Book 2 in the Classic Car Romance Series
Her baby clock is ticking. His Career is on the line. A zombie car turns up in the Berlin’s old garage and the bodies are piling up.
With Nick and Maddie getting married and a baby on the way, all signs point to Luke Berlin finally stepping up take over the family estate. But when his boss unexpectedly drops out of the race for District Attorney, Assistant DA Luke is thrilled to be the chosen replacement candidate—the next logical step in his rising political career. Who’s got time to plan a wedding?
But for 30-year-old caregiver-to-the-rich-and-famous, Gina McBain, Luke putting off their plans to marry until after the election is the last straw. After seven years of broken promises, it’s clear Luke will never be her happily ever after. Election or no, she boots him out of her condo for the last time, buys her dream ‘53 Blue Flame Six, and joins the local classic Corvette club.
Hands full with personal appearances and election hoopla, Luke pulls it together, sleeping on his office couch because, why get an apartment in town? Gina will be the first to cave; she always does.
It’s a classic lover’s battle of wills until one of Gina’s clients dies under her care, and two of her close, car club friends wind up roadkill on the infamous Hwy 154. Is Gina involved in some sick bastard’s sinister plot? Could she be the next target? Is Luke even paying attention?
If you crave romantic suspense and big “found families” to wrap your arms around, jump into Luke and Gina’s world as they unravel a twenty-year-old mystery, and claim their happily ever after. Grab One of a Kind now!
Inspiration for One of a Kind
Some stories never die. The second in this series, One of a Kind, was inspired by Hollywood myths surrounding James Dean’s “death car”, The Little Bastard, a sexy 1955 Porsche Spyder.
HERE’S AN EXCERPT FROM ONE OF A KIND:
NOTE: ADULT LANGUAGE, GRAPHIC
Prologue: December, 1995
A loud, arcing boom brings him right out of sleep. Lights flicker and the television screen goes dark.
Just his luck, the night he picks to call on an old friend in his fancy house, the power goes out. It’s the first real sleep he’s had since getting out of a frickin’ cell. Now he’s wide awake.
He listens. No sound from upstairs. He isn’t surprised. They’d drunk enough scotch this evening to float a battleship. Fine scotch too. Best he’s ever had. But that’s his host. Always the best of everything.
He slips on his pea coat and goes outside, because, for the first time in six months, he can. The rain has given up for the moment, heavy clouds have lifted just enough to see lights twinkle in the distance. There is no way of telling if the outage has affected any neighbors. There are no neighbors within screaming distance.
He fishes a flashlight out from under the driver’s seat of his old mini truck, and thumbs the switch, hopefully. Hallelujah. A bright beam makes everything outside its narrow cone disappear.
He exhales, the hairs on the back of his neck raise; a physical sign he’s learned to heed.
He whirls around.
Nothing.
Okay.
Okay.
His pupils stretch wide, adjusting to the night.
And then he hears it, a low moan. A cat, maybe, encountering a rival? No. The sound is darker, more primal. Like an animal injured on the road.
Or a human.
He eases forward, stopping just before the curve leading away from the mansion to glance over his shoulder. On the crest of the hill the big house squats like a pale, square face. Its dark portico, a gaping mouth, reminds him of that painting The Scream. He squeezes his eyes shut against a visceral memory: viscous rivers of red edging the tiles on their bathroom floor, his mother’s eyes staring at the ceiling.
Another moan, louder this time, drags him out of his past, one foot in front of the other, down the long driveway, until his light shines on the source of the noise.
A white Corvette, run up against the light pole across the road, the engine idling out of gear.
Lightning freezes a glimpse of the crash in movie-screen brilliance. His heart slams into his chest. His blood surges.
Jesus. There is a God after all.
Not just any old Corvette.
His.