Rachel stared at a man in jeans and work shirt coming down the stairs. He was about thirty-three and darkly handsome, with what looked like several drops of Native American blood in his veins. He was a good six foot two with broad shoulders, working manâs hands and startling brown eyes that, despite her better instincts, made Rachelâs heart stutter.
âThereâs nothing going on that a little tried-and-true police work wonât fix.â He held out a hand. âIâm Nick Chavaree, the local sheriff. Iâm staying here while my house is beingâ¦â He paused, frowned, withdrew the hand. âYou look familiar to me. Do I know you?â
Rachel was pretty sure that if sheâd seen him before sheâd remember. He was that good-looking. âNo, I donât think so.â
His demeanor abruptly shifted from friendly to hostile. âYouâre here about the murders, arenât you?â
âMurders?â
âDonât be coy.â He moved toward her now. âThatâs why you picked this place to stay. You thought you could get some inside information from me. Thatâs not going to happen.â
Alana Matthews canât remember a time when she didnât want to be a writer. As a child, she was a permanent fixture in her local library, and she soon turned her passion for books into writing short stories, and finally novels. A longtime fan of romantic suspense, Alana felt she had no choice but to try her hand at the genre, and she is thrilled to be writing for Harlequin Intrigue. Alana makes her home in a small town near the coast of Southern California, where she spends her time writing, composing music and watching her favorite movies.
Send a message to Alana at her website, www.AlanaMatthews.com.
Rachel Hudson âShe came to Waterford Point to escape her past, and found herself caught up in someone elseâs.
Sheriff Nick Chavaree âA puzzling murder investigation threatened his career, but could Rachel help him ferret out the truthâ¦and steal his heart?
Maddie âShe kept herself busy running the Waterford Inn, but what dark secret was she hiding?
Deputy Charlie Tevis âHe returned to Waterford Point after an extended absence and wondered if he should have stayed away.
Mayor Bill Burgess âAn officious fool who was more concerned about Waterford Pointâs tourist trade than its own citizens.
Caroline Keller âThe first in a string of murder victims who heard someone crying in the night.
Weeping Willow âDid her spirit come back to Waterford Point looking for revenge?
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
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
The crying was what awakened her.
For a moment she thought she was dreaming; the sound circled inside her head like a persistent insect, refusing to go away. But as she fully awakened, she realized that it was all too real, a muffled but unmistakable keen coming from outside her bedroom window.
She abruptly pulled herself upright and strained to hear, a vague uneasiness simmering in her chest.
Was it an animal of some kind? A bird? An injured deer?
No.
This was definitely human.
And female.
Feeling a knot in her stomach, she swung her legs around and stood, surprised by the chill of the polished wooden floorboards beneath her bare feet.
This wasnât her first night here, and she knew she should be used to her surroundings by now. But it seemed that every time she got out of bed, she anticipated the feel of warm carpetâthe carpet in her own bedroom in D.C.âonly to be startled by this cold bare floor.
Padding to the window, she undid the latch and pushed it open, letting in the night air. The sound floated in just beneath the whisper of the windâ
The sobs of a broken girl.
A soul irrevocably wounded.
It came from a forest of Eastern pine that stood just forty yards away from the old house, across a rustic backyard. A thin mist hung in the air around the trees, the forest dark and foreboding.
Her heart thumped wildly as she listened to the sobs, and with sudden dread she knew sheâd made a mistake coming home again.
The stories sheâd heard were true.
This wasnât make-believe. A fairy tale. A quaint little piece of local folklore. And as much as she might try, she knew sheâd never be rid of her past.
It was right outside.
Haunting her.
Waiting for her in the trees.
By the time the ferry reached the dock, Rachel Hudson was a little queasy.
She didnât travel well on water. Although the trip across the bay hadnât taken more than fifteen minutes, her stomach wasnât exactly rock solid these days, and she thought for a moment she might lose the salad sheâd had for lunch.
Thank God for dry land.
Rachel had never been to Waterford Point before. Had never been to Penobscot Bay or farther north than Connecticut, for that matter. But the photos sheâd seen on the internet had convinced her that this was where she needed to go. That Waterford Point was exactly the place she should be right now.