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For Cecilia Aiko Oliveira Johansen.
Always remembered, forever loved.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
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
About the Authors
Also by Iris and Roy Johansen
Copyright
PROLOGUE
DAMN, SHE WAS GOING to kill him.
Gary Decker turned onto Market Street and gave the accelerator some extra juice. On this of all nights, he hadn’t wanted to be late picking up Corrine. She had arranged dinner and drinks with friends at Nobu, an occasion she had pitched as a casual get-together. But he knew better. It was another attempt to parade him before her friends and convince them that he wasn’t the jerk they all thought he was.
Screw ’em. He was marrying Corrine, not those immature losers.
He smiled. With an attitude like that, how could he not win them over?
Ah, hell. He could do this. He did the dog and pony show for his firm’s obnoxious clients; he could do it for his fiancée’s judgmental college pals.
He called Corrine as he pulled up to her Sabre Springs home, surprised that she hadn’t already phoned to give him an earful for being so late.
His call went straight to voice mail.
He glanced up at the two-story Spanish-style house. Dark. Had she gotten pissed and left without him?
He cut the engine and walked toward the front door. He knocked. No answer. He pulled out his key and let himself inside.
Soft classical music wafted from the stereo in the living room.
Weird. Not Corrine’s style at all.
He called softly, “Honey?”
No answer.
He moved into the living room. What little light there was came from a single lamp in the corner.
The classical music became softer.
Gary froze when he saw Corrine. She was seated on the sofa, dressed like an uptight business executive in her tweed jacket and skirt. Her hair was pulled back, and she wore oversized black spectacles.
Definitely not Corrine’s usual style. She managed a funky La Jolla art gallery, and her attire, during work and after, often consisted of Capri slacks and a tie-dyed T-shirt.
Gary smiled. “Hey, you didn’t tell me we had to wear costumes tonight. What are you supposed to be, a corporate lawyer?”
No response.
Damn, she was pissed.
Okay, he’d better be both humble and persuasive.
He moved closer to her. “Don’t get me wrong. I kind of like those glasses. Maybe you can wear them for me later?” He sat down next to her and gently rubbed her thigh.
Cold. So cold.
He stiffened. “Honey…?”
He pulled the glasses from her face. Her bloodshot eyes were wide open and stared back at him.
Only then did he notice the bruising on her neck.
Oh, God.
He jumped to his feet and stumbled backward.
Holy shit!
Corrine. Dead.
It was even harder to believe since this … thing didn’t even look like her.
He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking.
Something snapped around his neck.
Shit!
Choking … Must fight …
No air.
Must break free …
He felt his attacker’s hot breath in his ear.
Darkness creeping over him …
It wasn’t just breath, he realized as the darkness overtook him.
It was his killer’s laughter.
CHAPTER
1
“NICE TO MEET YOU, KENDRA. Sorry I’m late. I’m Dean Halley.”
Kendra Michaels stood and shook hands with the handsome man who had just dashed into the Gaslamp Bar and Restaurant. She was experiencing a sinking feeling. Halley’s smile was a couple shades too white. He was also too good-looking and too well dressed. He breathed casual elegance and easy charm.
Mom, what have you gotten me into?
Halley’s brows rose. “You are Kendra, right?”
“Yes.” She forced a smile. “Sorry I had to cancel last week. Things got complicated.”
He shrugged. “It happens. But we’re here now, so that’s what matters.”
He was also too polite.
Oh, for God’s sake, give the guy a break.
It was her mother’s first attempt at arranging a blind date, and anyone but Kendra would have said that she’d done well.
Of course, the evening was still young.
Kendra had come straight from the office, where she had conducted five music-therapy sessions back-to-back. Her clients couldn’t have been more different from each other, ranging in age from eight months to ninety-two years. Her techniques varied for each patient, with simple mood-soothing music for some, with more complex exercises to draw out others who were autistic and emotionally withdrawn. Not all would respond to her techniques, but she had high hopes for a few of them. Despite the presence of this charming and too-perfect man in front of her, she wanted nothing more than to go home and write up her impressions while the sessions were still fresh in her mind.
Don’t let him see it. She had promised Mom. She smiled. “Yes, that’s all that matters.”
They took a booth in the bar and placed their drink orders. Dean drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Your mother told me a lot about you, but I forgot almost all of it instantly.”
Now that was both honest and promising. “You sure know how to flatter a girl.”
“It’s not because I wasn’t interested. I was. But after she told me you used to be blind, I had trouble thinking about anything else.”
Way to go, Mom. “She actually led with that?”
“Good salesmanship. I was intrigued.”
“I don’t need anyone to sell me. What you see is what you get.”
“Of course you don’t. Poor choice of words. I’m sure you’re as leery of setups as I am. What exactly did she say to convince you to go out with me?”
“She said if I didn’t, she would use her keys to scratch disparaging things about me on the hood of my car.”
He smiled that charming smile again. “She didn’t really say that.”
“She did. And she said she would let all my plants die the next time I had to attend an overseas conference. So you see, I had little choice.”
“Now it’s my turn to be flattered.”
“I think she was joking, at least about the car.”
“This would make some interesting fodder for the next departmental dinner. Do you mind if I tell the other faculty members?”
She smiled. “I wish you would. Though from what I understand, it probably wouldn’t surprise anyone. Ask around. She’s made quite a reputation for herself.”
He chuckled. “You’re right about that.”
Dean and her mother, Professor Diane Michaels, were both history professors at the University of California Campus in La Jolla. Mom had been cooking up this date practically from the time Halley had taken over the post the previous spring. But as Kendra’s eyes darted over him, she went still with surprise.
How … interesting. Did Mom have any idea that Halley—?
“So you were born blind?” he asked.
She sipped her wine, still trying to process her observations. “Yes. And I stayed that way for the first twenty years of my life.”