Denise is a Southern girl who has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and scrapbooking.
Accounting is a skill she has learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit. She wrote her first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She's been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed, she has no desire to slow down.
No longer able to tolerate her husband Scott’s abuse, Tamara Slay packs up her daughter, Gabby, and moves to Louisiana, hoping a new life and a new identity will give her a fresh start. An unexpected phone call from a Sheriff’s deputy in Florida shatters her sense of security. Scott hides a much darker secret than abusing his wife. Above all else, she must protect Gabby from Scott.
Lt. Martin Beck of the Santa Rosa County Sheriff’s Department has been investigating the death of Brandy Fuller for years. Sidetracked for a while by his wife’s murder, Beck finally reopens the cold Fuller case and discovers a thin lead. The new evidence takes him to Louisiana to meet the estranged wife of his primary suspect. Together, Beck and Tamara conclude that Scott not only murdered Brandy Fuller, but seven other women on the Florida Gulf coast.
As Beck dives deeper into the investigation, he draws closer to Tamara. Passions ignite as the one woman who wants Scott dead the most allies with the one man who wants Scott dead the most. Can Beck protect Tamara and Gabby from Scott and stop a serial killer from killing again?
Her eyes widened at the fine specimen of male physique he had been hiding beneath his uniform shirt. The man was ripped and lean. His broad shoulders narrowed to slim hips. His jeans didn’t hang loose on him, as was the style among younger men. The taut fabric accentuated his manhood without reservation. The man was fine. Heat rushed up her neck when she realized she’d been ogling him.
“I can see by the look on your face—”
“I shouldn’t have looked.” She averted her willful eyes. They seemed to want to stray toward his southern parts without her consent.
“I shouldn’t have left it out.”
Left what out? It looks covered up to me.
She winced and wanted to slap herself out of her hormone-induced stupor. He meant the binder. His voice was deep and husky with the sound of morning rumbling through its timbre.
He stepped around her and closed the binder with a snap.
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