Women Sleuths

All Night Long by Jayne Ann Krentz

By Jayne Ann Krentz

A thrilling novel of ardour, homicide, small-town secrets and techniques, and scandal delivered to mild. Shy, studious Irene Stenson and wild, privileged Pamela Webb were the easiest of buddies for one brief highschool summer season. Their friendship ended the evening Pamela dropped Irene off at home-and Irene walked in to find her mom and dad' our bodies at the kitchen flooring. It used to be governed a murder-suicide, and Irene fled the northern California city of Dunsley. yet seventeen years later, whilst Pamela sends a cryptic e mail requesting aid, Irene returns to her native land to discover her outdated pal has died abruptly, abandoning loads of grotesque, unanswered questions. stuck up in a firestorm of determined deceit and long-buried secrets and techniques, Irene is familiar with it can most likely be smarter to simply close up and go away Dunsley in the back of back, yet her reporter's instinct-and her personal starvation to understand the truth-compel her to increase her remain on the neighborhood resort. much more compelling is the guy who runs the place-a hazel-eyed ex-Marine who is as used to giving orders as Irene is to ignoring them. Luke Danner can see the fear underneath Irene Stenson's convinced exterior-and he's motive on keeping her. yet he's additionally pushed via passions of his personal, and jointly they are going to threat excess of neighborhood gossip to tackle what occurred to Pamela Webb, and what fairly occurred on that long-ago summer season evening. . . .

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Okay, that qualifies as an exclusive. You'll get your byline and you'll be above the fold. Under most circumstances, the death of a senator's daughter would be nothing more than a private tragedy. " "One more thing, Addy. " "Thought you hated that town," Adeline said. "I do. " "I can feel lust growing in this old reporter's heart. " Five Maxine blew in through the lobby door at nine o'clock, moving like the small whirlwind she was. She was an attractive, high-energy woman in her mid-thirties with blue eyes and a cloud of artificially blond hair that always looked as if it had been whipped up by the rotor blades of a helicopter.

What was wrong with this picture? He sure as hell was no fashion guru, but he trusted his instincts, Luke thought. Right now his instincts were telling him that Irene Stenson wore the boots and the trench and the attitude the way a man might wear a Kevlar vest—as battle armor. Who or what was she afraid of? And what was it with all the lights? He'd checked again a few minutes ago. Cabin Number Five still looked like a bulb factory run amok. He'd only gotten a quick look earlier when he walked her back to the place, but he was sure he'd seen a couple of night-light fixtures plugged into the wall sockets in the front room.

She knew the type well. Her father had been a Marine before he became a cop. Luke was the guy who would keep his head and lead you through the smoke and flames to safety when everyone else was running around in a mindless panic. Men like this certainly had their uses, but they were not the easiest sort to live with. Her mother had explained that to her on more than one occasion in tones of great exasperation. "The lodge must have been in bad shape by the time you bought it," she said. " He looked toward her cabin, perched on the edge of the lake amid a stand of tall trees.

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