by Marta Perry
Aaron’s fingers moved on her wrist, gently caressing. “There are too many people around,” he complained, his eyes laughing. “How am I supposed to kiss you now?”
“Later,” she promised him, and her voice caught with longing on the word.
They had time, she reminded herself. With their community returned to normal and the promise of a future with Aaron, she had everything she could need or want.
* * * * *
Keep reading for a look at Allison and Nick’s story in WHERE SECRETS SLEEP,
available now from Marta Perry and HQN Books, and don’t miss WHERE SECRETS DIE, the exciting conclusion to the HOUSE OF SECRETS series!
If you loved When Secrets Strike, you will love the first title in Marta Perry’s House of Secrets series.
Where Secrets Sleep
“This is an excellent beginning to what promises to be a series of rewarding, satisfying novels.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review
Available wherever ebooks are sold.
Be sure to also catch the Watchers in the Dark series by bestselling author Marta Perry!
Home by Dark
Search the Dark
Abandon the Dark
And don’t miss Marta Perry’s Brotherhood of the Raven series!
Murder in Plain Sight
Vanish in Plain Sight
Lost in Plain Sight
Danger in Plain Sight
All available now in ebook format.
“Perry’s story hooks you immediately. Her uncanny ability to seamlessly blend the mystery element with contemporary themes makes this one intriguing read.”
—RT Book Reviews on Home by Dark
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Where Secrets Sleep
by Marta Perry
A LIGHT FROM one of the windows of Blackburn House caught his eye as he rounded the corner of the building, and he paused. First floor—it was in the bookstore. Ralph or his clerk must be working late, maybe unpacking a new shipment of books. Even as he thought it, the light switched off. Five steps later the light reappeared, in the quilt shop this time.
He stopped, frowning. Sarah Bitler wasn’t likely to be in her shop at this hour. Sarah was Amish, and she didn’t like driving her buggy along the country roads after dark. Apprehension slid along Nick’s skin like a touch, and he reached into his pocket for his keys.
The light went out and the pattern repeated as another came on, this time in his showroom. Someone was getting into the businesses on the first floor of Blackburn House. Yanking his keys out, Nick ran for the back door.
A prowler? It could be the custodian, he supposed, but Fred Glick was usually gone by this hour, and making a final pass through the building wasn’t characteristic of his lackadaisical approach to his job.
The rumors that had been making the rounds in town popped into his mind. Laurel Ridge couldn’t seem to decide whether it was being plagued by a prowler, a Peeping Tom or a sneak thief. Maybe now he’d get the answer to that question.
Nick held the knob firmly as he unlocked the back door, wary of any betraying creak as he eased it open. Stepping inside, he considered his brother Mac’s reaction if Nick actually caught the prowler. Mac, Laurel Ridge’s police chief, had been skeptical from the start about the rumors, saying it was probably a manifestation of cabin fever after the long winter.
Nick slipped past the storeroom at the back of the building and slowly opened the door that led to the front part of the house. The wide hallway that ran from this point to the front of the building was deserted, but a patch of light lay on the marble floor. Staying in the shadow cast by the wide center staircase, Nick moved silently forward. To judge by the location of the light, the intruder was in their showroom. He heard the sound of movement, as if something brushed against a cabinet.
If he went to the showroom door, he’d be seen instantly. But he could slip in the door that led from the hallway to the office behind the showroom, and he might be able to get close enough to see without being seen. Pulse racing, Nick crossed to the office door and fumbled for the key. He realized he was enjoying this small adventure, and he had to laugh at himself. Maybe a guy never outgrew all those cops versus bad guys scenarios of childhood.
Holding his breath, Nick pushed open the door and sidled into the office. No one was here, but a stream of light spilled from the open door into the showroom. He worked his way around the desk and groped the wall next to the door. He paused there for a moment and then cautiously peered into the showroom.
The rows of cabinet doors on display made an effective screen. He couldn’t see the guy from here, but he could hear footsteps, followed by a soft thud as something bumped one of the cabinets.
Nick held his breath and moved soundlessly farther into the showroom, taking cover behind a pegboard displaying hardware styles. The footsteps came nearer. Frowning in concentration, Nick counted the steps, estimating the prowler’s location. One step, two—he must be within a foot now, so close Nick imagined he could hear a breath.
Muscles tense, he waited. The instant he saw movement, he lunged, grabbing the form. Several things happened at once. He realized he was clutching a female, he felt her swing something and he heard the crack as it hit his leg with numbing force. Another crack, a banshee shriek and an orange ball of fur plummeted toward the floor.
The cat turned on a dime, hissed and spat at him, spine arching. The woman, yanking free of his grasp, looked as if she’d like to do the same. Nick had a quick image of shining auburn hair, pale creamy skin and bright green eyes that seemed to shoot sparks of rage.
“What are you doing? Are you insane?” She held what he now realized was a cat carrier, its door hanging by one hinge. She raised it threateningly, and he had no doubt she’d hit him again at an unwary movement.
He raised both hands, palms out, and took a step out of range. “Take it easy. I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing in my shop?”
“Your shop?” she echoed.
Nick saw the doubt enter her face, and a delicate pink stained her cheeks. The green eyes were framed by uncompromising brows, and her heart-shaped face had a stubborn cast along the line of her jaw. As for her lips...for a moment he was distracted, and he forced himself to focus.
“That’s right, my shop. I’m Nick Whiting. This is the office and showroom of Whiting and Whiting Cabinetry. I repeat, who are you? How did you get in? Or maybe I should just call the police.” He sketched a gesture toward the pocket that held his cell phone.
“That’s not necessary.” Her chin lifted. “You’re Mr. Whiting? I’m Allison Standish.” She said it as if it should mean something to him.
It did. “You’re Ms. Standish? The long-lost granddaughter Evelyn left this place to?”
“I haven’t been lost, Mr. Whiting.” Her tone was cool. “But, yes. I’m the new owner of this building, so I have every right to be here.”
He raised an eyebrow, wondering if it would infuriate her. “You may or may not be the owner of Blackburn House, but this is my shop. According to my lease, I’m supposed to be notified in advance if the owner wants access.”
Nick had no idea if the lease actually said that, since it had been negotiated by his father years ago, but if it didn’t, it should.
“I see.” Her tone was icy. “I suppose I should have a look at all the leases, shouldn’t I?”
Naturally
she would, possibly to his sorrow. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned it. He took the opportunity for a long look at her. Sleek chin-length hair the color of polished mahogany, earrings a delicate tangle of silver and jet, jacket of butter-soft leather and a silk shirt that molded full breasts, a skirt that flirted with her legs and a pair of high-heeled boots that looked capable of kicking if necessary.
Well. With this woman taking over Blackburn House, there might be a lot of changes coming.
Copyright © 2015 by Martha Johnson
ISBN-13: 9781460390306
Where Secrets Strike
Copyright © 2015 by Martha P. Johnson
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