Carla Cassidy - Manhunt

He wasn’t sure if it was because of the disturbing dream he’d just suffered or because of the news he’d just received. But as his gaze met Alyssa’s, he suddenly realized a connection he hadn’t made before.

Men in Cherokee Corners were being stabbed to death, and for the past month Alyssa Whitefeather had been having visions of herself stabbing a man to death. Was there a connection? Was she tapped into some sort of energy she didn’t even realize or understand?

There was no time to question the issue with her now, but he realized that no matter how painful it was for her, no matter how uncomfortable the visions made her, and despite his desire to protect her, they were going to have to explore the depths of her psychic abilities.

He was beginning to think that perhaps Alyssa’s mind might hold the only key that would lead to their killer.

Dear Reader,

Once again, Silhouette Intimate Moments has a month’s worth of fabulous reading for you. Start by picking up Wanted, the second in Ruth Langan’s suspenseful DEVIL’S COVE miniseries. This small town is full of secrets, and this top-selling author knows how to keep readers turning the pages.

We have more terrific miniseries. Kathleen Creighton continues STARRS OF THE WEST with An Order of Protection, featuring a protective hero every reader will want to have on her side. In Joint Forces, Catherine Mann continues WINGMEN WARRIORS with Tag’s long-awaited story. Seems Tag and his wife are also awaiting something: the unexpected arrival of another child. Carla Cassidy takes us back to CHEROKEE CORNERS in Manhunt. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and only the heroine’s visions can help catch him—but will she be in time to save the hero? Against the Wall is the next SPECIAL OPS title from Lyn Stone, a welcome addition to the line when she’s not also writing for Harlequin Historicals. Finally, you knew her as Anne Avery, also in Harlequin Historicals, but now she’s Anne Woodard, and in Dead Aim she proves she knows just what contemporary readers want.

Enjoy them all—and come back next month, when Silhouette Intimate Moments brings you even more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.

Yours,

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books for Silhouette. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from Romantic Times for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from Romantic Times.

Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

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

Chapter 16

He didn’t want to be here, but his choices had been limited. Take a desk job, get out of town and into the field or look for a new job. The first and third options were unthinkable so Nick Mead had taken the second option.

He now slowed his speed and turned down the radio playing oldies as he realized he had to be approaching the small Podunk town where he would head up a task force looking for a killer.

Tightening his hands on the steering wheel, he thought of another killer, a madman who had destroyed his life and tormented him for the past three years.

He called himself Murphy, but most of the men in the bureau called him NOP…an acronym that stood for Nick’s Own Psycho.

After three years of hunting, hating and hungering for revenge, Nick, at times, felt as psycho as the man he sought.

He knew that was one of the reasons his supervisor had sent him out into the middle of nowhere. The big guys in the bureau thought Nick was on the edge, obsessed with a single case and of course, they were right on both counts.

He slowed down even more as he approached a sign that welcomed him to Cherokee Corners, Oklahoma. Officially he and his two-man team weren’t expected until the next day, but Nick had decided to arrive early and get a feel for the town and its people.

The main area of town was built on a charming center square. The mayor’s office and the post office were in the center, surrounded by a lush parklike setting. It took him only moments to recognize the town as a diverse mix of Native Americans and Caucasians.

Although Nick had spent the last three and a half years working out of the Tulsa office, he knew very little about Native Americans and their culture. Before Tulsa he’d worked for seven years in Chicago. He was well versed in Latino tradition, Italian culture and Irish pride, but he knew next to nothing about Indian life.

Too big to be a town, too small to be called a city, Cherokee Corners seemed to exist somewhere in between. The previous chief of police, Thomas James, had been a man of vision. Nick knew he’d implemented a small crime lab and had several crime scene investigators working for the department.

Nick also knew there were three places in a town to learn the pulse of the people who lived there—the local watering hole, the barbershop and the café or diner.

He didn’t want a drink, didn’t need a haircut, but his stomach had been growling enough to let him know it was lunchtime.

There were three cafés at various places around the center square. He chose the one that looked the busiest.

A cacophony of sounds and scents greeted him as he walked through the door. The overriding odor was one of frying hamburgers and onions, but beneath that pungent scent was the faint fragrance of cooked apples and baking bread.

The place was packed. Clinking silverware, chatter and laughter and a cook calling “order up” all created the chorus that sang of a successful establishment.

A big older woman with blond hair in a sort of beehive concoction greeted him from behind the cash register. “Tables and booths are all full, handsome, but if you don’t mind being a counter fly there’s a stool open at the end.”

He’d noticed that the name of the place was Ruby’s Café and had a feeling the woman was none other than Ruby herself. “Thanks,” he said and smiled. “I guess being a counter fly is better than being a bar-fly.”

She grinned, her blue-shadowed eyes sparkling in amusement. “Ah, not only are you handsome as sin, but you have a sense of humor, too. If I were two decades younger I’d have you for lunch.”

He winked at her. “If I were two decades older…I’d let you.”

She was still laughing as he slid onto the empty stool at the end of the counter. He opened his menu, quickly made his selection, then leaned back in the stool and tuned into the bits and pieces of conversations that floated in the air around him.

A table of farmer types were complaining about the weather and predicting a long rough winter. Two women at another nearby table were discussing the trauma of potty training, and the two men closest to him at the counter were discussing the latest nosedive on Wall Street.

The atmosphere in Ruby’s was one of peaceful coexistence, a comfortableness among the patrons and a sense of community as people departed and arrived and waves and smiles were exchanged.