Dangerous Sanctuary. Shirlee McCoy

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      Blessings,

       Shirlee McCoy

      For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this;

      Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.

      —Galatians 5:14

      For you, because you picked up this book and opened it to this page and read words written from my heart to yours.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       About the Author

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Introduction

       Dear Reader

       Bible Verse

       Dedication

       ONE

       TWO

       THREE

       FOUR

       FIVE

       SIX

       SEVEN

       EIGHT

       NINE

       TEN

       ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       EPILOGUE

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       ONE

      “Honor?”

      A man’s voice carried through the blackness that surrounded Honor Remington, reaching into a darkness so profound she wasn’t sure how she’d drag herself out of it.

      I need help. She tried to respond, but the words were trapped in her mind, stuck fast and unspoken.

      Someone touched her shoulder, and she flinched, trying to open her eyes and look into the speaker’s face.

      Her lids felt glued together, her body sluggish and numb.

      “Come on, Honor. You can do better than that,” the man prodded, and something about his voice freed her.

      Her eyes flew open, and she was looking into a familiar face. One she knew she should recognize: dark hair, hard-edged jaw and a scar at the corner of his mouth.

      “There you go,” he said, a note of relief in his voice.

      “Who are you?” she asked, because she couldn’t quite grasp the information. She knew him, and that was all she was certain of.

      “You don’t know?”

      “Would I have asked if I did?” She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but her hands ached and burned, her body was weak and she collapsed again, falling back onto what felt like a thin pallet lying on an uneven floor.

      “I’m Radley Tumberg,” he replied. “We work together. FBI. Special Crimes Unit.”

      “I work for the FBI?” she asked.

      “Yes.” He leaned close, staring into her eyes, candlelight flickering across his face and shimmering in his hair. “And, I’m concerned that you don’t seem to remember.”

      He rested a hand against her forehead, his skin rough and cool against her burning flesh.

      She wanted to close her eyes and lie there with his cool palm against her hot forehead, but something was very wrong. Not just with her memory.

      She glanced at the grayish interior of a round room, candlelight dancing on what looked like clay walls, a window opened out into a blue-black night.

      “Where am I?” she asked. “What am I doing here?”

      “This is Sunrise Spiritual Sanctuary,” Radley replied. “You came here to find a friend.”

      “What friend?” It was a question she should have been able to answer herself. The fact that she couldn’t would have brought her to full-out panic if she’d had the energy for it.

      Instead, sluggish anxiety pulsed through her blood, and she pushed herself up again.

      This time, she managed to sit, the cottony fabric of a pajama-like outfit sticking to her sweaty skin. A loose tunic top and elastic waistband-pants, they were clothes she’d have never purchased for herself.

      She knew that.

      Just like she knew she didn’t belong in this place.

      Now she just had to remember everything else.

      “I don’t have a name. All I have is the information you gave Wren, and it’s minimal,” Radley replied.

      “Wren?”

      “Santino. She’s our supervisor. Which you might have an easier time remembering if your brain weren’t being fried by fever.” He touched her forehead again and dug into a duffle bag that lay on the floor nearby, pulling out a small bottle and tapping two pills into his hand. He held them out to her.

      “What are they?”

      “Acetaminophen.