Publisher's Synopsis
Twenty seven years of searching ended tonight, here in this Cheyenne restaurant and at this table. The woman looked straight into the eyes of the man sitting across the table, the one who had murdered her husband and sexually molested her without mercy. "I'm going to expose who you are Frank Martin. What you have said might be so, and no one will believe me. But you are the last one and I came here to see justice done even if it means killing you myself." With a sneer the big man responded, "You . . . kill me! Just how will you do that little lady . . . will you use your bare hands?" "No Frank, if it comes to that I'm going to use the gun I'm holding under this table." Suddenly alarmed the man lunged out of his chair and across the table in an attempt to grab her when there was an explosion and the .38 caliber bullet ripped upward through the table top, entered his rib cage and passed through his heart before exiting just below his left shoulder blade. He fell dead upon the table top with his crimson blood contrasting brightly as it saturated the white tablecloth. The roar of the blast had sounded extra loud within the confines of the hotel dining room.
