âWe donât have to be open about our ⦠collaboration,â he said when she said nothing more. His lips curved in a wicked smile. âWe can be secret partners.â
The low, almost seductive tone of his voice snaked through her like a lightning strike. She felt the thunderous aftermath low in her belly, a shudder of raw, unexpected need.
Agreeing with him would be the worst possible decision she could make. She knew it bone deep. But when she opened her mouth to speak, the word that spilled from her lips was âOkay.â
He gave her another narrow-eyed look, as if he suspected she was joking. âOkay?â
This was her chance to back out, she thought. Laugh and agree that sheâd been joking.
But she couldnât, she realized. No matter what kind of fluttery things he did to her insides just by being Cain Dennison, he was right about one thing. He did know more about Renee Lindseyâs final days than anyone else in town, save the killer himself. If she was serious about getting to the bottom of Reneeâs murder, she needed his help.
âOkay,â she repeated more firmly. âYouâre right. I need your help. And, frankly, you could use mine, as well.â
âI need you, do I?â His smile made her heart flip-flop.
Alabama native PAULA GRAVES wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When sheâs not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America. Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Sara LindseyâInjured in the same mysterious accident that took her husbandâs life, the former cop canât remember anything about that night. Now sheâs back in Purgatory, Tennessee, looking for answers, but what she finds are more questionsâand an unexpected attraction to a dangerous man.
Cain DennisonâFor nearly twenty years, heâs been running from lingering accusations that he killed Renee Lindsey, the only girl he ever loved. Heâs returned to Purgatory and is working at a P.I. agency hired to investigate that same murder. But when his case crosses paths with Saraâs, will she be an obstacle? Or a lifeline?
Donnie LindseyâSaraâs late husband had been keeping secrets from her before his death, all connected to his obsession with his sisterâs murder.
Carl DunkirkâSaraâs father never stopped wondering who killed Donnieâs sister, Renee. DNA proved Cain Dennison definitely wasnât the father of Reneeâs unborn baby. But he wonders if jealousy drove Cain to murder.
Brad EllisâCarlâs former partner wants Sara and her father to consult on a new murder that has suspicious similarities to the Renee Lindsey case.
Jim and Becky AllenâDonnieâs former baseball coach was one of his favorite teachers. And Jimâs beautiful wife, Becky, is practically Purgatory royalty. But is the golden couple keeping secrets about the night of Donnieâs death?
Lila BirdsongâCainâs grandmotherâs love and support got him through his nightmare of a childhood. Could she also hold the key to discovering what happened the night of Donnie Lindseyâs death?
Alexander QuinnâThe former CIA agent assigned Cain to the Renee Lindsey case, despite the apparent conflict of interest. Does he have a hidden agenda?
For my mother, who took me to Noccalula Falls in Gadsden, Alabama, when I was just a child, engendering in me a love of roaring waterfalls and tragic, romantic stories.
Chapter One
The roadside memorial wasnât tattered or faded as so many monuments to the departed were. The simple wooden cross planted in the ground off Black Creek Road gleamed white in the midday sunlight, and the flowers in the resin urn were real, not plastic, still dewy with recent life.
Sara Lindsey crouched beside the small display and touched the big red gerbera daisy in the center of the urn. A chill skittered through her, as if someone had touched the back of her neck with cold fingers, and she nearly knocked herself on her backside turning to look.
Nobodyâs there, Sara. Get a grip.
Turning back to face the monument, she silently read the name etched there, darkened with black paint by whoever had planted this latest incarnation in the ground. Donnie Lindsey. Beloved son and husband.
Today was the third anniversary of the accident. Some days, Donnieâs death seemed like a distant memory, as if life since the accident had slowed to an interminable crawl, each minute stretching to hours or even days. And other times, like now, the raw realization that he was gone forever ached and bled like a brand-new wound.