HIDDEN OBSESSION
Obsession, Two-Book Set
Book 2
Book 2
A highly entertaining read -- a thriller, a mystery and a romance, all bundled into one. A real page-turner, with plenty of action, fully-rounded characters, and a Maine setting to hold it all together. I'm looking forward to reading Vaughan's earlier book, Primal Obsession, featuring several of the same characters." - Amazon reviewer 5* "Filled with sparks, suspense and hot loving. An enjoyable read with lots of twists." - Amazon reviewer "Suspenseful, entertaining ride." - Amazon reviewer Digital & Print - Amazon - Print Only - IndieBound Coming soon: Print Only - Barnes & Noble |
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A woman hiding a secret… a man seeking the truth... a killer stalking the next victim.
Freelance writer Sheridan Harte reluctantly returns to her childhood home in Maine,
but her arrival coincides with a brutal murder. Sheri finds herself in the killer’s crosshairs
and in the arms of a determined blue-eyed cop tempting her with humor and toe-curling kisses.
As Detective Justin Wylde investigates the murder on the cliff, he encounters more suspects with secrets
than boulders on the rocky coast. The puzzling case keeps Justin from protecting this beautiful woman
whose caring heart and sexy laugh make him long for more than a fling.
Can he solve the case before the killer carries out a special plan for Sheri?
Freelance writer Sheridan Harte reluctantly returns to her childhood home in Maine,
but her arrival coincides with a brutal murder. Sheri finds herself in the killer’s crosshairs
and in the arms of a determined blue-eyed cop tempting her with humor and toe-curling kisses.
As Detective Justin Wylde investigates the murder on the cliff, he encounters more suspects with secrets
than boulders on the rocky coast. The puzzling case keeps Justin from protecting this beautiful woman
whose caring heart and sexy laugh make him long for more than a fling.
Can he solve the case before the killer carries out a special plan for Sheri?
Excerpt from Chapter 1
Download Sheri's Coq au Vin recipe, bottom of this page.
JUSTIN RUBBED HIS chilled hands together as he accompanied Debra Delano into a book-lined room. The little dog bounded in circles around him before curling up near the fire. In a while Justin would boil but for now his fleece anorak’s warmth felt damned good.
Deb, as she’d asked him to call her, made the introductions. Miriam Littlefield, an elderly woman who bore a marked resemblance to her granddaughter. Sheridan Harte, about his age, maybe a little younger. Tall, long and lean, a runner maybe. Black turtleneck and long belted green sweater. Unreadable brown eyes. Blond hair, a darker shade like the honey Gram used to spoon on his toast. Curls escaped a clasp at her nape. She appeared damned buttoned up. Except for a wide mouth with full lips, not artificially so, just enough to keep his gaze riveted to them.
He shook off his reaction as she rose from her chair.
“I’m Sheri.” She held out a hand. If he wasn’t mistaken about her expression, she’d caught him staring and was sizing him up.
“Apologies for the icy fingers.”
“None necessary.”
He registered her firm grip and savored the cool softness before she stepped back.
Mrs. Littlefield patted the cushion beside her. “Detective, you must sit by me. And do call me Miriam. I expected Chief Galt to investigate but my granddaughter says otherwise.”
“Yes, ma’am. For most of the state of Maine, the law designates the Major Crimes Unit — that’s state detectives like me — to investigate cases of suspicious deaths.”
As he lowered himself onto the cushy seat, he caught amusement pulling at Sheridan Harte’s lips. Shit, he’d forgotten what tie he was wearing. He kept his expression solemn, as if a tie festooned with a smirking Wile E. Coyote was the usual professional M.C.U. attire, which in his case it was. Too obvious if he zipped up now.
He nodded toward the fireplace. “I’m grateful for the fire. Da— Doggone raw out in the fog.”
“Typical of Adam Spear. Inconsiderate even in getting himself killed,” Mrs. Littlefield said.
Across from him, a choking sound came from Deb Delano.
“Ma’am?”
“I have nothing good to say about the man,” Mrs. Littlefield — Miriam, continued. “He was an arrogant son of a bitch. And a crook. Whoever killed him deserves a medal.”
Her granddaughter popped up as if propelled by an ejector seat. “Miriam! The coffee must be ready. Come show me what cups you want to use for your guests.” She hooked her grandmother’s arm, hauled her to her feet, and whisked her into the hall.
Justin turned to observe Sheridan Harte. Sheri. The full name was somehow familiar. Composed, alert curiosity in her brown gaze as she scrutinized him right back.
“You have the same opinion of the deceased, Sheri?” he asked.
“I didn’t know the man.” She crossed long legs clad in tailored black pants.
“Did you see what happened on the cliff?”
“Deb’s the one who witnessed... something.” Her gaze shifted to the fire’s glow. “I arrived at the house about twenty minutes before you did. Did someone really kill Spear?”
“The death’s suspicious, but as yet there’s no determination of homicide.”
As she returned her attention to him, her gaze sharpened. “Meaning you don’t know or you won’t say?”
“Can’t. Have to wait for the medical examiner. Once cause of death has been determined, the M.C.U. will put out a statement.”
Comet picked up the toy lobster at Sheri’s feet and deposited it on the toe of his boot. She sat at attention, tail swishing on the carpet.
A rich laugh from Sheri shot a dart of heat into him. He shifted in his seat.
“You fickle little beast.” She wagged a finger at the dog. “I was your new best friend for all of ten minutes. Until he arrived.”
“Comet’s a fine judge of character.” As he bent to scratch beneath the dog’s chin, he eyed the soft-sided briefcase by Sheri’s chair. “You here on business?”
The corners of her mouth tightened. “Deb and I are old friends.”
“Can’t come up with why, but your name’s familiar.”
“Harte is a common name. A Maine family dating back to the 1800’s.”
“But not Sheridan Harte. You from around here?”
“Originally, but not for a long time. I live near Portland. Detective, should I show you my ID so you can check me for priors?”
“Just making conversation.”
She huffed. “Seems more like police interrogation than simple conversation.”
“My mother says the same thing.” So did too many other women. A hazard of the profession. And it wasn’t just making conversation. Something about this woman intrigued him.
His reply earned him a warm smile that curled inside his chest.
Download Sheri's Coq au Vin recipe, bottom of this page.
JUSTIN RUBBED HIS chilled hands together as he accompanied Debra Delano into a book-lined room. The little dog bounded in circles around him before curling up near the fire. In a while Justin would boil but for now his fleece anorak’s warmth felt damned good.
Deb, as she’d asked him to call her, made the introductions. Miriam Littlefield, an elderly woman who bore a marked resemblance to her granddaughter. Sheridan Harte, about his age, maybe a little younger. Tall, long and lean, a runner maybe. Black turtleneck and long belted green sweater. Unreadable brown eyes. Blond hair, a darker shade like the honey Gram used to spoon on his toast. Curls escaped a clasp at her nape. She appeared damned buttoned up. Except for a wide mouth with full lips, not artificially so, just enough to keep his gaze riveted to them.
He shook off his reaction as she rose from her chair.
“I’m Sheri.” She held out a hand. If he wasn’t mistaken about her expression, she’d caught him staring and was sizing him up.
“Apologies for the icy fingers.”
“None necessary.”
He registered her firm grip and savored the cool softness before she stepped back.
Mrs. Littlefield patted the cushion beside her. “Detective, you must sit by me. And do call me Miriam. I expected Chief Galt to investigate but my granddaughter says otherwise.”
“Yes, ma’am. For most of the state of Maine, the law designates the Major Crimes Unit — that’s state detectives like me — to investigate cases of suspicious deaths.”
As he lowered himself onto the cushy seat, he caught amusement pulling at Sheridan Harte’s lips. Shit, he’d forgotten what tie he was wearing. He kept his expression solemn, as if a tie festooned with a smirking Wile E. Coyote was the usual professional M.C.U. attire, which in his case it was. Too obvious if he zipped up now.
He nodded toward the fireplace. “I’m grateful for the fire. Da— Doggone raw out in the fog.”
“Typical of Adam Spear. Inconsiderate even in getting himself killed,” Mrs. Littlefield said.
Across from him, a choking sound came from Deb Delano.
“Ma’am?”
“I have nothing good to say about the man,” Mrs. Littlefield — Miriam, continued. “He was an arrogant son of a bitch. And a crook. Whoever killed him deserves a medal.”
Her granddaughter popped up as if propelled by an ejector seat. “Miriam! The coffee must be ready. Come show me what cups you want to use for your guests.” She hooked her grandmother’s arm, hauled her to her feet, and whisked her into the hall.
Justin turned to observe Sheridan Harte. Sheri. The full name was somehow familiar. Composed, alert curiosity in her brown gaze as she scrutinized him right back.
“You have the same opinion of the deceased, Sheri?” he asked.
“I didn’t know the man.” She crossed long legs clad in tailored black pants.
“Did you see what happened on the cliff?”
“Deb’s the one who witnessed... something.” Her gaze shifted to the fire’s glow. “I arrived at the house about twenty minutes before you did. Did someone really kill Spear?”
“The death’s suspicious, but as yet there’s no determination of homicide.”
As she returned her attention to him, her gaze sharpened. “Meaning you don’t know or you won’t say?”
“Can’t. Have to wait for the medical examiner. Once cause of death has been determined, the M.C.U. will put out a statement.”
Comet picked up the toy lobster at Sheri’s feet and deposited it on the toe of his boot. She sat at attention, tail swishing on the carpet.
A rich laugh from Sheri shot a dart of heat into him. He shifted in his seat.
“You fickle little beast.” She wagged a finger at the dog. “I was your new best friend for all of ten minutes. Until he arrived.”
“Comet’s a fine judge of character.” As he bent to scratch beneath the dog’s chin, he eyed the soft-sided briefcase by Sheri’s chair. “You here on business?”
The corners of her mouth tightened. “Deb and I are old friends.”
“Can’t come up with why, but your name’s familiar.”
“Harte is a common name. A Maine family dating back to the 1800’s.”
“But not Sheridan Harte. You from around here?”
“Originally, but not for a long time. I live near Portland. Detective, should I show you my ID so you can check me for priors?”
“Just making conversation.”
She huffed. “Seems more like police interrogation than simple conversation.”
“My mother says the same thing.” So did too many other women. A hazard of the profession. And it wasn’t just making conversation. Something about this woman intrigued him.
His reply earned him a warm smile that curled inside his chest.
