One night. One lie.Now someone is going to die.
It’s about Dan.
These three words jolt Brynn Masters back to the big boozy night she spent with her boyfriend, Dan. The very same night his ex, Erin, showed up. Erin says something terrible happened that night. Dan says he never touched her. Trouble is, Erin has evidence to prove it.
Brynn can vouch for him though. She was there that night she can hardly remember, but will never forget. Except, when Brynn pieces together her fractured memories, lost that night at the bottom of a bottle, she faces the horrifying possibility that maybe Dan isn’t completely innocent. Maybe he’s guilty as charged. As Brynn inches closer to the truth, she begins to wonder: Who is the predator? And who is the prey?
Gloria knows. She’s a psychic who turned her back on her ability long ago, after she failed to prevent a terrible tragedy. As her gift floods back to her, can she learn to trust herself again before it’s too late? Or will her painful past hold her back from saving someone’s future . . . and quite possibly their life.
This addictive and suspenseful thriller explores the fault lines between broken memories and shattered trust, and promises to keep you up well past your bedtime.
Keep Me In Sight
by Rachel Blackledge
Publication date: late September 2020
Genres: Adult, Thriller
Saying goodbye to Brynn was like a knife to the heart. The look in her eyes. The feel of her body against mine. I’m not exactly sure that I lied to her. I think about a polygraph test, strapped around my chest, monitoring my heart beat, and I think there’s a good possibility that I would fail.
But lying when I have her best interests at heart doesn’t exactly count, does it? I don’t know. All I know is that I feel wretched inside for what happened that night. What was I thinking?
What I wouldn’t give to rewind that one single night and make it go away. What would I do if I had it to do all over again? I’d tell Erin to leave, of course. And if she sat there with that awful smirk on her face, making my blood boil, I’d take Brynn by the hand and walk straight out of there.
But I didn’t do that. To my eternal regret, I didn’t listen to my knee-jerk instinct that told me to run. I came back from the bar and found them sitting together, glass of wine in hand, talking. Intently. Then they started to laugh.
Brynn, at first, followed by Erin, who brought her hand (I used to call it her claw) down on Brynn’s forearm and squeezed. My hackles rose when I saw that. Then Brynn laughed again and sang that stupid party pooper song and smiled that beautiful smile of hers, and I thought to myself: Relax, man. What could possibly happen?
What did I drink that night? My legs had turned to rubber at one point, I remember. I take pride in my ability to handle booze. But that night . . . what did they put in their gin bottles—jet fuel?
I haven’t been able to eat much since then. Knowing what happened. I carry around that truth with me like a molten piece of lava in my belly. It smolders, day in and day out, burrowing into the folds of my gut, burning small holes into my flesh.
Why did Erin call me? She’s such a nutcase. I wouldn’t be surprised if she called to chat, imagining that we’re best friends now despite everything that had happened between us.
I stood in the kitchen, looking down at my phone, knowing full well that Brynn was watching me. I could feel her gaze bore into me, even if she was staring at my reflection in the windowpane. When I saw Erin’s name on my phone display, I felt my blood pressure drop as if someone had pulled a plug out of my heel. Brynn knew that Erin had called me. Of course she knew.
I find that I’m reminding myself to eat now, to get some gut luggage down there, or else I’ll waste away and lose my strength. Then what will I do? How will I get though my missions? Don’t think about it, man. It was a white lie. You told Brynn the part of the truth that she needed to know, the part she asked about. Did you guys get together? That absolutely never happened.
Good thing she didn’t ask if something else happened, casting her net far and wide. Is that it then? I wonder. Is the truth on a need to know basis? I think so, yes. Yes, if I can swear it will never happen again. On that, I swear on my life.
But Brynn, she can’t know what happened that night. She can never, ever know . . .
Briggs, our squadron leader, sticks his blonde sunburnt head into my bunk compartment. “Your beauty sleep ain’t workin.’ You’re still ugly.”
“I haven’t heard your mom complaining.”
He smirks. “Be ready to move out in twenty, pecker checker.”
And it’s my turn to smirk. “Yes, sir.”
An American ex-pat since 2008, together with her husband, Rachel has sailed over 11,000 nautical miles, crossing the Indian Ocean three times and sinking only once. She hung up her foul weather gear since the birth of her son. And writes thrillers now instead.
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