When Katya “Kat” Lombardo wakes up in the den of her partner’s palatial home with a gun in her hand and his dead body on the floor beside her, she knows she’s in big trouble. She has no recollection of the events leading up to this, or how or why she has this gun. She calls on the only person she feels she can trust, Zak Delaney, her former lover who she broke with after a bitter argument. But can Zak put aside his bitterness to help her? As she runs from the people trying to kill her, people who destroy her home, and her business and definitely want to destroy her, will the chemistry still there between them sizzle to the surface or will it explode and demolish them both?
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Kat Lombardo wanted to open her eyes but the lids felt coated in cement. Immovable. She shifted her head, only to discover a percussion orchestra had taken up residence and a huge bubble of nausea was stuck in her throat. Exerting a superhuman effort, she tried lifting her eyelids again, but her vision was blurry, everything swimming as if she were underwater. The only shape she could distinguish was the outline of the tall window in the opposite wall, with the blackness of the night shimmering like waves.
Oh, god. What’s wrong with me? And where the hell am I?
The room had a vaguely familiar feel to it, but her head was pounding so heavily she couldn’t properly focus her eyes. She blinked once. Twice. Very slowly the image of the room began to sharpen and she looked slowly around.
Okay. She was in the paneled den in her partner, Nate Dunning’s, very palatial home, wearing a jeweled cocktail dress.
Cocktail dress? Had there been a party? And where were her shoes?
And where the hell were her shoes?
Aware now that she was lying on a couch, she turned her head to the side carefully and with great difficulty, then scanned the room. Familiar enough, considering the number of times she’d been here. Nothing unusual. Then, shock sliced through her like a steel blade. She felt bile rising at the back of her throat and had to force back the nausea at the sight of Nate Dunning’s tall, muscular body lying on the floor. Dressed in a tailored shirt with an entwined ND on the breast pocket and black boot cut slacks, no jacket or tie, the pristine white of his shirt was covered with blood. And he wasn’t moving.
Kat closed her eyes, fighting back the queasiness that surged forward again and waited for the dizziness to settle. Her skin felt clammy and when she lifted a hand to wipe her forehead, she realized she was holding something.
She didn’t even own a gun, so where had this one come from? She stared at it stupidly.