Small town newspaper reporter Charlie Trudeau's life changes
when she witnesses a fatal hit and run accident outside the
paper where she works. In the aftermath of the accident,
Charlie realizes she's somehow gained a powerful psychic
ability that allows her to feel traumatic events in people's
lives when she touches them. Not
completely understanding what's going on with her, Charlie's
life is further thrown into turmoil with the arrival of
Chicago police detective Noah Lassiter, who was friend's
with the woman who died and seems to know more about
Charlie's family than even Charlie does.
All Noah wants to know is who killed his friend and
why. The more he tries to investigate though, the less he
finds out. Noah's intense attraction to the gorgeous
reporter isn't helping matters much. He knows
Charlie is withholding information from him. Before he
can convince her to trust him with what she knows, he has to
keep her alive long enough to tell him. With multiple
attempts on Charlie's life, it's looking more and more like
Charlie was the intended victim of the hit and run. Time is
running out and, with so many attempts on her life, the
killer is bound to get it right sooner rather than later.
Joyce Lamb's TRUE VISION is an engaging thrill ride from
start to finish. Starting off with a hit and run, this book
does not let up on the action. From an explosive story that
is bound to kill Charlie's father's newspaper, to a killer
ninja who just can't seem to get the job done, to an abusive
mother with a secret past, you will be flipping these pages
well into the night. The hot cop who can't keep his mind off
Charlie's body, even during the most inappropriate times,
makes the story even more appealing. Though fully
engrossing, there are some things I wish the author had
taken time to explain, like Charlie's mother's past. I'm
guessing the author is going to give us more insight into
that in her next book, which is going to be Charlie's sister
Alex's
story. If you love a fast paced story, a heart stopping
plot, and an engrossing writing style, adding Joyce Lamb to
your auto-buy list is absolutely necessary.
Newspaper reporter Charlie Trudeau is living an ordinary
life, until witnessing a fatal hit-and-run accident gives
her an intense psychic power she has no clue how to handle—
and brings a Chicago police detective to her doorstep...
Noah Lassiter wants nothing more than to find the driver
who killed his good friend. But his only lead is the
beautiful Charlie Trudeau, who gets prickly when he starts
nosing around town. Charlie’s clearly hiding something, but
Noah needs her help unraveling the mystery of his friend’s
death—even if the electricity between them complicates
things.
But the more Noah and Charlie uncover, the more they
realize they’re looking for a desperate killer—and the more
danger they’re in. And if Charlie can’t gain control over
her psychic powers, they may not survive long enough to
explore the full sizzling potential of their desire…
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Reporter Charlie Trudeau stood on the curb and stared at
the stoplight that glowed red in the March sunshine. This
was her life at the moment. Ready to make a difference but
waiting for someone else to give the green light.
The latest story she burned to get into the newspaper,
about elderly residents getting ripped off, had been shot
down before she’d even gotten the words “local car dealer”
out of her mouth. The managing editor had squinted at her
over his rimless glasses and growled, “Don’t even go there.”
So much for journalists being the public watchdog. The
drive for advertising revenue had changed much of the
newspaper industry from a Rottweiler cornering the bad guy
into a fluffy toy poodle. Which meant that using her job to
help the innocent, helpless and screwed wasn’t going to
happen, at least not in Southwest Florida at the Lake
Avalon Gazette.
“Charlotte?”
Charlie looked up, surprised as much by the sound of the
voice as the name. No one but her parents called her that.
She glanced behind herself, checking to make sure the woman
had indeed waved at her. Which was silly, really, to think
that another woman with the same given name would be
standing right behind her.
“Charlotte!”
The woman hurried across the street toward her. The rev of
an engine startled Charlie out of her confusion, and in the
next instant, a sporty white car sped full-bore into the
intersection, and into the smiling pedestrian. Charlie
lurched forward a step, watching in stunned horror as the
woman’s body pitched across the car’s hood, struck the
windshield with a horrible thud and flew over the tan
ragtop. The car screeched off while the woman’s body
tumbled wildly across the pavement before coming to a
motionless rest, face up, in the middle of the street.
Charlie tore across the asphalt, fumbling for her cell
phone to call 911. She dropped to her knees beside the
sprawled pedestrian, the phone pressed to her ear. Come on,
come on, answer.
Blood trickled from the corner of the woman’s mouth, and
the side of her face was scraped raw. Who knew what other
injuries she’d sustained? But, thank God, she was breathing.
“Hang on,” Charlie told her, grasping her right hand and
gently squeezing to let her know she wasn’t alone. “I’m
calling for help.”
“911 emergency,” a man with a deep voice said in her ear.
She struggled for calm. Don’t die. Please, don’t die. “I’m
at the, uh, the, uh … the intersection of Palm and Main.
Behind the newspaper. A woman’s been hit by a car.”
“I’m dispatching emergency vehicles. I’ll be back with you
in less than a minute.”
“Please hurry.”
The line went silent, and Charlie stared down at the
injured woman, not knowing what to do. Should she run to
the paper for more immediate help? But, no, she couldn’t
leave her unprotected. She could get hit by another car.
And Charlie knew that moving an injured person could cause
more damage, so she stayed where she was, the heat from the
asphalt leaching through the knees of her khakis, the sun
on the back of her neck.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, not knowing whether the woman
could hear her but hoping. “Help is coming. Just hold on.”
She looked up, expecting to see other witnesses or perhaps
the car’s driver fretting about whether he or she had just
killed someone. But the area was deserted.
Hearing a small gasp, Charlie glanced down. Her racing
heart jammed into her throat when she saw the pedestrian’s
light brown eyes keenly focused on her face, as though she
were counting on Charlie to save her.
“Help is on the way,” Charlie said, tightening her fingers
around the woman’s limp hand. “Just keep breathing for me,
okay? Nice and easy.”
Her lips moved. She was trying to say something.
Charlie stroked her forehead, trying to soothe her. “Please
try to save your strength.”
A wet, gurgling sound issued from the woman’s throat before
she could force the words out. “It’s up to … you … now.”
She moistened her lips. “Bring them … together … Charlotte.”
Charlie wanted to shush her, to implore her to concentrate
on breathing, on hanging on, but she couldn’t stop herself
from asking, “Bring who together? I don’t know what you
mean. Do we know each other?”
Instead of answering, the pedestrian tightened her hand
around Charlie’s with surprising strength and stared
intently into her eyes.
“Charlotte,” she whispered just before her fingers fell
slack, and it took Charlie a few seconds to realize she was
staring into the face of a dead woman. Oh, God, no.
An engine revved, and Charlie jerked her head up to see a
white car bearing down on her. Before she could do anything
but flinch, she felt crushing impact, felt herself flying
through the air, then the bone-breaking shock of striking
the road and rolling uncontrollably.
And then she was back, kneeling on the pavement, unhurt,
her fingers clamped around the dead woman’s hand.
Sirens began to scream in the distance.
Chapter 2
Charlie stood on the corner with a blanket wrapped around
her trembling shoulders, watching the unreal scene play
out. Three police cars, a firetruck and an ambulance, all
topped with flashing emergency lights, crowded the
intersection. Emergency workers milled around the
perimeter, waiting for the police to do their jobs before
they could do theirs.
A blanket like the one clasped between Charlie’s fingers—
gray and scratchy—had been draped over the woman’s body in
the road. Wisps of reddish brown hair escaped from beneath
the blanket’s edge, lifting lazily on the breeze.
Alive one instant, and dead the next. So fast, so brutal.
Shocking.
Charlie shivered, clutched the blanket tighter around
herself, as though it would protect her from the harshness
of cold, stark reality.
“Charlie? Charlie!”
She turned at the frantic voice behind her, saw Mac Hunter
racing up the walk at a full run. He wasn’t looking at her,
though, his attention riveted on the body in the road, his
thick, dark hair ruffled by the wind.
Charlie sidestepped into his path, expecting him to focus
on her and stop, but he simply barreled into her, sending
them both stumbling. She grabbed at the front of his royal
blue dress shirt to keep her balance, and he grunted and
brought his hands up to steady her.
The instant his fingers closed on her forearms, the tableau
inside her head shifted so that she was seeing the body in
the road but from another angle farther away. She saw
reddish brown hair floating on the wind, heard the horror-
filled voice of an older woman gasp, “Oh, Lord, is that
Charlie?” Terror seemed to shoot to the top of her head on
a chilling wave, and suddenly she was running.
In the next instant, she was back in front of Mac,
disoriented and off-balance, her wrists grasped tightly in
his hands as he stared down at her in shock. He didn’t seem
to recognize her at first, and then his hazel eyes cleared
and a sound that might have been a laugh burst out of him.
He pulled her into his arms for a tight hug, and she felt
him bury his face against her neck, felt his warm breath
against her skin and thought, What the?
“You scared me, Chuck,” he murmured as he pulled back and
gazed down at her.
She didn’t roll her eyes at the hated nickname, too
startled by the naked emotion in his eyes. From Mac? “I’m
sorry I scared you,” she said.
He noticed the blanket around her shoulders, and his
relieved smiled lost some of its intensity. “What happened?
Are you okay?”
She nodded but couldn’t stop herself from glancing toward
the woman being loaded by paramedics onto a gurney. Not a
woman. A corpse. She couldn’t suppress a shudder. “I saw
her get hit.”
“Oh, Christ.” He pulled her to him again, hugged her close
while resting his chin on the top of her head. She couldn’t
stop the renewed trembling, at the same time remembering
the first time he’d held her like this, three months ago.
She’d called him after discovering her beloved grandmother
had passed away overnight in her sleep. He’d been there for
her in record time, her best friend, and then they’d gone
and screwed their friendship, literally.
He tried to draw her back toward the newspaper. “Come
inside. I’ll get you something to drink.”
“I need to talk to the police, tell them what I saw.”
“It can wait a few minutes.”
“It was a white … Sebring, I think. Convertible, but the
top was up. It didn’t even try to stop. In fact … it sped
up.”
“Charlie—”
“She called me Charlotte.”
“What?”
She raised stunned eyes to his. “Mac, she knew me.”
* * *
He whistled the Mission: Impossible theme as he parked the
Sebring and sat for a second to wallow in satisfaction.
He’d done it. He’d done what had to be done to protect
their secret.
After getting out, he pulled the gray car cover over the
convertible. This would hide the damage nicely.
He’d thought he’d feel some guilt. He’d just killed a
woman. But it was a woman who deserved to die. Just like
the other one. They’d both known, and he couldn’t have
them, anyone, knowing. Couldn’t let the secret out. It
would destroy them, and they’d worked too hard for too long
to sit back and let the destruction begin.
No, the secret to success was reaping the destruction on
the enemy before they could do it to you.
Mission: accomplished.
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