"It had all of the hallmarks of romance that I've come to expect (and love) and so, so much more! I am a fan. I almost didn't buy, but some greater force made me. lol I'm so very glad it did."
Don’t Go is a dark romantic suspense that takes place predominantly in Reno. Sam is a Washoe Sheriff detective with a background of sexual abuse. Now she works in teen chatrooms to catch sexual predators.
A serial killer is targeting blonde teen girls in chatroms and one of the girls from Sam’s chatrooms is now missing.
Devlin is a Reno cop who like undercover work and doesn’t do missing kids – except they’re short staffed and he’s assigned a missing girl. He doesn’t believe in relationships and likes one night stands. Now he’s stuck working a case with a computer smart detective who obviously doesn’t do one night stands and has no use for Reno police.
Reluctantly, they must work together to solve this case. Can they resolve their personal issues and bring down a serial killer?
She leaned back in her chair. Her forehead squeezed against her skull, shooting barbs of pain to her eyes. The chocolate hadn’t helped the stress.
“How did I miss this one?” She punched her fist into her palm. Insidious memories crept from the dark corners of her subconscious, spun a cocoon around her and dragged her back into the dark, tangled web of her own past.
The sickening sweet smell of overpowering aftershave snaked up her nostrils; fat, sweaty palms grasped at her thighs. She knew what was going to happen. She was unable to scream, unable to escape…no one to help her.
The images crashed over her, scattering years of counseling like broken shells on a beach, covering her soul with the spray of desperation and anger.
Sam scrubbed at a tear drifting down her cheek, and forced the images back into the darkness, back into the locked box.
It’s not about me. It’s about this girl and another predator creep.
With clenched fists she white-knuckled the arms of the chair to keep from throwing the damn computer against the wall.
“Find anything?” Kerensa strolled back into the computer room, a partially eaten sugar donut in her fingers. A faint white trail drifted behind her. “They got a whole box of these out there if you want to grab one before the other detectives get back and scarf them all.”
“Damn it! I should have seen it coming. Where the hell are they?” Sam kicked her chair away from the computer and stood. “No thanks. Those things can kill you. I’d have to work out an extra hour tonight.”
“Hey, they’re no worse than that stash of chocolate you hide in your bottom drawer.”
“A girl has to have something to combat the frustration. Besides, dark chocolate is good for you.”
“Right, if you say so. You know, girlfriend, you need to learn to relax, enjoy life, and find a man who likes his woman well-padded.” Kerensa patted the green uniform shirt stretched across her protruding belly. A safety pin protected a button from popping off.
“Like Tim?” Sam allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. “You’re lucky. Chocolate is my replacement for men. Chocolate won’t screw with me.”
“Too bad, ’cause being a natural blonde with a great bod, you could probably get any man you wanted.”
“Yeah, right.” Sam shook her head and walked toward the door. “I’m taking a break, but not to get donuts. I need to think.”
“Take your time, girl. Hey, if there’s any of those donuts left, bring one back for me, will ya?”
Sam nodded. She rubbed her temples with her fingers, trying to exorcise the images of what the girl would go through if she met that damn creep. A sigh slithered out into the squad room as she headed toward the pot holding the day-old coffee.
“You okay?” Pete Sandusky nodded in her direction.
The acrid, slightly burnt odor of chicory and rancid coffee beans made her wrinkle her nose before she even reached the coffee maker.
She shook her head, poured a half cup of the sludge, and rested her butt against the table beside the box of sugar donuts. “No. Not really.”
With her mug clutched in both hands, she stared across at Pete. He was a good cop. He’d been there about twenty years and looked everyday of it. Gray fringe around a shiny pate; round, gold-rimmed glasses perched on a short, flat, boxer-type nose, and an inner tube that had settled around his waist under the dark green uniform.
“It’s a feeling I’ve got.” After a quick sip of the disgusting liquid she stuck out her tongue. “Yech. Why doesn’t someone throw this crap out?”
Pete shrugged. “What doesn’t feel right?”