Denise is a Southern girl. She 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 also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and scrapbooking.
Accounting is a skill she learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit. She wrote he 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 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.
When someone touches Naomi Fuller, she catches visions of dark memories that fill the other person’s soul with regret, fear, or shame. Living with other people’s guilt leaves little room in her psyche for her own history. She recalls seemingly unconnected events, but did those horrible incidents happen yesterday, last week, or six years ago?
Naomi believes someone is messing with her mind, so she turns to Sidney Ashe for help untangling her distorted timeline, but the more she leans on him, the more she questions his motives. Can she distance herself from Ashe when her heart is hopelessly falling for him?
As Naomi struggles to understand how her emerging memories mesh with the guilty memories of everyone around her and things become clearer, she fears there is a killer in Clallam County who would do anything to stop her from remembering.
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He stood behind her. She knew he did. She could feel his heat.
“Why don’t you remember me?”
“I’m sorry. I wish I did.”
His hands brushed her arms as she slipped away from him and rushed to the bay window, staring out into the darkened forest beyond her property line. Once again, Naomi waited for the rush, the physical reaction when she caught a vision from someone’s past. Nothing. She pulled nothing from the man. Maybe he was one of those rare people who had no regrets. Or maybe there was a reason his torments didn’t invade her soul as others’ did. Her memory banks were so full of other people’s trauma her mind had no room for pleasant recollections of her own.
His arms wrapped around her middle, and he whispered into her hair. “How much have you forgotten?”
A strange way to word his question. Almost as if he knew how big her memory void was. As if he expected her to have an exact answer for the mystery that defined her existence. She didn’t know how much she’d forgotten. She might never. He had confronted her with the reality she’d been denying. Naomi couldn’t run far enough to escape a past she couldn’t remember.
With a sigh of relief, she settled into his embrace, surprised at her reaction to a man she didn’t remember, reluctant to push him away just yet. Being in his arms felt so good, so right. She pulled nothing from him except a frisson of electrical heat, strong and powerful. An attraction she would not be able to ignore if she could trust him and let him into her life.
How much had she forgotten? Her reply clung to the back of her throat, creating a huge clog of emotion. The truth screamed for freedom. It almost made it into the open air, but once again, the unexpected happened.
Naomi’s eyes riveted to the view behind her house, to a man beckoning her at the edge of the woods, motioning with one hand and swinging a lantern in the other. The sight sent a wave of unexplainable but somehow familiar dread through her.
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