The Miss Mae Site

Blurb: 'Mona Murphy returns to Copper Springs to attend her grandfather's memorial service. His passing appeared ordinary enough -- the official report stated he'd tripped and fallen down the staircase. Yet Preston Hitchcock, the insurance agent who'd sold a half million policy to Mona's grandfather days before the old man died isn't convinced, especially when bloody towels are discovered in the back yard.

And that's only the beginning. Who is the hit-and-run driver who attempts to run Mona down? Why is her old boyfriend more ardent for her affections now than ever before? And why is Mona helpless to guard her heart from the devastating influence of Preston's practiced lady-killer smiles?

Secrets Mona never knew existed in Copper Springs become exposed. But none is so revealing as the one she fights to hide -- and the very one that might save her life.

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Excerpt:

"...His jaw hardening, he stepped nearer. “Should I have respected those thugs’ privacy when they held you against your will? There was a ‘No Trespassing’ sign nailed there, you know.”

“There was?” She gave an awkward shrug. Well, when he put it that way…

“I have reason to believe there’s more thugs in there.” He jerked a thumb toward the wall. “You refuse to help me, though I earlier helped you?”

She hesitated, perplexed at his attitude. What could be inside that he wants so badly? And what thugs? Are they more of David’s poker buddies? Or maybe it’s David himself?  Recalling the beating David’s so-called friends had given him the night before, she knew she couldn’t take the risk of him perhaps being bound to a chair and having to suffer another thrashing. Nodding reluctantly, she said, “Okay. I’ll try.”

She pressed her ear against the warm bricks, closing her eyes. A mixture of different sounds reached her. “I hear machines,” she said to Preston, “but the noises are combined and I can’t make out what they are. And there are voices, men’s voices, but the machines are so loud they drown out the words.” Hesitating, she popped open her eyes. “That’s a car engine. Someone’s leaving.”

Preston grabbed her hand, pulling her with him as he sped past a line of trashcans toward the building’s rear alley. Stumbling in her heels, she panted. “Where are we going? What are you—?”

She broke off her query when she caught sight of his Porsche. Yanking open the passenger door, Preston unceremoniously plopped her in the seat before he ran to the driver’s side and dropped behind the wheel. He jabbed the key in the ignition, saying, “Fasten your seat belt. This may be a hell of a ride.”

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