer who enjoys playing the violin and giving his dog long walks in the woods. In between, he writes novels.

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    Snowflake's Revenge, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book Four) - T.L. Peters

    Snowflake’s Revenge, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book Four)

    By T.L. Peters

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2011 T.L. Peters

    License Notes

    This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

    To read more about the author and his other books, go to http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tlpeters.

    In this fourth volume of The Jake Stone Thrillers, Jake turns introspective, Snowflake gets mad, and when one of their old rivals unexpectedly shows up, all hell breaks loose. I loved this book, especially because Snowflake finally shows us her softer side. Don’t worry though. Her hard side is still well in evidenced and in your face. The ending of the story suggests that another installment is on the way. I hope so. Four books, about 700 pages and nearly 200,000 words later, I’m still hankering for more. Theodora K.

    There’s no question that Peters is a master wordsmith. Gerry B’s Book Reviews

    Chapter 1

    A pleasant little trip turns nasty.

    Jake Stone climbed into the small white minibus parked in Plaza Sucre in Copacabana, Bolivia and paid the driver 20 bolivianos, or about three U.S. dollars, for the scenic three and a half hour ride back to the capital city of La Paz. He and Snowflake had traveled to the tiny Bolivian beach town on the banks of Lake Titicaca, the highest commercially navigable lake in the world at an elevation of over 12,000 feet above sea level, for a week long vacation.

    Snowflake, however, had returned a day early to La Paz, where she and Jake now lived, to take care of some housekeeping chores. They had moved to this more mountainous and arid region from the lowland city of Santa Cruz, where Snowflake's aggressive interactions with some of the local drug lords had caused an uncomfortable stir. Their long time servant, John Burns, and Jake's former secretary and, under Snowflake's close tutelage, the current Bolivian intergender wrestling champ, Nancy Jakes, were getting married, and there was much for Snowflake to do in planning the event.

    Jake though had wanted to stay an extra day in Copacabana to once again climb the 600 foot mountain, known to the locals as Cerro Calvario, which looked out on the town and the lake. Jake loved the spectacular view from Calvario's summit, especially of the calm crystal blue waters that seemed to merge seamlessly with the deep blue horizon beyond. He hoped that one day his life with the sometimes tumultuous Snowflake would be just as calm, but he wasn't counting on it any time soon.

    The steep climb up the mountain was fine exercise too, especially in the crisp, oxygen-starved air. Jake needed to keep himself in outstanding shape for his frequent wrestling matches with Snowflake, which to his dismay she still mostly won.

    While Jake loved the natural scenery, Snowflake preferred the far more human spectacle of a grand wedding. She adored the ceremony so much that Jake feared that after John and Nancy were formally hitched, Snowflake would turn her matrimonial attention to Jake. Jake, of course, still loved Snowflake, but there was a certain permanence embodied in a legal ceremony that he found unsettling. After all, Jake still wasn't sure that he could thoroughly trust her.

    How could he ever fully trust a woman who had with such cold-blooded zeal dispatched her own mother and sister, even if they were a pair of devious crooks and murderers themselves? But what he could do to prevent an official wedding between him and his Amazonian friend, Jake had no idea. What Snowflake wanted, she generally got.

    There were just two other passengers in the van. One was a dark haired man of Spanish descent attired in a brilliantly white cotton shirt and khaki pants. The other was a chunky young Aymara man, the Aymara being one of the two major indigenous peoples still living in that ancient land. He had a broad face and deep black pools for eyes, and he was dressed in a colorful sweater made of local llama hair. Jake, however, paid them little attention. He had other things on his mind.

    It had been over three years since he and Snowflake had fled to Bolivia to escape embezzlement and other charges stemming from their unlawful appropriation of the Bradshaw business empire. Since then they had not been molested or bothered even once, either by pesky U.S. law enforcement authorities, or by any of the vicious female thugs whom they had so often fought and defeated back in the States.

    As usual, Snowflake had been right. When the shepherd is struck down, the sheep scatter. With the violent deaths of Snowflake's mother, Arianna, and her sister, Sandy, it seemed that their respective armies of women bodybuilders and assassins who had managed to survive the many brawls and battles with Jake and Snowflake had gone on to pursue other ventures. And on the legal front, Jake was of the opinion that so long as diplomatic relations between Bolivia and the United States remained cool and even hostile, the threat of extradition back to the States seemed remote at best.

    The bottom line to all of this was that as long as they remained in Bolivia, Jake and Snowflake felt reasonably safe. And because they had managed to transfer a decent slice of their investments into Bolivian banks and out of the reach of U.S. authorities, they had plenty of money to pay off local Bolivian officials and still live quite comfortably. Bribes were a cost of doing business in Bolivia, just as they were in the United States, except in Bolivia there was little public outrage at the practice. That was fine with Jake and Snowflake. With their long record of crimes and misdemeanors, they needed all the official protection they could buy.

    At the moment things were going so well that life seemed almost boring for the formerly flamboyant couple. That all changed, for Jake at least, right after the driver of the van entered the city of El Alto, a great sprawling urban hub that sits on the dry and dusty Andean plane directly above La Paz. The driver abruptly turned off the main road and onto a muddy dirt track. A car in front stopped, and five men armed with automatic rifles raced out and surrounded the van.

    The driver of the van immediately climbed out and began talking pleasantly to one of the gunmen. The two passengers quickly turned on the startled young lawyer. The Aymaran fellow pinned Jake's arms behind his back, while the other one tried to cover Jake's face with a handkerchief dripping with a dense and sweet smelling liquid that Jake immediately suspected was chloroform.

    Jake, who had maintained a vigorous martial arts regimen under Snowflake's watchful eye, managed to squirm out of the Aymara's grip and then bend the chunky fellow's thumb back far enough that Jake could hear the bone snap. As the Aymara was writhing in pain, Jake head butted the other assailant, who was still trying to press the chloroform drenched cloth against Jake's nose. The head butt was perfectly timed and executed, and the man instantly fell unconscious to the floor of the van.

    Woozy from the effects of the chloroform, Jake struggled out the passenger door only to be conked on the side of the head by the smooth butt of a rifle. The last image that flickered through Jake's mind before he blacked out was Snowflake's blond hair and green eyes shimmering under the clear tropical skies. Jake couldn't tell if she was physically present, or whether he was just imagining that she had somehow miraculously appeared to rescue him once again. Jake even fondly muttered her name as he slumped onto the wet ground.

    Chapter 2

    Just prior to passing out Jake actually had seen a blond haired, green eyed woman standing over him. The problem for him was that the woman wasn't his friend, Snowflake. She was rather a girl in her late twenties who went by the name of Buttercup. And if Jake had enjoyed just a moment longer to study her, he would have seen that the physical disparity between this woman and his beloved Snowflake was remarkable.

    While Snowflake was tall and muscular and athletic, Buttercup could reasonably be called a genuine monster of a woman. She stood six foot six inches tall in her bare feet, and she had arms like tree trunks. Her neck in its breadth and stubbiness resembled that of a middle linebacker, and each of her legs were as thick as Jake's waist. Her wrists were nearly as big around as Jake's biceps, and her forearms were wider and harder than the meatiest barrel of any Major League slugger's favorite baseball bat, and nearly as hard .

    Her feet, which were generally bare since she felt that shoes were for weaklings, were laced with sinewy muscle and bulging veins, and her calves were as tough and firm and round as tires. Her upper back was one slab upon another of thick unyielding muscle, and her waist was so ripped that a silver dollar would have easily disappeared within the folds of her constantly pulsating muscles.

    Her only physical weakness was that she was near sighted and had to wear contacts. She had considered Lasik surgery to fix the problem, but she was afraid of going blind in the process. Buttercup neither liked nor trusted doctors. Buttercup did not like or trust anybody, except her boss, whom she immediately called on her cell phone as soon as Jake had passed out.

    Take her to the dungeon, the husky voice on the other end intoned fiercely.

    Do you want me to kill him there? Buttercup snarled, her green eyes picking up a burst of sunshine and momentarily reflecting it back onto the clear blue sky.

    Not yet, came the brawny reply. We may still need him.

    What about the rest of our plan? Buttercup asked, her voice getting even thicker and meaner the longer she talked.

    Carry it out as we discussed, the other voice bellowed.

    Should we call tSnowflake and ask for a ransom, just to flush her out, I mean?

    Don't call anybody, the voice answered. Let Snowflake come to us.

    It may take her a while to figure it all out, Buttercup replied, her disappointment showing by the maze of steroid induced wrinkles fanning out over her forehead and along the corners of her mouth. I've heard that she's not the smartest woman in the world.

    The other voice laughed wickedly.

    She's smart enough. It'll be fun to watch her spin her wheels for a while. If I know her, which I think I do, she'll keep on killing and killing until she finds her poor dear sweet Jake Stone.

    Why don't we just kill her now when her guard is down? Buttercup asked grimly.

    Snowflake's guard is never down. Now do as I say.

    Buttercup grudgingly closed her phone and then ordered the gunmen to load Jake's body into the trunk of their car, a black 2011 BMW sedan. As they were gathering around Jake's limp body preparing to grab his arms and legs, the Aymaran man with the now shattered thumb crawled squealing out of the van while holding his injured hand up into the air. Buttercup walked slowly over to him and asked if he was all right. He nodded weakly.

    Well, you won't be all right anymore, she snapped.

    She immediately reached down with one arm, clutched the man's narrow throat with her meaty fingers and lifted him high into the air. Just then the other man, the one who had tried to knock Jake out with the chloroform, stumbled past. He must have breathed in a little too much of the drug himself and could barely stay on his feet. Buttercup chose to steady him too, grabbing him around the throat with her other hand and likewise lifting him high into the air.

    For a few minutes the feet of both men flailed helplessly about a yard off the ground, as the oxygen gradually eked out of their lungs. Suddenly their legs and feet went limp, and their bodies jerked and twitched oddly for a few moments before slumping into a motionless slouch. But just to make sure they were dead, Buttercup cracked their necks one right after the other with a quick jerk of her powerful forefingers and thumbs. She then tossed the bodies into

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