When soap opera star Abby Langford leaves Los Angeles for her Minnesota hometown, she’s hoping to give her nine-year-old daughter the peaceful childhood she never knew. But instead of tranquility, Abby finds an old knife hidden between the walls of her new house. Then the nightmares start: a blood-soaked victim and a killer’s arm slicing through the air, again and again.
Abby wonders if she’s having the nervous breakdown the tabloids claim she already had, especially when sexy, skeptical police chief Josh Kincaid questions her story. When menacing hate mail arrives, Josh’s professional concern for Abby soon evolves into an intense attraction, and the feeling is mutual. And now Josh wonders if her psychic visions are of crimes past—or a premonition of terrors to come.
To survive, Abby and Josh must uncover the truth and stop a killer . . . before Abby’s worst nightmares come true.
The knife had obviously been there a long time, nestled in the dust bunnies and wood shavings between the walls, in the space one of the two mahogany doors that separated the Victorian-style living room from the Brady Bunch décor of the family room usually slid back into. And it was covered with blood.
Abby Langford leaned the broom she’d used to fish out the knife against the wall, then picked the knife off the floor and studied it. Despite the day’s warmth and the sunlight streaming through the picture window, a gloomy chill engulfed the room. She could almost feel the steel blade scraping down her spine, raising goose bumps on her shoulders and arms.
This knife had killed someone.
Then she shook herself, dispelling most of the prickly cold. As usual, she was letting her imagination run wild. This wasn’t some menacing murder weapon, but an ordinary kitchen knife, with a nine-inch steel blade and a wood handle that looked parched enough to absorb a cup of mineral oil. The blood consisted of a few reddish-brown splotches on the blade, splotches that to her looked too smeared to be rust. It could be old food, though, something like dehydrated ketchup or oxidized chocolate. Or even blood, but from a rare steak, not a human.
Another shiver slithered across Abby’s shoulder blades. Because if this were an innocuous kitchen knife, why had someone hidden it so carefully?
When she was eight, Diana Miller decided she wanted to be Nancy Drew. But no matter how many garbage cans she dug through, conversations she “accidentally” overheard, and attics she searched, she never found a single cryptic letter, hidden staircase, or anything else even remotely mysterious. She worked as a lawyer, a soda jerk, a stay-at-home mom, a hospital admitting clerk, and a conference host before deciding that the best way to inject suspense into her otherwise satisfying life was by writing about it.
Diana is a five-time nominee for the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award and winner of a Golden Heart for Dangerous Affairs—a romantic suspense novel that shows not everyone in her home state is Minnesota Nice. She lives in the Twin Cities with her family.
My website: dianamillerwriter.com
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