Free The Chase by DiAnn Mills Page A

slid inside her car, the new-car scent reminding her of how much she valued the Jag’s performance.
    She pulled onto the highway and punched in her mother’s number, ignoring the flashing light that reminded her Meredith had called. Dealing with her agent’s continuous tirade after such a rewarding day wasn’t on the calendar.
    “Hey, Mom. Got your message.”
    “Wanted to say I saw you on the six o’clock news. The camera did a panoramic view of those attending the press conference, and I saw my beautiful baby girl.”
    “You’re biased, but thanks. What did you and Dad think of the media coverage?” Kariss knew with certainty they would be honest.
    “Well, I cried. But you’re not surprised with my confession since you girls inherited the same propensity for tears. The chief of police did an outstanding job of requesting help from those who were able to enlist public sentiment. I mean, sometimes all I hear is politically correct — what do you call that?”
    “Jargon.”
    “Yes, that’s it. I respected the way he worded his appeal. It showed he cared.”
    “Wonderful. I wondered how the public would interpret the message.”
    “Reminded me of the church. You know how the body of Christ is unified in purpose, no matter what the denomination.”
    Here it comes. “I see a similarity. So—”
    “We’re in a great sermon series. Why don’t you join us Sunday, and we’ll take you to lunch? Vicki’s going too.”
    Spending time with her sister and her family was tempting. “Mom, thanks, but I have plans.”
    “What could be more important than feeding your soul and your stomach while being with those who love you?”
    Peace and quiet without preaching.
    Stop it, Kariss, that’s tacky. Disrespectful.
    “Would you think about it?” Mom’s voice wasn’t pleading, only sincere. Kariss refused to criticize her mother’s faith. It simply wasn’t for her.
    “I will. And I’ll call Vicki.”
    “What are you writing now?”
    “I’m putting together a story about an FBI agent who solves a cold case. Very much like the Cherished Doe.”
    “Oh, honey, that will be another bestseller for sure. But are you ever going to write for a Christian publishing house? Those are the only kind of books my friends read.”
    Kariss’s heart crashed into her toes. “I don’t think so …” Her voice trailed off.
    “Oh, sweetheart, I wish I could give your books to my friends. But this one sounds too violent.”
    “I understand. But some aspects of the crime must be presented to make the story real.”
    “What about God?”
    Please, Mom.
“If I wrote for a Christian audience, I’d lose thousands of faithful readers. Those readers pay the bills and allow me to give to worthwhile charities.” She refused to say that she’d given much to her parents’ church. That wasn’t necessary … and she’d grown up in that church.
    “I think you’d have even more readers. You, Kariss, are a gifted writer. You’ve been given a special talent. You were born doing things naturally with words that others only wish they could attempt. I love you no matter what you write. So let’s end this discussion. Want to go shopping on Friday night? Dad has a meeting, and we could do dinner and hit the mall.”
    “You bet. I’ll meet you at Papadeaux’s at six.”
    Kariss slipped her phone back into her purse, allowing the weight of what Mom really meant to slowly dissipate. Someday she’d return to church, after she’d lived a little. The rules and “Thou shalt nots” were too confining.
    Saturday she planned to attend a meeting with the Story Sisters, a writing group that had become her lifeblood. She’d participated for a couple of years and loved to hear about their writing projects and adventures. Seeing familiar faces and sharing about the craft always gave her a perk. She desperately needed encouragement from fellow writers, and the sisterhood would motivate her to convince Meredith that changing genres was a good