conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Oregon, Colorado, Rocky with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Here and Gone'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Here and Gone
  The road swayed left then right, the rhythm of it making Audra Kinney's eyelids grow heavier as each mile marker passed. She had given up counting them; it only made the journey slower. Her knuckles complained as she flexed her fingers on the wheel, palms greasy with sweat.
  Thank God she'd had the eight-year-old station wagon's AC serviced earlier in the year. New York summers might be hot, but not like this. Not like Arizona-hot. It's a dry heat, people said. Yeah, dry like the face of the sun, she thought. Even at five-thirty in the evening, even as the vents blew air cold enough to make goose pimples on her forearms, if she put her fingers to the window, her hand would recoil as if from a boiling kettle.
  Sean was a good boy. Everyone who knew him said so. But it had never been so clear as these last few days. So much had been asked of him, and he had endured. She looked at him in the mirror. His father's sharp features and fair hair, but his mother's long limbs. They had lengthened in recent months, reminding her that her son, now almost eleven, was approaching puberty. He had complained little since they left New York, considering, and he had been a help with his little sister. If not for him, Audra might have lost her sanity out here.
  As if on cue, that pain between her shoulder blades, like the muscles back there coming unstitched. Like she was coming apart, and the stuffing would soon billow out of her seams.
  Sean returned his attention to the world passing his window. Rocky hills covered in scrub sloping away from the road, cacti standing sentry, arms reaching skyward like surrendering soldiers. Above them, a sheet of deep blue, faint smears of white, a yellowing as the sun traveled west to the horizon. Beautiful country, in its way. Audra would have drunk it in, savored the landscape, had things been different.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me another paragraph.. End with the sentence '"'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Mitchell's expression hardened, as if Audra's gratitude offended her. She came a step closer. "While I'm gone, I want you to think very hard about what you're going to tell me. Your children have been missing for at least forty-eight hours now. I hope they're alive, but everything in my experience tells me they're not. And everything in my experience tells me you know where they are. When I come back, I want you to tell me. I'm running out of patience with you, Audra. There's only one way to fix things now. You know what to do."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The anchor moved on to a political rally in Washington, D.C., protestors marching along a city street, waving placards and chanting. Audra switched the television off.
  She kissed Sean's head, took in the smell of him, still pure despite the hot shower he'd had earlier.
  Mitchell had accompanied Audra inside the guesthouse, let her put the kids down for a sleep while they talked out in the corridor. Whiteside had been arrested on the spot; they'd been looking for him since Collins' body had been found at his home that afternoon. Now he was somewhere in the same hospital, having his arm set and his other wounds tended to. Audra had made Mitchell swear not to let him take his own life. Make sure he stood trial for what he'd done. He would be placed on suicide watch, Mitchell had assured her.
  My agents Nat Sobel, Judith Weber, and all at Sobel Weber Associates who have worked so hard for me and given me such tremendous support, along with the ever-excellent Caspian Dennis at Abner Stein.
  A special thanks to my many friends in the crime-fiction community whose friendship and support keep me afloat.