Award-winning author DP Denman lives in the soggy splendor of the Pacific Northwest with a rambunctious and exceptionally spoiled furbaby. She divides her time between plotting new stories and working with an array of nonprofits.
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"Somebody's determined to get your attention." Blue paused halfway up the stairs and nodded at the cell in Brady's hand.
"Yeah." Brady closed his fingers around it. "I didn't want to get into it at the convention."
"What's going on?" Blue came back down the steps, watching his expression for clues.
"It's complicated." Brady walked to the living room with its view of the beach.
Blue followed.
"Maybe not complicated," Brady said. "I'm not sure what to call it. 'Good news' is too optimistic."
"We can figure out a label later. What is it?"
Deep brown eyes pinned Blue. Brady's quiet sigh preceded the answer. "Do you remember Pike?"
Blue's gut twisted, his stomach threatening to rid itself of lunch. He hadn't heard that name in years, but the topic of Brady's texts didn't need further explanation.
Pike was a freelance bounty hunter -- and only one person in their lives had a price on his head.
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