One of the things I love the most about Mia Sheridan’s writing is how unique her stories always are, and this BEAUTIFUL book is no exception. A meticulously multilayered tale of survival, courage, and hope, every part of this story is heartfelt and powerful, and with the intricate mystery interwoven into every single page, I couldn’t put this book down for a single second. It all begins with a double murder in small town Montana, but the story quickly escalates into SO much more. I have a little sneak peek for you today and it’s the scene where the heroine sees the hero for the very first time.
Harper gave a distracted nod as Dwayne left the room. She hadn’t decided if she would help out on this case. Something about it felt . . . risky in some personal way. She was sure it had to do with the fact that her dad had worked in this very building for so many years . . . she could practically feel him there, smell the aftershave he’d worn, hear his laugh . . .
Suddenly weary, she sat in one of the chairs at the table, glancing at the dark screen. Her attention was pulled by the thought of the man sitting alone in the cell, and she was grateful for the shift in focus. The soft sound of her fingers drumming on the table filled the room as she wondered what he was doing right then. Still sitting there? What else would he be doing, Harper? Was Dwayne right when he said the man hadn’t seen a car before? Curiosity needled her, the fact that he might be a killer—one who had a penchant for nailing his victims to walls with sharpened arrows—not enough to douse that particular sensation. Apparently.
She drummed at the table for a few minutes longer, then fiddled with her hands, bit at her lip, looking over at the door, and hesitating only another moment before standing quickly and walking to the monitor. It came on with a click, the view of the small cell where the man still sat blinking to life. He was in the exact same position as before. In fact, it appeared as though he hadn’t moved a muscle.
For a solid minute, Harper simply watched him as he sat on the bench in the other room, still and unmoving. Through the anonymity of the screen, she allowed her eyes to roam freely over him—from his unruly hair down to his strange footwear. He was lean but muscular. Solid. He’d have the strength to shoot an arrow straight through a body. He was big. And strong. And wild looking.
She could see this man fighting wildebeest. And winning.
Who are you?
Her eyes moved to his hands, resting on his thighs. They were large, and even through the monitor she could see they had numerous scars. He had the hands of a . . . warrior, scarred and supremely masculine, and Harper wanted to study them, as though they were a work of art. They were . . . brutally beautiful in a way she’d never before seen. And she couldn’t help wondering what he’d done with those hands to cause so many injuries.
A tremor went through her, not born entirely of fear. But she sucked in a surprised breath when he suddenly turned his face to the camera like he’d done before, his eyes seeming to study hers. She felt her face flush as she looked away and then almost laughed at herself. He couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see anyone—he was simply looking up at the blinking eye of a camera. She stepped closer, studying his expression. There was something in his eyes . . . bitterness if she wasn’t mistaken. But . . . why? If he didn’t know what a vehicle was, how in the world would this man know that the flashing red light he could see would enable someone else to watch him? And even if he did, why would it cause that fiery intensity on his face? She tilted her head, studying him intently. He stared back as though he could feel her on the other side of the camera. Silly, of course. She knew that and yet the feeling persisted. His eyes were piercing as he stared at the piece of equipment high up on the wall in the room he occupied, and . . . there was no mistaking the sharp intelligence in his gaze. Caveman maybe. But no brainless Neanderthal.