{"product_id":"cold-truth-isbn-9780345476654","title":"Cold Truth","description":"\u003cb\u003eFrom \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author Mariah Stewart comes a novel of sexy romantic suspense for fans of Nora Roberts, Catherine Coulter, and Karen Robards.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTRUTH HAS DEADLY CONSEQUENCES\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Twenty-six years ago, even before a series of brutal  murders rocked the idyllic town of Bowers Inlet, Cassie Burke lost her parents, her  sister, and nearly her own life to a transient befriended by her father. Back then,  Cassie was a scared kid–now she’s a homicide cop. Back then, the suspect was caught  and convicted–he died in prison. But now the killing has started again. And all signs  indicate that the Bayside Strangler has come back for more.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e With too many victims  and too few suspects, Cassie has her hands full investigating the case, while working  through the old trauma it has brought to the surface. Luckily, FBI agent Rick Cisco  is dispatched to lend support. Together, Cassie and Rick must uncover the link between  the dark past and the dangerous present to bring this small town’s long nightmare  to an end. If they fail, an elusive fiend will slip back into the shadows . . . to  watch and wait–and kill another day.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e In matters of crime, there are many versions  of the truth.Mariah Stewart is the bestselling author of numerous novels and several novellas. A RITA finalist for romantic suspense, she is the recipient of the Award of Excellence for contemporary romance, a RIO (Reviewers International Organization) Award honoring excellence in women’s fiction, and a Reviewers’ Choice Award from Romantic Times magazine. A three-time recipient of the Golden Leaf Award and a Lifetime Achievement Award winner from the New Jersey Romance Writers, she has been inducted into their Hall of Fame. A native of Hightstown, New Jersey, she lives with her husband, two daughters, and two rambunctious golden retrievers amid the rolling hills of Chester County, Pennsylvania. She is a member of the Valley Forge Romance Writers, the New Jersey Romance Writers, and the Romance Writers of America.One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e      The early-morning fog had yet to be burned off by a sun still snoozing  behind low-lying clouds, but the gulls were already circling over the bay  and the shorebirds had begun to forage along the waterline. Although  almost summer, the air still bore a bit of a chill, and the remnants of a  cool spring night hung in the damp air. Waves rolled gently onto the  beach, tiny swells outlined with white foam that left damp impressions on  the pale yellow sand. Overhead, a gull screamed at the intruder who  crested the top of the dune.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Oh, shut up.” The woman barely glanced at the ornery bird that swooped  over her head and continued to rain gull curses down upon her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Detective Cassandra Burke stood with her hands on her hips, and through  the fog sought the outline of the Barnegat Lighthouse across the bay.  She’d just ended her fourth night of surveillance of a motel where  suspected drug sales were being conducted, and she was both exhausted from  lack of sleep and stiff from inactivity. She toed off her shoes and left  them in the sand, then set off for the marina a mile down the beach. She’d  walk the kinks out, then run back. Two miles wasn’t really long enough,  but it was the best she could do this morning. Maybe she’d feel better.  Maybe not. But she had a meeting at eight, and needed to sandwich in a  little exercise, then a little breakfast, before she headed to the police  station.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The sand on the bay beach was coarser than that on the ocean side, and  allowed a more solid footing. She walked briskly, sidestepping the spiny  helmets of the dead and dying horseshoe crabs that had washed up onshore  overnight and had been unable to crawl back before the tide went out. When  she reached the inlet, she paused long enough to watch a few large power  boats—charters, mostly—as they set out to sea with their passengers, sport  fishermen who had paid for the privilege of casting their lines into the  Atlantic with hopes of snagging a few feisty blues before the sun set  later that day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She waved to the captain of the Normandy Maid as it passed, a half-dozen  or so eager fishermen on deck, their baseball caps shielding their faces  from the sun that would soon enough grace them with its presence, their  arms and noses slick with SPF 35. It wasn’t much of a living, running a  charter, but for those who’d never done much else, it was a way of life, a  life she knew well. Her father had captained his own boat, the Jenny B,  named after her mother. He’d never made much money, but he loved to go to  work every day. In the off-season, he ran the only boat storage facility  in Bowers Inlet, but his life was out on the water. Few days passed that  didn’t find Cass here, at the point where the bay eased into the ocean,  watching the boats head out, and remembering. As a very little child,  she’d watched from her mother’s arms as her father’s boat chugged by.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Wave to Daddy, Cassie,” her mother would say. “See him there, on the  deck? Wave to Daddy, honey . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    And Cass would wave wildly. Most days, her father would salute as he  passed, touching just his right index finger to the brim of his hat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A few years later, Cass stood on the rocks nearest the water, holding  tightly to her little sister’s hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Wave to Daddy, Trish,” she’d say. “Wave to   Daddy . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The alarm on her watch buzzed, bringing her back to the present. She  turned away from the inlet and started back down the beach, running so  fast her muscles barely had time to burn before she reached the spot where  she’d left her shoes. If she was going to grab something to eat before her  meeting, she’d have to leave now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She wanted real food. Through the wee hours of the night, she’d had enough  coffee to keep her wired for several days, while Jeff Spencer, the only  other detective on the town’s small police force, had packed away enough  cream donuts to make her sick just to watch. Eggs and sausage and toast  should do it, she was thinking as she slipped into her shoes. And orange  juice. Her stomach rumbling, she headed back to her car. If she drove fast  enough, she might even have time for a short stack of pancakes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Detective Burke?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yes?” Cassie paused midway across the lobby of the new police station.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “The lady at the desk there . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Sergeant Carter.” Emphasis on sergeant.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Right. Sergeant Carter. She said you were working on my son’s case . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Your son is . . . ?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Derrick Mills.” He spoke the name softly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Yes. Derrick. Yes, I’m working on that case.” Cassie swallowed back a  sigh. Derrick Mills was one of five kids arrested for selling drugs at the  regional high school three weeks ago. She wasn’t blind to the father’s  pain and embarrassment and wished she could ease it somehow, even as she  knew she could not.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I was wondering what we had to do, you know, to get the charges dropped.  He’s a good kid, Detective. Top athlete, good student. He’s got a  scholarship to play baseball in college next year.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I’m sorry, Mr. Mills. I really am. But Derrick should have thought about  that scholarship before he offered to sell cocaine to Officer Connors.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Detective Burke—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Please, Mr. Mills. Save your breath. I’ve made my report and my  recommendations, and they stand. There’s nothing I can do. Now, if you  want to talk to the county DA’s office, you go right ahead and make that  call.   But right now, I’m late for a meeting. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “You know, I expected more from Bob Burke’s girl.” His voice had dropped  to a low growl.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Don’t even go there.” She shook her head and walked past him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Cass made an effort to not glance back at the angry father while she  fought down her own anger. It wasn’t the first time someone had invoked  her father’s name, as if somehow having known him entitled them to special  favors from her. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. It just flat-out  pissed her off every time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The meeting had been changed from the large conference room to a small  room adjacent to the chief’s office.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Denver must have whittled down the guest list,” Cass said as she took a  seat across the table from Jeff Spencer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “So far, it’s you and me, Burke.” Jeff rattled a bag in her direction.  “Hey, there’s one last strawberry cream here. I believe it’s got your name  on it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Jesus, how can you eat that crap all the time?” Grimacing, she turned her  head away from the bag with the donut rolling around in it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’t understand that sugar phobia of yours.” Spencer shook his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I don’t understand why you’re not so wired from all that sugar that  you’re buzzing around the room like a popped balloon.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Ah, you’re both here. Good. Good.” Chief of Police Craig Denver stuck his  head through the door that led from his office. “Let me grab my coffee . .  .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Denver disappeared momentarily, then was back in a flash with his  oversized mug and a manila file. He took a seat at the head of the table  and busied himself with a napkin and a coaster and his glasses, as if  postponing whatever it was he had brought them here to discuss.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I hate this part of the job,” he sighed. “You both know that the  administrative details of this job drive me crazy. Paperwork, reports,  statistics . . . waste of my time. But you don’t get to pick and choose,  not in this job, not in any.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Cass bit back a grin. She’d heard this same spiel right about this time  last year. And the year before, and the year before. She suspected that  the intro was for Spencer’s sake. He’d only been with the department for a  few months.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Let me guess. The insurance company asked for an updated training manual  again,” she deadpanned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Denver nodded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Updated and expanded.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “And you want one of us to volunteer to sit down with Phyl and proofread  the pages before she sends them in.” Cass toyed with a fingernail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “That about sums it up.” Denver smiled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “It’s Spencer’s turn.” Cass twirled her pen. “I did all the proofing last  year. And the year before.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Then you have the experience, don’t you?” Spencer’s eyes narrowed. His  wife had already issued an ultimatum about him spending too many of his  off-duty hours on department business and he’d sworn he’d make an effort  to spend more time with her and their new baby, and less time working.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Fair is fair, Spencer, and I—”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Phyllis Lannick, the chief’s secretary, poked her head in the doorway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but Officer Helms is on the phone and he says  it’s an emergency. He sounds rattled.” She pointed to the phone on the  small table behind him. “Line two.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Denver raised an eyebrow as he reached for the phone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Emergency, Helms? Hey, hey. Slow down. Take a deep breath and start over  . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The chief went silent then, listening. The color drained from his face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “I have Burke and Spencer right here. They’re on their way. Goes without  saying that no one touches anything until the scene has been processed.  Keep everyone out of the area until I can get the county CSI out there.”  He hung up and turned to his two detectives.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Before either could ask, he said, “The manual will have to wait. They just  found a body out near Wilson’s Creek.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “A body?” Cassie asked as if she’d not heard correctly. “Where along the  creek?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Right outside of town, near Marsh Road. Just look for the cars.  Apparently all three of our patrol cars and a couple of emergency vehicles  are already there, parked along the roadside before the bridge. You won’t  be able to miss them. Try to keep everyone in line until the county people  arrive. I’ll meet you there.” He shoved his chair out from the table,  muttering, “Just what we need, a homicide right as the season opens.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “Homicide?” Cass paused on her way to the door and turned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    “That’s Helms’s take on it. See if he’s right . . .”Nationally bestselling author of Dead End She slipped through a killer's fingers. But evil just wouldn't let go.","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303445713125,"sku":"NP9780345476654","price":7.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345476654.jpg?v=1767723897","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/cold-truth-isbn-9780345476654","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}