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She could hear the cop behind her, hear his angry snorts as he ran. Suddenly, she had a vision of Leon in their old living room, snorting and cussing at her, and pounding his fist against the wall near her head. Her heart banged in her chest. C’mon, you can hold out. She could make it to the trees. She was too far away for him to catch up now. It started to rain. A soft rain. The kind, somebody had told her, that often came up in Georgia without warning. Beneath her, the ground sloped steeply as the grass grew wet. She slipped, tried to stifle a yelp, but it escaped her lips. She sprinted across a patch of grass to the first clump of trees. The bright moon cast an eerie glow on the rocks and wild growth. She’d never liked wooded areas. She thought about murders in the forest preserves where she’d grown up. She thought of stories she’d heard about snakes in the Georgia woods. She glanced behind her. The cop’s light bobbed about halfway down the hill. No choice. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself and stepped into the tall grass. She took a quick step, then another. Found a spot where the trees opened up. Something caught her foot. Down she went. Her palms skidded across the muddy ground. What had she’d tripped over? She brushed her hair out of her eyes, hoping she hadn’t landed on a slithering snake. Then she froze. Inches away from her face, lay a shape. A familiar shape. She stared at it, her breath coming in snatches. Was she hallucinating? It looked like a kid’s sneaker. Peeking out from a pile of wet twigs and pine straw, like it had been lost there. Or buried. She reached out and whisked away some of the debris covering it. Her chest tightened. The sneaker had a foot in it. She got to her knees to sweep off more dirt. An ankle. A sock. A hem of denim. Oh, God. It was a leg. A human leg. Small. A child’s leg. A girl’s leg. A young teen. She found the other sneaker. She was shaking all over by now. Her heart choking her throat, she crawled to the side of what she now realized was a mound. Desperately she shoved away the muck and grimy pine straw, the dreck someone had used to…she couldn’t even think it…to bury someone? Two legs appeared under her hands, clad in a pair of designer jeans. The type hip young girls liked to wear. She kept going and found the bottom hem of a fancy, girlish T-shirt. Then two young hands…tied with thick rope, clasped together as if in prayer. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. Tears burned her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself. Madly, she brushed away the rest of the dirt, and at last, the face appeared. Young. Pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful. And perfectly still. Dead. Book 1 FREE - Series FREE with Kindle Unlimited Someone Else's Daughter (A Miranda's Rights Mystery) Book 1
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Anticipation surged through me as I stepped into the darkened hallway. I smelled him before I saw him—a spicy, whiskey-and-fireside scent. And the connection…that strange fizzing in my chest, a lightness I’d never felt before. The wire that connected us. The Devil of Darkvale was here. I squinted into the dark, barely able to make out the shadow of a man. He was huge, towering over me with a leonine grace that was all threat. My heart leapt into my throat as my hand flashed out and miraculously collided with a light switch. I flipped it on, and a faint golden glow gleamed from the ceiling. It cast the Devil in a fiery light that only seemed to emphasize his icy hardness. He leaned casually against the wall, every muscle perfectly still but ready to pounce. If I tried to run, he’d be on me in a heartbeat. Shadows flickered over his eerily perfect features, making his cheekbones look sharp as glass and his lips full and kissable. They didn’t fit with the rest of his hard face, and the contrast made something in my belly flutter. He was still dressed in an impeccable suit, but it didn’t make him look staid or boring or even like a businessman. No, he looked like a spy. If spies had fangs. I couldn’t see his now, but the memory of them flickered in my mind. “Why are you here?” I was glad that my voice sounded stable. I could still feel the wooziness that came with the drink I’d had earlier, but the sight of him sobered me up some. His gaze traveled down my body, and I remembered with a start that I was still dressed in the blue bikini. My hair was wet. We were a good two meters apart, but it was too close. I stepped back. “Nervous?” he asked. “When you look at me like I’m a piece of steak, yeah.” “Not steak.” “No?” “Cake.” I scowled at him. “I am not food.” I pointed to his mouth. “And considering the fact that you do eat people, I’m finding that comparison a bit too close for comfort.” Something unidentifiable crossed his handsome face. “I don’t eat people.” “Hmm, I feel like you’re splitting hairs.” I kept my distance. “Why are you here?” “I followed you.” “Yeah, that’s what I was worried about. Why?” “You froze me in my own office.” “You scared me.” “I did?” He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah.” I shifted, wishing I had a weapon on me. It was weird to be attracted to someone I was terrified of. “Do you scare easily?” “Only when it’s wise.” “Is it wise now?” Something tingled down my spine, and I wondered. “Undetermined. Why are you here?” “I’m interested in you.” You. Not the murder, but you. Maybe because he was the murderer. I couldn’t rule it out, even though it seemed less likely. At least, it felt less likely. I hoped my attraction wasn’t driving me off the scent. Nerves shivered up my spine. “Oh?” An unseen force seemed to tug me toward him, and I resisted it. I wanted to get close enough to touch him, but I also wanted to walk out of here with all my fingers intact. Not to mention my throat. I reached for the vial hanging around my neck, unscrewed it from the chain., and held it up. “This is a truth serum from Eve. Drink it and tell me you didn’t commit this murder or the murder of a woman killed on Fleet Street on the twentieth of June last year.” His gaze moved between the little bottle and me. “Fine.” My heart thundered. He took the vial from me, his touch avoiding mine. In the flash of an eye, the potion was gone. “I didn’t murder either of those people.” The words flowed easily from his lips, and the slightest bit of tension left my body. “Who was the woman.”?” he asked. “A similar victim.” “With a necromancer’s mark?” “Yes.” I looked to the left of him. “Why won’t you look me in the eye?” he asked. “I’ve heard about your power to control people.” “I don’t need eye contact for it to work.” I frowned. “You haven't tried it on me, then?” “In fact, I have.” His hand moved toward my face, and I froze solid. Gently, his fingertips rested against my chin. The slightest pressure moved my head. Suddenly, I was looking right at him, unable to drag my gaze away from his icy eyes
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