A former RITA® and Daphne finalist, Gail Barrett has received the Book Buyer’s Best Award, the Holt Medallion, the Booksellers Best, The National Readers’ Choice Award, and numerous other awards. She lives with her husband in Western Maryland. Readers can contact her through her website and Facebook.
Cold-case detective Parker McCall has spent fifteen years trying to solve his brother’s murder. Now a chance photo of the killer in the newspaper sets him hard on the woman’s trail. A former teenaged runaway, reclusive, award-winning photojournalist B.K. Elliot chronicles the harsh reality of life on the streets -- until a photo in the paper reveals her identity, blowing the lid off her secret past. With a powerful murderer now dogging her heels, and her police officer step-father determined to silence her permanently, the last person she can afford to trust is a cop. So why does sexy police detective Parker McCall tempt her to break her silence and resurrect ideals she’d lost years ago? As danger closes in, and with more than her own life at stake, Brynn must decide if the duty-bound cop will betray her...or heal her battered heart.
Gail will be awarding a $25 Amazon / BN (or other bookstore of the winner's choice) GC to one randomly drawn commenter during this tour and her other Book Blast on June 21st.
“I can’t breathe.”
Parker didn’t doubt it. He probably had seventy pounds of muscle on her.
“Please.” She sounded desperate now. “I…can’t…breathe.” Unable to dredge up any sympathy, he steeled his jaw. “You going to talk to me this time?”
“Somehow I’m not convinced.”
“I said I would.” Despite her predicament, temper flared into her voice.
“You’d better,” he warned. “You try running again, and I’ll hurt you for real this time.”
Too ticked off to trust her, he rolled over, positioning himself on top. Then he lumbered to his feet, every sense alert in case she tried to bolt. When she didn’t make a move to join him, he reached down and pulled her up. Still breathing heavily, he pulled out his badge and held it up.
“Put your hands behind your back and face the fence,” he ordered, taking out his handcuffs.
“You heard me.” He wasn’t taking the chance that she’d run again.
“You have no right—”
“You ran from the police. You assaulted an officer. I don’t need another reason than that. Now turn around—unless you’d rather I haul you in.”
Her gaze flicked to his shield again. Even in the dim light trickling from a nearby row house, he could see her jaw go tight. But she turned and held out her hands.
Wary of another trick, he slapped on the handcuffs, the delicate feel of her wrist bones causing a startling burst of heat in his blood. Forget that she’s a woman, he reminded himself as she whirled around. She was a possible suspect in his brother’s death, the last one to see him alive, not a potential date.
He picked up the backpack she’d dropped and searched it, unearthing the small, semiautomatic pistol she’d hidden inside. Still keeping one eye on her, he removed the magazine. “You have a permit for this?”
Her gaze skidded away.
“Right.” Stupid question. He stuffed the gun in his jacket pocket and shouldered the bag.
Her eyes returned to his. “So what do you want?”
“You always tackle people you want to question?”
“You always climb out the window when someone knocks on your door?”
Her mouth pressed into a line.
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