After watching a murderer walk free on a technicality, Nicole Sterling left the state attorney's office to start a criminal law practice. She lets her partners handle the assault and murder files while she specializes in white-collar crime. With her own mother's life slowly slipping away before her eyes, Nicole has had about all she can take of death.
But when a client is accused of killing her own baby, Nicole is drawn in to the case. Also looking for answers is Detective Sam Bowie, a man as infuriating as he is sexy. Sparks fly between them, but the last thing Nicole has room in her life for is a romantic entanglement.
Their investigation reveals that Nicole's client could be just one of many innocent victims of a horrific conspiracy. Now, she must put her own life on the line to uncover the truthand risk her heartif she's to have a future with Sam.
About the Author
Award-winning author and attorney Carol Stephenson keeps the light burning well into the night. Originally a Midwesterner, she learned to love books at an early age because of her parents' nightly reading ritual.
Best known for her emotionally drawn, hard-driving romances, Carol's first book,Nora's Pride,won the 2002 National Readers' Choice Award for both Best First Book and Long Contemporary. Her legal thrillerCourting Dangerwon the 2006 Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence in the Long Contemporary category.Shadow Lines,an international thriller, is the fourth book in the Madonna Key series about seven women, unthinkable danger and a lost history waiting for those who dared.Chasing the Truthrevved as a thrill-a-minute Harlequin NASCAR story.
Carol lives in southeast Florida with her beloved Shih Tzu. As her five basic soul food groups are romances, movies, photography, travel and a good cup of tea, into her nonexistent spare time Carol crams travel with her trusty 35 mm camera in one hand and tea bags in the other. Points of interest include Alaska, Canada, the Grand Canyon, Great Britain, Italy, Napa Valley and Nova Scotia. She's also on a trivia team that competes weekly all in good fun.
Read an Excerpt
"That's my final offer." State prosecutor Connie Sanchez slapped shut the cover of her case file. "One year and a five thousand dollar fine."
"Come on, Connie," I protested. I knew better than to use my opponent's full name, Conchetta, which she hated. At the moment I needed her cooperation.
"My client may be a screwed-up teenager, but you haven't proven any malicious intent. A thousand dollar fine and no jail time."
"Sorry, Nicole. No can do." Connie shrugged. "Your client chose the wrong gravestone to deface. The family members want his ass fried or they'll go straight to the media. I can see the headlines." She held up her hands, fingers splayed. "White kid gets away with spray-painting a black girl's grave."
"Chalk, not paint." I gritted my teeth. Although we'd been friendly during my years as a state prosecutor, the friendship hadn't survived my conversion to the "dark side," as she loved to say. If she only knew Switching to defense wasn't all that difficult with conscience's fangs snapping at your heels.
"Trust me." Connie dropped her hands. "It will be paint by the time the reporters get through with the story."
True enough, I reflected as I collected my briefcase and purse. If a story had enough sympathy play, the dry facts could easily get lost in the hue and cry. I glanced at my watch.
Damn. Without a deal, I wouldn't be out of here until late. That meant I couldn't stop by the house before my evening appointment, and this was the day the caretaker had to leave early. The all too familiar sensation of tension filled my chest like a balloon, pressing against my lungs until I could hardly breathe.
Stop it, I told myself, fighting to take a normal breath. Now's not the time to hyperventilate. It wasn't as if Mom had started wandering off and getting lost like the doctor warned about. She'd be fine by herself for a few hours. Still, a burning sensation flared in my lower chest. I thumbed a tablet from the antacid roll I kept in my jacket pocket.
The door of the small conference room opened and Bailiff Doug Scott poked his head in. "Ms. Sterling, Ms. Sanchez. The judge is ready to resume the proceedings."
"Oh, thank you, Doug." Despite the dark circles under her eyes, Connie's eyes flashed with sudden fire. She practically tripped over herself to follow the bailiff out.
Not that I blamed her. The buff deputy was easy on the eyes and a spark to any woman's libido. His being single didn't hurt the fantasy factor either. There was always a moment of reverential silence whenever he strolled by a group of female lawyers in the courthouse hallways.
As I allowed the bailiff and enamored prosecutor to get ahead, I pulled out my cell phone and called my law firm partner Kate Rochelle.
"Kate? It's Nicole. I need a favor."
"Of course," she responded in a cultured tone instilled by her Palm Beach upbringing. "The hearing not going well?"
"The state's presented its case, but the prosecutor won't offer any deal that doesn't include jail time."
"Tough break. Your client may have to testify after all."
"Looks that way. I have that funeral service tonight at seven. I might not be able to swing home, could you"
"Stop in and check on your mother? Not a problem."
Relief swept through me. Sometimes I wondered at what quirk of fortune had blessed me with friends like my partners. "Thanks, Kate."
"Go kick some butt."
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