LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      DIANE PERSHING

      For more years than she cares to disclose, Diane Pershing made her living as an actress and singer. She was extremely contented in these professions, except for one problem—there was way too much downtime, and she worried that her brain was atrophying. So she took up pen and paper and began writing, first for television, then as a movie critic, then as a novelist.

      Her first novel, Sultry Whispers, following the dictum to “write what you know,” was about a voiceover actress who battled the male-dominated mind-set of advertising agencies. There have been fifteen more sales since. Diane is happy to report that there is no more downtime in her life; indeed, with writing and acting—and teaching classes in both—she now faces the dilemma of not having enough time, which she says is a quality problem indeed. She loves to hear from readers, so please write to her at P.O. Box 67424, Los Angeles, CA 90067 or online at [email protected]. You can also visit Diane’s Web site at www.dianepershing.com.

      To Dr. Lilli Forbrich, DVM, a woman who is both kind and strong.

       You are my hero. The world is a better place for your presence in it.

      And to my son, Benjamin Russell Pershing, journalist.

       Thanks for all the insider stuff on our country’s capital, not to mention twenty-nine years of joy, since the day of your birth.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Prologue

      Today

      And I write all this now so if something happens to me, something suspicious, it will serve to set the authorities on the right path. Perhaps I am a coward; still, it is my fondest wish that what I have recounted here will never be seen. There are too many secrets that could harm too many innocent people. But if it is read, I will be gone, and so I leave the living to make their own decisions and to find their own peace.

      Rita Conlon

      Hot tears streaking her cheeks, Lou read the final sentence several times. Then she closed the diary that contained the answers to so many questions, some she’d had all her life and some she’d never even known to ask until just a few days ago. It also raised some new ones.

      She shook her head, murmuring, “My father is a monster.”

      The only other living creature in the room, her newly adopted kitten Anthony, raised his head up from her lap and gave her a golden-eyed blink. Absently, Lou scratched around the kitten’s ears and stared into the fireplace. She wished the fire could warm her. Even though an early summer storm raged outside her windows, it wasn’t really cold; still, she was chilled through and through.

      What she’d spoken aloud was the truth, and it hurt; her father was, at minimum, an amoral and egocentric human being. It was also possible that he had, quite literally, gotten away with murder.

      And now she had to decide just what to do about that.

      She reached for her martini glass and took a sip, hoping the clear liquid would make its way down to her stomach and accomplish what the fire didn’t seem to be able to. Oh, how Will would love to get his hands on this diary, Lou thought. He would probably sell his soul for it.

      If he had a soul left.

      Will.

      Just the thought of him brought up another kind of pain, this one tinged with bitterness. Other women didn’t seem to have her rotten luck with the male sex; why did she keep choosing the ones who proved to be untrustworthy?

      Cut it out, warned an inner voice, one that had been keeping tabs on her emotional state all her life, it seemed. Lou was dangerously close to self-pity and she hated that quality in anyone. She was alive. She was free from want. She had many blessings—a good career, lots of friends, good health…

      A sudden noise snapped her out of her musings. It was faint at first, barely audible over the percussive sound of raindrops beating hard against windows and on the roof shingles above her. It was a whining sound, and it came from the floor below, which housed her veterinary clinic. They were currently boarding five dogs and one of them, Boris, was just recovering from surgery. Alonzo was on overnight duty—he’d begged for the extra hours to help his growing family.

      The whining noise came again, louder now, followed by a yelp of pain. Human pain, this time.

      Lou stood, slightly off balance from the martini. Her heart rate began to speed up. What was going on? Where was Alonzo? She raced to the hallway, pulled open the door that led to the inside staircase connecting the clinic below and the living quarters upstairs. Dashing down the stairway, she called out, “Alonzo?”

      There was no answer. She pushed through the door at the bottom and stopped dead in her tracks. Alonzo lay on the floor, unconscious, blood pouring from a wound on his forehead. Next to him was Mr. Hyde, a Doberman pinscher, lying on one side. Dead or unconscious, she didn’t know.

      Standing over them both was a patrician-looking, silver-haired man she’d met for the first time just recently. He was pointing a gun at her, aimed at her chest. The look in his eye was hard and cold.

      The man was her father.

      And she had no doubts, none at all, that in a matter of minutes, seconds maybe, she would be dead.

      Chapter 1

      Friday, thirteen days earlier

      “Whatever you do, don’t grab her, Martha!” Lou called out to the new trainee. Martha was trying to snatch the yowling, hissing, full-grown feline who, having escaped the exam room, was currently leaping over the high reception counter. “She hasn’t had her shots yet!”

      “Come here, you little—” Alonzo, appearing from the hallway behind Lou, muttered something in Spanish that was most probably not a blessing, and, net in hand, lunged at the escaped cat. He missed and had to catch himself on the edge of the desk before he took a header.

      In the meantime the cat had leaped from the top of the counter and through

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