Thanks B.J. Daniels and Meryl L. Moss Media Relations, Inc.for allowing me to join your Mercy Blog Tour!
Please take it away, B.J.!
B.J. DANIELS, a USA Today and New York Times bestselling author, wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of 37 published short stories. That first book, ODD MAN OUT, received a 4 ½ star review from Romantic Times magazine and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue for that year. Since then she has won numerous awards including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and numerous nominations and awards for best book. Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two Springer Spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.
The hunt for a killer leads to a battle between justice and desire
For U.S. marshal Rourke Kincaid, there's the law and then there's his law. When the two don't agree, he always trusts his instincts. A killing spree has gripped the Northwest, showing a strange connection that only he sees, and now the old rules of justice no longer apply. Forced to turn rogue, he goes deep undercover to track his mysterious female suspect to a quiet, unassuming café in the wild, isolated mountains of Beartooth, Montana.
But encountering Callie Westfield complicates his mission in ways he never expected. As suspicious as she seems, her fragile beauty and sexy charm get to Rourke. Then the gory crimes begin anew. With his heart suddenly at war with his instincts, he has only two options. Either turn Callie over to the law, or put everything — including his badge and his life — on the line to protect her.
Excerpt
Rourke breathed in the sweet, mysterious scent of Callie Westfield as his mouth took possession of hers again.
She moaned, sending his already pounding heart drumming harder. He wanted this woman, wanted to get under her skin, wanted to know her intimately. He knew how dangerous it was. He didn’t care. She’d been a mystery to him for too long. Now she was in his arms, her mouth opening invitingly to his, her breath mingling with his, her tongue Callie suddenly pulled back, her gaze locking with his again. He was breathing hard. He didn’t want to let go of her.
She took a breath, her cheeks flushed. Her arms moved from around his neck. She pressed her palms against the front of his shirt — but she didn’t push him away, and he didn’t loosen his hold on her, afraid if he did she would slip away.
He watched her catch her breath, her dark eyes searching his face before her gaze locked again with his.
“Tell me I’m not wrong about you,” she whispered. “Tell me I’m wrong about you,” he wanted to plead, but instead he said, “I guess that depends on what you’re thinking about me right now.”
Her smile was slow, her eyes bright with moonlight and desire. “That you’re going to break my heart.”
“I hope not. I sure don’t want to.”
She cocked her head, studying him. “You don’t know how much I wish I could read your thoughts right now.” “You would be disappointed. I don’t think much with you in my arms, and when you’re kissing me, my only thought is your mouth.” The truth of that made him smile. He certainly wasn’t thinking like a U.S. marshal. He could hear Laura’s warning. Don’t get too close. He realized he could have just kissed his first serial killer.
“Have you had your heart broken before?” he asked, curious as both a man and a marshal.
Callie pushed back gently, still studying him. He loosened his hold, and she slipped from his arms, turning her back to him. He took a deep breath, mentally kicking himself for spoiling the moment. He let the breath out slowly as she picked up her empty beer bottle and glass.
“That was probably a mistake,” she said, her back to him.
“If you’re talking about that kiss, nope, that was definitely not a mistake.”
She turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. “And if I was talking about something else?”
He wanted to say that only time would tell. Instead, he joked, “The mistake was stopping kissing. But then, maybe it wasn’t.”
She smiled. “I’ll bite. Why not?”
“Because if we hadn’t stopped, you would have wanted to make love in the moonlight by the lake.”
Callie laughed. “Is that right?” “I’m certain of it.”
“What about you?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.
“Oh, I think you could have persuaded me, but I prefer to wait until the third date — not the first.”
She chuckled. “You’re considering this a first date?” He grinned and rubbed his thumb slowly along his lower lip. “First kiss. First date, don’t you think?” Shaking her head, she smiled at him. She had a
great smile. Sometimes it even reached her eyes. “Think you can sleep now?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. Was that disappointment or re- lief he saw in her eyes?
“Good, then you don’t mind if I follow you as far as town,” he said, taking her glass and bottle from her and picking up his own. “I would hate to see you run into Carson Grant again tonight.”
Laura couldn’t sleep. Like a scene out of a Poe tale, she could hear the trunk under her bed calling to her. Giving up fighting it any longer, she climbed out of bed and dragged out the trunk.
She realized she had no choice but to open it. She had to see what was inside. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out the key to the padlock, and then in a fit of terror, she shot to her feet to pace back and forth. Her mind listed all the reasons she should have destroyed the contents.
Reaching for her phone, she started to call her psychiatrist, but stopped herself. She knew what he’d say. The same thing he had been saying all along. She had to face her past, shine light on those dark holes of blank memory from her childhood and face her fears.
She stopped pacing to stare at the trunk. Why hadn’t she burned everything like she’d planned? Because she had to know all of it. Her mother had saved it for her. Saved it for this moment when she came face-to- face with her past.
Wasn’t it possible there would be something in the trunk that would prove Callie was the killer?
If she had any hope of saving Rourke…
But she feared it was too late. “No, it won’t be too late until he finds himself tied to a bed and a knife to his throat,” she said to the empty room.
Her mother had hidden this trunk in the basement. Locked it so no one else could see what was inside. Maybe especially her sister, Catherine?
That thought made her head hurt. She saw the clock by the bed. She didn’t have any more time. If there was something in that trunk.
Moving to it, she fished the key to the padlock back out of her pocket and bent down to insert it into the lock. It snapped open, feeling icy cold beneath her fingers. Removing the lock, she told herself it wasn’t too late. She could still burn the contents.
She thought of Rourke and felt a weight on her chest that made it hard to breathe.
With a curse, she reached down and grabbed the edge of the trunk lid and lifted it. The old metal creaked, re- minding her of her mother’s wheelchair. For just a moment, she saw the pillow in her hand, the spot of blood on it, the blood on her mother’s lip.
Laura threw off the disturbing image as she looked down into the trunk at the jumble of papers. Off to one side of the loose papers, she spotted what at first looked like a book.
With trembling fingers, she picked it up. A diary. Her mother had kept a diary? She opened it to the first page, her fingers trembling.
In her mother’s handwriting was Westfield 1987–88.
When Rourke reached town after following Callie back, he parked on the main drag in front of the café. Originally he’d planned to just make sure she got inside her apartment without any trouble.
But after parking, he decided to walk the perimeter to be certain Carson wasn’t hiding in the dark like he had been earlier lying in wait for her.
As Rourke made his loop around the café, he was surprised to find that Callie had gone up to her apartment, turned on the lights and then come back down.
She was waiting for him at the bottom of her outside stairs.
Moonlight played on her face, making her dark eyes bright. Her hair, which she’d had pulled back earlier, now framed her face, the raven locks against her pale skin. She couldn’t have looked more beautiful. Or more desirable. He felt a tremor inside him like nothing he’d ever felt before. Red f lag warnings were going off like fireworks in his head.
She smiled, and the moment he stepped to her, all he could think about was kissing her again. His mouth took hers hungrily, the kiss all passion and need as he pulled her into his arms. Lifting her off her feet, he pressed her against the side of the building. He could feel the soft curves of her body, the heat she radiated warming the October night.
Neither of them must have heard the vehicle approaching. Before they knew it, they were caught in blinding - bright headlights. Ducking back into the shadow of the building, they burst into nervous laughter, desire sparking like fireflies between them.
“Third date, huh?” Callie said, sounding as breath - less as he felt.
The light glowing in her apartment just yards away drew him like a moth to a f lame. He knew how dan- gerous this could be, and yet.
“I suppose we could consider this our second date,” he said, his voice husky with desire. “Maybe if I left and came back.”
She laughed and gave him a playful push. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, cowboy.”
“Go out with me tomorrow night. Dinner in Big
Timber. Say yes.”
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