Message From The Author

Author's Message

More than ten years ago, my Harlequin Intrigue 43 Light Street series launched with three memorable books. Now Ive written another miniseries under the Light Street Logo: Mine To Keep. Three stories of romance, passion and suspense, with a mystery that twists and turns through all three books.

For me, researching is one of the dividends of writing. Ive ridden in a hot air balloon, submerged in a submarine, practiced at a shooting range, tramped though the Guatemalan jungle, visited the F.B.I. Academy of Quantico, Virginia, and grilled cops on correct police procedure.

For THE MAN FROM TEXAS, the first book in my new series, I crossed the Rio Grande River in a rowboatwondering all the while if the Border Patrol was going to swoop down and arrest me. On the other side of the river was
a dusty little town called Santa Helenawhere I sat in an open-air cafi, changing my plot so I could have Luke Pritchard and Hannah Dawson sneak into Mexico.

The border crossing was only one of the memorable experiences on my trip to southwest Texas, so I could tell Luke Pritchards story. Another was looking at six-thousand-year-old cave paintings in Seminole Canyon south of Del Rio.

But getting the background right was just thatbackground. Luke and Hannah are the focus of the story. Their deep attraction for each other. Their mistrust. And their struggle to work out their relationship against a backdrop of escalating danger and suspense.

Please visit my website at
If you wish to be kept up-to-date with the latest titles of forthcoming Light Street books, please send me a legal size SASE to at P.O. Box 1233, Columbia, MD 21044-0233. Happy reading!


It was an indecent hour of the evening, at least as far as Hannah Dawson was concerned. Too early for sleep. And too late to save her immortal soul.

The Baltimore Police Department had assured her that her soul was in no danger. Their seal of approval didnt change her feelingsnot when eternal truths had been reduced to fuzzy concepts with no weight or substance.

So she sat in The Last Chance Bar, nursing the evenings second glass of white wine and wishing she could drown her guilt in drink. The problem was, she hated the effects of alcohol on her brain, which meant she never got very far in the drowning process.

She should go home, she told herself. But she knew the minute she stepped inside her Federal Hill apartment, the walls would start closing in. Leaning back in her chair, she pretended deep interest in her wine while she catalogued the other patronsas if she were mentally getting ready to stick them in a lineup.

Shed given many of them pet names. Straw flower, the woman with the dry yellow hair who left with a different guy every evening. Paperback Reader, the man who downed three shots of bourbonthen sat in a corner pretending to read a paperback novel.

And the new guy: The Outlaw. Hed been here for the past three nights, his rangy body slouched behind a table as he slowly sipped a beer. He looked out of place in the barin an east coast city like Baltimore, actually. Riding across the range on a horse was more like itwith a posse in hot pursuit. Not because he was wearing western clothing. His brilliant white running shoes, stiff jeans and black tee shirt made him look like a man who had walked into a mall and purchased a casual wardrobe. But the weathered, sunburned look of his face, the way he moved, and the hard muscles below the recently purchased clothing suggested hed spend his time outside. And something about his watchful eyes made her think he could be on the run. From the law? Or was he like herrunning from himself?

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