W.L. Brooks
The Wild Rose Press
314
Romantic Suspense
Fletcher J. McKay has been shot, driven insane, and tortured by a madman, so what’s one more psycho coming after her? But this foe’s disturbing attempts to extinguish Fletch’s light leave her shaken. Running out of options, she must consort with the enemy.
Fletcher is undoubtedly Sheriff Noah Reed’s nemesis. Their discord began with an irrevocable outcome of an unforeseeable trauma, but duty demands he keeps her safe. The closer he gets, the more his loathing turns to lust.
Devastated by loss, Fletcher agrees to go into Noah’s protective custody. Passion takes them across the boundaries of their animosity, but is their tentative bond enough? Or is the line between love and hate, as with life and death, fixed.
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First Chapter:
Noah Reed grimaced and set the mug down; the coffee was cold. How long had he been standing here, staring? He leaned his muscled shoulder against the wall and continued to study the woman on the other side of the two-way mirror. At twenty-five, his suspect could easily be mistaken for a teenager. She was young, brash, and bewitching. Her long, tawny hair was in twin braids on either side of her head, her overalls were frayed, and her boots were muddy. By all appearances she was dismissible, but underestimating her would be absolute folly. Not only was this woman intelligent and resourceful, but she was also his nemesis, and he had charges that would stick. Murder in the first degree; he had her dead to rights. And he hated it.
Her gaze landed on him through the glass. She couldn’t see him, but that didn’t stop Noah’s gut from clenching at the ice in her blue-green gaze. Fletcher McKay didn’t try to disguise her feelings. No, her hatred of him radiated off her slender form like a plume of smoke.
Noah straightened from the wall and rolled his neck. There was no doubt he would be walking on dangerous ground. He had given up being a homicide detective in the city, a job he’d loved, to take over as interim sheriff when Jasper Hart asked him to. Noah had been honored. But that was before this. Technically, Daemon Randle’s murder wasn’t his jurisdiction, but Noah had called in a couple of favors so he could take the lead with this particular suspect. He had her. Fletcher returned from her “vacation” the same day as Randle’s transfer. A sniper had shot the victim—and Noah loathed calling Randle a victim— through the heart. Fletcher was a damn fine marksman. She also had a reason for killing the bastard—a worldclass-bordering-on-justifiable motive. But murder was murder, and he was the law in this town.
****
Fletcher held Reed’s steely gaze when he entered the room. It wasn’t the first time she’d sat on this side of the interview desk, and with Noah as sheriff, she doubted it would be her last. Reed outweighed her by a good hundred pounds, was over a foot taller, and was fucking massive—linebacker huge. Plus, he had it in for her. The man was a dumb jock turned cop. Okay, he wasn’t a jock, and he was far from dumb. But he drove her batshit.
He’d had her sitting in this small-ass drab room stewing for almost two hours. She could wait; her lawyer was on the way, though Reed wasn’t aware of that yet. Reed had been kind enough to give her a cup of sludge passing as coffee to fight the chill in the interview room, which would have been nice of him if he had given her time to use the restroom. If he had come in and offered her a bathroom break, she would have accepted, then told him they needed to wait for her lawyer. But he hadn’t come back until now—the asshat.
Was it the oldest trick in the book? Give the perp a beverage, withhold the bathroom, and watch them squirm? Yes, yes, it was. But that was beside the point.
The legs of the chair scraped against the concrete floor. “Did you kill Daemon Randle?”
An image of Daemon invaded her brain. Not how he looked after he’d received a new face and had taken her hostage, but before. When all she’d suspected him of was murdering his brother. And she’d wanted answers bad enough to do or say whatever she had to. Not only had he believed her, but he’d also sworn his everlasting love and devotion. She had sacrificed so much to trap him, and he had taken the easy way out. Or so she thought, but she had been irrevocably wrong. The actual ramifications of his “devotion” came later…with the torment.
Fletcher jerked when Reed rapped his knuckles against the table. Fuck. She’d gone down the rabbit hole again. She inhaled through her nose, then exhaled through her mouth in such a way that it went unnoticed. She had practiced. She straightened in her chair and shot Reed a droll look. “What was that?”
“Did you murder Daemon Randle?” Reed asked again, looking over his shoulder when the door opened.
A dark-skinned man in an impeccably tailored grey suit entered the room. “Don’t answer that, Fletcher.”
Pure delight shot through her. Reed was going to be so pissed. She slapped an eat-shit-and-die grin on her face.
“And who the hell are you?”
The man held his hand out for Reed. “I’m Malik Watson, Ms. McKay’s attorney.”
Noah shook Malik’s hand, but his eyes never left hers; one dark brow rose. “Attorney?”
Fletcher shrugged.
“Fine,” Noah grumbled. “I’ll leave you to speak to your client alone.”
Fletcher waited until the door shut. “You got here fast,” she said, her bladder forgotten.
Malik smiled. “Your voicemail was persuasive.”
Fletcher grinned. Mal hadn’t changed since college. He was several years older than her and incredibly handsome in a bookish way.
He stared at her for a moment with his dreamy hazel eyes and sighed. “Did you kill him?”
“No. Did I want to? Yep.” More than anyone could fathom; more than she would ever admit. Daemon Randle had kidnapped her, kept her prisoner, and that was the least he’d done to her. Did she want him dead? You bet your ass.
Malik’s lips quirked upward. “I’ll advise you not to mention that to anyone else.”
Fletcher snorted. “No shit! But if it makes you feel any better, I have an alibi.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” He undid the button on his suit jacket and sat. “Is it solid?”
Was it ever! “Rock.”
Raising a brow, Malik opened his briefcase. “Then why not tell Sheriff Reed and save yourself all this?”
“ ’Cause, Reed’s had a vendetta against me for years. Now he’s getting his chance to get his revenge. I want him to think he’s got me, and then when he goes to arrest me, I’m gonna lay it on him.” It was going to be sweet.
He waved a hand in the air. “And I’m here because?”
“It’ll make Reed think I’ve got something to hide. Convince him he’s won. Then wham!” She slammed a fist on the table. “It’ll be great. The look on his face alone will be worth it. I’ll be paying you either way, so stop pouting.”
He smirked. “The higher they rise, the harder they fall. Let the games begin.”
About W.L. Brooks
A native of Virginia Beach, she is currently living in Western North Carolina. Pick up her latest novel, Unearthing the Past – available now!
Website: www.wlbrooks.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authorwlbrooks
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16200243.W_L_Brooks
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