Denise is a Southern girl who has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but who also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and cooking. Accounting is a skill she has learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit.
She wrote her first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She's been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed, she has no desire to slow down.
Desperate to begin a new life, Jerilyn Bowman changes her name and goes off the grid. Sparks fly when Det. Nick Moreau confronts her about her identity and then seems to follow her wherever she goes. When a stranger dies while gripping her chin in his hand, passing to her the gift of prescience, she begins to witness awful crimes before they happen.
Jerilyn’s claim that she’s able to see the future both frustrates and fascinates Nick to the point he can’t get her out of his mind. Are Jerilyn’s claims of second sight a cover for her own crimes? Will Nick discover the truth before Jerilyn becomes the killer’s next victim?
Snippet:
Jerilyn broke their stare down, leaned away from the stranger, and mentally prepared to run.
“I love old buildings. They speak to me.”
His comment stalled her. She glanced sideways at the guy. “They speak to you?”
He nudged the camera around his neck. “I’m a photographer.” He pointed at the third-floor. “She was in that room.”
“Who?” Her question stuttered out of her mouth. Had he seen the face in the window just as she had?
“The woman.”
Without a doubt, he meant he’d found the murder victim. She glanced up at the window. Had she just seen someone staring down at her from the room where he’d found the dead woman?
“So why did you come back here?”
His eyes seemed to glaze over as he focused on the third-floor window. “I can’t get her off my mind. You look a lot like her, you know.”
Jeri had the strange feeling he didn’t mean the dead woman.
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