She staggered, slamming against a hard wall, which turned out to be a broad-shouldered body
The body had a pair of arms that caught and steadied her in a comforting embrace. The guy had blatant sex appeal in a lean body that scraped six feet and moved with a sexual, confident gait. Now, like half the female population in New Orleans, Christy found herself susceptible to this man, experiencing all these treacherous sensations. This dizzy breathlessness as the pair of brash green eyes continued to hold her gaze. This sudden heat in her insides as she stared up at the bold face under its thatch of dark hair. And this weakness in her limbs as the powerful arms continued to pin her against his chest.
“If you go around getting into trouble just to get my attention,” Dallas said in a deliberately seductive voice, “things are bound to happen. Really dangerous things.”
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
Cupid’s bow is loaded at Harlequin Intrigue with four fabulous stories of breathtaking romantic suspense—starting with the continuation of Cassie Miles’s COLORADO SEARCH AND RESCUE miniseries. In Wedding Captives, lovers reunite on a mountaintop…unfortunately they’re also snowbound with a madman!
And there’s no better month to launch our new modern gothic continuity series MORIAH’S LANDING. Amanda Stevens emerges from the New England fog with Secret Sanctuary, the first of four titles coming out over the next several months. You can expect all of the classic themes you love in these stories, plus more of the contemporary edge you’ve come to expect from our brand of romantic suspense.
You know what can happen In the Blink of an Eye…? Julie Miller does! And you can find out, too, in the next installment of her TAYLOR CLAN series.
Finally, Jean Barrett takes you to New Orleans for some Private Investigations with battling P.I.’s. It’s a regular showdown in the French Quarter—where absolutely anything goes.
So celebrate Valentine’s Day with the most confounding mystery of all…that of the heart.
Deep, rich chocolate wishes,
Denise O’Sullivan
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
Private Investigations
Jean Barrett
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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If setting has anything to do with it, Jean Barrett claims she has no reason not to be inspired. She and her husband live on Wisconsin’s scenic Door Peninsula in an antique-filled country cottage overlooking Lake Michigan. A teacher for many years, she left the classroom to write full-time. She is the author of a number of romance novels.
Write to Jean at P.O. Box 623, Sister Bay, WI 54234.
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
308—THE SHELTER OF HER ARMS
351—WHITE WEDDING
384—MAN OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN
475—FUGITIVE FATHER
528—MY LOVER’S SECRET
605—THE HUNT FOR HAWKE’S DAUGHTER
652—PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS
Christy Hawke—Both her heart and her P.I. agency are at risk.
Dallas McFarland—The sexy P.I. has more on his agenda than he is willing to admit.
Denise—Christy’s assistant gives her a hard time, but she is a loyal friend.
Laura Hollister—Her death is shadowed by a web of lies and deceit.
Glenn Hollister—Christy’s ex-boyfriend is desperate for her help.
Monica Claiborne—She trusts no one but Dallas to solve her sister’s murder.
Daisy—The little girl is threatened by the loss of her father.
Camille Leveau—Does the voodoo queen have something to hide?
Marty Bornowski—The asphalt king is protecting more than his daughter.
Dutch Vesey—He’s an undesirable character, but is he also a killer?
Buzz Purreau—The young jeweler has no secrets, or does he?
Alistair St. Leger—Christy’s congenial neighbor is all too willing to help.
Edgar Evers—The lawyer startles Christy with a surprising revelation.
To new and used bookstores everywhere.
Your support is wonderful.
Bless you for caring.
Prologue
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
Epilogue
The Altar
It was no more than a narrow shelf behind a hidden door in a darkened room, but it held all that he required to serve his demonic deity. A pair of black candles burned, their flickering light revealing on the shelf a tiny black coffin, the skull of a goat and several finger bones. There was also a flat dish containing oil. In it he placed the strands of auburn hair he had snipped from the head of his victim. He was ready.
Seizing one of the candles, he passed it back and forth over the dish before applying its flame to the oil. The hair slowly curled and burned in the ignited oil, filling his nostrils with a sickly sweet odor. As he watched the strands being consumed, he chanted a soft, rhythmic incantation.
When the hair was no more than a powdery ash on the surface of the hot oil, he began to pray. “You instruct us, Master, that those who transgress must pay for their transgressions. Hear me, Master, and know that she will trouble us no more…”
Above the shelf hung a small mirror. In the weaving light of the candles his face was reflected in the shadowy, distorted glass. A face that was lurid, glowing with triumph, for he knew now what it felt like to have taken the life of a human being. And, if necessary, he could kill again.
New Orleans
Dallas McFarland was history. They had lost all swaggering, hot-eyed six feet of him at a fender bender over on Canal. McFarland had been trapped in the mob of gawkers that had gathered when a minivan had run a light and smacked into a panel truck. So much for his celebrated reputation as a private investigator.
Chortled wasn’t a word that Christy Hawke ordinarily associated with herself, but on this occasion it seemed appropriate. She did feel like chortling. McFarland had been a thorn in her side from the day she had opened her own agency, robbing her of one client after another.
Not this time, thank you. She intended to demonstrate her worth, win this contest of skills, and secure the job she badly needed. Make that desperately needed.
But not by being overconfident, Christy sharply reminded herself. She and her subject might have accidentally shaken McFarland, but there was always the chance that Christy could also be given the slip. Not that her young target had manifested any sign yet of being followed. With all the negligent ease that only a teenager is capable of, she continued to wind her way through the tourists sauntering along Decatur Street, never once turning her head.
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