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      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2019 by Linda Ladd

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

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      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: June 2019

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0740-7

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0740-3

      First Print Edition: June 2019

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0743-8

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0743-8

      Printed in the United States of America

      Chapter 1

      Off the west coast of Florida, a giant ball of flame sat atop the horizon. Blazing and brilliant, it slowly disappeared into the vast blue reaches of the Gulf of Mexico. Another magnificent Sanibel Island sunset was over, but it left a soft pink glow that colored the beaches. Will Novak was jogging along, nice and steady, heading south toward the Sanibel Lighthouse, when those faint golden spikes turned to black and a single star appeared. He liked sunsets, especially the ones out over the sea, but he was tired and ready to head back to his rental condo. The ocean winds were sweeping in, brisk and bracing, and drying his sweat-soaked skin as he ran along the hard-packed sand. It felt good to have a nice long run. He had been idle for a week, and he needed the surge of energy it gave him.

      Few people were around now that the sky show was over, no doubt worn out from a day romping in sun and surf. Lights were blinking on inside the hotels and restaurants he jogged past. When it grew darker along the sand, Novak had the beach to himself, which was the way he liked it. Since he had retired from the military, he had become a loner who enjoyed peace and quiet on the few occasions he actually could get some. His lifestyle made these isolated pools of serenity rare, but now he was ready for some action. Claire Morgan Black, his PI partner, had left him an intriguing voicemail ten days ago, relating news of a case without giving him any details. So he had come to the island and checked into Ocean’s Edge, waiting for Claire to make it home from Italy. While he waited, he was to watch for the arrival of a woman named Alcina Castillo and then keep a close eye on her. After that directive, Claire had pretty much ignored his texts. The mystery woman had not shown up. Will wanted the details explaining why he was hanging around that condo and doing nothing. Not that his stay in paradise was any kind of hardship. A beach bum existence was right up his alley, not exactly hell on earth by any stretch of the imagination. Sanibel Island was beautiful, and better yet, it was peaceful and quiet. Now the lights of Fort Myers Beach sparkled across the dark bay, the big luxury high-rise condos and hotels full of tourists. Restaurants over there would be packed with hungry visitors lingering over fresh seafood and imbibing fancy cocktails.

      Novak usually ran at night when he was away on assignment. When he was at home in the bayous of Louisiana, he worked out at dawn, on a specific course he’d laid out to increase his speed and strengthen his endurance. Novak was a big guy, six feet six inches, and weighed 240 pounds. His large size should have affected his ability to react to provocation, but he had worked diligently to overcome that problem and now could surprise opponents by how fast he could move. He couldn’t always sustain the quickness, but usually it didn’t have to last long to put another man down. It had done him well in many a barroom brawl.

      Here he had no reason to tangle with anybody because he spent all day watching for the woman to appear. It was a good gig, he supposed, sitting around on the sand or in his private screened lanai, relaxing, and waiting for something to pop. No such luck thus far. In a nutshell, he was bored. All was quiet, all the time. The other guests looked to be typical tourists doing absolutely nothing unusual or criminal, just nice normal people enjoying hard-earned vacations, so good for them.

      Tonight he was ready to

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