Bad Penny

“Sala’s characters are vivid and engaging.”

—Publishers Weekly on Cut Throat

“Perfect entertainment for those looking for a suspense novel with emotional intensity.”

—Publishers Weekly on Out of the Dark

“[Sala] takes readers with her on an incredible journey of overcoming adversity and increased self-awareness in every book.”

—John St. Augustine, Power! Talk Radio, WDBC-AM

“Chilling and relentless.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on The Chosen

“Veteran romance writer Sala lives up to her reputation with this well-crafted thriller.”

—Publishers Weekly on Sweet Baby

“[Sala has a] rare ability to bring powerful and emotionally wrenching stories to life.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“This is Sharon Sala at top form. You’re going to love this touching and memorable book.”

—Debbie Macomber on Whippoorwill

The heroine in this story is strong and

independent. She is a woman who takes care of business and takes care of herself with no excuses or apologies to anyone for how she does it.

It has long been my belief that while God made

most men physically stronger, it was the women to whom he gave the greatest strength.

The ability to endure and persevere.

For all my readers who know how important the

dedications in my books are to me, I want you to know that I thought long and hard about who to honor by this story. Each time a group, or a special person in my life, or an event came to mind that I thought I might name, in the end I couldn’t bring myself to a decision because of this heroine—because of Cat Dupree.

So it comes to this.

In her name, and in the names of all the women

like her—women who have been victims of unspeakable crimes and who walk through life without justice—I dedicate this book to you.

In your darkest hours, in your saddest days, in the

endless years that pass you by, when you think you are in this world on your own—know that the God who gave you the strength to survive is with you and within you, and that you are never alone.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Jimmy Franks smelled a rat.

It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and saw the dark beady eyes and whiskers twitching near his nose that he knew he’d hit a new low. He swung a weak fist at the varmint, which merely scuttled behind a pile of empty boxes in the alley where he had just spent the night.

The taste in Jimmy’s mouth was a perfect accompaniment to the stench in the alley. Gagging between breaths, he staggered to his feet. It took a few moments for him to gain his footing; when he did, he took the first good look at his surroundings. It wasn’t the Hilton. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here or even exactly where “here” was, but he was definitely in a garbage-filled alley between two abandoned buildings.

Groaning softly from the aches in his bones and the roiling in his belly, he swiped a shaky hand across his face and stumbled toward the street, anxious to find a bathroom. As he did, a gust of wind rushed through the redbrick canyon, whipping dirt into his eyes. He turned away from the blast just as a couple of sheets of old newspaper wrapped around his ankles. Thinking the paper would be useful to use for toilet paper, he grabbed the pages and headed for the open doorway of the building on his right. He was halfway over the threshold when his gaze fell on a headline in the middle of the page. He stopped.

Local Bondsman Survives Murder Attempt

As he read, he began to curse. His attempt at revenge for himself and his brother, Houston Franks, had gone south. This was pathetic. He couldn’t even shoot a man and make it stick. His need for a bathroom forgotten, he wadded up the paper and headed for the street.

He couldn’t believe it! He’d made a vow to make Wilson McKay pay for having him arrested for assault, so he couldn’t bail Houston out of jail. He had pumped numerous bullets into McKay as payback and had been so certain the deed was done. But McKay was alive and, according to the reporter who’d written the piece, healing nicely.

“Damn it! Damn it all to hell!” Jimmy yelled, as he stomped out of the alley and down the street.

He was so angry he could hardly think. He needed to talk to Houston, but Houston had already hightailed it out of Texas. It was a disgrace. Jimmy still couldn’t believe his own brother had left him stranded like this. He didn’t have any money. He didn’t have a place to stay. And even worse, he needed to find a dealer.

Sick to his stomach and shaking with every step, Jimmy began looking for familiar territory and faces. He was, by damn, going to finish what he’d started with McKay.

But first he needed to find himself a fix.

Luis Montoya was a short, stocky Latino with the blood of his Aztec ancestors strong on his face. His eyes were dark, and his mouth was wide and full. He had a stubborn cut to his jaw and a head of thick, black hair that he wore in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He’d been a part of the Mexican police department in Chihuahua for eleven years, the last five as a detective in Homicide. He was a proud man who didn’t play favorites, and he was not influenced by people with money.