New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller turns up the heat in this sizzling tale of suspense and re-kindled passions set against the blazing skies of Arizona's lush desert landscape -- where a killer is determined to exact his revenge.
When hard-working attorney Clare Westbrook learns that her ambulance-chasing boss has been murdered, she's shocked -- but not exactly surprised. Harvey Kredd was known for his less-than-ethical business dealings, and even his acts of generosity were tinged with greed; Clare, working at Kredd and Associates to pay off the law school loan Harvey had granted her several years before, knows she's got no choice: indentured servitude, twenty-first-century style.
But Harvey's death doesn't let Clare out of her contract with the firm; instead it brings her a new, odious multimillionaire client, and Tony Sonterra, homicide detective and local heartthrob, who's not above using a murder investigation to get back into Clare's life. Jump-starting her affair with Tony is the last thing Clare needs -- she's got enough on her plate raising her niece, Emma, without throwing a bull-headed cop into the mix.
Then Clare gets the news that may convince her Tony is exactly what she needs: Emma's father has been released from prison, and he's intent on seeing his daughter. Though she could never persuade the police to believe her, Clare is convinced that James Arren murdered her sister.
Clare is determined to find evidence that will put James Arren away for good, but Tony is just as determined to keep her safe, after another murder -- clearly meant to target Clare -- rocks the law firm. With no real leads, too many suspects, and a growing chain of menacing violence, Clare finds that teaming up with the devil she knows is her only option -- one that's just too attractive to resist.
With the same rich storytelling style that has captivated readers worldwide, Linda Lael Miller delivers a page-turning blend of heated passion and captivating suspense.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
December 31, 2002
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Don't Look Now by Linda Lael Miller
CAVE CREEK, ARIZONA
I didn't kill Harvey Kredd; somebody beat me to it. That night at the Horny Toad, a week after his untimely and gruesome death, my brain fried by an afternoon in the courtroom, where I was hammered by an assistant D.A., I was ready to dig the boss up and empty my trusty .38 into his chest, just in case there was so much as a flutter of life left in him.
Stopping by the Toad for beer and burgers wasn't my idea; all I wanted to do was go home, put up my feet, and knock back a couple of glasses of Chablis. I ended up there because my car was in the shop and my friend Loretta, having picked me up at the courthouse, was behind the wheel and therefore in control of my immediate destiny. I guess she figured neither of us was in any condition to cook; she'd worn herself out taking back-to-back yoga and Pilates classes while I'd argued, and lost, one of the half-dozen crappy cases I'd inherited after Harvey took a bullet between the eyes and ended up facedown in a bowl of yakisoba, breathing noodles. Since his death, everybody in the firm had been scrambling to take up the slack, and we were all stressed out.
Now, I was tired and stressed out, and not just because of Harvey's recent demise and its many and varied ramifications. A year before, I'd defended a guy named Ned Lench on charges of drunken driving and negligent homicide, and won an acquittal on the proverbial technicality. I'd lost a lot in the process -- most notably, my quasi-relationship with Detective Anthony Sonterra, who had busted his very fine butt for eight months to nail Lench in the first place. To make matters infinitely worse, a few days prior to Harvey's murder, Lench, tanked up on coke and booze and God knows what else, had crashed his pickup truck into a minivan at the corner of Scottsdale Road and Chaparral, killing himself in the process.
Thanks to him -- and partly to me -- three others were dead besides, two of them children.
Reporters had been dogging me ever since, clamoring for comments. I guess they wanted to know how I managed to face myself in the mirror every morning, and the answer to that was simple: I was careful not to look too closely.
So far, I'd kept my face out of the papers, but my name was all over the place.
Clare Westbrook, attorney at law, tireless champion of scumbags everywhere.
Loretta was in one of her save-the-world-starting-with-Clare moods that night, determined to see me through the latest crisis, or drag me through, if necessary. And she'd feed me in the process, or die trying.