Painter Jenny Kinley has spent the last decade struggling in the New York art world. Her grandmother’s sudden death brings her home to New Mexico, but inheriting the children’s art camp her grandmother ran is more of a burden than a gift. How can she give up her lifelong dreams of showing her work in galleries and museums?
Rob Caruso, the camp cook and all-around handyman, would be happy to run the camp with Jenny. Dare he even dream of that, when his past holds dark secrets that he can never share? When Jenny’s father reappears after a decade-long absence, only Rob knows where he’s been and what danger he’s brought with him.
Jenny and Rob face midnight break-ins and make desperate escapes, but the biggest danger may come from the secrets that don’t want to stay buried. In the end, they must decide whether their dreams will bring them together or force them apart.
“Kris Bock used all the things I love about [romantic suspense]. Appealing lead characters, careful development of the mysterious danger facing one or both of those characters, a great location that is virtually a character on its own, interesting secondary characters who might or might not be involved or threatened, and many surprises building up to the climax.” 5 Stars – Roberta at Sensuous Reviews blog
Visit Kris Bock’s Amazon US page or Amazon UK page. (For other countries click here. Not on sale in other countries.)
Excerpt:
Jenny rose from sleep slowly, her body resisting. She
could see nothing in the pitch black. Where was she? She blinked, trying to
make sure her eyes were really open.
Memories broke through the fog. The phone call, the
rush across country, the late arrival. Crawling into bed in her grandparents’
upstairs guest room. She groaned and pulled up the blanket. Morning must be
hours away, given the darkness.
The old house creaked, but no sounds drifted in from
outside. Maybe that’s what woke her; she was used to the murmur of city sounds
all night long. Who’d have thought that would become normal?
The house creaked again, followed by a rhythmic sound
– like footsteps. Jenny jerked upright, her ears straining. Had she heard a
voice?
She shook her head. She must still be half asleep,
dreaming. Imagining her grandparents were still here. Wishful thinking.
Downstairs, a door closed. Jenny clutched the
blanket. Imagination be damned. She was not alone.
For a long moment, she sat frozen. During her ten
years in New York City, she had never been burglarized or mugged. It seemed
impossible that such a thing should happen now, here, in an off-season art camp
five miles outside of Jemez Springs, New Mexico.
Maybe it was someone her grandmother knew. But what
were they doing there in the middle of the night? And if they’d come to see
Jenny, they should have knocked, rung the bell. Waited for morning. Anyway, who
knew she was there? Even Ms. Lucena didn’t know when she was supposed to
arrive. She hadn’t told anyone her travel plans; she’d just gone.
She had to do something. Jenny rose and eased open
the bedroom door, praying she had somehow been mistaken, that everything would
make sense if… when…. She couldn’t imagine a benign explanation.
She stood with her ear to the crack and heard a low
chuckle, and then a male voice. She couldn’t tell if the laugh and the voice
were the same person. Either way, that suggested two or more people, at least
one of them male.
Why would a man be laughing in her grandmother’s
house, in the middle of the night, two days after her grandmother’s death? No
good reason came to mind.
She fumbled for her phone on the bedside stand. But
even before she activated the screen, she gave a frustrated grunt. She wouldn’t
get reception here. The only place in camp that got cell phone reception was
the southeast corner of the parking lot. The landline was downstairs, in the
kitchen.
Something crashed in a room below. Jenny jumped and
dropped her phone. It hit her thigh, then her foot, and went skittering under
the bed with a faint scrape against the wood floor.
A man was swearing downstairs. Hopefully that had
covered up any sound she’d made. Jenny clenched her hands to control the
trembling. She couldn’t imagine her grandmother being friendly with anyone who
swore like that.
She had to get out of the house. She wouldn’t wait
upstairs for the burglars, if that’s what they were, to find her. If she could
get to her car – damn. Her keys were in her purse, which was downstairs on the
living room couch. So she couldn’t drive, but she could still go to the Lodge,
break in if she had to. Use the phone in the office, call the police.
Still shaking, Jenny crouched and felt along the
floor for her shoes. She was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top; no
need to waste time putting on clothes. She was already cold, but her jacket was
downstairs, lying over her purse on the couch. It didn’t matter. She just had
to get out.
Visit Kris Bock’s Amazon US page or Amazon UK page. (For other countries click here. Not on sale in other countries.)
Read excerpts at www.krisbock.com
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