(MSRP: 6.0000)
Available in Print
After a devastating personal tragedy, history professor Hillary Bennett seeks refuge in the quaint Scottish village of Culcraig, hoping to research a legend and salvage her career. Instead, she finds her hostess dead and her hopes for the future pinned to the woman’s black sheep heir.
The last thing Caid Douglas needs is a decrepit manor house to remind him of his estranged family, but he does need the money selling the house would bring to pay off his debts. In desperation he offers to honor his great aunt’s arrangement with Hillary—if she pays him to stay at Glendon House and view his ancestor’s journals, he’ll have the money to fix up the family mausoleum and sell it.
But an ancient curse hovers over the village, and the secret to lifting it lies in the journals. Will Caid and Hillary realize what they have and uncover the truth before a twisted killer silences them forever?
(328 pages) Spicy
EXCERPT:
“Are you suggesting we separate?”
Her grip on his hand tightened. Did she even realize she’d done that?
“It would probably make more sense to split up. If we worked from opposite ends and met in the middle, it would reduce the chance of an intruder slipping away. But as I said, this place is huge and we’re only two people. The odds of our mystery person eluding us are still pretty good. Not to mention the confusion.”
“Confusion?” He tried to suppress his grin.
“Yes. If we separated, we could easily wind up tracking each other. At least together, if we hear or see anything out of the ordinary, we know that it has to be someone else.”
“What an astounding rationalization.”
“I think I made some very good points.”
“Aye, you did. I’m sure you’ve convinced yerself quite nicely. Did you bring the subject up simply because you were concerned that I might think you liked holding my hand?” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, especially when she struggled to untangle her fingers from his.
As they entered the kitchen, he tightened his grip. “Dinnae be like that. I’m just having a wee bit of fun with you.”
She ceased struggling and her delicately shaped brows drew together in a frown. “That wasn’t here earlier.”
“What?” He turned to the direction she pointed. A brass fireplace poker lay dead center on the battered harvest table. On the floor, a series of watery footprints stretched between the back door to the table.
Christ’s sakes, Hillary hadn’t just been frightened alone in an old house, there had been someone else here. But who? And why?
