Crimson Eve

Carla stared at the gun and David Thornby—or whatever his name was. Her mind fissured, one side pleading this was some sick joke, the other knowing it was not. Her throat ran dry, air backing up in her lungs. She swallowed. “Please. You must have the wrong person. There’s no reason for someone to want me dead. I don’t have any enemies.” “Then you’d best rethink your friends.” Realtor Carla Radling shows an “English gentleman” a lakeside estate—and finds herself facing a gun. Who has hired t...