Jack didnât say anything, but then he didnât need to.
The look in his eyes, though quickly concealed, was all the proof Lexie Dawson needed. Jack Bladeâa man she had slept with and still dreamed aboutâactually thought her capable of murder.
âWould you be willing to let me test your hands for gunpowder residue?â Jack asked. âIâd like to rule you out as a suspect.â
Lexie sat there for several seconds, weighing the request. If her husband had been murderedâno one would believe she was innocent. She had motive, opportunity and they would find gunpowder residue on her hands.
âI spent the afternoon at the gun range, trying out a new pistol.â
âAny witnesses?â
âMaybe two or three,â Lexie said. âAnd if youâre through with me, Iâd like to go now.â
Jack stopped her with a hand on her arm. âUnfortunately, Iâm afraid not,â he said. âIn fact, I need to read you your rightsâ¦.â
Lori L. Harris has always enjoyed competition. She grew up in southern Ohio, showing Arabian horses and Great Danes. Later she joined a shooting league where she competed head-to-head with police officersâand would be competing today if she hadnât discovered how much fun and challenging it was to write. Romantic suspense seemed a natural fit. What could be more exciting than writing about life-and-death struggles that include sexy, strong men?
When not in front of a computer, Lori enjoys remodeling her home, gardening and boating. Lori lives in Orlando, Florida, with her very own hero.
Jack BladeâHe worked undercover on some of the meanest streets in America before taking the job as Deep Waterâs police chief. But he knows even quiet streets arenât always safe. And justice isnât always so easy to findâeven for the innocent.
Lexie DawsonâWithout an alibi, this pharmaceutical rep might just find herself on Floridaâs death row.
Dr. Dan DawsonâA successful obstetrician and Lexieâs ex-husband. Who would want him dead?
Dr. Fleming WhittemoreâDan Dawsonâs partner. Lexie considers him a close friend. But is he? Or does he have his own agenda?
Alec BladeâJack Bladeâs older brother. A top FBI profiler, Alec retired from the FBI after his wifeâs brutal slaying and moved to Deep Water, hoping to rebuild his relationship with his brother. It seems as if Alec has brought Jack only more trouble.
Katie BladeâLess than a year ago, targeted by a brutal killer, she fought back and survived. Now she and Alec Blade are happily married.
10:30 p.m. Deep Water, Florida
What had happened to him?
Unable to move, unable even to lift his head off the desk blotter, Dan Dawson attempted to focus on his surroundings, but couldnât. The roomâhis home officeâseemed to be a mishmash of colors, one bleeding into another.
The objects closest to him were clearerâthe paper clip and the gold pen appeared almost jewel-like as they floated against a bloodred background. Those a few inches beyond were blurred and indistinct.
As he was staring at the paper clip, his eyelids slammed shut, cutting off the one sense that seemed to be working, the one thing that kept him feeling connected to his surroundings. Even as the panic ripped through him, he tried to fight it. But it was as if heâd been closed into a boxâa coffin.
His eyelids suddenly sprang open, the sharp reentry of light painful but not unbearable.
Donât panic. Panic wasâ¦was counterproductive.
Stay calm. Approach it as if it was one of his patients who was in trouble. He needed toâ¦he needed to do⦠What? He tried to focus, but it was as if his brain had locked him out.
Vitals. Like a life ring, the word suddenly floated past in the black sea of nothingness, and he grabbed on tight. If he really concentrated, he realized he could feel the air moving in and out of his chest. Respiration slow and shallow, but steady.
A sudden explosion of pain struck at the base of his skull, then ravaged downward through him, sucking the air from his lungs. His throat muscles contracted hard, and he felt his body gasp for oxygen.
What the hell was wrong with him?
His sluggish mind grappled with and discarded possible diagnoses. Stroke? Too young. Cardiomyopathy? Overdose? He hadnât taken any drugs in monthsâ¦or had he? Had he taken something tonight?
Sweat slid slowly down his back, morphing into a living thing, a parasite that devoured his life force before escaping through his pores and oozing downward toward the floor, toward escape. Like rats from a burning building.
A distorted sound shattered the silence. Not in the room with him, but in the foyer or the kitchen. He felt a warm rush of relief. Rescue. He would be rescued.
Dan again tried to raise his head, but it was like trying to lift a watermelon that dangled from the end of a swizzle stick.