Return To Stony Ridge

Then as suddenly as it started, the attack was over. He released her and stepped back, holding the gun.

“Sorry,” RJ told her. “My house, my rules.”

He opened the cylinder and dropped the shells into the palm of his hand. Tossing them to her, he held her gaze.

“You keep the bullets. I’ll keep the gun.”

She was trembling all over, from shock and fear.

“Feel free to leave if you want, but if you go out to your car, you won’t be coming back inside tonight.”

Teri believed him. She knew he had no reason to trust her or to know if she had another weapon in the car.

“For what it’s worth, Teri, if I’d wanted to attack you, I’d have done so. I prefer a willing partner.”

For women of courage everywhere.

Special thanks to Judy Fitzpatrick, Natashya Wilson and my own hero, Roger.

I couldn’t have done this without you guys.

And of course, for Chip and Dan and Barb as always.

An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one when she’d come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since. But she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. With the premiere of Mystery Baby for Harlequin Intrigue in 1996, Dani’s kept her computer busy ever since. Her third novel, Better Watch Out, was a RITA^>® Award finalist in 1998. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source for both intrigue and humor!

You can write to her in care of the Harlequin Reader Service.

Teri Johnson—This intriguing P.I. has a whopping secret.

RJ Monroe—Helping an old friend may have put this contractor in a killer’s sights.

Olivia Barnesly—Teri’s mysterious client has never met the woman she hired Teri to find.

Valerie Boyington—This desperate mother went missing in the dead of night.

Corey Boyington—Valerie’s son is safe—and safely hidden.

Lester Boyington—The businessman seems genuinely worried about his missing wife and son.

Wyatt Crossley—The police chief has his hands full.

Will Leftcowitz—He wasn’t always a groundskeeper.

Mrs. Norwhich—The cook may be lacking in personality, but she makes a mean sandwich.

George and Emily Walken—The kind older couple have taken in foster children for most of their married lives.

Kathy Walsh—The housekeeper can relate to the women at Heartskeep.

Ian, Nola and Boone—The kids swear there’s someone—or something—moving around Heartskeep after dark.

Lucky—RJ’s dog has lived up to his name more than once.

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

Chapter Fourteen

Late April

Rain lashed the car. It was all he could do to hold it steady as the storm swirled around them. He could barely see the narrow, twisting road despite the frequent tongues of lightning in the night sky. Next to him, his wife slumped still and silent, her head flopping against the side window. In the backseat, the baby cried. The woman beside the baby stirred and moaned softly.

Finally, his straining headlights picked up the gleam of metal on the side of the road. Pulling up beside the parked vehicle, he stopped. In seconds, he was drenched as he transferred the crying child from the small car to the larger SUV.

Returning to the car, he hauled his sister-in-law’s half-conscious form from the backseat and placed her behind the steering column of the small car. Despite her bruised face, she managed to open one eye and look at him accusingly.

“You should have minded your own business,” he told her. He swung, enjoying the power as his fist smashed into her face once more and he felt her cheekbone shatter. Her head pitched forward, hitting the steering wheel. Even though there was no one around to hear, he was glad she missed the horn. He positioned her body carefully, placing her foot on the gas pedal and using her heavy purse to hold it there. Lowering both side windows, he moved her unresisting hands to the wheel and glanced toward his wife. She hadn’t moved, though he had jostled her getting her sister into position. Her head now slumped forward, away from the window. It was possible she was already dead. He didn’t bother to check.

The roadway slanted steeply toward the narrow bridge over Leary Creek. Water lapped at the road, inching its way up the black surface in his direction. The top of the guardrail was the only visible indication of where the bridge stood. The creek was a swollen, raging river after two days of continuous heavy rain, and the angry water continued to rise with impossible speed, cascading across the bridge with a terrible roar.

Aiming the car, he put it in gear and quickly leaped back out of the way. The car lurched forward, gathering speed as it rolled toward the rising water.

Lightning and thunder crashed overhead. He watched the car plunge into the water where it was caught in the fierce current. The small vehicle instantly began drifting in the direction of the water’s flow—over the bridge. Impatiently, he waited as it hung on the guardrail until a wave of debris-filled water washed against it with stunning force. The car was lifted and sent tumbling along with the swiftly flowing current until the open windows invited the waves inside. The car sank from view a moment later.