Love You to Death
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Synopsis
Delicate, expressive hands...long, graceful legs...One man is looking for his perfect woman--and he'll stop at nothing until he finds her. LOVE YOU TO DEATH It's been days since reporter Elise McBride has heard from her sister, Ashley. She's convinced Ashley has met with some kind of foul play, especially when she learns that bodies of other missing women have surfaced in and around Chicago--all victims of a brutal serial killer. Convinced her sister is still alive, Elise vows to risk everything to save her... The last thing ex-cop Trent Brady needs is more blood on his hands. Yet when he catches Elise breaking into her sister's house, full of reckless determination and fear, he knows she needs his help. But just as desire ignites between them, a twisted madman sets his sights on Elise. Hell-bent on possessing her for himself, this psychopath won't rest until he has his perfect woman.
Release date: September 10, 2009
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 400
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Love You to Death
Shannon K. Butcher
“A new star in the romantic suspense galaxy.”
—Midwest Book Review
PRAISE FOR SHANNON K. BUTCHER’S THRILLERS
NO ESCAPE
“4½ Stars! Top pick! A clever premise… High-octane thrills with top-notch drama.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
“Edgy and intense… A sizzling romance… Make yourself comfortable and turn on the light—once you start reading No Escape, you’ll not want to put it down until the very last page.”
—
RomRevToday.com
“A tautly written romantic thriller, chilling in premise with a thrilling secondary plot and sensual romance to entice readers
from page one.”
—
FreshFiction.com
“Outstanding… intriguing… Steamy and romantic love scenes… Fast-paced, suspenseful, and sensual.”
—
RomanceJunkies.com
“An exciting, suspenseful ride that goes from zero to sixty on the first page… A first-class romantic suspense that satisfies
from beginning to end and one that shouldn’t be missed.”
—
FallenAngelReviews.com
“Suspenseful… palatable danger and plenty of sexual tension… Stunning.”
—
SingleTitles.com
“A nicely paced and involving romantic suspense that will keep readers flipping the pages well into the wee hours.”
—
BookLoons.com
“Solid, quality romantic suspense that’s well worth reading.”
—
LikesBooks.com
NO CONTROL
“Tense, fast-paced… Believable and gut-wrenching… Butcher is in control.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Butcher is one to watch! Characters that tug on your heartstrings and a well-formed plot make this romantic suspense a must-read!”
—
ArmchairInterviews.com
“Top pick! 4½ Stars! Provides ample evidence that Butcher is on the fast track to becoming a major presence in the romantic
suspense genre. Chilling plotlines and layered characters add serious punch to this thriller!”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
NO REGRETS
“4½ Stars! Top pick!… A promising new talent who wastes no time getting gritty has just joined the romantic suspense world.
Powerful emotions permeate this intense story.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
“An absolute must-read… Romantic suspense at its very best!”
—MARIAH STEWART, New York Times best-selling author
“Action, adventure, and romance with as many twists and turns as a roller-coaster ride.”
—CINDY GERARD, USA Today best-selling author
“Four stars! A fast-paced, character-driven story.”
—
HuntressReviews.com
“A romantic suspense that simply burns up the pages… Readers will swoon to the hero and identify with the delicate heroine.
No Regrets will leave readers breathless.”
—
SuspenseRomanceWriters.com
“She has a unique voice with an uncanny ability to create characters that are interesting and refreshingly different. Readers
will look forward to reading Ms. Butcher’s next novel.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A good, fast thriller… I could not stop reading it.”
—
GumshoeReview.com
“Excitement, adventure, and steamy scenes keep you turning pages to keep up with the many twists in the story… No Regrets is a delightful read.”
—
BookLoons.com
“Shannon K. Butcher has hit this one out of the park. The suspense will keep you on the edge of your seat… The tension is
so thick you will jump with the creaks in your own house. And not only is the suspense tension readily apparent, so is the
sexual tension.”
—
OnceUponARomance.com
“5 Cups! Takes the reader by storm. This is one intense, driven read that should not be missed.”
—
CoffeeTimeRomance.com
“Fast-paced, pulling the reader along… I thoroughly enjoyed watching David and Noelle as they work through an exceptional
situation and come together.”
—
JandysBooks.com
Breaking into a house was a lot harder than it looked on TV.
Elise McBride held the small flashlight in her mouth, smoothed the warped edge of her credit card with her fingers, and tried
to shove it between the door and the jamb again, with no luck. All she managed to do was take off another layer of plastic
and shred the magnetic strip.
Fantastic. Getting a replacement card while she was traveling wasn’t going to be any fun.
Defeated, Elise dropped her head against the cool wood of her sister’s front door and tried not to cry in frustration. After
days with no contact from her gabby sister, Elise was sure Ashley was in trouble. The deep kind.
Her gut churned with worry, warning her that something was wrong. Ashley had a tendency to disappear, wandering off on bizarre,
artistic tangents with whatever hot guy was at hand, but never for this long, and never without returning a phone call.
Elise had left dozens of messages on her sister’s phone over the past few days, and not one of them had been answered.
The police had promised her they’d check Ashley’s home, but what if they’d forgotten, or lied to Elise just to get her to
stop bugging them? What if she was inside, hurt or unconscious and unable to reach a phone? What if she was lying in a hospital
somewhere with amnesia, unable to call for help because she couldn’t remember who she was? What if she’d driven her car into
a ditch, gotten trapped, and no one had found her yet?
Stop it. Get a grip. All that doom-and-gloom stuff sounded like Mom talking. If Elise had listened to her, she’d believe that everyone died in
a ditch wearing dirty underwear after being attacked by boys who wanted only one thing.
Ashley was fine. She had to be. Elise just needed to figure out where she’d gone this time, and the key to that mystery was
likely inside her sister’s tiny house.
Elise briefly thought about breaking a window, but it was around three in the morning. Haven, Illinois, was as still and quiet
as the cool morning air, and she was afraid one of the nearby neighbors would call the police if they heard breaking glass.
She wasn’t about to get hauled to jail for breaking and entering while her sister was in trouble.
Maybe Ashley had stashed a key somewhere. Heaven knew she was always forgetting or losing things. Including keys. After years
of being coddled by family, Ashley was on her own now, developing coping mechanisms to combat all her flighty, brainless habits—like
misplacing keys. At least that’s what she said. She’d told Elise many times how she was fine living on her own and didn’t
need a keeper, no matter how much Elise worried.
And she did. Every day. She worried that Ashley would get lost in a particularly engrossing series of paintings and forget
to eat. She worried that Ashley would be driving along, see a bird she wanted to paint, try to follow it, and crash her car
into a tree. She worried that Ashley would go home with the wrong man one of these days, and rather than spending a fun weekend
in bed, she’d become a victim.
Ashley was way too trusting with men, way too easily swayed by a sweet smile and a confident wink. One of these days, it was
going to get her in trouble.
Maybe it already had.
Elise had to get in her house and find out.
The front porch was littered with springtime lawn ornaments and pots of flowers—both fake and dead. A dozen wind chimes hung
in stillness, though Elise wished for a wind to kick them up and cover any noise she was making. A blown-glass globe sat in
a wrought-iron stand right next to the door. The base of it was mosaic tile depicting a stylized peacock—Ashley’s design,
no doubt.
Elise tipped the stand, shined her flashlight under it and took a look, praying she’d find a key. No luck. She searched under
all the flowerpots, sculpted frogs, lawn gnomes, and even the doormat with no success. Her flashlight beam bobbed over the
porch, glinting off the wind chimes.
Frustration and a growing sense of panic gripped Elise hard. A cold sweat formed along her spine, making her shiver in the
cool May air.
She was going to have to break a window. There was no help for it. She couldn’t stand around out here in the dark when the
key to her sister’s disappearance might be right inside that door.
Elise clamped the slim flashlight in her mouth to hold it while she took off her jacket. She could use the fabric to mute
the sound of breaking glass and hope the neighbors were all heavy sleepers.
She tipped her head back a bit when she slid the jacket off, and the silhouette of a key appeared on the porch ceiling. Elise
followed the beam of light to the small wind chime dangling near the door. It was made from a variety of household bits, including
a tarnished knife, a can opener, chunks of broken colored glass, and wire. Everything was painted in lazy swirls of color
that Elise instantly recognized as Ashley’s work. Even the key was painted.
Surely, Ashley wouldn’t be foolish enough to dangle the key to her front door in plain sight? It had to be an old key.
Then again, this was Ashley. If the key was at hand when she went into that creative zone, she wouldn’t have thought twice
about using it.
Being careful not to make a racket, Elise gripped the wind chime in her hand to keep everything quiet and eased it from the
suspended hook. She separated the key from the rest of the piece, then slid it into the lock. It went in easily and turned
without effort.
Ashley’s front door swung open and Elise stood there, dreading that first step. If she failed to find her sister now, it was
completely her fault. She couldn’t blame it on a locked door.
Part of her was terrified she wouldn’t be able to find Ashley. The rest of her was terrified that she would, and that it would
be too late.
Pretend you’re not afraid. That’s what she always did whenever the story she was covering got dangerous. She’d straighten her spine, pretend she wasn’t
queasy and shaking, and move on. As a freelance reporter, she had no choice but to move on or go hungry, so she moved. But
the stakes were higher this time. Her sweet, too-trusting sister needed her, and she couldn’t fail.
Elise stepped inside.
Trent Brady’s flighty neighbor was out of town again, but someone was creeping around her house all the same. At three in
the morning.
Cop instincts he’d tried for two years to kill came roaring back to life, making him reach for his gun. Of course, there was
no weapon strapped to his hip, nor would there ever be again, but it was a reflex he hadn’t been able to stifle.
Trent set the sleeping pill he’d been about to swallow aside. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. They never did.
Through his kitchen window, he watched the intruder’s flashlight beam dart around clumsily. Whoever he was, this guy was a
novice. Judging from what Trent could see of his build, he was young, too—just the right age to learn a lesson.
A slow smile pulled at Trent’s mouth. It had been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of educating a youngster. He’d almost
forgotten how much he missed it. Almost.
It took him only a few seconds to slide on a pair of jeans and shove his feet into grass-stained sneakers. He was out the
door before he realized he hadn’t called the police. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten that it was no longer his duty
to deal with this. No longer his right.
Trent turned around, made a quick call to his buddy on the Haven police force, but refused to wait for him to show up. Little
Ashley McBride was a sweet kid, even if she couldn’t remember what day of the week it was. He wasn’t going to let some punk
trash her place when he was able to stop it.
The fact that said punk might have a gun, when Trent didn’t, didn’t even slow him down. Maybe an action like that deserved
some careful thought, but he’d do that later. Much, much later. His life was bad enough without adding a bunch of psychobabble
crap on top of it.
He hurried across the street and slipped silently onto the porch. The front door was closed again, but a slow turn of the
knob told him it wasn’t locked.
Amateur.
Trent eased inside, listening for which way the intruder had gone. Ashley’s house was an artistic mess, with canvases stacked
everywhere. Every horizontal surface was covered with clothes, paints, brushes, or papers. There was more furniture in her
living room than there was in his entire house, leaving only a narrow walkway open for him to navigate.
This whole neighborhood had been built in the housing boom after World War II, and Ashley’s house was an exact copy of his
own, so he had the advantage of knowing the layout, even in the dark.
A low scraping sound came from the back bedroom, like someone was rummaging around in there.
Trent’s body flooded with adrenaline and he slid into that comfortable space where each heartbeat stretched out for an eternity.
The rush of strength and clarity nearly made him giddy, and he realized it had been way too long since the adrenaline junkie
in him had gotten his fix.
The streetlights outside shone through the front window, outlining the entrance to the hallway. His eyes had adjusted to the
dark enough that he could see vague shapes, but little else. He crept toward the bedroom where he’d heard the sound.
A thud followed by a muffled hiss of pain came from the back room. Trent eased through the doorway just as the intruder stood
up from a crouch.
He was only three feet in front of Trent, and a sudden rush of instinct took over Trent’s body as he moved. He grabbed the
kid and shoved him hard against the door. He used his body to pin the kid there while he took control of the intruder’s hands
and any weapon he might hold.
The kid let out a high shriek of fear that was cut off too soon, like he’d run out of air. He struggled, fighting Trent’s
hold, but wasn’t strong enough for it to do any good. Those struggles did, however, press the intruder’s breasts against Trent’s
bare ribs.
Breasts? For a brief second, shock rolled through him, freezing him in place. The intruder was a woman, not a kid. Not that it mattered.
She was still breaking the law.
She used his moment of surprise to wrench one hand free of his grip and slammed her fist into the side of his head. The blow
rattled his cage, but it didn’t slow him down. He recaptured her hand and leaned his weight into her harder, crushing her
ribs.
Her knee came up toward his groin, but they were too close for the blow to have any force behind it. She kind of grazed his
thigh, but it was enough to make him want to prevent it from happening again, just in case she got a lucky shot.
He spun her around, twisting her arms behind her, and leaned his weight against her. She tried to head-butt him, but the top
of her head only came up to his chin, so all she hit was his collarbone. Her pale hair was tucked into a bun, which cushioned
the blow. Trent doubted he’d even have a bruise.
He had to give her an A for effort, though. She was completely outclassed, apparently weaponless and alone, and yet she kept
fighting.
Her foot slammed down hard on his toes, and pain screamed up his leg.
“Bad move,” he told her as he wrenched her arms higher, putting enough force on her shoulders to make a grown man cry.
She let out a willowy gasp of pain that was so feminine it made Trent feel like an ass for hurting her. Not that she would
have thought twice about hurting him, given the chance.
He let up, releasing some of the pressure, which only proved how soft he’d gotten over the past two years. Soft and useless.
“Let me go,” she ordered. The fact that her words came out as a breathless whisper robbed them of some authority.
“Not gonna happen. Who are you, and why are you here?”
“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you in my sister’s house?”
“Sister?” Oh, crap. Not good.
Trent turned her around, a lot more gently this time, and looked at her face. It was hard to see in the dim light, but the
flashlight she’d dropped created enough of an ambient glow that he could make out the basics. Her mouth wasn’t quite as full
and pouty as Ashley’s, but she had the same dainty chin and nose, the same pale eyes and hair.
“What’s your name?” he asked her, just to be sure.
“Elise McBride.”
Trent knew that name. He’d heard Ashley talk about the revered Elise often enough he remembered it. He let go of her like
she’d sprouted quills. “I’m so sorry,” he rushed to tell her. “I’m Ashley’s neighbor and I thought you were breaking into
her house. Did I hurt you?”
She rubbed one shoulder, sagging against the door, breathing too fast. “I’m fine. Heck of a neighborhood watch you have here.”
Well, hell. He’d gone and fucked up good this time. And the sirens in the distance told him that in a few minutes his humiliation
would be complete.
Elise couldn’t stop shaking. For a moment there, she was sure that she was about to witness what had happened to her sister,
up close and personal. She’d thought she was going to die, that the man who had complete control over her body was going to
kill her.
And there hadn’t been a thing she could do to stop him.
Suddenly, Ashley’s disappearance became even more sinister. In that one brief moment of helplessness, Elise had gone from
hoping to find her sister safe and sound to knowing that she was fooling herself indulging in that kind of fantasy.
Bad things happened. That nagging itch in her gut told her that Ashley had been a victim of one of them.
Her whole body trembled, and it was still a little hard to breathe. Her lungs felt flat, heavy. The surge of adrenaline was
wearing off, leaving her sagging and queasy in its wake.
Sirens outside grew louder, but she couldn’t bring herself to face the police just yet. She had to get a grip and regain her
composure. She didn’t want to look like a wilting flower when she demanded that they help her find Ashley.
Elise straightened her shoulders, which ached almost as much as the back of her head. Whatever the hell this guy was made
of, it was tough stuff. She’d nearly imploded her skull trying to bash him with it.
Not the smartest thing she’d ever done.
“Sit down a minute,” he said, urging her toward Ashley’s bed. “You look a little shaky.”
Elise sat down, grateful to have the solid surface supporting her trembling legs. “Who are you?” she asked him.
“Trent Brady. I live across the street.”
The name was familiar, and it took her only a second to place him. “Ah. So you’re Ashley’s ‘Hot Lawn Guy.’” She’d talked about
him so often that Elise was beginning to wonder if Ashley was making him up. No guy was as helpful as the Hot Lawn Guy without
wanting something in return.
“Uh. I mow her lawn, yeah.”
“And fix her car, and get rid of wasp’s nests, and repair broken garbage disposals. She talks about you all the time.”
He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as if she’d embarrassed him. “Ashley likes to talk.”
Elise couldn’t make out much in the dark, but she’d felt enough of Trent’s body pressed against hers to know the guy was in
great shape. He was helpful, and apparently modest about it.
It was a wonder Ashley hadn’t fallen in love with him at least three times by now, but she’d always said he wasn’t her type.
Maybe he was gay.
He reached over to flip on the light.
“Don’t bother. I already tried. The fuse must be blown.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “As soon as the police get here and I sort things out.”
Elise heaved out a weary sigh, dreading the job she had to do now. “They were on my list of people to talk to anyway. I guess
now is as good a time as any.”
Suspicion tightened his voice. “Talk to about what?”
“About my missing sister and what they’re doing to find her.”
Elise met the officer at the door to her sister’s home. He was in his fifties, she guessed, with short salt-and-pepper hair
and a matching mustache. Although he wasn’t wearing his uniform, his car bore the emblem of the Haven Police Department.
He looked her up and down briefly, then his gaze went over her shoulder to the man standing just behind her. “Morning, Trent,”
he said. “Wanna tell me what’s going on here?”
“Sorry, Bob. False alarm. I thought she was a kid out for a little B and E.”
Officer Bob’s mouth turned down at the corners as he looked at her. “Did you break in?”
“No. This is my sister’s place. I used a key.” All of which was technically the truth, even if it didn’t convey what really
happened.
“Good. It’s too damn early for paperwork,” said the officer. “And trouble. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Elise McBride, Ashley’s sister.”
“Ah. You’re the one who called in the missing person’s report.”
“Yes, sir. That’s why I’m here. To find Ashley. I’m hoping you can help.”
In the houses around them, people wakened by the sirens peered out lighted windows.
The officer’s thick chest collapsed on a heavy sigh. “Let’s take this inside, kids. No sense in making a scene on the front
porch.”
Elise stepped back to make room for the officer, grazing Trent’s bare chest with her arm. The heat from his skin soaked into
her, and until now, she hadn’t realized she was cold. Stupid nerves.
He moved out of her way, taking all that warmth with him, and the officer shut the door behind them.
“Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.
“A fuse blew,” said Trent. “Happens all the time. I’ll take care of it.” He crossed the room like he lived here, opened a
door and went downstairs.
Elise briefly wondered just how close he’d been to Ashley that he knew her fuses blew often, and exactly where to go to fix
them. Her sister told her about all her boyfriends—in great detail, much to Elise’s dismay. In all those breathless ramblings,
Ashley hadn’t mentioned Trent as anything more than Hot Lawn Guy.
“So, Ms. McBride. How ’bout you tell me why you showed up here at three in the morning?”
Elise shrugged. “I got off the plane in Chicago, rented a car and drove here. It took as long as it took.”
“Where’d you come in from?”
The power came back on, bathing them in light. From the kitchen, an appliance beeped, begging for attention. The ceiling fan
in the living room started spinning in a lazy circle.
Elise blinked as her eyes adjusted. “Hong Kong.”
His bushy brows lifted. “That’s a long way off. Do you live there?”
She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in one of the windows, and the sight of her frizzing bun made her cringe. She’d
been traveling for hours, and every one of them showed in her hair.
Elise worked the hairpins out of the knotted mess of curls and untangled them with her fingers. “Sometimes. I’m a reporter.
I was working on a story.”
As soon as the word reporter came out of her mouth, Officer Bob flinched. “You’re not going to be stirring up any trouble here, are you?”
Elise knew exactly what he meant, but she pretended ignorance. “Trouble? What do you mean?”
“I mean you starting stories about women disappearing from Haven.”
“A woman has disappeared. I’d say that’s newsworthy, wouldn’t you?” He didn’t have to know that wasn’t the kind of story
she usually covered—that her work was mostly about the changes in foreign economy with a bit of fun stuff thrown in on the
side, just to keep her interested, even if it didn’t pay the bills. Let him think that his town’s dirty laundry was going
to be aired for the world to see. Maybe it would get him to cooperate.
“We don’t know she’s disappeared,” said Trent from the top of the stairway. “Ashley has a tendency to run off for days at
a time.”
Elise turned her head to give him hell for talking about her sister in such a flippant way, but the words stuck in her throat.
Hot Lawn Guy was more than just hot. He was scalding.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but for him, covering up should have been a crime. Golden skin stretched tight over delicious slabs
of muscles. His shoulders were wide and heavy, his arms thick and long. The ridges in his stomach stood out every time he
breathed. But the beautiful part was that none of that was a show. He hadn’t removed his body hair or oiled himself up, or
sprayed on a tan. He wasn’t coiffed or groomed. In fact, he was in desperate need of a haircut.
He wasn’t trying to look good. He just did.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” muttered the cop. “Would you put on a damn shirt? You make the rest of us mere mortals look bad.”
“In a minute,” said Trent, staring at Elise. His eyes slid over her from top to bottom and back again, making her wish for
a hairbrush. “I think the lady here was about to say something.”
Yes, she was. Elise couldn’t remember what it was, so she ripped her eyes away and tried to concentrate.
“Trent’s right, Ms. McBride. We had a couple of officers check things out when you reported her missing. They questioned the
neighbors and everyone said the same thing. She goes away for days at a time. It’s not unusual.”
“Yes, but she never goes this long without phoning me.”
“Maybe her phone broke,” said Trent. “Maybe she’s low on minutes and doesn’t want to pay the overages.”
Elise refused to let his good looks intimidate her. She did, however, keep her eyes fixed on his face. It didn’t help much,
since the man’s face was a compilation of fascinating masculine angles, and nearly as attractive as the rest of him, but she
managed to maintain her focus. “Ashley can’t go a day without talking to me. She tells me everything. She would have borrowed
a phone, or called collect from a pay phone—something—if she was okay. I’m telling you that this is not like her. It may appear
to be normal to her neighbors, but it’s not. If it was, I wouldn’t have abandoned the job I was on and flown halfway around
the world to find out what’s wrong.”
Trent’s blue eyes flickered with interest. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“Trent,” said Officer Bob in a warning tone. “If you want to investigate this, you know there’s always a job waiting for you,
but so long as you’re not wearing a badge, I want y. . .
—Midwest Book Review
PRAISE FOR SHANNON K. BUTCHER’S THRILLERS
NO ESCAPE
“4½ Stars! Top pick! A clever premise… High-octane thrills with top-notch drama.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
“Edgy and intense… A sizzling romance… Make yourself comfortable and turn on the light—once you start reading No Escape, you’ll not want to put it down until the very last page.”
—
RomRevToday.com
“A tautly written romantic thriller, chilling in premise with a thrilling secondary plot and sensual romance to entice readers
from page one.”
—
FreshFiction.com
“Outstanding… intriguing… Steamy and romantic love scenes… Fast-paced, suspenseful, and sensual.”
—
RomanceJunkies.com
“An exciting, suspenseful ride that goes from zero to sixty on the first page… A first-class romantic suspense that satisfies
from beginning to end and one that shouldn’t be missed.”
—
FallenAngelReviews.com
“Suspenseful… palatable danger and plenty of sexual tension… Stunning.”
—
SingleTitles.com
“A nicely paced and involving romantic suspense that will keep readers flipping the pages well into the wee hours.”
—
BookLoons.com
“Solid, quality romantic suspense that’s well worth reading.”
—
LikesBooks.com
NO CONTROL
“Tense, fast-paced… Believable and gut-wrenching… Butcher is in control.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Butcher is one to watch! Characters that tug on your heartstrings and a well-formed plot make this romantic suspense a must-read!”
—
ArmchairInterviews.com
“Top pick! 4½ Stars! Provides ample evidence that Butcher is on the fast track to becoming a major presence in the romantic
suspense genre. Chilling plotlines and layered characters add serious punch to this thriller!”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
NO REGRETS
“4½ Stars! Top pick!… A promising new talent who wastes no time getting gritty has just joined the romantic suspense world.
Powerful emotions permeate this intense story.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews Magazine
“An absolute must-read… Romantic suspense at its very best!”
—MARIAH STEWART, New York Times best-selling author
“Action, adventure, and romance with as many twists and turns as a roller-coaster ride.”
—CINDY GERARD, USA Today best-selling author
“Four stars! A fast-paced, character-driven story.”
—
HuntressReviews.com
“A romantic suspense that simply burns up the pages… Readers will swoon to the hero and identify with the delicate heroine.
No Regrets will leave readers breathless.”
—
SuspenseRomanceWriters.com
“She has a unique voice with an uncanny ability to create characters that are interesting and refreshingly different. Readers
will look forward to reading Ms. Butcher’s next novel.”
—Midwest Book Review
“A good, fast thriller… I could not stop reading it.”
—
GumshoeReview.com
“Excitement, adventure, and steamy scenes keep you turning pages to keep up with the many twists in the story… No Regrets is a delightful read.”
—
BookLoons.com
“Shannon K. Butcher has hit this one out of the park. The suspense will keep you on the edge of your seat… The tension is
so thick you will jump with the creaks in your own house. And not only is the suspense tension readily apparent, so is the
sexual tension.”
—
OnceUponARomance.com
“5 Cups! Takes the reader by storm. This is one intense, driven read that should not be missed.”
—
CoffeeTimeRomance.com
“Fast-paced, pulling the reader along… I thoroughly enjoyed watching David and Noelle as they work through an exceptional
situation and come together.”
—
JandysBooks.com
Breaking into a house was a lot harder than it looked on TV.
Elise McBride held the small flashlight in her mouth, smoothed the warped edge of her credit card with her fingers, and tried
to shove it between the door and the jamb again, with no luck. All she managed to do was take off another layer of plastic
and shred the magnetic strip.
Fantastic. Getting a replacement card while she was traveling wasn’t going to be any fun.
Defeated, Elise dropped her head against the cool wood of her sister’s front door and tried not to cry in frustration. After
days with no contact from her gabby sister, Elise was sure Ashley was in trouble. The deep kind.
Her gut churned with worry, warning her that something was wrong. Ashley had a tendency to disappear, wandering off on bizarre,
artistic tangents with whatever hot guy was at hand, but never for this long, and never without returning a phone call.
Elise had left dozens of messages on her sister’s phone over the past few days, and not one of them had been answered.
The police had promised her they’d check Ashley’s home, but what if they’d forgotten, or lied to Elise just to get her to
stop bugging them? What if she was inside, hurt or unconscious and unable to reach a phone? What if she was lying in a hospital
somewhere with amnesia, unable to call for help because she couldn’t remember who she was? What if she’d driven her car into
a ditch, gotten trapped, and no one had found her yet?
Stop it. Get a grip. All that doom-and-gloom stuff sounded like Mom talking. If Elise had listened to her, she’d believe that everyone died in
a ditch wearing dirty underwear after being attacked by boys who wanted only one thing.
Ashley was fine. She had to be. Elise just needed to figure out where she’d gone this time, and the key to that mystery was
likely inside her sister’s tiny house.
Elise briefly thought about breaking a window, but it was around three in the morning. Haven, Illinois, was as still and quiet
as the cool morning air, and she was afraid one of the nearby neighbors would call the police if they heard breaking glass.
She wasn’t about to get hauled to jail for breaking and entering while her sister was in trouble.
Maybe Ashley had stashed a key somewhere. Heaven knew she was always forgetting or losing things. Including keys. After years
of being coddled by family, Ashley was on her own now, developing coping mechanisms to combat all her flighty, brainless habits—like
misplacing keys. At least that’s what she said. She’d told Elise many times how she was fine living on her own and didn’t
need a keeper, no matter how much Elise worried.
And she did. Every day. She worried that Ashley would get lost in a particularly engrossing series of paintings and forget
to eat. She worried that Ashley would be driving along, see a bird she wanted to paint, try to follow it, and crash her car
into a tree. She worried that Ashley would go home with the wrong man one of these days, and rather than spending a fun weekend
in bed, she’d become a victim.
Ashley was way too trusting with men, way too easily swayed by a sweet smile and a confident wink. One of these days, it was
going to get her in trouble.
Maybe it already had.
Elise had to get in her house and find out.
The front porch was littered with springtime lawn ornaments and pots of flowers—both fake and dead. A dozen wind chimes hung
in stillness, though Elise wished for a wind to kick them up and cover any noise she was making. A blown-glass globe sat in
a wrought-iron stand right next to the door. The base of it was mosaic tile depicting a stylized peacock—Ashley’s design,
no doubt.
Elise tipped the stand, shined her flashlight under it and took a look, praying she’d find a key. No luck. She searched under
all the flowerpots, sculpted frogs, lawn gnomes, and even the doormat with no success. Her flashlight beam bobbed over the
porch, glinting off the wind chimes.
Frustration and a growing sense of panic gripped Elise hard. A cold sweat formed along her spine, making her shiver in the
cool May air.
She was going to have to break a window. There was no help for it. She couldn’t stand around out here in the dark when the
key to her sister’s disappearance might be right inside that door.
Elise clamped the slim flashlight in her mouth to hold it while she took off her jacket. She could use the fabric to mute
the sound of breaking glass and hope the neighbors were all heavy sleepers.
She tipped her head back a bit when she slid the jacket off, and the silhouette of a key appeared on the porch ceiling. Elise
followed the beam of light to the small wind chime dangling near the door. It was made from a variety of household bits, including
a tarnished knife, a can opener, chunks of broken colored glass, and wire. Everything was painted in lazy swirls of color
that Elise instantly recognized as Ashley’s work. Even the key was painted.
Surely, Ashley wouldn’t be foolish enough to dangle the key to her front door in plain sight? It had to be an old key.
Then again, this was Ashley. If the key was at hand when she went into that creative zone, she wouldn’t have thought twice
about using it.
Being careful not to make a racket, Elise gripped the wind chime in her hand to keep everything quiet and eased it from the
suspended hook. She separated the key from the rest of the piece, then slid it into the lock. It went in easily and turned
without effort.
Ashley’s front door swung open and Elise stood there, dreading that first step. If she failed to find her sister now, it was
completely her fault. She couldn’t blame it on a locked door.
Part of her was terrified she wouldn’t be able to find Ashley. The rest of her was terrified that she would, and that it would
be too late.
Pretend you’re not afraid. That’s what she always did whenever the story she was covering got dangerous. She’d straighten her spine, pretend she wasn’t
queasy and shaking, and move on. As a freelance reporter, she had no choice but to move on or go hungry, so she moved. But
the stakes were higher this time. Her sweet, too-trusting sister needed her, and she couldn’t fail.
Elise stepped inside.
Trent Brady’s flighty neighbor was out of town again, but someone was creeping around her house all the same. At three in
the morning.
Cop instincts he’d tried for two years to kill came roaring back to life, making him reach for his gun. Of course, there was
no weapon strapped to his hip, nor would there ever be again, but it was a reflex he hadn’t been able to stifle.
Trent set the sleeping pill he’d been about to swallow aside. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. They never did.
Through his kitchen window, he watched the intruder’s flashlight beam dart around clumsily. Whoever he was, this guy was a
novice. Judging from what Trent could see of his build, he was young, too—just the right age to learn a lesson.
A slow smile pulled at Trent’s mouth. It had been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of educating a youngster. He’d almost
forgotten how much he missed it. Almost.
It took him only a few seconds to slide on a pair of jeans and shove his feet into grass-stained sneakers. He was out the
door before he realized he hadn’t called the police. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten that it was no longer his duty
to deal with this. No longer his right.
Trent turned around, made a quick call to his buddy on the Haven police force, but refused to wait for him to show up. Little
Ashley McBride was a sweet kid, even if she couldn’t remember what day of the week it was. He wasn’t going to let some punk
trash her place when he was able to stop it.
The fact that said punk might have a gun, when Trent didn’t, didn’t even slow him down. Maybe an action like that deserved
some careful thought, but he’d do that later. Much, much later. His life was bad enough without adding a bunch of psychobabble
crap on top of it.
He hurried across the street and slipped silently onto the porch. The front door was closed again, but a slow turn of the
knob told him it wasn’t locked.
Amateur.
Trent eased inside, listening for which way the intruder had gone. Ashley’s house was an artistic mess, with canvases stacked
everywhere. Every horizontal surface was covered with clothes, paints, brushes, or papers. There was more furniture in her
living room than there was in his entire house, leaving only a narrow walkway open for him to navigate.
This whole neighborhood had been built in the housing boom after World War II, and Ashley’s house was an exact copy of his
own, so he had the advantage of knowing the layout, even in the dark.
A low scraping sound came from the back bedroom, like someone was rummaging around in there.
Trent’s body flooded with adrenaline and he slid into that comfortable space where each heartbeat stretched out for an eternity.
The rush of strength and clarity nearly made him giddy, and he realized it had been way too long since the adrenaline junkie
in him had gotten his fix.
The streetlights outside shone through the front window, outlining the entrance to the hallway. His eyes had adjusted to the
dark enough that he could see vague shapes, but little else. He crept toward the bedroom where he’d heard the sound.
A thud followed by a muffled hiss of pain came from the back room. Trent eased through the doorway just as the intruder stood
up from a crouch.
He was only three feet in front of Trent, and a sudden rush of instinct took over Trent’s body as he moved. He grabbed the
kid and shoved him hard against the door. He used his body to pin the kid there while he took control of the intruder’s hands
and any weapon he might hold.
The kid let out a high shriek of fear that was cut off too soon, like he’d run out of air. He struggled, fighting Trent’s
hold, but wasn’t strong enough for it to do any good. Those struggles did, however, press the intruder’s breasts against Trent’s
bare ribs.
Breasts? For a brief second, shock rolled through him, freezing him in place. The intruder was a woman, not a kid. Not that it mattered.
She was still breaking the law.
She used his moment of surprise to wrench one hand free of his grip and slammed her fist into the side of his head. The blow
rattled his cage, but it didn’t slow him down. He recaptured her hand and leaned his weight into her harder, crushing her
ribs.
Her knee came up toward his groin, but they were too close for the blow to have any force behind it. She kind of grazed his
thigh, but it was enough to make him want to prevent it from happening again, just in case she got a lucky shot.
He spun her around, twisting her arms behind her, and leaned his weight against her. She tried to head-butt him, but the top
of her head only came up to his chin, so all she hit was his collarbone. Her pale hair was tucked into a bun, which cushioned
the blow. Trent doubted he’d even have a bruise.
He had to give her an A for effort, though. She was completely outclassed, apparently weaponless and alone, and yet she kept
fighting.
Her foot slammed down hard on his toes, and pain screamed up his leg.
“Bad move,” he told her as he wrenched her arms higher, putting enough force on her shoulders to make a grown man cry.
She let out a willowy gasp of pain that was so feminine it made Trent feel like an ass for hurting her. Not that she would
have thought twice about hurting him, given the chance.
He let up, releasing some of the pressure, which only proved how soft he’d gotten over the past two years. Soft and useless.
“Let me go,” she ordered. The fact that her words came out as a breathless whisper robbed them of some authority.
“Not gonna happen. Who are you, and why are you here?”
“I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you in my sister’s house?”
“Sister?” Oh, crap. Not good.
Trent turned her around, a lot more gently this time, and looked at her face. It was hard to see in the dim light, but the
flashlight she’d dropped created enough of an ambient glow that he could make out the basics. Her mouth wasn’t quite as full
and pouty as Ashley’s, but she had the same dainty chin and nose, the same pale eyes and hair.
“What’s your name?” he asked her, just to be sure.
“Elise McBride.”
Trent knew that name. He’d heard Ashley talk about the revered Elise often enough he remembered it. He let go of her like
she’d sprouted quills. “I’m so sorry,” he rushed to tell her. “I’m Ashley’s neighbor and I thought you were breaking into
her house. Did I hurt you?”
She rubbed one shoulder, sagging against the door, breathing too fast. “I’m fine. Heck of a neighborhood watch you have here.”
Well, hell. He’d gone and fucked up good this time. And the sirens in the distance told him that in a few minutes his humiliation
would be complete.
Elise couldn’t stop shaking. For a moment there, she was sure that she was about to witness what had happened to her sister,
up close and personal. She’d thought she was going to die, that the man who had complete control over her body was going to
kill her.
And there hadn’t been a thing she could do to stop him.
Suddenly, Ashley’s disappearance became even more sinister. In that one brief moment of helplessness, Elise had gone from
hoping to find her sister safe and sound to knowing that she was fooling herself indulging in that kind of fantasy.
Bad things happened. That nagging itch in her gut told her that Ashley had been a victim of one of them.
Her whole body trembled, and it was still a little hard to breathe. Her lungs felt flat, heavy. The surge of adrenaline was
wearing off, leaving her sagging and queasy in its wake.
Sirens outside grew louder, but she couldn’t bring herself to face the police just yet. She had to get a grip and regain her
composure. She didn’t want to look like a wilting flower when she demanded that they help her find Ashley.
Elise straightened her shoulders, which ached almost as much as the back of her head. Whatever the hell this guy was made
of, it was tough stuff. She’d nearly imploded her skull trying to bash him with it.
Not the smartest thing she’d ever done.
“Sit down a minute,” he said, urging her toward Ashley’s bed. “You look a little shaky.”
Elise sat down, grateful to have the solid surface supporting her trembling legs. “Who are you?” she asked him.
“Trent Brady. I live across the street.”
The name was familiar, and it took her only a second to place him. “Ah. So you’re Ashley’s ‘Hot Lawn Guy.’” She’d talked about
him so often that Elise was beginning to wonder if Ashley was making him up. No guy was as helpful as the Hot Lawn Guy without
wanting something in return.
“Uh. I mow her lawn, yeah.”
“And fix her car, and get rid of wasp’s nests, and repair broken garbage disposals. She talks about you all the time.”
He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as if she’d embarrassed him. “Ashley likes to talk.”
Elise couldn’t make out much in the dark, but she’d felt enough of Trent’s body pressed against hers to know the guy was in
great shape. He was helpful, and apparently modest about it.
It was a wonder Ashley hadn’t fallen in love with him at least three times by now, but she’d always said he wasn’t her type.
Maybe he was gay.
He reached over to flip on the light.
“Don’t bother. I already tried. The fuse must be blown.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “As soon as the police get here and I sort things out.”
Elise heaved out a weary sigh, dreading the job she had to do now. “They were on my list of people to talk to anyway. I guess
now is as good a time as any.”
Suspicion tightened his voice. “Talk to about what?”
“About my missing sister and what they’re doing to find her.”
Elise met the officer at the door to her sister’s home. He was in his fifties, she guessed, with short salt-and-pepper hair
and a matching mustache. Although he wasn’t wearing his uniform, his car bore the emblem of the Haven Police Department.
He looked her up and down briefly, then his gaze went over her shoulder to the man standing just behind her. “Morning, Trent,”
he said. “Wanna tell me what’s going on here?”
“Sorry, Bob. False alarm. I thought she was a kid out for a little B and E.”
Officer Bob’s mouth turned down at the corners as he looked at her. “Did you break in?”
“No. This is my sister’s place. I used a key.” All of which was technically the truth, even if it didn’t convey what really
happened.
“Good. It’s too damn early for paperwork,” said the officer. “And trouble. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Elise McBride, Ashley’s sister.”
“Ah. You’re the one who called in the missing person’s report.”
“Yes, sir. That’s why I’m here. To find Ashley. I’m hoping you can help.”
In the houses around them, people wakened by the sirens peered out lighted windows.
The officer’s thick chest collapsed on a heavy sigh. “Let’s take this inside, kids. No sense in making a scene on the front
porch.”
Elise stepped back to make room for the officer, grazing Trent’s bare chest with her arm. The heat from his skin soaked into
her, and until now, she hadn’t realized she was cold. Stupid nerves.
He moved out of her way, taking all that warmth with him, and the officer shut the door behind them.
“Why’s it so dark in here?” he asked.
“A fuse blew,” said Trent. “Happens all the time. I’ll take care of it.” He crossed the room like he lived here, opened a
door and went downstairs.
Elise briefly wondered just how close he’d been to Ashley that he knew her fuses blew often, and exactly where to go to fix
them. Her sister told her about all her boyfriends—in great detail, much to Elise’s dismay. In all those breathless ramblings,
Ashley hadn’t mentioned Trent as anything more than Hot Lawn Guy.
“So, Ms. McBride. How ’bout you tell me why you showed up here at three in the morning?”
Elise shrugged. “I got off the plane in Chicago, rented a car and drove here. It took as long as it took.”
“Where’d you come in from?”
The power came back on, bathing them in light. From the kitchen, an appliance beeped, begging for attention. The ceiling fan
in the living room started spinning in a lazy circle.
Elise blinked as her eyes adjusted. “Hong Kong.”
His bushy brows lifted. “That’s a long way off. Do you live there?”
She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in one of the windows, and the sight of her frizzing bun made her cringe. She’d
been traveling for hours, and every one of them showed in her hair.
Elise worked the hairpins out of the knotted mess of curls and untangled them with her fingers. “Sometimes. I’m a reporter.
I was working on a story.”
As soon as the word reporter came out of her mouth, Officer Bob flinched. “You’re not going to be stirring up any trouble here, are you?”
Elise knew exactly what he meant, but she pretended ignorance. “Trouble? What do you mean?”
“I mean you starting stories about women disappearing from Haven.”
“A woman has disappeared. I’d say that’s newsworthy, wouldn’t you?” He didn’t have to know that wasn’t the kind of story
she usually covered—that her work was mostly about the changes in foreign economy with a bit of fun stuff thrown in on the
side, just to keep her interested, even if it didn’t pay the bills. Let him think that his town’s dirty laundry was going
to be aired for the world to see. Maybe it would get him to cooperate.
“We don’t know she’s disappeared,” said Trent from the top of the stairway. “Ashley has a tendency to run off for days at
a time.”
Elise turned her head to give him hell for talking about her sister in such a flippant way, but the words stuck in her throat.
Hot Lawn Guy was more than just hot. He was scalding.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but for him, covering up should have been a crime. Golden skin stretched tight over delicious slabs
of muscles. His shoulders were wide and heavy, his arms thick and long. The ridges in his stomach stood out every time he
breathed. But the beautiful part was that none of that was a show. He hadn’t removed his body hair or oiled himself up, or
sprayed on a tan. He wasn’t coiffed or groomed. In fact, he was in desperate need of a haircut.
He wasn’t trying to look good. He just did.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” muttered the cop. “Would you put on a damn shirt? You make the rest of us mere mortals look bad.”
“In a minute,” said Trent, staring at Elise. His eyes slid over her from top to bottom and back again, making her wish for
a hairbrush. “I think the lady here was about to say something.”
Yes, she was. Elise couldn’t remember what it was, so she ripped her eyes away and tried to concentrate.
“Trent’s right, Ms. McBride. We had a couple of officers check things out when you reported her missing. They questioned the
neighbors and everyone said the same thing. She goes away for days at a time. It’s not unusual.”
“Yes, but she never goes this long without phoning me.”
“Maybe her phone broke,” said Trent. “Maybe she’s low on minutes and doesn’t want to pay the overages.”
Elise refused to let his good looks intimidate her. She did, however, keep her eyes fixed on his face. It didn’t help much,
since the man’s face was a compilation of fascinating masculine angles, and nearly as attractive as the rest of him, but she
managed to maintain her focus. “Ashley can’t go a day without talking to me. She tells me everything. She would have borrowed
a phone, or called collect from a pay phone—something—if she was okay. I’m telling you that this is not like her. It may appear
to be normal to her neighbors, but it’s not. If it was, I wouldn’t have abandoned the job I was on and flown halfway around
the world to find out what’s wrong.”
Trent’s blue eyes flickered with interest. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Friday afternoon.”
“Trent,” said Officer Bob in a warning tone. “If you want to investigate this, you know there’s always a job waiting for you,
but so long as you’re not wearing a badge, I want y. . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Love You to Death
Shannon K. Butcher
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