‘DIAMONDS aren’t FOREVER’ is Betty Sullivan La Pierre’s sequel within a series. Jamey Louise Schyler, the knockout blonde who eluded Hawkman in ‘DIRTY DIAMONDS’, returns in this new adventure.

When Hawkman's old friend Charley Sullivan tries to buy Jamey's house, trouble develops over the title. Jamey is forced to return to Medford, Oregon to clear the encumbrance.

Once again this woman enters Hawkman’s life, but their roles take on an unexpected twist. Carl Hopkins, the man who spent a year in prison for Jamey’s dirty deeds, arrives on the scene. Hawkman finds himself caught in the middle of these two people’s vindictive relationship. Now, keeping Jamey alive becomes his priority.

Sequel to 'DIRTY DIAMONDS'

REVIEW

A Delightful Sequel to Dirty Diamonds, July 6, 2004
By A Customer

This story really come to life under the capable pen of Betty Sullivan LAPierre. Jamey Schyler decides to sell some property she owns in Medford, Oregon. Under normal circunstances that would not be a problem but Jamey now lives in Rio De Janeiro and does not really want to come to the United States. She does return, however, only to complicate the property transfer necessitating appearance again. It would appear Jamey had been involved in a diamond heist some time before. Hawkman, a private investigator, had done some investigative work on that case as well. Her potential return has attracted the attention of not only Hawkman but someone else. Someone who feels they have a deadly score to settle with Jamey. Therein starts the delightful tale of intrigue and adventures where no one is who they appear to be. What happens next? You will need to read the story where you will definately be delighted at the twists and turns experienced with these characters. I give Diamonds aren't Forever the highest recommendation possible.

Reviewed by: A Customer

EXCERPT

Jamey returned from the Post Office, stood in the dining room and stared out the picture window. She never tired of looking over Rio De Janeiro and seeing the beautiful statue of Christ the Redeemer in the distance. Forcing her attention back to the mail she held in her hand, she riffled through the envelopes. One of the letters caught her eye, and she slit it open with a silver letter opener. After reading the contents, she stomped into the den where Bob sat watching the BBC channel on television. A hand on her hip, she stepped between him and the screen, holding out the piece of paper. “I’m so disgusted.”

He turned off the set with the remote and glanced up at her. “What’s the problem, hon?” he asked, taking the piece of mail.

“When I hadn’t received any rent for the house in Medford, Oregon, I figured the company I hired to manage the property was crooked.”

“Did you call them?”

“Yes.”

She slumped down in the overstuffed chair next to him and let out an audible sigh.

“So what did you find out?”

“In the heat of things, I forgot to record the deed, so the property is still in my aunt’s name. Legally, they can’t send me the money. Instead they’ve deposited it into a trust account under my aunt’s name, Rachel Smith.” She threw up her hands in disgust. “It’s there; I just can’t withdraw it until I get the place transferred into my name.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Just send them a copy of the deed and her death certificate.” He waved the sheet of paper. “So what’s this about?”