When Kacy Macgrath's life crumbled two years ago, she changed her name and escaped to her grandmother's cottage in Ireland. Here she lives anonymously, with no reminders of the past--except the terrifying images that continue to haunt her dreams. Images of the stormy night her husband Alex walked out on her--and fell into the raging waters near their Long Island home. After his death, Kacy uncovered secrets about Alex she was better off not knowing, so she ran away. Now someone is watching her.
Braedon Roche has traveled across an ocean looking for justice--to expose Kacy Macgrath as a master forger who, along with her late husband, had nearly destroyed his career as an art dealer. What Braedon doesn't expect is his undeniable attraction to the fragile widow hiding behind a web of deception. But Braedon isn't the only man following Kacy. A savage killer stalks from the shadows, chipping away at her sanity, and trapping her in an unspeakable nightmare. . . .
From the Paperback edition.
Excerpts
From the book...
Southampton"I don't want a divorce, Alex. I want a husband."
Lightning flashed as the glass pane shook with the force of the wind. Kacy felt it vibrate under her fingertips. Rain pounded against the French door, running in rivulets down its face, partially obscuring the wildly gyrating trees outside. The path to the beach, beyond the trees, was totally invisible, the downpour acting like a moving curtain, obliterating almost everything.
"I am your husband, Kirstin." Alex's voice was tense, a low counterpoint to the fury of the storm.
She turned to face him, alarmed at how his use of her first name could sound so wrong, so foreign. "Maybe in name, but . . ."
He cut her off with the wave of a hand. "In all ways." His eyes narrowed, telegraphing his meaning.
She shivered. "It isn't like it used to be."
His smile was slow, almost lazy, and it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, perhaps it's time you learned to be a little more adventurous." She clenched her fists, wondering how she'd managed to get herself in this position. By marrying a stranger, the little voice in her head calmly announced. Thunder rattled through the living room. The lights flickered, went out, and then came on again. She squinted as her eyes adjusted. "I need someone who loves me, Alex-"
"Loves you?" His look changed to derision. "And that's why you eloped with someone you hardly knew? Come, Kirstin, be honest, you married me for the same reason I married you." His hand snaked out and he jerked her to him, his tongue tracing the line of her lips. "You want me, Kirstin." He pressed against her. "You want this."
"Alex, I . . ." She tried to push him away, to find the right words, to face the reality of what he'd become. "Not like this, please."
"Fine." He stared down at her, his jaw tightening, then he released her, his handsome face mottled with anger. "Have it your way." The words exploded from his lips and he pushed past her, throwing open the door. Rain lashed into the room, instantly soaking them both.
"Where are you going?" She placed a timid hand on his arm. She'd never seen him this angry.
He shook off her hand and turned, his hair already plastered to his head. "Out."
"But the storm . . ." She gestured toward the torrent of rain pounding the paving of the patio.
"It beats the hell out of being here, with you." Each word was clipped, designed to wound. She flinched as if she'd been struck, watching helplessly as he headed out into the storm.
"Alex, wait." She followed him, the wind snatching away her words. He was only a dim shadow now, moving down the path toward the beach, illuminated at off moments by a flash of lightning. She took a step toward his retreating figure, surprised at the strength of the wind. For every step forward, it seemed to beat her back two. She sniffed, her nose filling with rain and tears.
Coughing, she fought her way forward, urged on by the dark silhouette of her husband heading for the beach, feeling the wet sand suck at her feet. Alex was almost to the dock, his frame bent at the waist as he tried to maneuver. Their little sailboat bobbed violently in the roiling ocean. Surely he wasn't going to try to go out in that?
"Alex," she screamed. Again the wind tore away her words, throwing them back at her with an almost angry savagery.
She neared the ocean's edge, still a hundred feet or so from Alex and the boat. He'd managed to climb out on the dock. In the recurring lightning, she could almost make out his features. It was like watching him in...
About the Author
Dee Davis has a B.A. in Political Science and History, and a Masters Degree in Public Administration. During a ten year career in public relations, she wrote television and radio commercials, three award-winning public service announcements, and multimedia presentations for several large organizations.
Davis is a member of the Romance Writers of America and various community volunteer organizations. Right now, the time she doesn't spend at the computer is spent with her husband, daughter, and cat.
