"Watch out: there is a fine line between normal and lunacy"
Reviewed by Sandra Wurman
Posted January 24, 2006
Romance Suspense
This is a story about people who are victims: victims of
society, upbringing, injustice, lunacy, bias and just life
in general. The big question for Kaitlin Wells is how to
stop being a victim and start a new life after receiving a
reprieve from a jail sentence for a crime she did not
commit. A more secure and stronger Kat Wells returns to her
home town as a work furlough with a secret mission to help
the Feds ferret out the real guilty party. The only
instructions she receives are that someone will contact her
and when contacted she is to alert the Feds. Problem is that
no one is happy to see Kat return home so how is she
supposed to discern who hated her enough to frame her. At
first glance the list is rather long and is getting longer
when it becomes apparent that someone isn't just unhappy
that she returned they want her dead. As part of her release
she has to check in with the local sheriff Justin Radner who
questions his attraction to this newly released felon. But
Justin is just as concerned with why Kat seems to be the
target for someone and is in a quandary to know how to
protect her while keeping an emotional distance which is
becoming more difficult with each day. There was no denying
that these two people belonged together -- the problem was
how considering that as far as Justin was concerned the rate
of recidivism for felons was unquestionable high. This is an interesting mystery where it is apparent from the
beginning that the real culprit or culprits must be someone
we've all ready met since it takes place in a rather small
town with a limited number of residents. Problem is that
they all seem to have ulterior motives and all have
something to hide. You are hard pressed to find likeable
people in this town and finding someone that is trustworthy
is an awesome task indeed. That's how Sawyer hooks you in as
you can't wait till the next page to provide new insight and
clues into the people that surround Kat and Justin. There
were so many people who could be guilty that at some point I
just gave up keeping score and figured I'd just let the
author figure it out for me. The reader won't be
disappointed in the ending.
SUMMARY
No one in Twin Oaks knows about the risky deal Kaitlin
Wells
cut with the Feds for her release. But everyone remembers
her scandalous arrest for stealing money from the Mercury
Bank. Now, three years later, Kat has come home to catch
the
real thieves and prove her innocence. Trouble is, some
powerful folks don't want her digging up the past... or
getting friendly with new sheriff Justin Radner. But some
laws can't be ignored -- like white-hot attraction. And
soon
determined Kat and her handsome, daring lawman are risking
love and life to expose the lies that will bring down a
murderer... before the killer strikes again.
ExcerptKAITLIN WELLS ONCE LOVED sunrise, a time of hope, promise.
A new beginning. Kat hadn't seen the sun come up for four
years, three months, and forty-two days. But she never
missed a sunset.She trained her gaze on the meadow in the distance.
Buzzards spiraled on outstretched wings, circling lower
and lower to feast on some creature she couldn't see.
Probably a squirrel or rabbit in the last throes of death. On the horizon the sun sulked in a spring sky that was a
bleak shade of gray. Trees loomed like sentinels, guarding
the top of the ridge, dark silhouettes backlit by a sun
that would blister the earth in another month. A sound behind Kat brought home to mind. She could almost
hear children kicking cans and yelling at each other,
almost smell chicken frying in cast iron pans. She could
almost see the sidewalks banked by azalea bushes laden
with pink blossoms. Almost. Back home in Twin Oaks, day drifted lazily into night.
Here, darkness fell with eerie swiftness. The sun had
dropped behind the ridge now, and less than half of the
orb was still visible. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doin'?" She ignored the guard's voice behind her and remained
standing on the toilet and gazing out the window. The
image of home slipped out of her mind like a fleeting
dream. She trained her eyes on the horizon beyond the
barred window. The light of the dying sun glinted off the
razor wire capping the concrete wall, but Kat hardly
noticed. She refused to miss the sunset. It was the only
thing in her life with the power to lift her soul out of
its dark spiral into hell. Whack! The guard's nightstick slammed against the back of her
thighs. She'd been expecting the blow. The pain shooting
down her legs didn't bother Kat. Nothing could hurt her
now. "I asked what you're doin'," the guard repeated. "Watching the sunset." "You've got company. A newbie." She'd realized having the small cell to herself wouldn't
last. Like all prisons, the Danville Federal Correctional
Institution was overcrowded. There were at least two
inmates in every cell and sometimes three or four. With a metallic click, the cell door slammed shut, but Kat
didn't bother to turn around. The sun had vanished,
leaving spectral-gray twilight. Out of nowhere appeared a
skull-like moon. Its pale light intensified with each
passing second. "Which bunk should I take?" The timid voice grated on Kat's nerves like shards of
glass. She jumped off the toilet and glared at the new
arrival. Red hair flowed over her shoulders like molten
lava. Well, prison shampoo would zap its shine. The woman
was probably in her twenties, but didn't look much older
than fifteen. Her brown eyes were bloodshot and puffy from
crying. "Use the top bunk." The woman tossed her bag onto the upper bunk and stuck out
her hand. "I'm Abby Lester." She made no move to shake hands. "Kat Wells." She dropped
onto the lower bunk and picked up the book she'd checked
out of the prison's library. It didn't pay to be friendly
with the other inmates, especially a newbie. New arrivals
were encouraged to snitch. They often made up things just
to get a pack of cigarettes or a Hershey's bar. Kat had
learned this the hard way and paid the price. Ad seg — administrative segregation — was what the
authorities called it. But prisoners didn't try to be
politically correct. To them it was solitary, or "the
hole." Kat had survived her time in the hole by mentally
reviewing the new words she'd learned from Building A
Power Vocabulary. She wasn't sure what she would do with
words like implausible or recuse, but one day she would
walk out of here. She wanted to be smarter than when she'd
arrived. "I shouldn't be locked up." Abby's voice was barely above
a whisper. Kat didn't take her eyes off the page. She knew Abby was
going to insist she was innocent. That's what everyone in
the joint claimed. If they confessed their guilt, there
had been a really good reason why they'd committed a crime. "I didn't know my boyfriend was going to rob the post
office. He never said a thing about it. Honest. I was just
waiting for him in the car." Kat didn't respond. She tried to concentrate on
Steinbeck's words. She'd read Of Mice and Men when she'd
been preparing to go to college. She'd sobbed at the end,
but this time she knew she wouldn't cry. Tears were a
waste of time. "My mother's using her retirement money to find me another
attorney. He'll get me a new trial," Abby said, her voice
choked with tears. Abby's mother loved her. Kat's lungs turned to stone, and the blood drained from
her heart. She forced her eyes closed, then quickly opened
them. Steinbeck's words were slightly blurred. Thank God her father hadn't lived to see her in prison.
Unlike her mother, he would have come to visit every
chance he could. Her mother hadn't written even one
letter. Other inmates received care packages from home,
but Kat's mother and sister couldn't be bothered. "THE COUNCIL HAS TO VOTE on appointing a new sheriff. We
can't afford a special election. The council will go along
with what I want." Justin Radner nodded slightly at Tyson Peebles, mayor of
Twin Oaks. He was the first black mayor of the small town
where Justin had grown up. Although Peebles was seven
years older, he and Justin had a lot in common. Both had
been star players on the Harrington High football team.
They'd each been offered a much-coveted scholarship to Ole
Miss. Tyson had gone on to become one of the university's
top stars. From there he'd been drafted by the Steelers
and had played seven years in the NFL until a tackle after
the whistle nearly paralyzed him. Justin had refused the Ole Miss scholarship and accepted
one from Duke instead. Ole Miss was THE football school in
the South. Who in their right mind turned down Ole Miss?
Occasionally Justin wondered how different his life might
have been had he stayed in his home state. "I never expected Sheriff Parker to have a heart attack.
He'd been around forever. No one was prepared to hunt for
a new sheriff." Filpo Johnson rocked back in his chair
beside Justin and puffed on a Cuban cigar. "Thar's not
much crime here, truth to tell. Kids 'n drugs mostly." Even though he was black, Filpo loved to play the white
cracker. Forget it. Justin wasn't fooled. Filpo headed the
city council, and he had a mind as sharp as a new razor.
Filpo had graduated from the school of hard knocks. He ran
several successful businesses on the "north side" where
most of the black people lived. "The Lucky Seven docks at
Tanner's Landing. It's in the un-incorporated area where
we have a contract to provide fire and law enforcement
services." Peebles spread his hands wide and smiled. "The
Lucky Seven has its own security. We don't have to worry
about them." The riverboat was owned by a syndicate rumored to be
controlled by the Sartiano mob family from New Orleans.
Twin Oaks had been a dying town until gambling hit the
Mississippi. Justin bet half the town was employed at the
floating casino or relied on it financially in some way.
He got Mayor Peeble's message. Let the Lucky Seven handle
its own problems. "There are five of us on the council," Filpo drawled in a
voice like warm honey. "Buck Mason will vote no." For a gut-cramping second, the world froze. Buck Mason on the city council? Since when? Filpo was
right, no way in hell would Mason vote for him. Did it
matter? Unless he missed his guess, the mayor and his
buddy already had enough votes to have Justin confirmed as
sheriff until the next election. It would be up to him to
do a good enough job to convince the voters to elect him
then — despite Buck Mason. Filpo added, "Mason's got a hard-on for you big-time." "Now you're scaring me." Filpo chuckled, adding, "Just warning you, my man." Justin
shrugged, then stood up. "You have my cell number." He
strode out of city hall. Along the way Justin walked by
the mayor's secretary. She quickly averted her head and
pretended to study some papers on the desk. Once she'd
been all over him, but that had been when he'd been a
football star. And Verity had still been alive. Justin walked into the morning sunlight. The town square,
like so many others in the South, featured a bronze statue
of a Confederate soldier with a musket. Massive pecan
trees planted after the First World War shaded the square,
and bright pink azalea bushes lined the walks, their
blossoms swaying in a breeze scented with honeysuckle. A vague memory invaded his thoughts as he gazed from the
top of the city hall steps. He was a kid again, standing
beside his mother. Men in white — some on horseback,
others walking — paraded around the square. He clutched
his mother's hand, asking, "Ghosts?" She'd hesitated a
moment before responding that these were just men
pretending to be ghosts — she'd marched him swiftly away
from the square. Years later, he learned he'd witnessed the last legally
sanctioned KKK march in Twin Oaks. Times had changed, he
decided, starting down the steps. In a town that had
roughly the same number of blacks and whites, Twin Oaks
now had a black mayor and a black president of the city
council. He seriously doubted that meant folks around here were any
less prejudiced. They'd just learned to hide it better.
Twin Oaks was half an hour and thirty years away from
Natchez. Change came with agonizing slowness to small
Southern towns. Prejudice was something he would have to deal with when he
became sheriff. Yessir. He'd be offered the job. He'd left
Duke and enlisted in the army, where he'd become a Ranger.
After the military, he'd joined the New Orleans Police
Department. He would still be there if a drug bust hadn't
gone bad and a bullet damn near killed him. He'd returned fire and taken out Buster Albright, whose
brother, Lucas, had sworn to get Justin. The court had
sentenced Lucas to ten years in jail, but Justin knew
Lucas wouldn't cool off in prison. One day the man would
come gunning for him. Why in hell had he returned home to seek the sheriff's job
when he'd heard Parker had died? The answer was simple.
Twin Oaks was in his blood. You could move, but you never
really left the place behind. The town was small enough to
have that old-fashioned feeling, even though it had grown
in recent years, and everyone didn't know each other the
way they had when he'd lived here. He checked the rearview mirror for traffic and caught the
reflection of his deep blue eyes. His dark hair was a bit
long, he admitted. He would need to get it trimmed before
meeting the rest of the city council — especially Buck
Mason. Justin revved the engine and headed out to Shady Acres
Trailer Village. What a joke. Three dozen single-wides
that had been there since the seventies did not make a
village. It was a half step from living in your car. The original owner had entertained grandiose ideas. A
fancy wrought-iron archway typical of New Orleans had
soared above the entrance. Now it had rusted and pieces
had broken off or been scavenged. Several majestic oaks
with swags of moss were clustered around the entry. Beyond
the trees, he spotted three rusting Fords on cinder blocks
that had been there for as long as he could remember.
Muddy pickups and battered cars languished near ramshackle
trailers. "Here goes nothing," he muttered under his breath as he
stopped near the single-wide he'd called home for the
first seventeen years of his life. His mother had tried
her damnedest to make the trailer look like a real home,
but the white picket fence she'd painted every spring
hadn't been touched since she'd died two years ago. Justin stepped out of the Silverado. His boots hit the
dirt with a thunk and dust billowed up to his ankles.
Whoever was renting the trailer didn't appear to be home.
Justin eased aside the gate dangling from one rusting
hinge and walked up to the door. Wood slat steps with
weeds jutting through the gaps between boards led up to
the makeshift porch. Justin could see himself sitting on the steps eating a
mayo sandwich on white bread. His mother had never allowed
weeds to sprout through the gaps, but even she couldn't
keep out the snakes who liked the coolness during the
ferocious summer heat. He'd dropped pebbles between the
slats to see if any snakes were coiled below. A plunk told
him he'd hit dirt, not a snake. He shook off the memory and knocked. A Dixie Chicks tune
blasted from the rear of the trailer park. With it came a
gust of wind and the scent of rabbit stew. He wondered how
many rabbits he'd shot and brought home for his mother to
cook, when they hadn't had enough money to do more than
pay the rent on the trailer. No one came to the door. He tried the knob, but it was
locked. He walked down the wooden steps and went around
back where a propane tank supplied fuel to the trailer.
The garden his mother had tended, even when she'd been so
eaten up by cancer that she could barely walk, had been
taken over by weeds and wild onions. He didn't get it. He honestly didn't. From the moment he'd
joined the Army and began making money, he'd tried to
persuade his mother to move to a nicer place. To the end,
she'd insisted this was her home. "I'm glad you can't see it now, Ma," he whispered to
himself. "The place is a disaster." He saw a flash of red in the dense brush beyond the
forsaken garden. What the hell? Wildlife thrived in the
woods around Twin Oaks, but the only animal he could think
of that color was a fox. The ones around here were gray,
not red. "I gots me a gun trained on yore back, sonny." There was no mistaking the three-pack-a-day rasp. Cooter
Hobbs should have died long before Justin's mother had,
but the old cuss was too ornery to kick the bucket. "It's me, Cooter," Justin said, turning slowly, his hands
in the air. Cooter stared at him from behind the barrel of a shotgun.
He hadn't changed a bit since Justin had moved to Shady
Acres as a child. His hair had been white then and shot
sky-ward like a field of wheat. Beneath searching eyes
worthy of a repo man were oysterlike bags.
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