Alone at a lighthouse with a sweet, handsome… killer? She’d better figure out what he’s hiding before they both end up as shark bait:


Left arm, right arm, turn head, breathe.

Matt DiPietro ignored the fact that he could no longer feel his left leg, that it dragged uselessly behind him while his other leg did its best to propel his body through the sea.

Left arm, right arm, turn head, breathe.

He ignored the fact that the waters of Pajaro Bay were their usual numbing 52 degrees, the same temperature as the pelting rain that threatened to drown him every time he lifted his head above the waterline for a breath of air.

Left arm, right arm, turn head, breathe.

And most of all he ignored the fact that the flash from the lighthouse on Pajaro Isle had gotten farther away in the time he’d been swimming toward it, because if he thought about that too much he might start listening to the little voice warning him that the tide was carrying him out into the Pacific Ocean, where his body wouldn’t touch land until it hit Hawaii….


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