By Lori Armstrong
The frigid iciness months are powerful sluggish within the PI biz for Julie Collins and her associate, Kevin Wells—until the duo is employed through a tender lady to enquire difficulties at her grandfather’s assisted residing facility, the place they stumble upon lax protection, unqualified healthcare body of workers, and a shady senior volunteer association. Julie slightly has time to delve deeper into the confusing case earlier than she reluctantly unearths herself in an remoted livestock safeguard at the Collins ranch together with her father in the course of a raging snow fall. there isn't any get away from her father or from the biting chilly and sour thoughts. A lacking employed ranch hand discovered lifeless at the ranch purely complicates issues extra. In attempting to discover the reality concerning the man'’s dying, Julie is compelled to combat with concerns that make her query outdated wounds and new relatives loyalties. Kevin'’s reckless involvement with their new consumer checks the limits of professionalism, and Julie’'s courting with Tony Martinez is strained, as he bargains with strength struggles in the Hombres association, placing them either in jeopardy. while the our bodies and the snow pile up, Julie turns out at odds with all people, leaving her to wonder whether she’s being blinded to the chilly, difficult truths in her lifestyles via love . . . or via hate.
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Extra resources for Snow Blind (Julie Collins Series #4)
Not a good enough answer. ” Or all he would tell me. “Is that why you barged in here? ” 54 “Fine. I’ll sleep with the goddamn thing if you’ll stop nagging me about it. ” I sidestepped him and opened the refrigerator. “Am I cooking dinner for two? ” Martinez didn’t move. I felt his searing gaze on my neck as I studied the humble contents inside the fridge. ” The unwanted images slammed into my head. I couldn’t pretend the horror in my dreams was a freakish one-time-only nightmare. The faces might change, but the truth didn’t: I’d killed someone.
A chunky woman climbed out, wearing a pink houndstooth checked coat, black slacks, her reddishbrown face visible beneath a rabbit fur trimmed hat. Our tour guide, Dee, walked an elderly man out and met the woman on the sidewalk. He wasn’t the crippled old-timer I’d described. Maybe this was someone else. “That’s him,” Kevin said. ” “You sure? ” “Alzheimer’s is a mental defect, Julie, not physical. ” I skipped the smart-ass retort. Vernon was feisty; he wouldn’t let Luella help him into the car.
I tiptoed across the room. My heart raced; my blood pounded a countertempo to the steady noises echoing back to me. One more step and I’d be at the door. Don’t do it. Walk away. Run away. Ignoring the warning, I placed my cheek against the wooden door trim and peeked inside. Holy shit. Amery was splayed on the conference table, à la 1950s-pinup-girl-style; back and neck arched provocatively, her blouse undone, lacy bra cups dangling by her armpits, her skirt shoved up past her hips, her legs clad in sheer black thigh-highs were wrapped around Kevin’s waist.