About the Author
Jayne Ann Krentz is a New York Times bestselling author of contemporary romantic-suspense novels. She also writes historical romance under the name Amanda Quick and paranormal romance under the name Jayne Castle. Jayne loves to hear from her readers and can be found at www.facebook.com/JayneAnnKrentz.
As a homeopath, Lindsay McKenna writes books that introduce people to alternative medicine. Living in twenty-two places in seven states during the first eighteen years of her life provided her with a backdrop for her fictional writing. A U.S. Navy veteran, she was a meteorologist while serving her country. Coming from an Eastern Cherokee heritage, she often likes to write about Native Americans. Visit her online at www.LindsayMcKenna.com.
USA Today bestselling author B.J. Daniels wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist. Since then she has more than 40 short stories and 70 books in print. Her best-selling Harlequin Intrigue series, Whitehorse, Montana, has appeared on the USA Today bestselling list numerous times. She has also won a variety of awards including a Career Achievement Award for romantic suspense. Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"How did you get in here, Rafe?" Not the brightest of questions under the circumstances, but the only coherent one Margaret could come up with in that moment. She was so stunned, she could barely think at all.
"Your neighbor across the hall took pity on me when she found out I'd come all this way just to see you and you weren't here. It seems the two of you exchanged keys in case one of you got locked out. She let me in."
"It looks like I'd better start leaving my spare key with one of the other neighbors. Someone who has a little more common sense."
"Come on in and close the door, Maggie. We have a lot to talk about."
"You're wrong, Rafe. We have nothing to talk about." She stood where she was, refusing to leave the uncertain safety of the lighted hall.
"Are you afraid of me, Maggie?" Rafe's voice was cut glass and black velvet in the darkness. There was a soft, Southwestern drawl in it that only served to heighten the sense of danger. It was the voice of a gun-fighter inviting some hapless soul to his doom in front of the saloon at high noon.
Margaret said nothing. She'd already been involved in one showdown with Rafe and she'd lost.
Rafe's smile grew slightly more menacing as he reached out and flicked on the light beside his chair. It gleamed off his dark brown hair and threw the harsh, aggressive lines of his face into stark relief. His gray, Western-cut jacket was slung over a convenient chair and his long-sleeved white shirt was open at the throat. Silver and turquoise gleamed in the elaborate buckle of the leather belt that circled his lean waist.
"There's no need to be afraid of me, Maggie. Not now."
The not so subtle taunt had the effect Margaret knew Rafe intended it to have. She moved slowly into the foyer and closed the door behind her. For an instant she was angry with herself for obeying him. Then she reminded herself that this was her apartment.
"I suppose there's not much point in telling you I don't want you here?" she asked as she tossed her small golden purse down onto a white lacquer table.
"You can kick me out later. After we've talked. Why don't you pour yourself a brandy for your nerves and we'll continue this conversation in a civilized manner."
She glanced at the glass he held in one hand and realized he'd found her Scotch. The bottle had been left over from last year. No one she knew drank Scotch except Rafe Cassidy and her father. "You were never particularly civilized."
"I doubt it."
"Pour the brandy, Maggie, love," he advised a little too gently.