Echoes by Laura K. Curtis is the first romantic suspense in the Harp Security series, in which a travel writer's Caribbean trip to investigate her past collides with the disappearance of a resort owner who looks enough like her to be a sister (available March 17, 2015).
A single photo of herself as an infant on a beach, taken before the date on her birth certificate, throws everything Calliope Pearson knows about herself into question. Hoping to find answers, she takes advantage of her job as a travel writer to make a reservation at the Caribbean island resort in the picture.
Resort security chief Mac Brody distrusts Callie on sight. After all, she looks exactly like his deceitful missing wife, Nikki, who owns half the resort. But when Nikki’s found dead, Mac's facing murder charges, and he’s sure that Callie must hold the key to proving his innocence.
The deeper Callie and Mac dive into the mystery of her past, the more bodies surface. And they’ll have to learn to trust each other, or become victims of a dark danger neither could've imagined….
St. Martin, French West Indies
Nicole Lewis Brody made a beautiful corpse. But then, being long on looks and short on life came with her genes. Her killer chuckled at his own wit even as he forced down the faint acid flavor of panic rising to the back of his throat. He hadn’t planned to kill her just yet. The minute she’d started making noises about trying to find her biological father the end had been inevitable, but he’d hoped to be able to finish her off in a manner that would keep the police out of it, as he had with her mother.
Nikki liked drugs and parties, and he didn’t want to pollute her system more than she’d managed on her own, so an overdose was out of the question. He’d made mistakes early on, corrupted the bodies of his first attempts, and lost any chance of benefit. And he couldn’t kill her from a distance; he’d learned that from earlier attempts as well. He’d had a few ideas about how to proceed, so he’d laid a solid foundation, thank Father in heaven, but he hadn’t settled on a perfect method yet.
And then she’d found a picture of that damned writer, Calliope Pearson, and the situation had become urgent. Panic threatened once more, and he pushed it away. Once complete, he’d never again have to endure that horrible pressure, as if some alien being were eating through his chest while compressing his head. His doctor could stop warning him about acid reflux, too, because he’d be too strong to worry. Even now, in his imperfect state and under threat of discovery, he had come up with a new plan. He could keep this one on ice until he could take what he needed. He’d been in her basement plenty of times, and admired her chest freezer, but he couldn’t very well leave her in her own home. Too many variables, too much potential for disaster. Plus, tonight he was free to move her, and that might not be the case again for some time.
He duct-taped her ankles together and wrapped them in a cashmere stole from her closet. He was going to have to drag her down the hall, and he didn’t want to leave scuff marks on the polished wooden floors. There could be no signs of struggle should the gendarmes choose to visit.