by Ana Barrons
Betrayed by Trust
By Ana Barrons
Catherine Morrissey is devastated when her sister’s body is found on a tiny wooded island on the Potomac. For months, Catherine had hoped that Blair’s disappearance would end with the bright, young Capitol Hill aide found safe and alive. Determined to put pressure on the police to catch the killer, Catherine flies to Washington, D.C.
Joseph Rossi, an investigative reporter for the Washington Herald, broke the story of Blair’s murder—and ruined his chances with Catherine in the process. They’d developed a warm, long-distance connection after Catherine’s sister went missing, but the temptation of the scoop—which revealed some Morrissey family secrets—was too great to resist.
Now together in D.C., Catherine and Joe are thrown into a world of lies, scandal and deadly political intrigue. They must work as a team and learn to trust one another—and their rekindled feelings—if they have any hope of living to see the truth uncovered.
96,000 words
Dear Reader,
Welcome to our July lineup of books! If I’m not on the beach somewhere while you’re reading this, there’s something wrong with life (unless you’re reading this in December—in which case, I hope I’m by a fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa in my hand). But no matter where you are while you’re reading this, I can tell you one thing: you’re in for a treat. (Sure, I say that every month, but it’s always true!) This month brings a fun mix of returning authors and debut authors, with fun, contemporary beach reads, some troublesome dragons, a few steps back in time, and characters in a race against time and a fight for their lives.
Let’s kick off with the perfect beach read. Make sure you pick up Christi Barth’s Love at High Tide. Beach reading doesn’t get much better than this. It starts with a beach rescue, continues with a beach romance, and has sun, sand, sexual tension and two characters you will love.
Maybe the beach isn’t your thing in the summer, but baseball is. Take a peek at Alison Packard’s The Winning Season. After hitting rock bottom, bad-boy catcher Matt Scanlon is traded to the team he’s loathed since boyhood, and he must confront a painful incident in his past before he can rebuild his life and his career. Once you’ve fallen in love with Matt, go back and read Alison’s debut romance, Love in the Afternoon.
Continuing in the contemporary romance genre, we have party planner Tess, who can’t believe that hotel manager Jeremy could possibly be interested in her. She’s everyone’s BFF, not friends-with-benefits material. But he’s got more than friendship on his mind in Kate Davies’s Life of the Party, book three in the Girls Most Likely to... series.
Maybe you like your romance with a side of suspense? If so, check out Anne Marie Becker’s Deadly Bonds, and Betrayed by Trust from Ana Barrons. Two romantic suspense books, four characters in fights for their lives.
Or maybe you like your romance with a large helping of sexy times? If so, Lynda Aicher’s Bonds of Desire is the book for you. Lawyer Allison English never planned to return to The Den—despite her naughty fantasies about being bound by owner Seth Matthews. But when club guest Tyler Wysong is injured in a scene, Seth turns to Allie for help. Aroused by both men, Allie should turn the case down. But she can’t...
Joining Lynda in the erotic romance category this month are two male/male titles. First up is His Roommate’s Pleasure by Lana McGregor. Adam had no idea that his jock roommate was gay—and into leashes, paddles, and domination. And Adam, an inexperienced virgin who’s only ever kissed one guy, is surprised to find himself curious about submitting... Then Samantha Ann King returns with the follow-up to her debut romance, Sharing Hailey. In Waiting for Ty, too many beers and four long years of denying their feelings for each other thrust two men together in a lip-lock and a night of no-holds-barred sex that forces them to confront their greatest love and their deepest fears.
In Sky Hunter, the third and final installment of Fae Sutherland’s male/male space opera romance series, Skybound, the Crux Ansata’s brash and rebellious ship mechanic, Jeret, finds himself face-to-face with a dangerous past he never thought to revisit—and the only man he has never been able to forget.
Looking for more books in the paranormal category? Start with Ruth A. Casie’s The Guardian’s Witch and Desperate Magic by Rebecca York. And for fans of historical romance, in Georgie Lee’s Hero’s Redemption, a widow and a war hero brought together by a scheme must learn to trust one another and accept the tragedy that links them in order to find love. Meanwhile, historical romance author Susanna Fraser, who can always be counted on to deliver a unique and unusual historical romance, returns with A Dream Defiant, in which a black British soldier marries a beautiful English war widow, but he can’t believe she wants him for himself, and not merely as her bodyguard and protector.
This month Carina Press is pleased to announce three debut authors. Mystery author Patricia Hale will grip you by the throat with her suspenseful story of retribution, In the Shadow of Revenge. As children they witnessed horror and created a pact, as women they planned their revenge and waited.
Also debuting this month is Reese Ryan, with Making the First Move. When ambitious HR exec Melanie Gordon falls for sweet, sexy philanthropist Raine Mason, she discovers that his selflessness is driven by a dark and tragic secret that threatens to keep them apart.
And joining Carina Press with her Golden Heart-winning paranormal romance is debut author Lorenda Christensen. Fans of Katie MacAlister’s Aisling Grey and Light Dragons series will want to check this one out, and so will any fans of fun paranormal romances featuring dragons and heroines with a bit of backbone. In Never Deal with Dragons, the first in a new series, a human mediator bites off more than she can chew when she agrees to partner with an ex-boyfriend to stop a war between two dragon monarchs.
I hope you enjoy all of this month’s new releases. There’s certainly a variety to choose from, to keep you occupied no matter what your summer (or winter) activity.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
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Dedication
For the ones who left too soon.
I miss you and I’ll never, ever forget you.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to Quintin Peterson of the Metropolitan Police Department for filling in some of my many gaps in knowledge, and for setting up my visit to the Homicide Division. All errors regarding police procedure are my own. And despite the presence of “dirty cops” in this book, you know I have the greatest respect for those in law enforcement.
Hugs and kisses to my husband, my sisters, my dearly departed mother and my wonderful critique partners, new and old: Joyce, Linda, Maggie, Lavinia and Robin.
And last but not least, huge thanks to my agent Laura Bradford and my editor at Carina Press, Mallory Braus, for all their hard work and support. And thanks to the rest of the Carina Press team for being so incredibly responsive and helpful.
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
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
About the Author
Copyright
Prologue
Mid-May
Catherine Morrissey punched the numbers into her cell phone for the fifth time since she’d opened her eyes on the worst day of her life. A tiny Care Bears nightlight glowed above the dresser but cast no light in the room she had shared with Blair when they were kids. She could almost hear them giggling together in the dark, picture Blair’s blond pigtails lifting like wings beside her face each time she bounded up on the mattress, calling out, “Jump over the river, Cathy!” Feel herself leaping between the twin beds, grabbing onto Blair’s flannel nightie, both of them tumbling, limbs tangled, laughing and laughing...
She closed her eyes again. Tears leaked out the corners and ran down the sides of her face onto the pillow.
Blair is dead.
Still the images came.
Blair running beside her, holding onto the handlebars and seat of Catherine’s first two-wheeler, hollering and clapping when she let go and her little sister rode all the way to the end of the block without tipping.
She and Blair lying on their bellies in front of the fire playing Monopoly and drinking orange soda after their parents went to bed.
At twelve, helping Blair roll Daddy’s car down the driveway so the fourteen-year-old could teach her to drive.
Spotting Alan’s VW parked outside Blair’s flat at two in the morning after hours of worry.
Creeping up the steps, hearing the unmistakable sounds of sex...
“Why, Blair?” she whispered through the lump in her throat.
But she would never get an answer. Blair had tried to explain, but she had cut her off—cut her out of her life completely. For five years she had held onto the anger with a death grip, as though hating her ex-husband and her sister could somehow made her stronger and less vulnerable. As though pretending her sister didn’t exist could fill the gaping hole left by her loss.
How wrong she had been.
Pick up, Joe. Please.
Joe’s cell phone rang two more times before voice mail kicked in.
“You’ve reached the voice mail of Joseph Rossi at the Washington Herald. I’m unavailable to take your call. If this is an emergency, please call my work number at—”
She clicked off and held the phone over her heart. Of all the people she knew, the one person whose voice she needed to hear right now belonged to a man she had never met.
When did you become so important to me, Joe?
The digital clock across the room said 4:43 a.m. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since the police in Washington, D.C., had called to confirm what they all had feared—that Blair’s dental records matched the skeletal remains found on Theodore Roosevelt Island.
Catherine’s father had been in tears when he called in the middle of her biology class and asked her to come home. She’d called Joe on the way to her parents’ house, and she was crying so hard he’d insisted she pull over so she didn’t have an accident. That was Joe—sweet, sympathetic and caring. Just as he’d been over the long months since Blair had disappeared without a trace.
Wake up, Joe. Call me.
She punched in his number one more time but stopped before hitting Send. He always told her to call him, day or night, if she needed him, but it wasn’t her nature to reach out. On those rare occasions when the darkness threatened to overwhelm her, when the pain of not knowing whether Blair was alive or dead was too great, she had called him during the night, and Joe had listened in that intense way of his, and understood. And when she hung up—usually with a smile on her face—somehow the world felt less ugly, less brutal and dangerous, as though he’d reached across the miles and wrapped her in a cocoon of safety.
As long as Joe was there for her, she would be all right.
Of course, he would have been on deadline until late last night to get the story out. That had to be why she hadn’t heard from him. He was probably so out of it he didn’t even hear his phone. Or maybe he’d left it sitting in his jacket, set to vibrate instead of ring. If he knew how desperately she wanted to hear his voice, she had no doubt he would call her in a heartbeat. He was just that kind of guy.
The last two Facebook holdouts in the civilized world. They’d laughed about that, and when she’d demurred from sending him a photo of herself—not wanting to invite comparison to her beautiful sister—Joe had accepted it without question. He didn’t send one of himself, either, leaving them both free to imagine what the other looked like. She spent a lot of time imagining not only how he looked but how it would feel to be held in his arms.
Light footsteps crossed the kitchen. Her mother was up. Catherine was exhausted from little sleep, her eyes achy from crying. During the night she’d heard her mother weeping and her father trying to comfort her. How would they make it through the day? She slid out from under the comforter, grabbed a robe off the door and walked quietly down the hall to the kitchen.
Her mother sat at the table, her gaze in the dim light unfocused. Her lovely hair, which Blair had inherited, had been blond in November and was now completely gray. Even her vibrant blue eyes had paled. Now those eyes were puffy and red. Her shoulders slumped, weighed down by the worst kind of grief—the death of a child. Catherine sat beside her and leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder, then stroked her rounded back, gently, in wordless sympathy. After a time her mother lifted a cold hand to Catherine’s cheek.
“You okay, baby?” she rasped.
Catherine raised her face and looked into her mother’s sad, sad eyes. She’d lost her firstborn child and still she had room in her heart to worry about Catherine. That would never change. She kissed her mother’s cheek and wrapped her arms around her neck. “I will be. How about I make us some coffee?”
“Your father will like that too.”
It was dark at this time of the morning in the New Hampshire mountains, but there were cars driving down Route 16, which meant the newspaper was probably sitting outside by now. Catherine filled the carafe with water and began pouring it into the coffeemaker when a thought struck—her parents didn’t need to see the headlines today. Blair’s disappearance had been a big local story seven months ago, and now that her body had been discovered...
She struggled to take the next breath.
How o
dd and unnatural to think of her sister as a body.
The temperature outside wouldn’t be much above forty—even though it was the middle of May—but she didn’t have the energy to slip on shoes just to walk around to the front of the house and grab the paper off the lawn. What did a little cold matter, anyway?
Blair is dead.
She tied the belt on her robe, opened the kitchen door and stepped out into a cold drizzle. The wooden banister was wet, but she held onto it to steady herself as she descended the steps to the side yard. In the somber, predawn light she could barely make out the newspaper lying in a clear plastic wrapper about twenty feet away, beyond the edge of the house.
She clutched the sides of her robe together as she crossed the wet lawn. Hot tears mixed with the rain on her cheeks. Her back was stiff when she bent down and grabbed the paper, as though she’d aged since yesterday. Sorrow did that to a person.
“Someone’s in the yard!” She straightened at the shout.
“Miss Morrissey? What can you tell us about your sister’s affair with your husband?”
Catherine gasped. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. A crowd of reporters and photographers with cameras and microphones materialized out of the mist and swarmed toward her. Lights flashed in her eyes, and people hurled questions at her like stones.
“Did you know about your sister’s liaisons with members of Congress?”
“Do you think one of them killed her?”
“How did you feel when you heard it was your sister’s body in that swamp?”
“How long did her affair with your husband last?”
“Did you forgive Blair before she died?”
“Did you find them in bed together?”
Catherine pivoted on the wet grass and ran toward the side door into her father’s workshop. Halfway there she slipped and went down on one knee. Pain shot up her leg, but she got to her feet and limped the rest of the way. A young woman followed her, still shouting questions. Catherine swung at her, connecting with a fleshy shoulder.
“Get off my property!” she screamed.
