Trapped in a blizzard. Hunted by a killer!
Tyler McCall made a mistake that cost him his job, his freedom and everything he’d worked for.
Now he’s living in the Black Hills of Wyoming, working two jobs and doing his best to not dwell on what he’s lost. Linden Bourne is a no-nonsense FBI agent. His hunt for a killer takes him to Wyoming, he has questions for Tyler. Linden quickly realizes Tyler isn’t a suspect, but the next likely victim.
When he and Tyler they become trapped by a blizzard in an empty inn near Devils Tower they discover they’re not alone. The killer has targeted Tyler and won’t let a little detail like an unexpected visit by the FBI stop what they’ve planned to do. Linden is completely out of his element, but he’s sworn to protect and that’s exactly what he plans to do: protect Tyler at all costs.
This book is part of a series and all the books are consistently in the top 1000 of the LGBTQ mystery category
He grabbed his bag and computer case from the backseat and opened the car door. Sharp, ridiculously cold wind pelted him in the face. Snow assaulted his skin and stuck to every surface. Flakes hit the exposed flesh along his neck, melted, and trickled down his back and along his collarbone.
“Fucking cold.” Linden put his head down, gripped his bags to his chest, and ran to the door of the main lodge. When he grasped the door handle, he was sure it was going to be locked, and he gave a few seconds’ thought to breaking it down. The handle turned easily, though, and the door swung open. “Thank you,” Linden whispered to the door. Even if no one was here, he’d be warm, sheltered, and out of the storm.
“Are you serious?” a husky and familiar male voice said. At the same time, someone grabbed Linden’s arm and dragged him farther into the lodge. The door closed behind him with an audible snap.
Linden shook snow from his head and brushed it off his coat. “Goddamn, it’s cold.”
“Yeah, welcome to Wyoming in the winter. Great place in the summer, but every winter I swear I’m moving, and then I never do. Hey. I know you.” The guy standing beside Linden blushed suddenly. “I started to call you a few times and chickened out. We’re… uh… closed for some renovations. You should have called first.”
Linden blinked at the man—Tyler McCall—then glanced around. Big plastic tarps lay scattered near what looked like a bar, and wooden and metal workbenches and sawhorses littered the area. Some of the tables in the dining room were draped in thick black plastic.
“This isn’t exactly a social visit,” Linden said. He wasn’t in the habit of calling ahead to arrange an appointment when he wanted to question someone.
| Language | Status |
|---|---|
|
French
|
Translation in progress.
|
|
Spanish
|
Already translated.
Translated by Cecilia Cordeiro
|
