What had she been thinking, chasing after Dr. Dangerous like that?
The man was probably nuts. He was most certainly eccentric and showed signs of agoraphobia. Yet sheâd cornered him, arguedâsheâd touched him. All mistakes when it came to self-preservation. He was so far out of her leagueâprofessionally, socially, economically, intellectuallyâthat it was laughable to think sheâd had the nerve to confront him.
But it was the man who had her all mixed up inside, not the name.
Her reactions to him had been varied, unexpected, overpowering. Thereâd been an initial rush of sexual awareness that left her feverish. He was so tall, so hardened, so male. Trading words with him made the blood hum through her veins. He was such a complexity of words and actions and mysterious motivations that she was driven to puzzle him out.
And then sheâd seen his face and touched his hand and feltâ¦pity.
For Dr. Todd Pankratz and his staff.
Plus, to the surgical staff, admission specialists and 3rd floor nurses at Mary Lanning Memorial Hospital in Hastings, Nebraska: I owe you more than words can say here. I feel better. Thanks.
Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and to shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldnât express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident grammar goddess. This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Julie believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.
Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.
Dr. Damon SinclairâBrilliant researcher or mad scientist? Rumors have surrounded the reclusive billionaire since tragedy disfigured him and drove his wife to suicide.
Kit SnowâShe abandoned her dreams when her parents mysteriously died. Now sheâs come home to reopen their downtown diner and take care of her makeshift family.
Matthew SnowâKitâs brother is dealing with the changes in his life by making some bad choices.
Helen HodgesâMore than a housekeeper. She loves the gifted boy she raised as though he were her own flesh and blood, and the feelingâs mutual.
Easting DavitzâDamonâs executive liaison and link to the outside world.
Ken KenichiâA foreign businessman whoâd like to acquire Sinclair Labs and all its patents.
Germane KnightâHe holds the secret recipe for Snowâs Barbecue Sauce. What other secrets does he possess?
J. T. KronemeyerâThe current construction foreman on the Sinclair Tower.
Miranda SinclairâHer death haunts the husband she left behind.
The Sinclair TowerâMadmanâs folly or work of art? Rising above the Kansas City skyline, this architectural wonder hides many secrets. And a few dead bodies.
Prologue
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
Eighteen Months Ago
The dust settling from the tired old walls coated the warped, three-legged chair like a layer of gray velvet, undisturbed by the passage of time. Since it offered the only place to sit in this abandoned room, standing was the preferred option.
The room had made some bankerâs assistant a nice, cozy office back in the buildingâs heyday. Now it was a decrepit eyesore, marred by peeling plaster and exposed studs in the crumbling walls, good for nothing more than meetings like this one.
Just another example of misused funds and misguided dreams. Dr. Damon Sinclair had been a sentimental fool to purchase this thirty-story high-rise and hire architects and historians to research its history so he could restore it to all its glory. He was an even bigger fool for trusting the wrong people.
But one manâs disadvantage was anotherâ
âIâve got them.â
Ah, yes, the hired help had arrived. A few minutes late, but carrying something that could make his tardiness forgivable. Anticipation cleared the sinuses and made the eyes sharply perceptive. âLet me see them.â
Electricity hadnât run on this floor of the newly renamed Sinclair Tower for years, but the heavy flashlight provided all the illumination necessary to inspect the treasure the short, stocky workman handed over. He was breathing hard from the exertion of the past hour or so, and the grime hiding beneath his fingernails was as distasteful as the room surrounding them.
But a normal aversion to filthy things was momentarily forgotten as the culmination of so much planning was about to come to fruition. Retribution was only a fortunate by-product of the millions waiting to be made. Patience had allowed the plan to go forward, but tonight it was asking too much to wait for the privacy of a cleaner place before opening the leather-bound books.