Brigit Zahara - Sandwich Play,
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An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Sandwich Play
ISBN 9781419919169
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Sandwich Play Copyright © 2008 Brigit Zahara
Edited by Helen Woodall.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication November 2008
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in
part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing,
Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of
this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or
print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement
without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and
editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your
support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales
is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
S
ANDWICH
P
LAY
Brigit Zahara
Dedication
For Tracy
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the
following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Architectural Digest:
Advance Magazine Publishers Inc.
Camaro: General Motors Corporation
Clinique Elixir: Clinique Laboratories, LLC LTD LIAB Co.
Fiat: Fiat S.p.A. Corporation
Glock: Glock Gesellschaft M.B.H. LTD LIAB
Jell-O: General Foods Corporation
Lego: Lego Juris A/S Corporation
Sandwich Play
Chapter One
Officer Trisha Sutton pulled her car into the parking lot of the all-night convenience
store somewhere around eleven p.m. Thursday night and cut the engine. Having just
dropped off her partner at his home in Queens after their routine eight-hour patrol
shift, she decided to pop in and see if she could pick up a few not-all-that-necessary
things before heading to her brownstone in the Bronx. Truth be told, she was in no
hurry to go home. She wouldn’t be able to sleep—at least not very well or for very long.
There was nothing to do—summer TV viewing was at an all-time low—and there was
no one there waiting for her. Unless you counted D’Artagnan. Her cat.
Each night when Trisha returned from work, the orange tabby, miffed at its owner’s
late afternoon and early evening absence, would be more than a little standoffish for the
first twenty minutes or so. Only when he felt he had punished Trisha adequately would
he saunter over and allow her to scratch his ears.
What remained of their night from there was pretty much routine. Trisha would
take a shower, nuke some leftovers in the microwave and devour them while channel
surfing on the tube. She might do some reading or even try to unwind with a little yoga
before going to bed. After four, maybe five hours’ sleep, she’d get up and do it all over
again. That was her life and had been ever since the death of her husband, Roger,
almost two years ago. Both dedicated to serving the community, they had met and
fallen in love on the force, together vowing to make a difference in the city they called
home. In his memory, Trisha kept that commitment.
Inside the brightly lit food and gas stop, Trisha grabbed a basket and headed for the
produce. After selecting a couple of tomatoes and a head of lettuce, she turned down
the hot beverage aisle halting halfway at the sight before her. Trisha stared at the profile
5
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zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl lemansa.htw.pl
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Sandwich Play
ISBN 9781419919169
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Sandwich Play Copyright © 2008 Brigit Zahara
Edited by Helen Woodall.
Cover art by Syneca.
Electronic book Publication November 2008
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in
part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing,
Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of
this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or
print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement
without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and
editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your
support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales
is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
S
ANDWICH
P
LAY
Brigit Zahara
Dedication
For Tracy
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the
following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Architectural Digest:
Advance Magazine Publishers Inc.
Camaro: General Motors Corporation
Clinique Elixir: Clinique Laboratories, LLC LTD LIAB Co.
Fiat: Fiat S.p.A. Corporation
Glock: Glock Gesellschaft M.B.H. LTD LIAB
Jell-O: General Foods Corporation
Lego: Lego Juris A/S Corporation
Sandwich Play
Chapter One
Officer Trisha Sutton pulled her car into the parking lot of the all-night convenience
store somewhere around eleven p.m. Thursday night and cut the engine. Having just
dropped off her partner at his home in Queens after their routine eight-hour patrol
shift, she decided to pop in and see if she could pick up a few not-all-that-necessary
things before heading to her brownstone in the Bronx. Truth be told, she was in no
hurry to go home. She wouldn’t be able to sleep—at least not very well or for very long.
There was nothing to do—summer TV viewing was at an all-time low—and there was
no one there waiting for her. Unless you counted D’Artagnan. Her cat.
Each night when Trisha returned from work, the orange tabby, miffed at its owner’s
late afternoon and early evening absence, would be more than a little standoffish for the
first twenty minutes or so. Only when he felt he had punished Trisha adequately would
he saunter over and allow her to scratch his ears.
What remained of their night from there was pretty much routine. Trisha would
take a shower, nuke some leftovers in the microwave and devour them while channel
surfing on the tube. She might do some reading or even try to unwind with a little yoga
before going to bed. After four, maybe five hours’ sleep, she’d get up and do it all over
again. That was her life and had been ever since the death of her husband, Roger,
almost two years ago. Both dedicated to serving the community, they had met and
fallen in love on the force, together vowing to make a difference in the city they called
home. In his memory, Trisha kept that commitment.
Inside the brightly lit food and gas stop, Trisha grabbed a basket and headed for the
produce. After selecting a couple of tomatoes and a head of lettuce, she turned down
the hot beverage aisle halting halfway at the sight before her. Trisha stared at the profile
5
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