In Tatum Wood’s opinion, murdering her boss on a daily basis within the safety of her thoughts is better than therapy. Until he takes a swan dive off a building and all evidence points to her. Thank goodness she has Franklin Reed. Her mysterious, overprotective and drop-dead gorgeous coworker is all too eager to play hero. With two attacks in her building and her stalker with a penchant for roses, Franklin’s injection into her life couldn’t have come at a better time.
As Tatum and Franklin scramble to discover who’s behind the murder, secrets are unearthed that question his motives…as well as his identity.
“Who are you?” I swiveled to face him.
His grim expression softened. Barely. “You know who I am.”
“Who are you?” I asked again, more a demand than a question.
“The man who keeps saving your ass.” He looked my way, and I got my first glance at his face. The skin surrounding his eye boasted several shades of purple and blue. His nose definitely didn’t look right, and three large scratches stretched from his left eye to below his cheekbone. Not bad for my first shot at kicking someone’s ass. Instinct urged me to reach over and offer comfort. I tucked my hand under my leg to keep it from such betrayal.
“Why were men shooting at you?” I asked, unable to cloak the seething anger in my tone.
“They weren’t.”
“Now you’re not making sense.”
“You have to trust me.”
“How in the world can you ask me to do that? Why is there a collage of me on your wall?”
Franklin’s lips drew into a tight line. The muscles in his jaw protruded.
“Classified?” I asked, fed up with the way the conversation was going.
“Yes.”
My pressure gage blew. I buried my face in my hands and screamed. “Take me back to the police station. I can’t be near you. I’d rather rot in a cell.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” His voice remained calm.
I pulled on the door handle. “I’ll jump out if you don’t start talking. Why were men shooting at you?”
“They weren’t aiming for me, Killer. You were the target.”
His grim expression softened. Barely. “You know who I am.”
“Who are you?” I asked again, more a demand than a question.
“The man who keeps saving your ass.” He looked my way, and I got my first glance at his face. The skin surrounding his eye boasted several shades of purple and blue. His nose definitely didn’t look right, and three large scratches stretched from his left eye to below his cheekbone. Not bad for my first shot at kicking someone’s ass. Instinct urged me to reach over and offer comfort. I tucked my hand under my leg to keep it from such betrayal.
“Why were men shooting at you?” I asked, unable to cloak the seething anger in my tone.
“They weren’t.”
“Now you’re not making sense.”
“You have to trust me.”
“How in the world can you ask me to do that? Why is there a collage of me on your wall?”
Franklin’s lips drew into a tight line. The muscles in his jaw protruded.
“Classified?” I asked, fed up with the way the conversation was going.
“Yes.”
My pressure gage blew. I buried my face in my hands and screamed. “Take me back to the police station. I can’t be near you. I’d rather rot in a cell.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” His voice remained calm.
I pulled on the door handle. “I’ll jump out if you don’t start talking. Why were men shooting at you?”
“They weren’t aiming for me, Killer. You were the target.”
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Krissy is a full time writer, an avid reader, and lover of all things romance.
Growing up surrounded by the great outdoors, her childhood was full of adventure that fueled an overactive imagination and ignited a passion for storytelling. Whether it be dolls, or running free through the wooded areas surrounding her home, playtime always included a tormented villain, a damsel in distress and a larger than life hero.
After relentless encouragement from friends and family, she finally put the characters in her head to pen and paper. The only thing she loves more than curling up with a steamy romance novel, is cozying up to her desk and writing her own sexy adventures to share with others.
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