LITMIR.BIZ

      I’d like to thank The Nail

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Kelsey Roberts has penned more than thirty novels, won numerous awards and nominations and landed on bestseller lists including USA TODAY and the Ingrams Top 50 List. She has been featured in the New York Times and the Washington Post, and makes frequent appearances on both radio and television. She is considered an expert in why women read and write crime fiction as well as an excellent authority on plotting and structuring novels.

      She resides in south Florida with her family.

      CAST OF CHARACTERS

      Kresley Hayes—What she doesn’t know might very well kill her.

      Matt DeMarco—Not all of this FBI agent’s intentions are pure; he’s got secrets of his own.

      Rose Porter—Owns half of the Rose Tattoo and can’t pass up an opportunity to play matchmaker.

      Emma Rooper—Kresley’s roommate who dies on the night in question.

      Gianni—Fashion designer killed because he knows far too much.

      Shelby Hunnicutt Tanner—Half owner of the Rose Tattoo who has a special secret she shares with Matt.

      Janice Cross—Missing FBI agent—has she turned or is she a captive?

      Hal Whiting—Coast Guard official with his fingers in lots of pies.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter One

      Matt DeMarco’s eyesight was neon green and distorted, thanks to the night-vision goggles he was using for his fruitless scan of the horizon.

      A mixture of seawater and sand sloshed around his legs as he continued a slow, methodical jog along the water’s edge.

      Nothing.

      He’d been at it since midnight, a full twenty-seven hours since the Carolina Moon should have docked at Charleston Harbor. He knew enough about Atlantic tides and currents to realize that if the private yacht had experienced any sort of mechanical malfunction, it would be drifting offshore in the general vicinity of Folly Beach.

      Where the hell was Janice? His softly muttered curse of frustration was lost in the sound of the gently lapping surf.

      She was a damn good partner and had covered his butt, and he owed her big time. But she’d gone too far this time. Deep under cover, she’d been in the wind for over a month, not filing progress reports, not even communicating with her supervisory agent. The last report she’d filed had placed her in Charleston. And the last confirmed sighting of her was from a week ago when she’d rented a boat to take her out to the Carolina Moon.

      Janice Cross was like a pit bull. Once she got her teeth into something, she wouldn’t let go. But he prayed whatever she’d discovered on the Carolina Moon hadn’t cost her her life.

      As dawn approached, the waters were beginning to fill with the fleet of shrimpers and fishermen working the ocean, rivers and oyster beds in and around Charleston.

      If the private yacht was disabled, surely one of the fishing fleet would—

      His thought was lost as Matt suddenly choked in a mouthful of briny water. Only then did his brain fully process the fact that he’d tripped and gone flying into the lukewarm ocean. Spitting the grit of sand, bits of shell and God-only-knew-what-else out of his mouth, he pushed up to his knees, feeling around in the murky water for his goggles. No luck.

      “Damn,” he muttered, pushing dripping hair off his forehead.

      Glancing over his shoulder, he looked for the cause of his dive into the shallow surf, expecting a discarded cooler or driftwood or, more likely, one of those federally protected, lumbering, loggerhead turtles that spent the month of April plodding up to the

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