She'd left the message on her recorder for days and replayed it, oh, about two dozen times. But in the end, she hadn't returned the call—as much as she yearned to see him again, she couldn't very well do it under the guise of accepting an award that she didn't deserve, even if she was only one of two people who knew why.
Dr. Carl... a renaissance man. Handsome. Wise. Noble. And in the end, his nobility meant they couldn't be together. Deep down she knew she'd always measured the men in her life and, to some extent, her own behavior, up to Carl, the moral compass. And suddenly, sadly, she remembered—Carl was her "type."
She offered polite nods to familiar faces as she walked through the gym, but stopped short of engaging in conversation. With her mobile lifestyle, she usually didn't go out of her way to form friendships—girlfriends were complicated, and goodbyes were messy. A blast of laughter from a corner of the bustling locker room caught her attention—smiling women with normal lives, normal loves. How enviable.
She'd sacrificed so many everyday trappings that other people took for granted, although she'd never missed those mundane attachments. Until lately. Swathed in a fog of rising panic, Roxann changed into running gear. Where had the last ten years gone, and what did she have to show for them? A twenty-page resume, a gas-guzzling van, and a few dozen acquaintances scattered to the ends of the map.
She hit the footpath at a fast jog, sucking in fresh air, then exhaling forcefully. A quarter of a mile flew by quickly, then a half mile. The comforting thunk, thunk of her running shoes hitting the packed dirt lulled her into a more peaceful place, where women and children didn't have to be rescued from abusive spouses, where fathers and daughters cherished each other, where families lived intact and happily ever after.
"So, what are you going to do now?"
At first she thought she'd spoken aloud to herself. Then she jerked her head around to see Detective Capistrano jogging calmly behind her, still wearing his stained pants.
Roxann bit back a groan. This day did not appear to be improving anytime soon.
Stephanie Bond was five years deep into a corporate career in computer programming and pursuing an MBA at night when an instructor remarked she had a flair for writing and suggested she submit material to academic journals. But Stephanie was more interested in writing fiction—more specifically, romance and mystery novels. After writing in her spare time for two years, she sold her first manuscript, a romantic comedy, to Harlequin Books. After selling ten additional projects to two publishers, she left her corporate job to write fiction full-time. To-date, Stephanie has more than fifty published novels to her name, including the popular BODY MOVERS humorous mystery series. For more information, visit http://www.stephaniebond.com.
Table of Contents
Cover
Acknowledgments
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
Excerpt from GOT YOUR NUMBER by Stephanie Bond
Meet Stephanie Bond
Table of Contents
Cover
Acknowledgments
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
Excerpt from GOT YOUR NUMBER by Stephanie Bond
Meet Stephanie Bond
Voodoo or Die Page 29
