Killer Secrets
She has a murderous past. Will it destroy her future, too?Mila Ramirez has built a new life in the wake of her serial killer parents. But when she finds an employee dead, sexy police chief Sam Douglas is able to force her out of isolation. Mila narrowly escaped evil before: this time it wants to destroy everything.
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She has a murderous past.
Will it destroy her future, too?
Mila Ramirez has never stopped trying to outrun the sins of her serial killer parents. But her hard-fought new life starts to unravel when she finds an employee dead. Trusting strong, sexy police chief Sam Douglas forces her out of isolation, even as it brings a murderer closer. Mila narrowly escaped evil before. This time it wants to destroy everything she lovesâincluding Sam.
Oklahoma, dogs, beaches, books, family and friends: these are a few of MARILYN PAPPANOâs favorite things. She lives in imaginary worlds where she reigns supreme (at least, she does when the characters cooperate) and no matter how wrong things go, she can always set them right. Itâs her husbandâs job to keep her grounded in the real world, which makes him her very favorite thing.
Also by Marilyn Pappano
Killer Secrets
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âOpen Seasonâ Scandal in Copper Lake Passion to Die For Criminal Deception Protectorâs Temptation
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-07872-6
KILLER SECRETS
© 2018 Marilyn Pappano
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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To my husband, Robert:
What does it say that when I think of crazy people and villains, I think of you?
And when I think of cops and good guys, I also think of you.
And when I think of heroes.
And when I think of love. Forty years...
And weâve lived happily-ever-after.
Contents
October 15 was a Thursday, three days after my eleventh birthday. My father came home from work, smelling of cigarette smoke and booze, wearing that big goofy smile that was normally reserved for strangers. He kicked off his shoes, threw his Yankees cap at the hook next to the door and missed, then announced that he was taking me to the mall on Saturday to celebrate.
As with all of his grand pronouncements, he waited for me to show excitement at the prospect, maybe even a little joy, but my face remained in its usual dull set. The idea didnât excite me. It made the hairs on my arms stand on end, churned in my stomach and sent sour little bubbles that burned into my throat. Malls were his favorite hunting grounds: all those shops, all those people, all those escapes. I would gladly give up birthdays and celebrations for the rest of my life if only I never had to set foot in a mall again.
He waited, and I tried to summon a smile, a hint of appreciation, any bit of emotion that would satisfy him, but nothing would come. I just felt sick. I couldnât do it. Not again.
Of course he knew my thoughts. He always did. His jovial mood vanished in a heartbeat, his smile turning to a snarl. His right hand came up automatically, poised to strike my cheek the way heâd done a hundred times before, but with a muscle twitching in his jaw, another at the corner of his eye, he stilled the motion.
He wasnât sparing me. I knew it, and the evil gleam in his eyes showed that he knew I knew. The punishment would come, just not before we went to the mall. He needed me to attract the kind of victim that excited him, and that attraction was always based on sympathy. Poor little waif, separated from her father, big brown eyes, trembling lower lip, fear in her voiceâjust the thing to kick maternal instincts into high gear. A bruised cheek, a split lip, a black eyeâthey earned sympathy, too, but not the kind he wanted. Needed.
