Every night Detective Devan Burke drives through the Naughty Latte espresso bar. Bikini barista, Luci Lombart, gives him what he wants, coffee poured into a rich fantasy life. Her innocent smile reminds him of a time before he used a cane to walk. When her latte stand is robbed, the suspect escapes but takes her purse with her personal info with him. Devan fears he may come after Luci and complete the interrupted attack.
Luci is careful not to let anyone get too close, especially not the handsome detective in a violent profession. But Luci's drawn to Devan, a wounded soul with a big heart. Committed to always be self-reliant, to never be under anyone's control, Luci is determined to finish her medical degree with or without her barista job. With her holistic training, is she the one who can heal Devan inside and out?
Excerpt:Shot in the Dark was a national RWA contest winner in Emerald City, Cleveland and Toronto writing contests and has hit #1 in Romantic Suspense on Amazon.
He’d planned to order something different. Breaking out of the box. But who the hell was he kidding? He was a box kind of guy. “Yeah, fine. Triple-shot latte, extra hot, two packs of sugar.”
“You order the same thing every night. Hot and sweet, just like you. I got it, handsome.” She turned toward the espresso machine and thumped the grounds into the disposal, then flipped on the grinder to pulverize the beans for his drink. He could just see the waistband of her pink knit shorts. It made him wish he had a pick-up truck. The view would be much better.
Handsome. Right. Hot and sweet. Bullshit.
Women had once referred to his ruddy, shadowy looks as handsome. Now, he knew he looked like he felt— crap. His dark eyes burned and were always red-rimmed. His dreams wouldn’t let him sleep more than a few hours at a time. That’s why he’d gone into work two hours early, and then decided to call it a night ten minutes before eight. He couldn’t sleep. No woman would want to screw him. What else was there to do other than push more paper around his desk?
He glanced at the cane propped against the front seat, frowned, and knocked it to the floor. The doctors told him his rehab would go smoother if he actually showed up at physical therapy on a regular basis. He’d tried it for a while, but the pain was still there, and the doctors couldn’t tell him why. He’d stick with the whiskey. At least he knew that would work to ease the pain.
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