Deadline
THE PERFECT CRIMENo one but reporter Jack Brooks believes three seemingly unrelated deaths are the work of a clever serial killer. Not even the woman he's convinced is the next victim–beautiful wedding planner Meg Duff. Even when he tracks her to her remote Canadian island home in time to save her life, Meg can't–and won't–help the maverick reporter. But time is running out, and as a record storm threatens the island, a killer grows desperate. Only Jack can stop him from getting away with murder. And he must, because now not only is Meg's life at stake, but so is his heart….
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THE PERFECT CRIME
No one but reporter Jack Brooks believes three seemingly unrelated deaths are the work of a clever serial killer. Not even the woman heâs convinced is the next victimâbeautiful wedding planner Meg Duff. Even when he tracks her to her remote Canadian island home in time to save her life, Meg canâtâand wonâtâhelp the maverick reporter. But time is running out, and as a record storm threatens the island, a killer grows desperate. Only Jack can stop him from getting away with murder. And he must, because now not only is Megâs life at stake, but so is his heartâ¦.
The claustrophobic space gave her the creeps.
Meg walked slowly through the bowels of the ferryâs empty parking deck, as dark and silent as catacombs. The sight of it tightened the knot of nerves in her chest. And reminded her just how terrified sheâd been above deck not a couple of hours ago.
She got in her car, eager to meet Jack and head over to the police station. As jittery as she was, she locked the doors.
She refused to believe that the attack on the ferry had been anything other than randomâbrutal, terrifying, life-shakingâand yet not the slightest bit personal. She wouldnât let a killer steal away the peace in her soul.
As she eased the car down the ramp, something rustled behind her seat. Shopping bags fell over, spilling their contents. A dark shadow rose to fill the rearview mirror.
She looked up, and into the deep, menacing hood of an orange raincoat. Could it be? The Raincoat Killer was realâ¦and here for her.â¦
MAGGIE K. BLACK
is an award-winning journalist and romantic suspense author. Her writing career has taken her around the globe, and into the lives of countless grassroots heroes and heroines, who are faithfully changing lives and serving others in their own communities. Whether flying in an ultralight over the plains of Africa, riding a camel past the pyramids in Egypt or walking along the Seine in Paris, Maggie finds herself drawn time and again to the everyday people behind her adventures, and seeing how we are all touched by the same issues of faith, family and community.
She has lived in the American South and Midwest, as well as overseas. She currently makes her home in Canada, where her husband teaches history at a local high school. After walking her two beautiful princesses to school, she either curls up on the couch to write, with the help of her small but mighty dog, or heads to her local coffee shop. She is thankful to her readers for allowing her to turn the adventures, and people who have inspired her, into fresh stories that made her pulse race and her heart soar.
There is no fear in love.
But perfect love drives out fear.
â1 John 4:18
With thanks to Keren.
My life is less stormy because of you.
Contents
Deep gray fog rolled over the surface of Lake Huron, slipping through the open door to the ferry deck, and blocking out the afternoon sun. Meg Duff braced her palm against the doorframe and took in a long, cleansing breath. The smell of impending rain filled the air. She stood with her feet just inside the threshold of the crowded passenger lounge. Pale blue eyes stared out into the void. Wind brushed against her face, tossing her dark, chin-length hair. A shiver ran down her spine. The deck was deserted.
Just two more days until the wedding, Meg. All youâve got to do is hold it together until then. Somewhere on this boat were a young bride and groom headed to Manitoulin Island for their dream wedding. The last thing they needed was to find out their wedding planner was having a panic attack.
She glanced at her cell phone. Twenty minutes until they reached shore. Her palm pressed against her chest. She focused on its rhythmic rise and fall. As the only professional wedding planner on a beautiful and remote island, sheâd organized more than her fair share of weddings for big-city couples, whoâd parachute into her community just long enough say âI doâ and cut the cake. But this wedding had quickly become the most expensive and demanding of her career. The young couple were college students in Toronto, whoâd agreed to get married on the island to butter up the brideâs elderly grandmother who lived there, and who was paying the bills. The wedding had been organized solely with the high-strung bride, and almost entirely by phone and email. Within five minutes of joining the wedding party at the mainland ferry docks, the bride had launched into a string of ridiculously detailed questions about decorations at the reception venue, while the imposing best man had made an unwanted romantic advance that left Meg feeling both flustered and insulted.
