Good Little Girls


Good Little Girls

The Keepers Series

Good Little Girls

Fear becomes a woman’s greatest weapon in a heart-pounding novel of suspense from the USA Today bestselling author of Pretty Little Killers.

Tinsley Jensen survived the torturous clutches of an elusive masked killer dubbed the Skull, only to be held hostage by her nightmares. She’s terrified of leaving her cottage on Seahawk Island, knowing that the madman is still out there. FBI special agent Wyatt Camden knows it too. He may have rescued Tinsley, but her captor got away. Now he’s driven by guilt, the need for vengeance, and the desire to protect—at any cost—the woman he’s come to love.

Too paranoid to deal with the police, the media, and her sister, Tinsley finds solace in an online support group. She’s too broken to let even Wyatt into her life. But when the threats against Tinsley escalate and her friend disappears, Tinsley is forced out of her self-imposed seclusion to finally face her fears. Wyatt is the only man she can trust to help her, and to save a killer’s latest catch. Now, Wyatt just wants to finish the job he started.

But that’s all the Skull wants too.

Stay Tuned!

Safe at Hawk’s Landing


Safe at Hawk’s Landing

Badge of Justice Series

Safe at Hawk's Landing

She’s sworn to protect her students—he’s sworn to protect her

Charlotte Reacher found her calling teaching art therapy to teens. But when her attempt to stop a kidnapping leaves her wounded and unable to see anything beyond trauma and fear, she’s hesitant to trust the stranger who promises to keep her safe.

FBI agent Lucas Hawk knows Charlotte’s the only witness to the human-trafficking abduction that shook his Texas hometown. Determined to find the victims, he must convince her to work with him—even while resisting his growing desire for her. Every hour is critical for the kidnapped girls. And every breath Charlotte takes could be her last.

Stay Tuned!

Redemption at Hawk’s Landing


Redemption at Hawk’s Landing

Badge of Justice Series

A missing sister, a murdered father and a dangerous reunion years in the making.

The last place Honey Granger wants to be is Tumbleweed, Texas—the judgmental town that made her childhood a living hell. But when Sheriff Harrison Hawk informs her that her alcoholic father has been murdered, she reluctantly joins his investigation. The sexy sheriff has long suspected Honey’s father in his sister’s disappearance and vows to solve both mysteries. But keeping his professional distance from the vulnerable blonde proves nearly impossible. He’ll guard her 24/7 until her life is out of danger. But how will she feel if Harrison proves her father was a murderer?ky world of baby brokers, scams—and a connection to the McCullens, Ryder’s birth family. When bullets start flying, Ryder risks everything to make Tia and her baby his own…

Stay Tuned!

The Last McCullen


The Last McCullin

The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek Series

The Last McCullen

Could a kidnapping finally lead to the last McCullen finding his way home? 

If there’s one thing Special Agent Ryder Banks hates, it’s handcuffing a woman. Tia Jeffries is not a violent person, but her infant son has been abducted—or worse. Determined to find her baby, the pretty single mom agrees to ditch the gun and work undercover with the sexy agent. Posing as a couple desperate to adopt, they find a murky world of baby brokers, scams—and a connection to the McCullens, Ryder’s birth family. When bullets start flying, Ryder risks everything to make Tia and her baby his own…

Stay Tuned!

The Missing McCullen


The Missing McCullen

The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek Series

The Missing McCullen

A loner seeks redemption…a single mother seeks the truth  

Defense attorney BJ Alexander is crafty, brilliant, and deeply scarred by the loss of her husband and child. Hired by the McCullen family, who believe Cash Koker to be their lost brother, BJ commits to the case—and vows not to become entangled with her devastatingly handsome client. Unfortunately, Cash is no stranger to hardship, and their mutual attraction is overwhelming. But nothing can prepare him when charges are mistakenly brought against him. Cash insists he’s being framed, and it’s up to BJ to find the truth. Because not only is Cash’s life at stake, but so is that of a missing little boy…

The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek

All the Dead Girls


All the Dead Girls

Graveyard Falls Series

All the Dead Girls

When a violent storm hits Graveyard Falls, it unearths the unimaginable: skeletons of teenage girls, each dressed in white and holding a candle. It’s clear to FBI agent Beth Fields that this is the work of a long-standing killer—but could it be the one she escaped years ago? She has no memory of the man who held her captive and murdered her friend. But even though someone was jailed for the crime, she’s always feared that the real killer is still out there…waiting and watching.

Ian Kimball never believed his stepfather was guilty of Beth’s kidnapping or the slaying of two local girls. Now Graveyard Falls’s sheriff, he’s determined to catch the true perpetrator. And when more young women go missing, he realizes he needs Beth’s help. She is nothing like Ian expected, and everything he desires. But if they have any hope of finally ending the killer’s reign of terror, Beth and Ian will need to put everything aside, including their past, their mistrust, and their growing attraction…


She had to run away.

JJ Jones had been planning it ever since she’d learned what would happen on her fifteenth birthday.

She would become a substitute for her foster father’s wife.

Her birthday was tomorrow.

Her stomach roiled at the thought, and she slipped from bed, retrieved her backpack, and then tiptoed over to Sunny’s bed.

Sunny was two months younger than JJ, but she was small for her age, frail, and terrified of her own shadow.

She gently shook her foster sister. “Wake up, Sunny, it’s time.”

Sunny groaned and rolled to her side.

“Come on, we have to go now,” she whispered.

If Herman caught them, she’d be punished.

He liked to punish.

Sunny’s eyes slowly opened, confusion clouding them. “What? I was dreaming.”

Probably of a better place to live. Clean clothes. A real family.

JJ had given up on those things a long time ago.

“It was Christmas, and we got to go to a party,” Sunny said.

She pressed her finger to Sunny’s lips. Sunny was always dreaming about parties or going to Disney World or to a beach.

JJ had her own dreams—or she used to, anyway. Dreams of a family, a nice house. Friends. Someone to love her.

Maybe she could save Sunny from becoming as jaded as she was. “Remember, I told you about my birthday. I won’t let that man touch me. We have to go now.”

Fear flickered across Sunny’s face, but she nodded, threw her covers aside, and dropped to the floor. They’d packed their backpacks before they’d gone to bed and slept in their clothes. Not that they had many clothes. Herman Otter and his wife, Frances, used the money the state gave them to support their booze habit.

JJ grabbed her jacket and shrugged it on, then tossed Sunny hers.

The wind howled outside, thunder rumbling. JJ’s adrenaline kicked in. They had to get to the bus station before the storm hit.

She jammed her feet into her boots, and Sunny did the same. They threw their backpacks over their shoulders, crept to the window, shoved it open, and crawled outside. The air was refreshing compared to the stench of the dirty house and the smell of liquor.

JJ had repeatedly phoned the social worker for help, but the woman had such a big caseload that she ignored JJ’s calls. JJ didn’t know what else to do but run.

Sunny’s legs buckled as she hit the ground, and JJ steadied her. A noise echoed from inside. JJ froze, terrified he’d woken up.

She motioned toward the woods in back, then mimed the word “Go.” Sunny nodded, and they ran toward the woods. JJ had stolen a flashlight from the house, and once they were far enough away not to be seen, she flicked it on and used it to light their path.

The coach’s son had promised to meet them at eleven. She hurried Sunny along, wincing as the bitter wind ripped through her and raindrops began to pelt them. The pennies in the jar in Sunny’s backpack jingled as she walked.

Sunny’s father had told her that the pennies were lucky, so Sunny collected every one she could find. So far they hadn’t brought her any luck, though.

She and Sunny yanked their jacket hoods over their heads, then picked up their pace, slogging through the woods as fast as they could.

A half mile from the house, she cut to the right toward the street, and they jogged toward the Dairy Mart where she was supposed to meet the boy. The lights were off inside the ice-cream shop, and the parking lot was empty.

JJ ushered Sunny beneath the awning to the side of the building, and they huddled in the rain, waiting.

Seconds dragged into minutes. Minutes bled into an hour. Disappointment and despair tugged at JJ.

“He’s not coming,” Sunny said, shivering.

JJ rubbed Sunny’s arms to warm her. A chill had wormed its way through JJ, too, and her teeth were chattering. She hated to admit it, but Sunny was right.

Lightning zigzagged across the sky, crackling as if it had struck a tree. Rain turned to hail, the icy pellets pounding the concrete.

They couldn’t stay here all night. Sooner or later the local cops might show, or someone would see them.

Then they’d take them back to him.

No way would JJ let that happen.

She grabbed Sunny’s hand. “We’re not giving up. We’ll walk.”

Sunny dug her heels in. “But it’s miles. I’m tired and cold.”

“Then let’s hurry.” Sunny balked, but JJ shook her by the shoulders. “Listen to me, you’ll be fifteen in two months. Then he won’t count you as a kid anymore either, and he’ll want you.”

Sunny’s face paled, ghostly white against the dark, gloomy night. “Where are we going?” Sunny whispered.

“My grandmother’s. She lives in Nashville.”

“I thought she didn’t want you,” Sunny said in a choked voice.

JJ’s heart clenched in pain. Sunny was right. Her grandmother hadn’t wanted her as a baby. But JJ refused to let that stop her from finding a better place to live. A safe one.

“She was sick when I was born,” JJ said. “When she hears what Herman planned to do to me, she’ll let us stay.” At least she hoped she would. Otherwise, she had nowhere to turn.

“What if she lets you stay but won’t keep me?” Sunny cried.

The fear in Sunny’s voice tore at JJ. She had no idea how her grandmother would react. Fifteen years ago, she’d told social services she couldn’t raise an infant. Would she feel the same about a teenager?

No, JJ would convince her she could take care of herself. All she and Sunny needed was a roof over their heads and for people to leave them alone.

“Don’t worry.” She gave Sunny a reassuring look. “I promised to take care of you, and I will.”

Sunny wiped at a tear, then gripped JJ’s hand, and they headed down the street together. The country road had no streetlights, and the clouds shrouded the moon. Sunny stumbled, and JJ flicked on the flashlight again.

She guessed it was about ten miles to the bus station. Thunder rumbled and the rain beat down, pounding the ground and soaking them to the core. Mud and water seeped into JJ’s shoes, adding to the chill.

A half hour later, Sunny complained that her legs were hurting. Occasionally a car passed, but JJ would quickly turn off the flashlight, and they’d duck behind some trees to hide.

Another mile and despair threatened. Sunny tripped over a tree stump, collapsed to the ground, and cried out in pain. “I hurt my ankle.”

JJ wiped rain from her face, willing herself not to cry, too. They had a long way to go. She shined her light on Sunny’s foot. It was turning red and swelling.

Panic streaked through her. What were they going to do?

The sound of an engine made her pause, and she pivoted. A truck was coming toward them. The headlights nearly blinded her, and she slid an arm around Sunny’s waist to help her stand.

“I can’t put weight on it,” Sunny whined.

Brakes screeched. The driver must have seen them. He slowed, gears grinding as he veered to the side of the road. The passenger door opened with a groan. JJ squinted through the bright lights.

“You girls need help?”

She couldn’t make out the man’s features, but a girl sat beside him. And there was someone else . . .

JJ’s lungs squeezed. Surprise filled her at the familiar face.

Thunder rumbled, startling Sunny. JJ helped her up, pushed Sunny into the cab first, and then hauled herself onto the seat.

As she closed the door, JJ turned to see who the man was, but it was so dark inside his face was shadowed. His clothes smelled, though, like some kind of men’s cologne. A cologne she’d smelled before . . .

“I’m sorry,” the girl said in a low voice.

JJ frowned. What was she sorry for?

A second later, the man shoved a rag over JJ’s mouth and nose, and the world swirled to black.

Chapter One

Fifteen years later—Graveyard Falls, Tennessee

No one in Graveyard Falls knew the real reason Sheriff Ian Kimball had moved from Sweetwater to this town. Hopefully, no one ever would.

None of that mattered, though.

He had a real mess on his hands.

Just a year ago, a serial killer had stalked the town. A sadist, nicknamed the Butcher, who’d carved women’s faces up and marked them with claw marks that resembled talons.

That case had been spawned by the movie being made about the previous Bride Killer and Thorn Ripper murders—a story based on a true-crime book written by Josie DuKane, the daughter of a local resident.

With those cases solved, some locals had moved away as soon as they could find jobs and other homes. But others who’d grown up in these foothills believed that good existed here. They’d fought the gossip and rumors that evil was bred in these mountains, that you could hear the whisper of it in the wind.

But as he drove toward the trailer park to meet one of his deputies, a sick feeling seized his gut. Dammit.

Their strength and fortitude had given him hope that the town would survive. Seeing people work together to help each other and overcome obstacles raised his admiration for the human spirit. It made him want to protect them.

No one had ever needed him before. His family . . . well, he wouldn’t go there. They’d let him down, and he’d let them down.

The people in Graveyard Falls and the surrounding county depended on him. He wouldn’t make them regret it.

His gaze swept the terrain as he turned on the mountain road. The F-3 tornado that had hit thirty-six hours ago was just too damn much. It was almost like the town was cursed.

The nearly two-hundred-mile-per-hour winds and flooding had swept over the Southeast, striking three counties, including Graveyard Falls—and Sweetwater, where he’d grown up—with a funnel cloud that had ripped up trees by their roots and flung houses and cars as if they were ping-pong balls. The devastating damage had left the town picking up the broken pieces of their homes and shattered lives.

His tires churned over gravel, and he swung left to dodge broken branches, then parked at the edge of the trailer park.

One of his deputies, Deputy Clint Whitehorse, paced the edge of what had once been a mobile home but now looked like a mountain of twisted metal and aluminum.

Whitehorse had been with him over a year now. Although sometimes Ian felt like he didn’t know the man. He was quiet and intense, but he’d grown up in these mountains and knew them inside and out.

“Shit, I can’t believe this.” Deputy Whitehorse removed his hat and rubbed sweat from his forehead. “Just when the dust settled from that Butcher case, now this storm.”

Ian’s boots dug into the muddy earth as he assessed the damage.

Metal, glass, household items, clothing, underwear, lamps, kitchen utensils, dishes, linens, broken furniture, and children’s toys were scattered across miles of soggy soil. Ancient oaks and pines were split in two, ripped from the ground, and branches and limbs that had once been large and sturdy lay in piles like kindling.

Ian had already walked the town square. Most of the businesses and residents in the city limits had fared better than the outskirts, but the Falls Inn had lost its roof, a live oak had fallen through the kitchen at Cocoa’s Café, and numerous homes had flooded.

Ian had caught a couple of scam artists trying to rip people off with repairs, but he’d turned folks on to a couple of reputable renovation experts, and the neighbors had given him a deluge of casseroles for it.

The women’s club from the Methodist church had designated one of their basements as a lost-and-found where items retrieved in the debris could be recovered. The Baptist church had donated blankets, quilts, housewares, and clothing.

“How many casualties?” Ian asked.

“Three so far,” the deputy said grimly. “A woman trying to get home to her kids was struck by a tree when it crashed into her VW.”

Sympathy welled inside Ian. “Jesus, poor family.” Now those kids would grow up without a mama.

Deputy Whitehorse pushed his ponytail over his shoulder. “Ninety-year-old Marvin Trullet tried to save his chickens and got thrown against his tractor on the way to the barn. He died instantly.”

“If only people had heeded the warnings we issued,” Ian said, hating to hear about the old man. “Who else?”

“Edna Mae, elderly woman in the trailer on the end. Neighbor, Rudy Pillings, said Edna Mae lost her hearing and was confined to a wheelchair. He tried to convince her to let him take her to a safe place to wait out the storm, but she refused to leave her home. Rescue workers found her dead beneath the kitchen table. She was holding a Bible, a picture of her husband, and a tin of snuff.”

He pointed where the trailer had once stood, but all Ian could make out were a few pieces of metal, broken china, a needlepoint family tree, and a damp photo album that probably held precious memories of the woman’s life.

Sorrow for the families struck him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. There was too much to do.

The Red Cross had rushed in with emergency supplies, including a blood bank collection unit to help restock the hospital, and utility companies were working around the clock to restore power.

Rescue crews had worked nonstop to help residents escape their flooded and demolished homes and uncover victims who might be trapped. The community center that had been used to stage auditions for production of the movie was now ironically being used to house the homeless.

Ian’s phone buzzed. He snatched it from his hip, dread balling in his gut when he saw the name. His other deputy, a new hire, Ladd Markum. The last thirty-six hours had been nothing but bad news. “Sheriff Kimball.”

“Sheriff, you need to come to Hemlock Holler.”

Hemlock Holler was a desolate stretch of land by the river surrounded by hemlock trees. Rumors claimed nothing would grow on the stretch because the land was haunted.

A prison had stood on the grounds, but it had been destroyed in another flood five years ago. Seventy prisoners had died in the flood, leading locals to claim that their ghosts haunted the hills and the holler. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a problem. A big problem.” The deputy’s voice cracked a notch. “The pilot from that search and rescue team called. They spotted something suspicious, so I drove over to check it out.”


“You have to see it for yourself.”

“I’ll be right there.” Wiping sweat from his forehead, Ian disconnected, then addressed Deputy Whitehorse. “I have to go. Let me know if there are any other casualties.”

Whitehorse nodded grimly. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Ian rushed to his police SUV, jumped in, hit the siren and lights, and sped toward the holler. Debris and tree limbs in the road slowed him, and he had to drive around a utility truck working on downed power lines, but finally he made it.

Early-morning sunlight fought to find its way through the aftermath of the dark storm clouds and lost the battle, an oppressive gray clouding the sky. The deputy’s vehicle was parked at an overlook on the mountain where tourists often stopped to enjoy the scenic view—or hear the so-called ghosts of the dead prisoners.

Ian swung his SUV in beside the deputy’s, dragged his jacket up to ward off the chill, and hiked down the hill. Wet dirt, gravel, and rocks created a slippery path. Ian latched on to trees and broken limbs to keep from falling and careening down the embankment.

His deputy waved him toward where he stood by a patch of mangled trees that created a V shape.

A hissing sound filled the air. Ian drew his gun and searched for rattlesnakes. But the tangled weeds and brush were so thick, he couldn’t see.

Deputy Markum tilted his hat to acknowledge Ian, but the man’s face looked colorless, almost sickly.

Ian rubbed his hand over his bleary eyes. He was going on forty-eight hours with no sleep himself. “What is it?”

“The storm was nothing. Just look.” The deputy shined his flashlight across the ground.

Ian followed the path of the light, cold engulfing him like nothing he’d ever felt before. A sea of white that resembled ghosts bobbed up and down on the surface of the flooded valley. He narrowed his eyes, trying to discern what he was seeing. The prison ghosts the locals gossiped about?

No. The white—Jesus, it was a river of thin, white, gauzy fabric. Well, at least it used to be white.

On further scrutiny, he realized the fabric was nightgowns. Gowns mired in mud, dirt, and leaves.

“What the hell?” He moved his flashlight across the murky water with a grimace. More sticks and twigs, broken branches?


The truth hit him like a fist in the gut.


The ground was covered in bones. Human bones. They floated in the water, protruded from the earth, clung to the white fabric, and lay scattered over the ground where the water had receded.

He swallowed back bile. Good God.

His deputy coughed. “Someone was buried here.”

Ian ground his teeth. “Not someone. There are hundreds and hundreds of bones.” He removed his hat and scrubbed a clammy hand through his hair. “This is a damn graveyard.”


Knoxville, Tennessee

Terror seized Beth Fields.

He hadn’t died in the prison flood after all. He’d escaped. He was hiding out in the mountains.

She’d moved to Knoxville in a secure building to be safe, but he’d found her.

He was watching her through her bedroom window. The man who’d destroyed her life fifteen years ago. The man who’d killed her best friend.

The man who’d held her for three days and then dumped her like she was nothing but roadkill.

His face was pressed against the glass, shadowed by the darkness. She strained to see his eyes. His mouth. Something to help her identify him.

Only she couldn’t distinguish his features.

A noise sounded. Loud. A car horn. Then a fire truck.

Beth jerked awake and clenched the bed covers, barely stifling a scream. God help her. She’d done everything possible to escape him and the nightmares. But nothing worked.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that blank face again. Felt his breath on her cheek as he pressed a knife to her throat.

His eyes pierced her through the darkness. The evil eyes of a predator. Wild and sinister—they were hollow black holes, ghostly looking.

Chest heaving for a breath, she slipped from bed and crept to the window to look out. But the face was gone.

Trembling, she ran to the living room and peeked out the windows overlooking downtown Knoxville. Nothing but the first hints of sunlight streaking the dark.

A self-deprecating chuckle rumbled in her throat. How could he be outside her window? She’d intentionally chosen an apartment on a higher floor and a building with top-notch security so no one could get in.

Especially him.

Shortly after the trial where her high school soccer coach who also served as the school counselor, Coach Gleason, was convicted of kidnapping her, she’d been placed in a group home. There she’d received counseling. To overcome the stigma and rumors dogging her, her therapist had encouraged her to change her name. Jane Jones had died, and she’d been reborn as Beth Fields.

Five years ago, when she’d heard Coach Gleason had escaped prison, she’d been grateful for the name change.

Vance, the executive assistant director of the criminal investigations division of the FBI, had assured her that he’d erased any paper trail to JJ, but she wore her nerves on her sleeves and saw Gleason everywhere she went. Although she’d questioned his guilt over the years, she still panicked at the thought of him hunting her down.

She blinked to clear away the nightmarish images that bombarded her. She was safe. Dammit.

She’d taken self-defense classes, learned to shoot, and joined the bureau in order to protect other girls from suffering as she had. Her specialty had become abductions, especially non-familial ones, and she’d honed profiling skills on the job. Immersing herself into the mindset of a killer helped her understand his motivation, his criteria for choosing his victims, and aided her in pinpointing his hunting ground.

But nothing could change the fact that she’d been a victim. That her foster sister, Sunny, had never been found.

And that the man accused of kidnapping her might want revenge for his imprisonment. That he could be searching for her.

Snippets of the past taunted her—whether they were real or figments of her imagination triggered by fear, she couldn’t be certain.

She and Sunny were trapped, locked in some dark place, their hands and feet bound. They huddled together, cold and crying . . . Sunny was afraid of the dark . . . Another girl screamed from somewhere deep in the cave . . . yes, it was a cave. Water dripped, a monotonous sound that made her want to pull out her hair. Another scream. Footsteps. A knife glinted against the dark.

She called out for help but no sound came out. Then everything went blank.

When she woke up, a deadly quiet reverberated around her. No water dripping. No footsteps. No crying Sunny.

Machines beeped instead . . . low voices, carts clanging . . . a sea of white coats . . . a hospital . . .

Shivering, she shut out the images. Determined to fight her demons, she yanked on running clothes, strapped her weapon in the holster, unlocked and opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.

Old fears and training kicked in as she entered the elevator, and she kept her gaze focused on the door as it opened to the lobby.


He saw the beautiful graves in his mind just as he’d dug them for the angels. He’d left each girl with a candle to chase away her fear of the dark and to light her way to heaven. He’d also given them a cross to cling to, a symbol that they’d been saved.

But the tornado and flood had destroyed the peaceful bed where they’d lain together, linking hands as they sang the praises.

A wave of sadness washed over him that their peace had been destroyed.

The sheriff had found the graveyard. He was here now.

He and his deputies would scour the floodwaters and excavate the bones. Then his people would pick them apart and analyze them with their tools and tests as if they were nothing but a science experiment.

No longer would the sweetlings lie saintly in their white gowns as he’d left them. So young and innocent. So in need of prayer and guidance.

He’d given them both.

Until the storm ravaged the area, they’d had each other.

Now a hand floated freely, a skull, a femur, the rib cage of another. They were scattered around randomly, disconnected, like a puzzle with missing pieces that needed to be put back together.

He clutched the edge of the tree where he stood, clawing at the bark so hard that blood dripped from his hand. Mesmerized as he had been when the blood had flowed from the girls, freeing them of their pain, he watched his own blood spatter the ground.

The droplets fell randomly like tears, creating a pattern on the soil. He always found a pattern in the blood spatters. This time the image looked like a face, features distorted . . .

Voices dragged him from the image, and he glanced back at the graveyard. The sheriff snapped a picture, then another and another, then knelt to examine the skull of one of the angels.

He bit down hard on his tongue to stop from shouting for the sheriff not to desecrate the girls’ remains.

Tears for the lost souls slipped down his face and fell, mingling with the blood at his feet.

His work wasn’t done.

Only he’d have to find a new burial ground for the others.

Warrior Son


Warrior Son

The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek Series

Warrior Son

Deputy Sheriff Roan Whitefeather never thought he’d set foot on Horseshoe Creek. He was from a different world. But when the ranch’s patriarch dies unexpectedly, Roan suspects foul play. And so does Dr. Megan Lail. Roan has been trying to avoid the beautiful medical examiner since the one incredible night they spent in each other’s arms. After all, they had work to do. But crossing paths again only stirs up old feelings—and an even older web of murder and deception. The deeper he investigates, the more he realizes everyone has secrets. What will they do when they discover Roan holds the biggest secret of them all?

Coming Soon!

Roping Ray McCullen


Roping Ray McCullen

The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek Series

Roping Ray McCullen


As soon as he was old enough, Ray McCullen left Horseshoe Creek and never looked back. It took his father’s funeral to return, though his anger hadn’t quite subsided. That’s where he met Scarlet Lovett, who seemed to know more about his family’s secrets than he did. Secrets ready to explode. Suddenly, Ray was at the center of a dangerous inheritance battle, with Scarlet caught in the middle. She’d only known kindness from the McCullens, but had enough pluck to stand her ground. And if Ray was to truly belong back home, he sure had to live up to the family name.


Ray McCullen hated all the secrets and lies.

He despised his father, Joe McCullen, even more for making him keep them.

In spite of the fact that his brothers, Maddox and Brett, thought he didn’t care about them or the family, he had kept his mouth shut to protect them.

God knows the truth about their father had eaten him up inside.

Only now, here he was back at home on the Horseshoe Creek ranch waiting on his father to die, grief gnawed at him. Joe McCullen wasn’t the perfect man Maddox and Brett thought he was, but Ray still loved him.


He didn’t want to, but the love was just as strong as the hate.

Maddox stood ramrod straight in the hallway outside their father’s room, his expression unreadable while Brett visited their dad.

Ray moved from one foot to the other, sweating. He and Brett had both been summoned to the ranch at their father’s request—he wanted to talk to each of them before he passed.

Suddenly the door swung open. Brett stalked into the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, then his boots pounded as he jogged down the steps. Maddox arched a brow at him indicating it was Ray’s turn, and Ray gritted his teeth and stepped into the room.

The air smelled like sweat and sickness, yet the sight of the familiar oak furniture his father had made by hand tugged at this emotions. His mother had died when he was just a kid, but he could still see her in that bed when he’d been scared at night and his daddy wasn’t home, and he’d sneak in and crawl up beside her.

His father’s cough jerked him back to reality.

Ray braced himself for a lecture on how disappointed his father was in him—Maddox was the perfect son who’d stayed and run the ranch, and Brett was the big rodeo star who’d accumulated fame and money—while he was the bad seed. The rebel.

The surly one who’d fought with their father, left home and never come back.


The weak sound of his father’s voice forced his feet into motion, and he crossed the room to his father’s bedside. God, he didn’t want to do this.


“Yes, Dad, I’m here.”

Another cough, pained and wheezy. Then his father held out a shaky hand. Ray’s own shook as he touched his father’s cold fingers.

He tried to speak but seeing his father, a big brawny man, so thin and pale was choking him up. Joe McCullen had always been larger than life. And he’d been Ray’s hero.

Until that day…

“Thank you for coming, son,” his father said in a raw whisper.

“I’m sorry it’s like this,” he said and meant it.

His father nodded, but a tear slid down his cheek. “I’m sorry for a lot of things, Ray. For hurting you and your mama.”

Ray clenched his jaw to keep his anger at bay.

“I know I put a heavy burden on you a long time ago, and it drove a wedge between the two of us.” He hesitated, his breathing labored. “I want you to know that your mama forgave me before we lost her. I…loved her so much, Ray. I hated what I did to her and you.”

Grief and pain collected in Ray’s soul, burning his chest. “It was a long time ago.” Although the hurt still lingered.

“I wish I’d been a better man.”

Ray wished he had, too.

“When you find someone special, Ray, love her and don’t ever let her go.”

Yeah. As if he would ever tie himself down or fall in love. His heart couldn’t handle loving someone else to only lose them.

His father coughed, and Ray swallowed hard, the weak sound a reminder that this might be the last time he saw his dad. He wanted to tell him that nothing mattered, that he wasn’t ready to let him go yet, that they still had time.

But he’d been called home because they didn’t have time.

“The will…” his father murmured. “I tried to do right here, tried to take care of everyone.”

Ray tensed. “What do you mean—everyone?”

Joe squeezed his hand so tightly, Ray winced, but when he tried to pull away, his father had a lock on his fingers. “Ray, the ranch goes to you boys, but I need you to explain to Maddox and Ray. I owe…”

His voice cracked, his words fading off and he wheezed, gasping for air. A second later, his body convulsed, and his eyes widened as if he knew this was his last breath.

“Owe what?” Ray asked. Did he tell Maddox and Brett about his other woman?

“Dad, talk to me,” Ray said, panicked.

But his father’s eyes rolled back in his head and he convulsed again, his fingers going limp.

Ray jerked his hand free, then rushed toward the door shouting for help. Maddox barreled inside the room and hurried to the bed.

Grief seized Ray as his father’s body grew still.

He bolted and ran down the steps, anguish clawing at him.

Damn his father. He’d done it to him again.

Left him holding the secret that could destroy his family forever.

Chapter One

Two weeks later

Scarlet Lovett parked in front of the sign for Horseshoe Creek, a mixture of grief and envy coiling inside her.

This was Joe McCullen’s land. His pride and joy. The place where he’d raised his family.

His real family. The one with his three beloved sons. Maddox. Brett. Ray.

Maddox was the oldest, the responsible one who was most like Joe in his devotion to Horseshoe Creek. He was also the sheriff of Pistol Whip, Wyoming.

Brett was the handsome, charming bull rider who was most like Joe in his flirtatious smile, his love for women and chasing dreams.

Ray was the youngest, the angry one who looked most like Joe, but he resented his father because he’d walked in on Joe with Barbara and knew about his indiscretion.

Scarlet watched a palomino at the top of a hill in the pasture as it stood alone, seemingly looking down at three horses galloping along together. Just like that lone horse, she had stood on the periphery of the funeral a few days ago, her heart aching, her anguish nearly overwhelming her.

Yet she’d felt like an outsider. She hadn’t spoken to the brothers. Had sensed they wouldn’t want her to share their grief.

She wasn’t part of that family. No, she’d lived with Barbara and Bobby, the other family Joe had kept secret.

The one the McCullen boys knew nothing about.

Well…except for Ray. And he didn’t know about her or Bobby…just Barbara.

Still, Joe had been the closest thing she’d ever had to a father.

She swiped at a tear, her hands trembling as she unfolded the letter he’d left for her before he’d passed.


My dearest Scarlet,

I was blessed to have sons. But I never had a daughter—until I met you.

My sweet girl, the moment I saw you in that orphanage and looked into those big, sad, blue eyes, you stole my heart. I admired your strength, your spunk and your determination to make it in this world, no matter what hard knocks life doled out for you.

You taught me how to be a better man, that family is not all about blood.

I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to tell my sons about you and Barbara and Bobby when I was alive. In my own way, I thought I was protecting them, and protecting the three of you by keeping the two parts of my life separate.

Truthfully, Barbara and I…we were over a long time ago. She knew that and so did I. But I’m trying to do right by all of you now.

If you’re reading this, you must have received the envelope I left for you. I have willed you a sum of money to help you make a fresh start, and a piece of ranch land with a small cabin on it for your own home.

Bobby will also receive a share, although you know that he resents me, and he’s had his troubles, so I have placed stipulations on his inheritance.

But you…my dear, I know you will use your inheritance to further our work at The Family Farm and help the children, and that you will treasure everything Horseshoe Creek has to offer.

Ranching and living off the land has always been in the McCullen blood, and in our hearts.

Know that you are in my heart, as well.

Love always,



Scarlet folded the letter again and slipped it inside the envelope, then shifted her Wrangler into Drive and wove down the path to the farmhouse Joe called home.

She wiped at a tear as she parked, and for a moment, she sat and admired the sprawling house with the big porch. It looked so homey and inviting that she could easily picture Joe here with his sons, enjoying family time riding on the land, big dinners over a table piled with homemade food and fishing in Horseshoe Creek.

But she had a bad feeling those sons wouldn’t welcome her.

Her stomach twisted at the idea of rejection, and she considered turning around and fleeing. Never contacting the McCullens and claiming what Joe had left her. Disappearing from Pistol Whip and starting over somewhere else.

Barbara and Bobby didn’t care about her. No one did.

Except Joe. He’d seen something in her that had inspired her to be a better person.

He’d made her feel loved, as if she was important, when she’d never felt loved or part of a family before.

She looked down at Joe’s handwriting again and remembered his words, and opened the door of her vehicle.

Joe had loved her and wanted her to have a piece of his land to remember him by.

She wanted it, too.

Like Joe said, she’d had hard knocks. She was a survivor and a fighter. But she also deserved love and a home.

She took a deep breath, strode up the porch steps to the front door, raised her fist and knocked.


Ray stared at the suitcase he’d brought with him when he’d come home, glad he hadn’t unpacked.

The itch to leave Horseshoe Creek burned in his belly. The burden of his father’s secret was just too damn much.

But the lawyer handling their father’s will had been out of town, so they still hadn’t dealt with that. And it would be something to deal with.

Maddox had also shocked him by asking him and Brett to stand up for him at Maddox’s wedding to Rose.

Dammit, seeing his oldest brother happy and in love had done something to him. Not that the brothers had repaired their relationship completely, but two weeks back together on the ranch had mellowed their fighting.

While Maddox and Rose were on their honeymoon, Ray had agreed to oversee the daily running of the ranch. He’d forgotten how much he liked riding and driving cattle.

Brett was busy drawing up plans for the house he and Willow were building for them and their son. They had married in a private ceremony, then moved in to one of the cabins on the property until their dream house was ready. Meanwhile, watching Brett with his little boy, Sam, had stirred up feelings Ray didn’t even know he had.

Like envy.

He shifted, uncomfortable with his thoughts. It wasn’t as if he wanted to get married or have a family. Not after the way his own had gotten screwed up.

He liked being alone. Liked hanging out in bars, meeting women who demanded nothing from him but a good night of sex. Liked owning his own private investigations business. He could take whatever case he wanted, travel to another state without answering to anyone and come home when he damn well pleased.

It’ll all be over soon, he reminded himself. Maddox and Rose would be back in a couple of days.

And so would Darren Bush, the lawyer handling the will.

Of course, if his father had made provisions for that woman in his will as he’d implied in his private conversation with Ray, the storm would hit.

Maddox and Brett would both be pissed as hell.

Maybe they could pay off the woman and she’d be out of their lives forever.

Then Ray could go back to his own life. Sink himself into a case and forget about family and being the outcast.

The front doorbell dinged, and Ray waited for Mama Mary, the family housekeeper and the woman who’d raised him and his brothers after their mother died, to answer it. But it dinged again, and he remembered she’d made a trip into town for groceries, so he jogged down the stairs.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see a woman standing on the porch. Instinctively heat stirred in his belly. He didn’t know they made women like her in Pistol Whip.

She reminded him so much of those porcelain dolls his mother liked to collect that, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

She was petite with long wavy blond hair, huge oval-shaped baby blue eyes and milky white skin. A faint sprinkle of freckles dotted her dainty nose, making her look young and sweet. But that body told a different story. Her curves had been designed for a man’s hands.

The wind kicked up, swirling her hair around her heart-shaped face, and she shivered and hunched inside her coat.

“Mr. McCullen?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m one of them. Who are you looking for? Maddox? He lives here.”

She shrugged. “Actually I’d like to talk to Ray.”

Her whisper-soft voice sent his heart into fast motion. “That’s me.” Did she need a PI?

She shivered again, then glanced in the entryway. “May I come in?”

He realized she was cold, and that he’d been staring, and he stepped aside and waved her in. Good grief. Women didn’t normally cause him to stutter or act like a fool.

But the combination of her beauty and vulnerable expression mesmerized him.

A wary look crossed her face, but she squared her small shoulders and followed him inside to the den. A fire roared in the ancient brick fireplace, the rustic furnishings the same as they had been when Ray lived here years ago.

The manners Mama Mary had instilled in him surfaced. “Would you like some coffee?”

“That would be nice.” She clutched a patchwork homemade shoulder bag to her and sank onto the leather sofa in front of the fire.

He walked over to the sideboard in the adjoining dining area where Mama Mary always kept a carafe of hot coffee, then poured two cups.

“Cream or sugar?” he asked.

“Black,” she said, surprising him. Half the women he met wanted that froufrou fancy flavored coffee and creamer.

He handed her the cup and noticed her hand trembling. She wasn’t simply cold. Something was wrong.

“Now, you wanna tell me what this is about? Did my receptionist at McCullen Investigations tell you where I was?”

Again, she looked confused. “No, I didn’t realize you were a PI.”

Ray claimed the wing chair facing her and sipped his coffee. So, she wasn’t here for a case. “I don’t understand. If you don’t need my services, then what?”

She fidgeted. “I don’t know how to tell you this, except just to be up front.”

That sounded serious.

“My name is Scarlet Lovett. I knew your father, Ray. In fact, I knew him pretty well.”

Anger instantly shot through Ray. He’d been thinking how attractive she was, but he’d never considered that she might have been involved with his old man.

Well, hell, even from the grave, Joe McCullen kept surprising him. And disappointing…

He hardened his look. “Damn, I knew he had other women, but he was robbing the cradle with you.”

Those big eyes widened. “Oh, no, it wasn’t like that.”

“He was a two-timing, cheating liar.” Ray stood and paced to the fireplace as an image of his father in bed with Scarlet flashed behind his eyes. “How long was it going on?” And what did she want?

“Listen to me,” Scarlet said, her voice rising in pitch. “Your father and I were not involved in that way. He was nothing but honorable and kind to me.”

Yeah, I bet he was. He turned to her, not bothering to hide his disdain. “So what do you want?”

She set her coffee down and folded her arms. “He told me you were stubborn and resented him, but he didn’t say you were a jerk.”

Ray angled his head toward her. “You’re calling me names. Lady, you don’t even know me.”

“And you don’t know me.” Scarlet lifted her chin in defiance. “But if you’d be quiet and listen, I’d like to explain.”

Ray’s gaze locked with hers, rage and grief and other emotions he couldn’t define rolling through him.

The same emotions were mirrored in her own eyes.

Needing something stronger than coffee, he set the mug down, then strode to the bar and poured himself a finger full of scotch.

“I’ll have one of those, too,” she said.

He bit back a retort and poured her a shot then carried the glasses back to the fireplace. He handed her the tumbler, then sank into the wing chair and tossed his back in one gulp. “All right. You want me to listen. Say what you have to say, then get the hell out.”

* * *

Scarlet shuddered at Ray’s harsh tone. She’d seen pictures of him and his brothers, and knew Ray was the formidable one.

He was also the most handsome. Sure Brett was the charmer and Maddox was tough, but something about that dark, mysterious, haunted look in Ray’s eyes had drawn her.

Maybe because she understood how anger changed a person. She’d dealt with her own share over the years in the children’s home.

But Ray had been lucky enough to have a father who’d wanted him. Even if Joe McCullen hadn’t been perfect.

“So, spill it,” Ray said. “Why are you here?”

“This was a mistake.” She stood, fingers closing over the edge of her bag. “I’ll leave.”

She started past him, but Ray shot up and grabbed her arm. “No way you’re leaving until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Her gaze met his, tension vibrating between them. She gave a pointed look at her arm where his fingers held her.

“Take your hands off me.”

For a brief second, something akin to regret glimmered in his expression. But he released her and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually manhandle women.”

She wanted to believe him, but she’d met too many men who did. So she refused to let him off the hook.

His loud exhale punctuated the air. “Please sit down. I’ll behave.”

He looked so contrite that a tingle of something like respect danced through her. But she refrained from commenting as another image taunted her. One of Ray’s hands on her, tenderly stroking her, making her feel safe. No, not safe. Alive.


Ray McCullen was anything but safe.

And judging from his brusque attitude, he was going to hate her when he learned the reason for her visit.


All the Pretty Faces


All the Pretty Faces

Graveyard Falls Series

All the Pretty Faces

Releasing: March 29, 2016

Josie DuKane is on shaky ground. Having narrowly escaped the notorious Bride Killer, she penned a tell-all memoir that dug up a town’s dark past. Now the book is being made into a movie, and Josie must visit the very place that will trigger an avalanche of unwanted memories—Graveyard Falls. On the heels of her arrival, she receives a gruesome photograph of a dead woman with talon marks carved into her face. And worse, Josie just might be the next victim.

Torn between guilt, justice, and revenge, Special Agent Dane Hamrick will do anything to find the man who brutally murdered his sister. When he realizes the recent tragedies in Graveyard Falls bear an uncanny resemblance to her death, he volunteers to spearhead the investigation. But doing so means teaming up with Josie.

Nothing prepares him for the feelings the beautiful, tough woman evokes. As the body count rises and the suspect pool widens, Josie and Dane must put aside their growing attraction to run down the killer who devastated both their lives.

A killer who seems determined to destroy all the pretty faces…

Cowboy Cop & Her Stolen Son


Cowboy Cop & Her Stolen Son

Bucking Bronc Lodge and Guardian Angel Investigations Series

Cowboy Cop & Her Stolen Son

COWBOY COP — Miles McGregor had dedicated his life to justice, and with his latest arrest behind bars, the detective finally had more time to spend with his son, Timmy. Then the unthinkable happened—Timmy’s mother was murdered before his eyes. Miles’s only choice was to bring his little boy to the Bucking Bronc Lodge, a ranch where young boys heal.

Jordan Keys is an expert at rehabilitating children. But when it comes to Miles, she is lost. The sexy detective is harder to reach and a whole lot less willing to try. Before long, though, a killer comes calling and Jordan witnesses the true power of Miles McGregor. And just how far he’ll go to rescue them from this living nightmare.

HER STOLEN SON — A little boy hired a brooding detective to bring his mother home…and then the child disappeared.

Detective Colt Mason’s latest “client” was impossible to resist. Not only was he just five years old, his teary-eyed pleas to prove his mother was innocent of murder pulled at Colt’s hard to reach heartstrings. But before he could investigate, the child disappeared without a trace. Now, with Serena Stover desperate to find her son and clear her name, Colt took one look at the beautiful widow and knew this little family would change his life forever. As the search intensified, Colt unearthed a far-reaching— and deadly— conspiracy, making him more determined than ever to solve this case and keep his promise that Serena’s smile would return when she was reunited with her little boy.

“Dugan is out.”

Miles’s fingers tightened around his cell phone as he wheeled his SUV around and headed toward the station. “What?”

His superior, Lieutenant Hammond, didn’t sound happy. “Based on the Kelly woman’s murder and some technicality with the chain of evidence when they’d searched the man’s place, Dugan’s lawyer got his conviction overturned.”

The past few weeks of tracking down clues and false leads day and night taunted him. He released a string of expletives.

Hammond cleared his throat. “If we’d found evidence connecting Dugan to a partner, maybe things would have gone differently, but?”

Hammond let the sentence trail off, but Miles silently finished for him. If he and Mason had found such evidence, Dugan would still be in a cell. And the world would be a safer place.

But they’d failed.

The day Dugan’s verdict was read flashed back. Dugan’s threat resounded in his head—you’ll pay. “Now that he’s back on the streets—”

“I know. He’s going to kill again,” Miles said. And he’s probably coming after me.

His cell phone chirped, and he glanced at the caller ID. Marie’s number.

Damn, she was probably on his case for working again last night and missing dinner with Timmy. He’d thought he might have found a lead on the copycat, but instead he’d only chased his own tail.

The phone chirped again.

You ‘ll pay.

Panic suddenly seized him, cutting off his breath. Dammit?what if payback meant coming after his family?

“I have to go, Hammond.” Sweat beaded on his neck as he connected the call. “Hello?”

Husky breathing filled the line, then a scream pierced the receiver.

He clenched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. He had to clear his throat to speak. “Marie?” God, tell me you’re there?.

But the sudden silence sent a chill up his spine.

“Marie, Timmy?”

More breathing, this time followed by a husky laugh that sounded sinister, threatening?evil. Dear God, no? Dugan was at Marie’s house.

He pressed the accelerator, his heart hammering as he sped around traffic and called for backup. The dispatch officer agreed to send a patrol car right away.

A convertible nearly cut him off, and Miles slammed on his horn, nearly skimming a truck as he roared around it. Brush and shrubs sailed past, the wheels grinding on gravel as he hugged the side of the country road.

Images of the dead women from Dugan’s crime scenes flashed in his head, and his stomach churned. No, please, no?Dugan could not be at Marie’s house. He couldn’t kill Marie?not like the other women.

And Timmy?his son was home today with her.

The bright Texas sun nearly blinded him as he swerved into the small neighborhood where Marie had bought a house. Christmas decorations glittered, lights twinkled from the neighboring houses, the entryways screaming with festive holiday spirit.

Somehow they seemed macabre in the early-morning light.

He shifted gears, brakes squealing as he rounded a curve and sped down the street. He scanned the neighboring yards, the road, the trees beyond the house, searching for Dugan.

But everything seemed still. Quiet. A homey little neighborhood to raise a family in.

Except he had heard that scream.

His chest squeezed for air, and he slammed on the brakes and skidded up the drive. He threw the Jeep into Park, and held his weapon at the ready as he raced up to the front door.

Cop instincts kicked in, and he scanned the outside of the house and yard again, but nothing looked amiss. He glanced through the front window, but the den looked normal?toys on the floor, magazines on the table, TV running with cartoons.

Only the Christmas tree had been tipped over, ornaments scattered across the floor.

He reached for the doorknob, and the door swung open. His breath lodged in his throat, panic knotting his insides. No sounds of holiday music or Timmy chattering.

Gripping his weapon tighter, he inched inside, senses honed for signs of an intruder.

Slowly, he made his way through the den to the kitchen. The Advent calendar glared at him, mocking him with a reminder that Christmas was only a few days away.

There was a half-empty coffee cup on the counter and an overturned cereal bowl on the table. Milk dripped onto the floor.


Terror seized him.

A creaking sound suddenly splintered the air, and he swung around, braced to shoot but he saw nothing. Then another sound came from above, water running?the shower? No, the tub?overflowing.

He clenched his jaw, then inched toward the staircase, slowly climbing it and listening for an intruder, for Marie, for his son.

Any sign of life.

A quick glance into Timmy’s room and it appeared empty. Bed unmade. Toy airplane on the floor. Legos scattered. Stuffed dinosaur on his pillow.

Where was his son?

His hand trembled as he bypassed the room and edged toward the bedroom where Marie slept. One look inside, and his heart stopped.

The lamp was broken on the floor. Pillows tossed on the carpet. The corner chair overturned. Glass shards from the mirror were scattered on the vanity.

A sea of red flashed in front of him. Blood?it soaked the sheets and led a trail into the bathroom.

His stomach revolted, but he forced himself to scan the corners of the room before slowly entering the bathroom. Blood streaked the floor and led toward the claw-foot tub.

A groan settled deep in his gut.

Marie. Her eyes stood wide-open in death. Blood dripped down her neck and bare chest. Her arms dangled lifelessly over the tub edge, one leg askew.

For a moment, he choked. Couldn’t make himself move. He’d seen dozens of dead bodies before but none so personal?none that he cared about.

Emotions crowded his throat and chest, and he gripped the wall to steady himself. He had to. Had to get control. Slide that wall back into place so he could do his job.

Every second counted.

Fighting nausea, he slowly walked toward her and felt for a pulse. Although he knew before he touched her that it was too late.

Dugan had done this. Had gotten his payback by killing his son’s mother.

That creaking sound suddenly echoed again. He froze, hand clenching his gun, then spun around.

Nothing. Except the evidence of Dugan’s brutal crime.

Where was Timmy?

For a fraction of a second he closed his eyes on a prayer. The sound echoed again. The attic.

Heart hammering double-time, he headed toward Timmy’s room. The door to the space had been built inside his closet. Timmy had called it his secret room.

Had Dugan found it?

Hope warred with terror as he inched inside the closet and pushed at the door. It was closed, but he had insisted the lock be removed for fear Timmy might lock himself inside and be trapped.

Now he wished he’d left that damn lock on so his son could have locked Dugan out.

Darkness shrouded the cavernous space as he climbed the steps. He tried to move soundlessly, but the wood floor squeaked. As he reached the top step, a sliver of sunlight wormed its way through the small attic window, allowing him to sweep the interior.

It appeared empty, but he had heard something.

“Timmy,” he whispered. “Son, are you here?”

Praying he was safe, Miles examined the room. Timmy’s toy airplanes and horses, his train set.

Another squeak, and he jerked his head around. An antique wardrobe sat in the corner, one Marie had used to store old quilts. He held his breath as he approached it, then eased open the door.

Relief mingled with pain when he saw his little boy hunched inside, his knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. He had buried his head against his legs, silent sobs racking his body.

“Timmy, it’s okay, it’s Dad.” Anguish clogged his throat as he gently lifted his son’s face. Blood dotted Timmy’s T-shirt and hands, and tears streaked his splotched skin, a streak of blood on his left cheek.

But it was the blank look in his eyes that sent a wave of cold terror through Miles.

Timmy might be alive, but he was in shock.

He stooped down to Timmy’s level and dragged him into his arms, but his son felt limp, as if the life had drained from him just as it had his mother.

Three weeks later

Jordan Keys watched the busload of new campers arrive at the Bucking Bronc Lodge, her heart in her throat. The troubled kids ranged from ages five to sixteen.

Her brother had fit in that category. But he was gone now.

Because she hadn’t been able to help him.

She fisted her hands, silently vowing to do better here. She’d read about the BBL and how hard the cowboys and staff worked to turn these kids’ lives around, and she wanted to be a part of it.

If she saved just one kid, it might assuage some of her guilt over her brother’s death.

A chilly January wind swirled dried scrub brush across the dirt and echoed through the trees. She waved to Kim Woodstock, another one of the counselors and Brandon Woodstock’s wife, as she greeted the bus, then Jordan bypassed them and headed straight into the main lodge to meet with Miles McGregor and his five-year-old son, Timmy.

Apparently Miles also volunteered at the BBL, but this time he’d come because he needed solace and time to heal from a recent loss.

So did his little boy, who they believed had witnessed his mother’s murder.

A thread of anxiety knotted her shoulders as she let herself in the lodge. The empty spot where the Christmas tree had stood made the entryway seem dismal, but truth be told, she was glad it was gone. The holidays always resurrected memories of Christmases past, both good and bad memories that tormented her with what-ifs.

Shoving the thoughts to the back of her mind, she grabbed a cup of coffee and made her way back to the wing Brody Bloodworth had recently added to serve as a counseling and teen center.

The moment she stepped into the room, she sensed pain emanating through it. Like a living, breathing entity smothering the air.

Little Timmy, a dark-haired boy who looked scrawny and way too pale, sat in the corner against the wall, his knees drawn up, his arms locked tightly around them as if he might crumble if he released his grip. The poor child didn’t even look up as she entered, simply sat staring through glazed eyes at some spot on the floor as if he was lost.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. What if she failed this little guy, too? What if he needed more than she could give?

Inhaling to stifle her nerves, she pasted on a smile, then glanced at the cowboy standing by the window watching the horses gallop across the pasture. His back was to her, his wide shoulders rigid, his hands clenching the window edge so tightly she could see the veins bulging in his broad, tanned hands.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. McGregor?”

The subtle lift of his shoulders indicated he’d heard her, then he hissed something low and indiscernible between his teeth and slowly turned to face her. Dark brown hair like his son’s, except his was shaggy and unkempt, framed a face chiseled in stone. His jawbones were high, his face square, his eyes the color of a sunset, brown and orange and gold, rich with color, but?dead.

That was the only word to describe the emptiness she saw there.

He removed his Stetson, then walked toward her and held out a work-roughened hand that looked strong enough to break rocks. Everything about the man, from his muscular build, his towering height, his broad shoulders and those muscular thighs, screamed of masculinity.

And a raw sexuality that made her heart begin to flutter.

But anger also simmered beneath the surface of his calm, anger and something lethal, like a bloodthirsty need for revenge.

She didn’t know all the details about his relationship to Timmy’s mother, but she understood that anger. She also knew where it led?to nothing good.

“I’m Jordan Keys,” she said, finally finding her voice. “Nice to meet you.”

“There’s nothing nice right now,” he said in a gruff voice.

Jordan stiffened slightly. Obviously he was in pain, but did that mean he didn’t want her help? A lot of men thought counseling was bogus, for sissies?beneath them.

“Maybe not, but you’re here now, and I see you brought your little boy.” She gestured toward Timmy, who still remained oblivious to her appearance. “So let’s talk.”

He worked his mouth from side to side as if he wanted to say something, but he finally gave a nod. “Brody filled you in?”

“Briefly. But I’d like to hear the details from you.”

“Of course. We’ve seen doctors—”

“Not in front of Timmy,” Jordan said, cutting him off. “Let me talk to him for a minute, then we can step outside and discuss the situation.”

His mouth tightened into a grim line, but he nodded again. This man didn’t like to be ordered around, didn’t like to be out of control.

And he had no control right now.

Which was obviously killing him.

She understood that feeling as well.

She slowly walked over and knelt beside the child. “Timmy, my name is Miss Jordan. I’m glad you came to the BBL. We have horses here and other kids to play with and lots of fun things planned.”

His eye twitched, but he didn’t reply or look at her.

“Why don’t you sit at the table? There are markers and paper. Maybe you can draw about Christmas.”

Again, he didn’t move.

Miles touched his son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you draw the bike Santa brought you?” Again, no response.

“Come on, sport.” Miles took his arm and led the boy to the table. Timmy slumped down in the chair, but he didn’t pick up the markers. He simply stared at the blank paper as if he was too weighted down to move.

“I need to talk to your daddy for a minute,” Jordan said, giving his arm a soft pat. “We’ll be outside that door if you need us, all right?”

His eyes twitched sideways toward her this time. Frightened.

She rubbed his shoulder gently. “I promise. We’re not going anywhere but right outside the room.” She gestured toward a glass partition. “See that glass? We’ll be in there so if you need us, just call or tap on the glass and we’ll come back.”

He didn’t respond, just tucked his knees up and began to rock back and forth. His bony little body was wound so tight that Jordan felt the tension thrumming through him.

“If you want to draw, that’s fine,” she said again, using a quiet voice. “If not, you can look out that window and watch the pretty horses running around.”

The fact that he didn’t turn to look at them worried her. But she simply smiled, then ushered his father into the hallway and into the other room.

When she closed the door, Miles immediately angled his head to watch his son through the partition. Jordan’s chest squeezed.

Miles McGregor was one of the biggest, toughest-looking men she’d ever met. He was not only a cowboy, but Brody had told her he was a cop who chased down the dregs of society.

Miles was also hurting inside and felt powerless to help his son. That made them kindred spirits.

“Tell me what happened,” Jordan said gently.

He slanted her a condescending look. “I thought you said Brody filled you in.”

Jordan simply folded her arms. “Yes, but I want to hear it from you. Everything from the day Timmy’s mother died to how and where you found Timmy to what the doctors said.”

A muscle jumped in his chiseled jaw. “You can read the police report.” He yanked an envelope from inside his denim jacket pocket. The movement revealed the weapon he had hol-stered to his side. “Here’s the doctor’s report, too.”

Jordan forced a calm into her voice. “I will read it, but it’s important I hear what you have to say.”

All the Beautiful Brides


All the Beautiful Brides

Book 3 of The Graveyard Falls Series

All the Beautiful Brides

Releasing: September 15, 2015

A young woman lies dead at the bottom of a waterfall, dressed in a wedding gown with a rose stem jammed down her throat. And in the small town of Graveyard Falls, the horrifying vision stirs a long-ago nightmare back to life.

FBI Special Agent Cal Coulter gets called in to investigate the murder, which bears a terrifying resemblance to a series of killings committed thirty years ago: three teenage girls were found dead at the waterfall’s base, all bearing rose stems in their throats. The high school football star was convicted and imprisoned for those murders, so now Cal suspects that the real killer is still out there.

Now, the body count is rising again. The monster’s sights are set on counselor Mona Monroe, Cal’s best friend’s widow…and the woman he’s always loved. Can Cal stop the killer before Mona becomes the next victim?

McCullen’s Secret Son


McCullen’s Secret Son

Book 2 of The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek Series


Releasing: September 1, 2015


Sexy-as-sin rodeo star Brett McCullen is Willow James Howard’s past. But when her estranged husband is killed and her son kidnapped, she’s forced to accept help from the man who broke her heart. Little does Brett know that the very child he’s trying to rescue is his own flesh and blood—the result of a fling years earlier. He can’t deny his rising desire at Willow’s reappearance…even as he struggles to forgive her secret. But with the ransom deadline looming, Brett must go to extremes to save the family he never knew he wanted…

Lock, Stock and McCullen


Lock, Stock and McCullen

Book 1 of The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek Series

Lock, Stock and McAllen

Releasing: August 1, 2015

Sherriff Maddox McCullen cradled Rose Worthington, every protective fiber of his being firing as she shuddered against him. She told him how she had been brutally attacked and had killed the man—her fiancé!—in self defense. But when Maddox investigates the crime scene, he finds nothing. No bullet casing, no blood, no body.

The deeper Maddox probes, the more questions arise, revealing a mysterious past that shatters all Rose has ever known. Caught in the crosshairs of escalating danger—and his powerful desire for Rose—Maddox vows to protect her. He’ll risk his life to find a desperate enemy who will stop at nothing to keep the past buried.

Cold Case at Cobra Creek


Cold Case at Cobra Creek

Book 3 of the Cold Case Series

Cold Case at Cobra Creek

A Native American tracker makes it his mission to bring a missing child home, just in time for Christmas…

After two years, Sage Freeport had all but given up hope of seeing her little boy again…until she met Dugan Graystone. They shared a disdain for local law enforcement, the same folks who’d hindered Sage’s efforts to find her son. As an expert tracker, the broad-shouldered Native American was sure he could find the child—even if he had to leave Texas to do it. Spending time with Sage, watching as she broke down every time a lead didn’t pan out, Dugan worked harder than he ever had before. Now, with Christmas just days away, Dugan knew Sage trusted him to give her the greatest gift of all: bringing Benji home….

Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing


Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

Book 4 of the Cold Case Series

Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing

A decades-old cold case is testing everything one Texas Ranger thought he knew about obtaining justice…

A lot of men on death row profess their innocence. Those men are mostly just scared of dying. Jaxon Ward understands that, but as a Texas Ranger he needs to uphold the law. Yet the story Avery Tierney tells him… He’s convinced her brother is awaiting execution while the real killer remains at large.

Searching for the murderer opens old wounds for Avery, and now she has to face a past so traumatic she blocked it out. A past not so dissimilar to Jax’s. Before long, the only comfort they find is in each other’s arms. Avery’s lost everything once before. And now, if she loses Jaxon, she fears she’ll never recover.

Love Me, Lucy


Love Me, Lucy

Book 3 of the The Bachelor Pact Series

Love Me, Lucy

A stalker is after Lucy…Lucy’s lover is after Lucy but

All Lucy Lane wants for Christmas is to spend it with her family and the man she loves – Reid Summers. And truth be told, she wouldn’t mind a marriage proposal…

But Lucy has a stalker and must get out of town fast. Not
wanting to endanger Reid, she fibs and tells him she’s
auditioning for a movie in L.A.

Instead, she hides out in a senior’s resort in South Florida!

Reid Summers vowed to keep his bachelor pact intact …until he met Lucy. Maybe for Christmas, he’ll overcome his marriage phobia though, and ask her to move in with him. That’s
commitment– right?

Then he discovers that Lucy lied to him and fears she’s run off with another man.

Determined to find her, he sneaks into her apartment, but is
arrested for being her stalker!

Reid didn’t know Lucy had a stalker, but the thought of her in danger, or in another man’s arms, drives him crazy.

He will do anything to find her and protect her.

But will he put a ring on her finger?

Dying for Love


Dying for Love

Book 4 of the Slaughter Creek Series

Dying for Love

Everything she believes is a lie.

Amelia Nettleton has struggled to overcome her childhood trauma and finally has a chance to lead a normal life—a life with a husband and a family. But a recurring nightmare haunts her: she dreams of a baby crying for its mother…a baby that may be hers, and was stolen from her.

Six years ago, special agent John Strong woke up in a hospital with no memories—but with a strong feeling that he committed terrible acts. Now, driven to atone for a history he can’t remember, he works with the FBI to locate missing children.

When Amelia turns to John for help, an intoxicatingly familiar passion ignites between them. But the closer they get, the more secrets from their dark pasts come to light…secrets that someone will kill to keep them from discovering.

One Night to Kill


One Night to Kill

Book 1 of the Seven Nights Series

One NIght to Kill

Just coming off a dangerous mission, bomb expert Sergeant Max Murdock desperately needs some R & R. Unfortunately his leave turns into an assignment to protect Willow Woods, the General’s daughter.

Then he discovers Willow is running a phone sex business, and it becomes impossible to keep his hands off of her!

Worse, not only is her life in danger but she has a stalker.

Can he save her – and protect his heart – from the sexy vixen?

Worth Dying For


Worth Dying For

Book 3 in the Slaughter Creek Series

Worth Dying for


The sadistic experiments conducted in Slaughter Creek have left the town mired in mystery. As Special Agent Rafe Hood works to tie up the loose ends, the discovery of a grisly murder reveals there’s a new killer at work. Someone they’re calling “The Dissector.” Someone who keeps his victims’ body parts as gruesome trophies…

Special Agent Liz Lucas has been on leave, recovering from the trauma of her last case. But returning to find the Dissector will demand extra caution—especially with Rafe leading the investigation. The last time the two worked together, passions ran high and the resulting emotional interference with the case nearly cost Liz her life.

Now, even though their attraction is more magnetic than ever, Liz and Rafe will need to resist getting involved again if they’re to avoid the lethal distraction. As mounting evidence suggests the Dissector’s kills are personal, a threat returns from Liz’s past that suggests she was hardly safe to begin with…

Bed of Roses


Bed of Roses

Prequel of the Seven Nights Series

Bed of Roses


Florist Jude Johnson is thrilled when, for once, she receives a flower delivery for Valentine’s Day. But her pleasure dies when she opens the box to find a dozen dead roses. And when the black roses keep coming, Jude begins to fear the only kiss she’s going to get for Valentine’s Day is the kiss of death….

Cold Case at Carlton’s Canyon


Cold Case at Carlton’s Canyon

Book 4 of the Cold Case Series

Cold Case at Carlton's Canyon

Two officers’ badges—and hearts—are on the line in Rita Herron’s Cold Case at Carlton’s Canyon

Sergeant Justin Thorpe has dedicated his life to justice and won’t stop until he finds the vicious serial killer who has already claimed ten innocent lives. He works solo—until he joins forces with Sheriff Amanda Blair. The Texas Ranger can’t let his desire for his coworker keep him from his mission, especially when Amanda’s life is threatened.

Ten girls have vanished—one for every year since Amanda graduated from Canyon High. And as she tries to fight her attraction to a man as independent as she is, a trap is being laid to make Amanda the final victim in a killer’s terrifying endgame….

Cold Case at Camden Crossing


Cold Case at Camden Crossing

Book 3 of the Cold Case Series

Cold Case at Camden Crossing


People in town believe Tawny-Lynn Boulder is the only reason the Camden Cross case went unsolved. She survived the bus accident that left several dead and two missing, but the severe trauma left her with amnesia. So when she returns to her family’s ranch after seven years, Sheriff Chaz Camden presses her to help locate the girls who were never found—including his own sister. But someone in town is threatening to kill Tawny-Lynn to keep the case closed. Now she must trust that the sexy sheriff she once loved will protect her and show this murderer that in Camden, accidents don’t happen…justice does.




Box Set


Three romantic suspense novellas in one!
Safe In His Arms
Safe By His Side
Safe With Him

Three prisoners on the run…
Three women in danger…
Three Texas Rangers who will risk their hearts and their lives to protect them.

Safe with Him


Safe With Him

Book 3 of the Manhunt Series

Safe With Him

All Kaylie Whittaker wanted for Christmas was to protect her daughter from the madman who killed her husband…

All five-year-old CeCe Whittaker wanted was to have a real home for the holidays…

All Texas Ranger Sergeant Mitch Manning wanted was to drown his sorrows in a bottle.

Then Kaylie and CeCe snuck into his abandoned ranch house, looking terrified and obviously on the run, and his detective instincts surged to life. But he’d lost one family because of his job, and he refused to make room for this woman and her little girl in his heart.

Still, he was a Texas Ranger and he would protect them or die trying…