Damn it. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. How could she pretend to be her sister, even going so far as to dress like her and wear glasses, and yet not be able to simply hold her tongue? Hannah squared her shoulders and stared across the table. Will Sutherland was so damn sexy, that’s why. He had her so flustered she couldn’t think. All of this was his fault. How could she keep up her disguise when all she could think about was raking her fingers through that hair to see if she could mess it up? Those lips, which were now thinned with frustration, seemed soft. Was he a good kisser? She hadn’t felt much of an attraction toward any man in a long time. Why did this man, of all the ones in her world, have to grab her attention? She’d hoped that pretending to be Hallie would tamp down some of the heat she felt whenever he was near. No such luck and now she’d gone and blown her cover. As if she needed more problems. She’d known switching record labels would be difficult, no matter which one she chose. Mags ruled this town and she…

Brianna Banks entered the attorney’s office the next morning. “Good morning, Lois.” The older woman glanced up at Brianna and smiled. “Good morning, Brianna. You’re early.” “Is Mr. Cavanaugh in?” “Yes, he’s here, and since you and Mr. Outlaw are the only two needed for the reading of the will, we can get started as soon as he arrives.” Lois Inglese then leaned over the desk and said in a low voice, “I didn’t know Ellen had a son. Did you?” Brianna drew in a deep breath. She liked Lois. Had known the fifty-something-year-old woman all her life. The one thing she also knew was that Lois had a pen­chant for gossip. More than once, Lois had gotten in hot water with Mr. Cavanaugh for discussing things that should be confidential. “I’d rather not say, Lois.” Brianna checked her watch. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a seat over there and wait.” Lois’s smile faded when she realized Brianna would not divulge any information. Brianna crossed the room to take a chair by the win­dow that overlooked Eagle Bend River. Although she had known about Ellen’s son, Lois was the last person Brianna would admit anything to. She’d also known…

Now Hi, Mom! I delete the exclamation point. Hi, Mom. That doesn’t feel right, either. Hey, Mom. Did you cheat on Dad in college? Delete. Hey, Mom. So I just got an email from FamilyTree.com that says Dad isn’t my father. DID YOU CHEAT ON HIM??? Delete. I close my eyes and focus on breathing, trying to center myself, but there’s no use. I should feel validated for all the times I felt like an outsider in my family. My stomach churns at the thought of another family out there, another life where I might have grown up knowing how it feels to belong. My mother took that from me. One more deep breath, and then I crack my knuckles and start typing. Hi, Mom. I got an email from FamilyTree.com. They said a man named Andrew Abrams is my father. Paige. Not bad, I think, rereading the words. Direct, straightforward, and not accusatory. Before I lose my nerve, I hit send. It’s just after three, so she’s probably out having coffee with one of her girlfriends. I can picture her, glancing at her phone as the email comes in, her face growing pale, her jaw literally dropping. “Elizabeth, what’s…

His First Letter One day into the voyage, one day in Earth time  I said goodbye to the guys, as they won’t be seeing me until the wedding. In four years and four months, to be precise. They all said they’d come. We took photos and I gave each of them a small leather frame on a lanyard to hold the pictures. The wedding venue gave them to me for free when I paid the deposit on our booking. I told them to come to the ceremony wearing the photos around their necks. That way I won’t make a fool of myself asking each of them who they are. They made fun of me. “It must be great to be getting married. Leaving your pesky friends behind, huh?” “You interstellar marrying types are all traitors.” I told them it wouldn’t be an easy time for me either. I almost got punched when I added it was going to take me a whole eight weeks to get to our wedding day. A month to get up to the speed of light, and a month to slow down enough to make a safe landing. That’s how it works. And that’s even with…

PROLOGUE London March 1941 The cool, clear night shuddered, then moaned as the fluctuating drone of hundreds of engines eclipsed the silence. A wave of planes like angry hornets slipped through the darkened sky over a city already wearing black in preparation for the inevitable mourning. She tasted dust and burnt embers in the back of her throat as she hurried through a crowd of stragglers running toward a shelter. A man grabbed her arm, as if to correct her movement, but an explosion nearby made him release his hold and hurry after the crowd. She shifted the valise she cradled in her arms, the pressure on her chest making it difficult to breathe. Fatigue and pain battered her body, both eagerly welcomed, as they disguised the bruise of overwhelming grief. She staggered forward, the blood dripping unchecked from her leg and forehead, the acrid stench of explosives mixed with the sharp smell of death. Gingerly, she moved through the darkened high street so familiar in the daylight but foreign to her now. The night sky blossomed with fire and scarlet light as the loud bark of the antiaircraft guns answered the banshee wails of the warning sirens. Pressing herself…

Lovestruck Fire Department Captain Jason McBride lingered in the tool aisle of the mom-and-pop hardware store on Main Street, staring blankly ahead at the hammer display. Why had he come in here on the way back to the station from his doctor’s appointment, again? He pressed hard on his temples in an effort to force his careening thoughts back on track. There’d been a reason for this errand. He was certain of it. He just couldn’t remember what it was. Calm down. It wasn’t the worst news. You’re not dying or anything. Everything’s going to be fine. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried not to think about the look of concern on Dr. Martin’s face or the intimidating words printed at the top of the brochure the doctor had handed him. NIHL—Noise-Induced Hearing Loss Ac­companied by Tinnitus. It wasn’t a brain tumor, as he’d feared. That was the good news, and Jason was grateful for it. He truly was. But the bad news was indeed bad. NIHL was permanent, as was the tinnitus. How was he sup­posed to live—and, more importantly, do his job—with a constant roar in his ears? Just yes­terday, he’d missed an entire conversation over his…

So here she was, sitting at her desk among the many other desks, with Dan Cochran’s tantalizing crotch at eye level while he went through last month’s expenses. She’d only known Dan for a couple of months – he’d been brought in by the new owners while she was on leave – but she already liked him a lot, and not just because he was so scorchingly sexy. He was also a really nice person, a listener, almost boy-next-door nice. Before Olivia, that lack of edge, his mildness, would have been a turn-off. Jake didn’t do nice. He was exciting, unpredictable, mercurial and she’d always been drawn to that in a man. It made her feel alive – or at least it used to. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jake now, lying on a portable massage table in the office she’d lovingly decorated. Everybody knew it was the best office in the building: big enough for ten desks, and still with room to spare. The view over the bay was exquisite: you could see for miles along the shoreline and all the way to the woods that topped the nearby cliffs. There was a balcony…

For a moment, she allowed herself to experience what Griffin McCabe might have felt when he discovered that his dog was missing. Did he stay out all night looking for him? did he put up lost dog posters with Spencer’s photo? How long did he keep hoping he’d turn up? Did he cry? Her heart twisted as she realized that Griffin’s “missing” dog was resting safe and sound beside her and he had no clue. Based on the Facebook post, he hadn’t given up hope, even after a year with no leads. She closed her eye in defeat. Damn it, she had to do it, and it had to happen now. If she waited, she’d find a million reasons not to call. but now, on a dead-end day when she could feel his loss in the pit of her belly, she could allow it. It wasn’t fair to let the stranger continue to wonder if his dog was dead or alive. but… but what if he was an a-hole and demanded that she give him back? And who actually owned Spencer Was there a statute of limitations on pet parenthood? Justine felt herself getting preemptively angry at Griffin. “No matter what…

Jake propped up the wall outside Captain Castillo’s office in the Northeast Division with one shoulder. Castillo hated tardiness almost as much as he hated the press. Jake hadn’t bothered knocking on the office door because he could hear Castillo’s voice on the other side. He’d end the phone call at precisely three thirty and open that door, expecting Jake to be standing right where he was. And if he weren’t there? He didn’t know. He’d never tempted fate like that. He had to play by certain rules so that he could break others. The low drone of Castillo’s voice stopped, and Jake stood at attention. The door swung open, framing Castillo, navy suit slightly rumpled, salt-and-pepper hair already escaping from the pomade Castillo slathered on his head. The captain nodded once. “McAllister.” Jake followed the captain into the room, taking the lone chair on the other side of the functional desk, and dove right in. “I’m assuming this is about the two murders.” “It is. We’ve identified the second victim, Kelsey Lindquist.” Castillo shoved a picture of a pretty blonde across his desk. “No connection to Marissa Perez that we can see. They didn’t know each other, live in…

He turned on the lamp, pulled up a footstool, and sat in front of her. Reluctantly, it seemed, he held out his injured hand. “Ow!” Abby commiserated. That bird had taken a chunk out of Quinn’s pointer finger, just below the middle knuckle. “You need stitches.” “I’ve fixed worse cuts than this with duct tape.” He dug through the kit and handed over a tube of Neosporin. “Just get on with it.” “How did he get you so bad?” As gently as she could, she smeared the antibiotic cream over the open gash. “Made the mistake of leaning my hand on the aviary wire when I poured the food into his bowl.” He handed over a fresh Band-Aid. “I won’t do that again.” “I’m sorry. I hate that you’re having to do all this for me.” She wrapped the Band-Aid around his finger and smoothed down the adhesive edges. “My fault, remember?” He replaced the bandages and Neosporin and snapped the lid shut. “Can you please stop apologizing?” “I’m sorry.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How does your foot feel?” The throbbing pain from earlier this morning now burned with the heat of a thousand suns….