FORGOTTEN PAST
After her broken engagement, Nicki Jackson hoped her move to Cedar Key would give her a fresh startâinstead she quickly learns someoneâs out to destroy her. Are the attacks tied to her motherâs recently reopened murder case...or to the nightmares Nickiâs beginning to suspect are actually hidden memories? With the threats against her escalating, former soldier Tyler Brant vows to keep Nicki safe. He refuses to lose the woman whoâs swiftly becoming more than a childhood crush. But when danger circles closer, is Nickiâs traumatic past better left forgotten...or are her memories the key to something far more sinister?
WATCH THE COMPANY YOU KEEP.
IT CAN GET YOU KILLED.
Her blood turned to ice and her heart almost stopped.
She looked up at Tyler, her jaw slack. Her heart had resumed a frantic pace, and moisture coated her palms. âHe was watching us. He saw us leave for Home Depot together.â She took a step back, shaking her head. âYou have to stay away from me.â
He moved closer until he was standing at the threshold. âDo you really think Iâm intimidated by this creep, whoâs too much of a coward to show his face?â
âMaybe youâre not intimidated, but I am. Iâm not willing to risk you getting hurt. This is my battle, not yours.â Although she had no idea what sheâd done to get drawn into it.
He took a step closer and put both hands on her shoulders. âItâs our battle. Friends stick together. Or have you forgotten that?â
Dear Reader,
Thank you for joining me for another trip back to Cedar Key. Itâs one of our favorite vacation spots, with its quaint, artsy atmosphere and friendly people. Doing research on this series has been a pleasure.
Nicki and Tyler were fun characters for me to write. After a traumatic early childhood and two years in foster care, Nicki had developed a toughness that often kept her from connecting with others. And Tyler had his own issues to overcome. Like so many of our servicemen who see combat, he brought many of the traumas of war home with him, both physically and emotionally. Neither Tyler nor Nicki was able to begin the path of healing until they decided to open their hearts to loveâeach otherâs and Godâs.
I hope youâll drop me a line. I love to connect with my readers. You can find me on Facebook (facebook.com/caroljpost.author), Twitter (@caroljpost), my website (caroljpost.com) and email ([email protected]). For news and fun contests, join my newsletter mailing list. The link is on my website. I promise I wonât sell your info or spam you!
God bless you!
Carol
CAROL J. POST writes fun and fast-paced inspirational romantic suspense and lives in sunshiny central Florida. She sings and plays the piano for her church and also enjoys sailing, hiking, campingâalmost anything outdoors. Her daughters and grandkids live too far away for her liking, so she now pours all that nurturing into taking care of two fat and sassy cats and one highly spoiled dachshund.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
âPsalms 147:3
Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to my friend Chaplain (Major) Andrew Ropp, US Army (retired). I appreciate your willingness to share your experiences. Your help on this project has been invaluable.
Thank you to my critique partners, Karen Fleming and Sabrina Jarema. Your sharp eyes and creative minds always make my writing better.
Thank you to my editor, Giselle Regus, and my agent, Nalini Akolekar. Iâm thrilled to be working with both of you.
And thank you to my husband, Chris. I might be able to do this without your love and support...but I wouldnât want to.
ONE
Nicki Jackson wheeled her bulging carry-on through the carport, the rumble of the plastic wheels against the concrete breaking the silence of the dark night. The golden retriever prancing behind her had enough energy for both of them. Of course, the dog hadnât spent the past eight hours trapped in the car, battling traffic.
Nicki sighed. The last of her single friends was now married. But at less than a year from thirty, what did she expect? In fact, sheâd almost made it to the altar herself. Instead, she was free and single, and her former intended was facing a hefty jail term.
She hesitated in the glow of the Ramâs headlights to finger through her keys, then dragged her bag the final few feet to the kitchen door. Bed was only a few minutes away. Unpacking could wait till morning. So could a shower.
She raised the key and stopped short. The door wasnât shut tightly, and the jamb was chipped and scratched.
The headlights clicked off automatically, casting her in darkness, and the hair rose on the back of her neck. Someone had broken in to her house. Heart pounding in her chest, she pulled her phone from her purse and dialed 911.