Walking away is not an option
It was one night. And it might have stayed that way for Elizabeth Downey if her steamy evening with Hudson Vale hadnât been the same night her estranged father was murdered. Now she and Hudsonâa cop who had arrested her fatherâare the prime suspects.
Forced to work together to clear their names, Elizabeth and Hudson must deal with their wildly different approaches. Worse, the simmering attraction between them wonât go away. As they race to untangle a web of deceit, the stakes get higher. Because not only do their lives depend on finding the truth, but so does this passion thatâs turning into so much more.â¦
âYou have to leave.â
The urgency had returned to Lizâs voice. âWe canât be seen together.â
âWeâve already been seen together,â Hudson said. âYour security man downstairs knows I came to see you. The valet at the wedding saw us leave together. You think cops wonât figure that out?â
Her face fell. She returned to the living room and more or less collapsed onto the sofa. Hudson sat in the chair opposite her.
âMaybe you better tell me everything,â he said. âWhy would you want to kill Franklin Mandalay?â
âBecause heâs my father. And weâre estranged. He is manipulative and controlling and a liar. And Iâm his sole heir.â With that, her eyes filled with tears. âI have no idea why I keep crying. He was not a very nice man.â
Mandalay was her father? Hudsonâs head spun. âI knew there was something off about that night,â he murmured. Then, louder, he said, âTell me everything. All of it, Liz. If I get even a whiff of deception from you Iâm going straight to the police.â
Dear Reader,
Any writer will tell you that coming up with the title of a book can be an excruciating process. For me, I usually begin writing with some lame title in place. Then, as I get to know my story and my characters, other titles will come to mind. By the time I send the manuscript to my editor, Iâll probably have a title Iâm happy with.
Oh, but it doesnât end there. Editors have their own ideas about titles, and every title undergoes a great deal of scrutiny. Does it fit the story? Is it the right tone? Does it sound like a Harlequin Superromance title? Will it fit on the cover nicely? Although the title usually is something all parties can agree to, often it is not the authorâs original title.
One-Night Alibi is one of those titles that come up once in a blue moon. I had it before I even started the book. I love it because it tells you exactly what the book is about. Itâs sexy and itâs suspenseful-sounding. Happily, the editors agreed with me on this one! I hope it caught your attention, too!
All best,
Kara Lennox
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kara Lennox has earned her living at various times as an art director, typesetter, textbook editor and reporter. Sheâs worked in a boutique, a health club and an ad agency. Sheâs been an antiques dealer, an artist and even a blackjack dealer. But no work has ever made her happier than writing romance novels. To date, she has written more than sixty books. Kara is a recent transplant to Southern California. When not writing, she indulges in an ever-changing array of hobbies. Her latest passions are bird-watching, long-distance bicycling, vintage jewelry and, by necessity, do-it-yourself home renovation. She loves to hear from readers. You can find her at www.karalennox.com.
For Sally Slocum
Everyone should have such a wonderful mother-in-law
PROLOGUE
HUDSON VALE LIKED to brag that he never got sick. All the vitamin C in the Mountain Dew he drank kept him healthy as a horse. But today, heâd been made a liar. After sneezing his head off yesterday, heâd cut his shift early and gone home. A handful of extra vitamin C hadnât done the trick; heâd awakened with the mother of all colds. His head hurt. His chest hurt. His throat hurt. He couldnât breathe. And he had nothing resembling cold medicine in the house.
Like it or not, he had to drag himself out to his car, drive to the nearest convenience store and buy some Alka-Seltzer Plus.
Although it was October, Hudson didnât bother with a jacket. He shoved his badge in the pocket of a pair of disreputable jeans because he never went anywhere without it. Breaking his usual pattern, he didnât arm himself. In his current state of debilitation, heâd be more danger to bystanders than to anything he aimed at.
It was a brilliant, clear day outside, one of those rare instances when the humidity was low, the air crisp and fresh. Football season was in full swing, and citizens of the greater Houston area were focused on fall barbecues and tailgate parties.