Authors Dani Pettrey and Lynette Eason were celebrating the release of Sins of the Past, their romantic suspense novella collection with Dee Henderson, when they received a message that one of their characters had been kidnapped. The authors need your help to free the character and bring the kidnapper to justice. If you haven’t read the beginning clues yet, after collecting the one below, hop on over to Bethany House and follow the links to grab the clues needed to solve this crime.
MYSTERY AND MAYHEM UPDATE:
*Please don’t give away which character you eliminated from the list of potential victims so other readers can enjoy the fun! If you want to know what the Mystery and Mayhem tour is all about, go here.
SINS OF THE PAST
Three Novellas from Bestselling Authors
In Dee Henderson’s Missing, a Wyoming sheriff is called to Chicago when his elderly mother goes missing. Paired with a savvy Chicago cop, the two realize her disappearance is no accident, and a race against the clock begins.
Dani Pettrey returns to Alaska with Shadowed, introducing readers to the parents of her beloved McKenna clan. Adventure, romance, and danger collide when a young fisherman nets the body of an open-water swimming competitor who may actually be a possible Russian defector.
Lynette Eason’s Blackout delivers the story of a woman once implicated in a robbery gone wrong. The loot has never been found–but her memory of that night has always been unreliable. Can she remember enough to find her way to safety when the true culprit comes after her?
SINS OF THE PAST Purchase Links
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Dani Pettrey is a wife, mom, grandma, and the author of Cold Shot, the first book in the Chesapeake Valor series, and the Alaskan Courage romantic suspense series, which includes her bestselling novels Submerged, Shattered,Stranded, Silenced, and Sabotaged. Her books have been honored with the Daphne du Maurier award, two HOLT Medallions, a Christy Award nomination, two National Readers’ Choice Awards, the Gail Wilson Award of Excellence, and Christian Retailing’s Best Award, among others.
She feels blessed to write inspirational romantic suspense because it incorporates so many things she loves—the thrill of adventure, nail-biting suspense, the deepening of her characters’ faith, and plenty of romance. She and her husband reside in Maryland, where they enjoy time with their two daughters, a son-in-law, and a super adorable grandson.
Lynette Eason is the best selling, award winning author of the Women of Justice Series, the Deadly Reunions series, Hidden Identity series and the newly releasing Elite Guardians series. She writes for Revell and Harlequin’s Love Inspired Suspense line. Her books have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists. She has won several awards including the 2013 Carol Award for WHEN A HEART STOPS in the Romantic Suspense category. Lynette teaches at writing conferences all over the country. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and Romance Writers of America (RWA). Lynette can be found online at www.lynetteeason.com and www.facebook.com/lynette.eason and @lynetteeason on Twitter.
SPECIAL EXCERPT
Lynette Eason’s Blackout in SINS OF THE PAST
Macey Adams wished she could remember the sins that haunted her. Because if she could remember, then maybe she would be able to figure out who was trying to kill her—or drive her mad.
She stood with her back against the wall, a butcher knife clutched in her right hand, facing the kitchen door. Could he get in? She’d locked the doors and checked the windows. Just like she did every night. Tremors wracked her slight frame, and she wished she’d thrown a coat on over her sweatshirt. Anger surged through her along with the adrenaline. It was two in the morning. She shouldn’t have to be worried about someone trying to get into her house.
Her eyes landed on the windowsill above the sink, where she’d left her phone after talking to her sister almost four hours ago. A conversation that had brought on the nightmare that had awakened her. Or had it been the noise under her bedroom window that had interrupted her restless doze? She didn’t know. It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was that she’d come into the kitchen to get her phone, and now it wasn’t where she’d left it. And the window was open, letting in the freezing night air.
The phone’s glaring absence mocked her, but that didn’t shake her nearly as much as the black hole of the open window. Had he been able to climb in? Was he in her house even now? Hiding? Waiting? She shuddered. Did she dare go outside and run? Or was he out there?
Desperation choked her. She moved to the cordless phone on the counter and turned it on. Held it to her ear.
Dead silence.
Fear now had a stranglehold around her throat. No cell phone, no landline, no alarm. And a possible intruder in her home. A whimper escaped her lips, and one unsteady step at a time, she walked to the open window. Tremors shook her, but she had to close and lock it. She couldn’t leave it open. He could come in that way. If he wasn’t already inside.
Close the window, close the window. Two more steps. She stood in front of the sink, staring at the window, bracing herself for someone to reach in and grab her. She almost couldn’t do it. Almost couldn’t lift her arms.
Do it!
She forced her arms up, grasped the window, and slammed it shut. She twisted the lock and let out a shuddering breath. No one had grabbed her, and the featureless face she saw so often in her dreams hadn’t appeared. She pressed a hand over her racing heart.
Without taking her eyes from the window, she backed from the kitchen into the foyer. The hair on the back of her neck prickled and she spun. No one behind her. But what about in the hall closet? She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
Her wooden front porch creaked, and Macey stiffened, her blood renewing its rapid surge through her veins. She whirled to stare at the front door, at the knob. It gave a slight turn to the left then stopped. It jiggled to the right then again to the left.
Terror clamped down on her lungs, and she struggled to breathe even as she stayed still, her mind racing, flipping through escape scenarios and discarding each one. But the wiggling doorknob told her one thing: he wasn’t inside.
She tried to envision how she could protect herself. The knife in her hand would require close contact, and that was the last thing she wanted. If she went out the kitchen door and through the garage, he could see her. Could she climb out of her bedroom window? Maybe.
Her head pulsed and a bright light flashed behind her eyes. Woods, trees . . . the feel of the rain . . . the pain of the gunshot wound in her shoulder, the smell of the freshly turned earth that was supposed to be her grave.
She blinked fast, wondering at the images forcing themselves to the forefront of her mind even while she listened for the intruder. She knew she’d been shot six years ago, she had just never been able to remember the details.
Her breathing now came in short, gasping pants and a fine sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead. Her fingers, clenched around the knife’s handle, protested the tight grip. She loosened them slightly.
Silence slithered over her. Had he left? Her ears strained in the dark quiet. Or was he just waiting? Or perhaps looking for another way in?
Minutes passed without another sound. Finally she dared to move to the front door, just to check the lock one more time. Then back into the kitchen to check that door. Also locked. But the top half of it was glass. Easily broken should he decide to smash through it.
She turned away and let her gaze bounce from shadow to shadow. Did she dare turn on a light?
Her spine tingled, and the hair on her neck stood up straight. She spun back toward the kitchen door.
Saw the black face that had no eyes, no nose, no lips.
She dropped to the floor and screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
***
Chad Latham sat straight up in his lounge chair at the first terrifying cry. His blanket fell away from his shoulders and he shivered in the cold November night air as he tried to discern where the cry had come from. What was it? An animal?
When the second scream came, he bolted from his deck toward Macey Adams’ house. By the third chilling screech, he’d already used his pile of firewood to enable him to vault over the fence that separated the two small yards. The roar of a car engine registered, but it was the direction the screams had come from that he focused on. Macey.
He raced up the front porch and pounded on the door. “Macey, it’s Chad. Are you okay?” Sobbing reached his ears. Was she inside or outside? “Macey?”
“Chad? Is anyone else out there?”
He looked around. “No, it’s just me. Open up.” He heard rustling, shuffling, the click of the door unlocking. The door opened a crack.
Concern for the fragile sound in her voice made him step toward her. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“Someone tried to break in.” She backed up and let him in. He shut the door and faced her as she paced the small foyer. “I—I couldn’t find my phone even though I left it on the windowsill in the kitchen and the window was open, but I know I closed it and the alarm didn’t go off and then he looked in my door and he didn’t have a face and—” She pressed her hands against her temples. “Ugh! Why can’t I remember?”
“Whoa, hang on.” She wasn’t exactly hysterical, but she wasn’t making any sense either. He took her hand and led her from the small foyer into the open-concept living area. He gestured to the couch. “Sit down. I’m going to check everything, then you can tell me what happened.”
“No!” She grasped his hand. “Don’t leave me.”
The frantic fear in her voice stopped him. “Fine. Fine, I won’t go anywhere, but I need to call it in. The guy could still be in the area, looking to hit another house.”
She ran a shaky hand over her face. “Right. Of course.”
Chad stayed right next to her while he reported the attempted break-in. While he talked, she seemed to calm slightly, but shivers still shook her thin frame every so often. He went to the thermostat and adjusted it then lowered himself into the chair opposite her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I probably woke you up with my screams.”
“I heard the screams, but they didn’t wake me.” At her raised brow, he shrugged. “I was sitting outside on my deck.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
His lips flattened. “I have my own memories that keep me awake. Probably not as bad as your nightmares, though.”
“I hate nightmares,” she whispered. “Especially when I’m not even asleep.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She shuddered and goose bumps pebbled her bare arms. Her cheeks reddened. “You’ll think—”
“What? I’ll think what?”
“That I’m . . . that . . .” She lifted her hands in a hopeless gesture. “I’ve tried to leave the past behind, Chad, but it won’t let me.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t,” she whispered.
He pulled her against him and she let her forehead drop against his chest.
Chad blew out a soft breath. He’d met Macey when she’d moved in almost two years ago. In those two years they’d spoken on a regular basis, shared a few late-night talks when they’d been iced in last winter. He’d even borrowed the clichéd cup of sugar two or three times, but he’d never scratched the surface of the shell she’d built around herself. If she’d shown an inkling of interest, he’d have asked her out long ago. But she hadn’t.
It had been a bit of a blow to his healthy ego, but he’d survived and committed himself to just being her friend.
For now. He’d noticed her withdrawing even more in the last two months, and she’d avoided him any time he tried to bring up the subject. It was frustrating. Maddening. Because he did care about her. But he’d left her alone and now realized he probably shouldn’t have given her quite so much space.
He grasped her hand and tilted her chin to look into her eyes. They looked tired, weary. Scared. And much too old. And she’d lost weight. Something had happened recently.
“I think you need to tell me.”
She leaned away from him, pulled her hands from his, and rubbed them on her sweatpants.
“Macey, I’ve known you for two years. We’re friends. Or at least I thought we were.”
“Yes, we’re friends. Of course we are. But I . . .”
“Then tell me.” He cupped her soft pale cheek, and for a brief moment, she leaned into his touch.
She opened her mouth then shut it. “Let me think first. I need to make sure it’s the right thing to do.”
“How could talking to me be the wrong thing to do? I just want to help.”
“I know, and that’s the problem.” She stood. “I want to see if I can find my phone. I know it was on the windowsill. If it’s not there, then he took it.”
“Macey—”
She walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light. Chad came up behind her. “It’s not there,” she said. She walked to the sink and braced herself against the stainless steel then reached up to check the lock on the window. Her hand shook.
“What is it, Macey? Why are you so scared?”
“Because my window was open and my phone isn’t where I put it.”
He frowned.
Her gaze dropped to the sink and she gasped. “My phone.” She picked it up.
Chad plucked it from her fingers before she had a chance to drop it—or contaminate it. “Sit down before you fall down.”
She plopped into the nearest chair. “What’s around it?”
“A note.”
He walked across to the small built-in desk and picked a pen from the cup holder in the corner. He met her gaze for a brief second before using the pen to loosen the rubber band that held the note to the phone. It popped off, and the letter fluttered to the table faceup.
He leaned over. “‘Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.’”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either, but someone’s sending you a message. The question is . . . what kind?” He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the note.
“Who said the quote?”
“Let’s find out.” He tapped the Internet button on his screen and typed the quote into the search box. “A Marcel Proust. He’s an author.”
“Of what?”
“Books.”
She huffed a small laugh that held no humor. “I figured that.”
Chad continued to scan the words. “He’s a French novelist. Was born in Auteuil, France, in 1871.”
“Why is someone quoting a dead French author to me? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I would say that whoever it is, they’re using the quote to get a point across.”
“What kind of point? That what I remember isn’t what happened? That’s stupid. I don’t remember much, period.”
She pressed a hand to her right temple and gave a low groan as she dropped her forehead to the table.
She felt Chad’s hand on her shoulder. The pulsing pain in her head slowly eased, but the flash of the Jeep remained. Tyler’s Jeep. The memory came again, more clear this time.
The Jeep. Two teens. A figure with no face. A gun. Blood. The crack of the shot. Pain . . . so much pain . . .
She shuddered and rubbed her eyes. She knew Tyler and Collin. She couldn’t forget them even as much as she had tried. But the person with no face . . . who was it?
Chad was saying something. Finally, she was able to tune into him. “. . . need a doctor?”
“What? No.” She shook her head and was relieved when it didn’t start to pound all over again. “I’m all right. It’ll pass.”
“What happened?”
“A memory, I think. I . . . was involved in something as a teenager. Sometimes the memories come back to haunt me.”
He glanced at the open window. “That was no memory.”
She swallowed. “No. That was the real thing.”
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