Midnight Rider. Joanna Wayne

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      BRIT WAS SLAMMED by the terrible sense of mysterious loss again as she pulled into the garage of her tri-level town house. She’d had a twin sister. They might have shared so many things, a closeness only twins are said to experience. If only they’d met before a killer had claimed Sylvie’s life.

      Now Brit couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets were hiding in her past. Were there other siblings? Had she and Sylvie both been put up for adoption or was it only Brit their biological mother hadn’t wanted? Why hadn’t her adopted parents ever told her about her twin?

      Could she have saved Sylvie from the brutal murder had they met sooner?

      Now another question seared into her mind. Why hadn’t Sylvie told Cannon that she was pregnant with his child? Now that she’d met Cannon, it was hard to picture him as a man to fear.

      Self-confident. Lived on the edge. Might never settle down. A heartache in cowboy clothing. Perhaps not the best of men to hang your heart on, but still he’d deserved to know he was a father.

      The mystery continued to plague her thoughts as she killed the engine and climbed out of her silver Acura sedan. Hitting the garage button, the door began its descent as she entered the house though the small laundry-mudroom.

      She left her keys on the hook by the back door and stepped into the kitchen. Anxiety hit like a bolt of lightning. She wasn’t alone. Her hand went for her gun as a pair of large, meaty hands grabbed her from behind. He yanked her arms behind her back with so much force she cried out in pain.

      He shoved her into the wall, his own large body pushing into hers as he plied her weapon from her fingers. A heavy clunk sounded as it hit the tiled kitchen floor. A heartbeat later the sharp blade of a knife pricked the flesh at the base of her neck.

      “A lesson you should have learned from your father. Piss off the wrong people and there will be hell to pay.”

      Waves of adrenaline combatted the anxiety, revving all her police intuitions and training. Even with the knife at her neck, she struggled to turn enough to see the man’s face. His hold was too tight and the knife drew a stream of blood that trickled down her neck.

      “How do you know my dad?”

      “Wrong question.” He laughed and then coughed a raspy rattle that seemed to come from deep in his chest. The blade of the knife slid across her jugular and then down her arm, a promise of the hell to come.

      If she did nothing, he was going to kill her.

      Brit kicked backward, connecting with the attacker’s right leg hard enough to throw him off balance.

      The knife slid to her shoulder, slicing through the flesh painfully as it slashed across her skin, but still he held her arm behind her back so tightly she couldn’t move.

      “You bitch. Your payback is waiting in the bedroom, all your fault.”

      He was going to rape and kill her. She bucked the back of her head against him with all the strength she could muster. She heard it crack against his chin.

      Unfazed, her assailant pounded his fist into her back and then spun her around to face him. Dizzy from pain, she struggled to focus. All she could make out was a pair of onyx-black eyes glowing like coals.

      He hammered her head against the wall with his fist. She sank to the floor, the room a hazy mass of shifting images.

      Somehow she spotted the pistol he’d knocked from her hand. She reached for it and her finger found the trigger.

      Before she could aim it, his foot connected with her head. Dizzy and disoriented, she aimed into the foggy blur and pulled the trigger.

      A filmy black curtain slowly descended on her world.