conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about David, Danny, Fortyfoot with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Prey'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a description for a book titled Prey about Missouri, Mike, Kansas with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author was born in Kansas City, Missouri and is a retired police chief with over thirty years of service in all capacities of law enforcement. He currently resides in Missouri with his wife and two sons. He has a broad base of experience in all fields of public safety and municipal government. Mike has a Bachelor of Science Degree in criminal justice and a Master's degree in administration of public affairs. His experience as a chief of police affords him a perspective on homicide investigation not normally seen by most homicide investigators. In his novels, Mike expertly blends his insight into municipal governments and homicide investigative techniques into a thrilling suspense novel about the most difficult, complex and challenging types of homicide investigation facing law enforcement today.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a description for a book titled Prey about Chattanooga, Tennessee with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author is the #1 author of inspirational fiction for young adults. She lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first four paragraphs for this book? End with the sentence ' And she was on her way out the door.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Prey
  LIBBY THOMPSON crossed her plump arms and tried to look stern, which wasn't easy considering the undeniable sadness she felt. "Don't give me that look, A.Z. Decker. Those puppy-dog eyes haven't worked on me since you were nine years old." Not that he'd had puppy-dog eyes even back then, and he certainly didn't now, but she'd learned a long time ago that the trick to handling him was to never let it show how blasted intimidating he was when he looked pissed and flinty-eyed, the way he did now.
  Zeke glanced down and to the side, where Libby's bags sat. They were a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs, three different makers, three different colors: red, brown, and black. The bags were all stuffed so full they bulged and threatened to split their zippers wide open. Everything she owned was in those bags.
  She blew out a breath of frustration. In her fifty-seven years, she'd faced down a lot and not let life get her down even when she was widowed at a young age and left with a baby she needed to support. But from the time she'd first come to work here at the Decker ranch, she'd needed every bit of ability she possessed to stay ahead of Zeke. As a toddler he'd been a chubby, charming hellion; as a gap-toothed little boy he'd been a skinny, charming hellion; and since his teenage years he'd been a heartbreaker, with a whole lot of hard-ass thrown into the mix. He couldn't imagine not getting his way, and this time she simply couldn't let that happen.
  She'd been working at this ranch house for thirty-odd years, at first part-time and later, after his mother remarried and moved to Arizona, full-time. She had her own room here, just off the kitchen. She knew this house as if it were her own, knew him as if she'd given birth to him. For thirty years she'd cooked, she'd cleaned, and she'd blessed him out when he needed it. She'd mothered him, mothered the ranch hands, and spoiled him rotten. And she was on her way out the door.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know four more paragraphs? End with the sentence ' She'd get something to eat, and use the break to study her map of Wyoming, figure out exactly where this little country road went, and pick a place to stop for a while.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The three men evaluated her right back, and she found herself tensing. She didn't like attracting notice. The more she stayed under the radar, the less likely it was that Brad would be able to track her. It was reassuring that there was nothing remotely familiar about any of the men, and their clothing proclaimed them local. She'd gotten good at judging what was local—wherever "local" happened to be—and what wasn't. These men fit right in, from their creased hats down to the worn heels of their boots.
  She thought about leaving, but that would attract even more attention. Besides, she was hungry. The best thing to do was the normal thing: sit down and order. She'd eat, pay the bill, then move on down the road.
  The café itself was a smallish, pleasant-looking place, gray linoleum floor, white walls, an honest-to-God jukebox against the back wall, red booths along the street-front windows, and a smattering of small round tables in the center of the place. The counter, complete with a couple of clear pie cases and an old-fashioned cash register, ran the length of the right side of the room. A pretty brunette in a pink waitress uniform stood behind the counter, talking to the three men with the ease of long acquaintance; like the men, she'd glanced up at Carlin's entrance, and even through her sunglasses Carlin caught the brilliant glint of strikingly pale eyes, making her alter her grade of the waitress's looks from pretty to something more. Maybe that was why the three cowboys were camping on those stools, rather than the lure of food. Good. If they were flirting with the waitress, they were less likely to pay a lot of attention to anyone else.
  The last booth was positioned against a solid wall; Carlin chose that one and instinctively slid in so she was facing the doorway... just in case. The plastic menu was inserted between the napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers; she removed her cap and sunglasses and grabbed the menu, more from curiosity than anything else, because all she wanted was coffee and pie. She'd get something to eat, and use the break to study her map of Wyoming, figure out exactly where this little country road went, and pick a place to stop for a while.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Carlin hesitated a moment, thinking hard, then took the offered hand. She wasn't ready to give her real name to anyone, not until she knew exactly how Brad had found her the last time. Not that she didn't trust Kat; she'd simply learned that she really couldn't be too careful. Her gaze scanned the counter. A few feet away was a full bottle of ketchup, and inspiration struck. "Hunt," she said swiftly. "Carlin Hunt."
  Kat snorted as she ended the handshake. "Well, at least you didn't look at the floor and tell me your last name was linoleum."
  But Kat merely gave her a brisk nod, and that was that. "Get your stuff; you can at least get unpacked before you start work." Evidently a fake surname wasn't something that upset Kat Bailey's apple cart.
  As Carlin went out to the Subaru to fetch her backpack, she blew out a huge breath of relief. She had a place to stay and a way to make a few dollars, a way that didn't require a lawnmower or a weed eater. And tomorrow there would even be apple pie.
  It was the first time in a long while that she'd been able to think of a "tomorrow" that wasn't full of anxiety and uncertainty.