 Blackstone Publishing presents Ice Cold Heart, a monkey-wrench novel by P. J. Tracy. This book is read by Sarah Borges. Prologue. Peter never grew tired of walking the rough, forest trails near his home as Twilight descended. There was beauty in shadows, especially on a night like this, when a voluptuous full moon was rising in a velvety purple sky. To him it looked like a mammoth diamond embellishing a royal cloak. As he walked he admired the spires of pines vaulting high above the lower canopy of leafy oak and maple, all casting eerie silhouettes on the forest floor. He delighted in the first firebugs of the season, punctuating the encroaching darkness like tiny restless candles as they swirled through the woods on their brief mission to mate and die. Eventually he stopped at the familiar clearing on the crest of a small hill where the trees opened up to reveal a moon-spangled lake. He heard waterfowl flutter and fuss and squawk in their night-time nests. Bullfrogs were synchronizing in an amorous corral and a pair of cats let out ear-splitting yowls which preceded a union. It was mating season for just about everything in the forest, but there was also plenty of death afoot. While mating rituals were loud and riotous, the art of death was largely silent. A finely attuned ear might pick up the hushed swoop of an owl's wings as it dove in for a kill the rustle of a clever fox pouncing through tall grass to take its quarry, and maybe even the faint pad of a larger group of predators like wolves stocking a vulnerable fawn. All were stealthy bringers of death efficient, brutal and without remorse. Yes, death was mostly silent until the cries of the dying pierced the air. They didn't last long, and there were no sounds after that. He continued on to the abandoned cabin that had once sheltered hunters during inclement weather. How ironic that it now sheltered the hunted. The door creaked open on rusty hinges, and he smelled mold, dirt, shit, blood. He trained his flashlight on the seven dishonest men and women, the traitors, who were huddled in the corner, bound, blindfolded and tethered to the wall. He'd also gagged them, because he had no interest in hearing their lies or their pleas. They still struggled, but very feebly now. Their cries definitely wouldn't last long. All complete. Ready to continue?