Got You

Sisterhood can be fatal.

Leah has never been close to her younger half-sister, but she's not surprised to get a frantic phone call late at night, asking for a ride. Amanda's life has always been a snarled mess of bad choices and boyfriends, and it's common for her to resurface mid-crisis.

But this time is different. Amanda is adamant about getting to the neighboring town of Belmont but won't say why-only that her five-year-old son is in danger. But Amanda doesn't have any kids.

Before Leah can get answers, Amanda runs into the road and is killed by a passing car.

In the days that follow, Leah convinces herself that Amanda was confused that night, especially after the coroner finds hallucinogenic drugs in her bloodstream. But that doesn't explain the nameless boy at Amanda's visitation. Or the middle of the night phone calls with no one on the other end. Or the unshakable feeling of being watched.

Someone blames Leah for Amanda's death.

And that someone wants Leah dead.

"Just when you think you have it figured out, BAM!"-The Avid Reader
"Therme is the master of the curveball"-Rachael's Thoughts
"Keeps the reader on their toes"-Lisa Reads
"Hooked from the start"-Books With Emily
"I was left stunned"-B for Book Review
"Taut and exciting"-Suze Reviews

Leah slowed her step as she approached her apartment. Two things had been laid at her door. The first was a bouquet of flowers in cellophane paper-the cheap kind you'd grab from a gas station or grocery store. The second was a red gift bag. No card; only white tissue paper poking out from the top.

She bent for a closer look and found a slip of paper taped to the bouquet. SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS was handwritten in neat capital letters.

They had to be from Neil.

She shot a glance down the hallway, half expecting him to materialize. He'd already shared his condolences twice, so why leave a gift with the flowers? Sorry your half-sister died; here's a box of chocolates to ease the pain? Leah didn't want to believe he'd resort to using Amanda's death as a way back into her life, but she didn't really know his character. A few dinner dates wasn't enough time to know anyone.

Against her better judgment, she spread apart the tissue paper and looked into the bag. It was a cloth doll, maybe eight inches in length, bent in half at the waist. Leah lifted it out and dropped it with a gasp.

Someone had drawn two black X's across the doll's eyes. Even worse, a single word had been written at the corner of doll's mouth.

SPLAT
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