Memory of Murder

Memory of Murder

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“Is my father a murderer?”

Caring for a mother with Alzheimer’s was heartbreaking enough for Lindsey Merrill. But when her mother made bizarre but adamant claims that Lindsey’s loving father was a killer, it was too much to bear. So she turned to detective Alan Cameron for guidance. Before long, the single dad’s soothing reassurances morphed into a smoldering attraction….

Evidence quickly mounted that all was not as it seemed in the Merrill family. As a professional, Alan was obliged to pursue the case—as a man, he had to shield this special woman from pain. Would his shocking discovery break her heart just as he was making it his very own?

Read an Excerpt

He was about to get into his car. She said, through stiff lips, “Better kiss me good-bye. Dad’s probably watching.”

He nodded–grimly, as if faced with an unpleasant task. She stepped closer, steeling herself. He reached out and hooked his hand around the back of her neck, pulled her to him and kissed her, roughly and hard.

She felt the firm and vibrant shape of his mouth, the faint rasp of his half-day’s beard, the strength of his hand, but before any of that could fully register on her consciousness, he took his mouth away from hers, exhaled sharply and wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close. He held her that way, as if they’d both just come through a terrifying moment together, and she felt his heart thumping against her chest and realized that her arms had gone around him and that she didn’t want to let him go. He held her for a long time, and it seemed to her he didn’t want to let her go, either.

But he did. He drew back with a soft laugh of apology and a breathy, “Well…”

She drew back, too, and managed to laugh, a little. “Um…” she said, and then, “yeah.”

“So…okay, then, I’ll call you.” He got in his car, closed the door, started the motor and drove away.

Unsteadily, she walked to her car, paused to wave at the house, knowing that behind those silent windows her dad would be watching.  She got in, started up the motor and drove away, following the route back to her office on autopilot, while in the back of her mind a voice, like a little yippy dog, was barking: Wait! Wait! What just happened? Are you just going to ignore it? Hey!

In a firm, determined voice she answered herself:  I can’t think about this now. I…will…not…think…about it.

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