“What’s wrong?” Ashley’s gaze followed Marv’s to where the bathrobed man lay collapsed at the edge of the street. She squeezed her eyes shut. “What happened?”
“Don’t look.” Marv’s voice shook. And not much unnerved him after his career in the U.S. Navy.
“Just tell me, okay? Did the car hit him?”
He hesitated. “Not the car. The driver shot him. It’s bad.”
“Shot? You mean, with a gun?” She realized that sounded stupid, but outside of the firing range where she practiced with her new pistol, she’d never heard a gunshot. Averting her gaze, she scrambled to her feet.
“Yes. Didn’t you hear the report?”
Dear God, the car hadn’t backfired. She grabbed Marvin’s tattooed arm. “Oh, no, it’s Peter!”
“Driving the car?”
“No, but—but he’s behind this. You know he is. That guy was aiming for me.” She struggled to breathe, gulping in air. Her body trembled, from fear or rage. Or both.
“You don’t know that—”
“If Peter has followed me, he knows our running route.” Her voice quivered along with the rest of her.
“Followed you? He doesn’t even know where you live.”
“He knows where you live. He could’ve followed you.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“He won’t ever let me go.” Her bravado collapsed.
How many times had Peter threatened her, warned her what would happen if she tried to leave him? Emotional blackmail, her therapist called it. But what if he wasn’t bluffing?
“Hey.” Marvin grabbed her shoulders. “Chill, kiddo. We have to get help.”
He led her past the driveway, past the poor man’s body. The odor of blood—so much blood—penetrated her senses and triggered a memory she’d tried to bury, another scene of blood. So much blood.
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“With a deft hand, Cheryl Norman creates an emotionally gripping and heartwarming tale in Restore My Heart, proving love isn’t perfect but persistent and enduring and we never know those we think we know best.”
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ISBN# 978-193281586-3
Mass Market / Romantic Suspense
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Prologue
Light from the computer screen spilled over the darkened office, glowing through a spreadsheet’s grids. A mosquito buzzed the monitor. Where had it come from? The insects rarely swarmed in April, at least not in Kentucky. Batting away the mosquito, Leo Desalvo released his pent-up breath in a loud groan. He lowered his head and dug his thumbs into his temples to massage a growing headache.
Condensation slid down the can of his forgotten soda, forming a wet circle on his month-at-a-glance calendar. Earlier, to stretch his tired muscles, he’d made the short trip to the customer waiting area, where the vending machines offered the room’s only light. The dealership’s new commercial carpet silenced his footsteps. Thinking the cold caffeine of a Coke would ease his fatigue, he’d taken one long drink before returning to his office. But there was no cure for what plagued him tonight.
His gaze returned to the monitor. Scowling, he reread the entries, entries that shouldn’t be, in a hidden file that shouldn’t exist. The data confirmed his worst fears.
Rage at the betrayal engulfed him. He studied the accounting record again, searching for a mistake. An explanation. But the same damning numbers glared back at him, and dread settled over his slumping shoulders. As much as he hated it, he knew what had to be done. All his life, he’d tried to do the right thing. He wouldn’t stop now.
Couldn’t stop now, even if it cost him everything.
“You’re here late.”
Recognizing the voice behind him, Leo stifled a gasp. The odor of the intruder’s stale cigarette smoke should have alerted him, but everyone was supposed to be gone. Besides, the entire building reeked of stale cigarette smoke, in both the office and the shop. Still, he should’ve stayed more alert. He’d waited for everyone to leave, then relaxed his guard.
He tried to keep the anger and suspicion from his voice. “I had a few things to finish.”
“Anything wrong?”
Clicking the mouse, Leo closed the screen, exited the program, then removed the USB drive without turning to face his unwelcome guest. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
The mosquito punctured the flesh beneath his collar. He swatted at it. What the hell? Not a mosquito, he realized, but a needle. He grabbed for the hypodermic, but his hand thudded uselessly onto the desk. Terror gripped him as numbness claimed his body.
A second hypodermic pierced his arm, then emptied into his vein. As a detached observer, he stared at his arm. He’d underestimated his enemy. His head grew heavy. His vision blurred. Air froze inside his lungs.
With considerable effort, he focused on the framed photos displayed on his desk. His precious children. His daughters. His son. If only he could see Joe one more time. It’d been so long. Now what would his family think? Wanting to protect them, Leo had spared them his recent troubles. Would they ever uncover the truth? Darkness narrowed his vision to the largest frame, the portrait of the woman he loved, the woman he would always love.
The woman he’d never see again.
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