Gregory K. Morris, Author

Genre: Action/Thriller/Romance/Science Fiction

Devivia Jackson is a strong, take-charge, no-nonsense kind of woman and is very happy with her life. But she's the only one.

Her Husband, a former NBA star, is ready to risk it all to regain his life with the rich and famous. Her boss, the Governor of North Carolina, now wants her as s 'spy' or not at all. A crazed, would-be soul mate from her past has her in his sights and is set to take revenge for a heart broken so long ago. And three states, North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia are bent on killing her, if that's what it takes to possess a futuristic secret worth billions.

Can Devivia save this life, her family, her marriage, her career? OR will she face what awaits her, here, in the NEXT LIFETIME?

Devivia sat in her living room sipping a peach Bellini. She was furious. On the table sat a hardcopy of the file that Kat had e-mailed her about Charles. Setting the drink down, she picked up the report, read it for the fifth time, slammed it back to the table and dialed Charles' cell phone again. Her crossed leg kicked madly as she awaited an answer. For the tenth time, she got his answering service.

"Charles!" Devivia raged at the sound of the beep, "I know you check your service and I know you screen your calls! Answer me, Charles! Charles!" Devivia paused to give her husband time to respond if he was listening. "Fine!" She conceded. "Listen, I know about the strip club! That's probably where you are right now! "A strip club…have you lost your mind? All these past weeks, you've been in an Atlanta strip club? This is just too much!

"Charles, be a man and pick up the phone! Why? 'Cause I want to hear this straight from you, how you're still trying to find yourself and don't have time to spend at home with a fool of a wife or time to be father to your daughter. Better yet," Devivia paused, "why don't you just stay the hell down there with your stripper whores. Maybe they can deal with the spineless slug that you've become! You hear me, Charles? It's over! Don't even bother coming back here! And keep the car. It's a small price to p…" "Beeeeep!" The recording timer sounded, cutting Devivia off mid-sentence. Infuriated, she flipped her phone shut and flung it across the room.

Throwing her head back into the soft overstuffed pillow, she closed her eyes and waited for the tears. She wanted them to flow, to wash her hurt away, but they didn’t. Instead, she sat there, aching from the inside out until sleep crept over her, finally relieving the pain.

Rude chirping from her cell phone startled her awake hours later. Devivia sprang to her feet, not fully focused. Drunkenly, she stumbled toward the far wall and took a minute before spotting her phone. Grabbing it, she flipped it open. It was nearly one in the morning. The caller had left a message. Driven more by her heart than her head, she dialed her code and listened. The message was short and simple, a strong male voice laughing, boisterous and loud before hanging up. Devivia recalled the number. Her caller-ID defined its origin as The Ba-Donk-a-Donk Club in downtown Atlanta. Clinching the phone shut in her fist, she took careful aim and flung it into the brick fireplace. The phone shattered as it struck the hard cold surface and splattered about. With an infuriated, yet oddly accomplished smile, Devivia turned and marched off to bed.