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Denise is a Southern girl. She 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
Accounting is a skill she learned to earn a
little money to support her writing habit. She wrote he 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 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.
dark memories that fill the other person’s soul with regret, fear, or shame. Living
with other people’s guilt leaves little room in her psyche for her own history.
She recalls seemingly unconnected events, but did those horrible incidents
happen yesterday, last week, or six years ago?
turns to Sidney Ashe for help untangling her distorted timeline, but the more
she leans on him, the more she questions his motives. Can she distance herself from
Ashe when her heart is hopelessly falling for him?
As Naomi struggles to understand how her emerging memories
mesh with the guilty memories of everyone around her and things become clearer,
she fears there is a killer in Clallam County who would do anything to stop her
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her ample frame a little bit farther into the house. “I thought maybe something
was going on up here. This place has problems.”
desire to end the conversation, but when Abigail didn’t budge, Naomi stepped
forward and wrapped her hand around the doorknob.
Naomi’s forearm. She jerked at the sudden contact, a jolt of
hyper-consciousness zipping through her psyche. A vision of a young woman
flashed across Naomi’s mind. Shoving.
Resistance. Feet dragging on torn carpet. Tears in the girl’s eyes. Naomi’s
stomach muscles tightened, and she held her breath until the unwanted image
Naomi’s mind, and she wanted to kick herself for her carelessness. She shouldn’t
let anyone touch her, but Abigail had grabbed her arm before she could stop
She pushed the woman’s
hand off even though the damage was already done. Naomi had to nudge Abigail
out the door before the inevitable aftereffects of seeing into someone else’s
mind hit her. The confusion. The depression. The lethargy. Whether she passed
out this time or not, the experience would consume her, as it always did.
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