Not your mother’s romance

Blind Spot

Lily Ashmore finally built the life she’s longed for, in the home of her dreams, and under a cloak of anonymity, until one afternoon when her clairvoyant powers rear their head and show her the abduction of a young girl. Desperate to prevent the crime, she pleads with the child’s mother to believe her only to have her efforts thrown in her face. When her vision comes to fruition, Lily becomes a suspect instead of a good Samaritan. Her focus is to clear her name and bring the young girl home.

Mason Devlin, after years of guilt and torment form the abduction of his young sister motivating his cause, has created with his brothers, Alegra, a special division of Global Alliance Coalition focused on finding abducted children and returning them home. Hired by the victim’s family to find a recently abducted young girl, his path collides with a local clairvoyant who claims to have seen her abduction. History and disastrous experiences propel him to expose Lily for the fraud she is, despite the primal attraction flaring to life between them, as he fights the clock to find the victim.

Despite a deep-seated distrust, Mason is forced to turn to Lily for help when time begins to run out and details run cold. Can he save his charge without losing his heart in the process?

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What readers are saying…

“WOW!!! I LOVED THIS STORY!!! As well as all of the characters and the way they were brought to life made you fall in love with each and every one of them. I can’t wait for the next book to come out. It had everything mystery, action, romance, love, fear and gave you pause to think if it was a reality. It’s a great, fast paced, page turning, stay up all night (like me) kind of read. I highly recommend it, you will not be disappointed.”   -Barbara W.

“Wonderful story.
I am looking forward to the rest of the stories in this series. The relationship was a quick fall, but when looking at it from Lily’s perspective, it was a long time coming.
Great read!!!”   -Amazon Reviewer

Excerpt:

She turned to him, a warning glint in her eyes. “If you’re trying to find Mara, you might want to start acting like it.”

He sat, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Okay, what do you think I should be asking?”

She stepped back into the room, but didn’t sit, as if she figured her acquiescence to letting him stay was temporary. “You should be asking me details about what I saw.”

“I will, but I have a hard time believing you saw anything.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She kept her bandaged foot propped on top of the other. “So what’s my motivation to claim I had a vision then?”

He tapped his fingers against his notepad. Memories of another woman, another time, flickered in the dark tunnel of his past. “Fame, maybe you want money from the family, how the hell would I know what makes people like you tick? I’ll bite though. Tell me about this vision of yours. Just tell me what you saw, from beginning to end.” He searched her eyes for the hunger for fame and money that he’d eventually seen in Cybill, but all he saw was a woman who’d been drilled all day and perhaps a tinge of frustration. Or maybe resentment. He pushed that thought aside. If she could fake visions, she could hide her drive.

“She stood on the sidewalk in front of a sage-green house…”

He made notes as she described what Mara was wearing, where she was standing, and what she was doing when Lily spotted the guy across the street.

“Can you describe him for me? Hair color, eye color, what he was wearing, approximate height and weight?”

“Brown hair, dark. Shaggy. His eyes were brown or hazel. It was hard to tell.”

“Why was it hard to tell?” he asked as he continued to jot down details.

She twirled her hair with her thumb and index finger. “I was standing across the road and down the street from him.”

Mason raised a brow. Interesting. “You were standing? I thought this was a vision.”

“It was,” she snapped. “First you claim visions aren’t real and now you’re judging my vision for not meeting some sort of vision criteria. You don’t get to disbelieve the ability, but then set the parameters for the right and wrong way to have a vision,” she said, her hands waving around in her agitation as she spoke.

“Okay. So, you were standing down the street. Any other details you can give me about the way he looked?”

The look on her face told him that she hadn’t missed the emphasis he’d placed on “standing” and that he might just be close to getting kicked out of her house. “I’d guess he was about five ten. Have no idea on weight. He was thin though. Not gaunt, but trim. Kind of like a cyclist. Strong, but not bulky.”

“Okay. What else did you notice about him?”

“He wore mostly black. It was warm. Mara was in a pink tank top and jean shorts.”

She had the outfit right. He’d need to double-check the details that had been made to the public. Any information that matched common knowledge wouldn’t prove squat about whether or not she really had a vision.

“What happened next?”

“He was smoking and threw down—”

“Wait, smoking? Were you able to see what the cigarette butt looked like? If it was white or tan?”

“If I couldn’t see his eye color, how would I see that?”

“Because sometimes the contrast of colors in foreign objects against the skin stand out more. Take a minute, think back, play it out in your mind. Maybe you’ll see it.”

She steadied herself with a hand to the back of her couch and closed her eyes. He didn’t know what she was watching, but her eyelids drifted closed, leaving her delicate lashes fanning out just above her rosy cheeks. He didn’t know where she went in that moment, but for just a moment, she looked as though everything heaped on those delicate shoulders rolled away. The woman before him was made for sundresses and long walks through wildflowers.

The vision died with the tightening of her mouth and the way she squeezed her eyes tight.

Here came the theatrics and just in the nick of time to remind him just what kind of woman she might be. He knew the game. He’d play along…for the time being.

“What are you seeing? Right at this moment, what is it?” he asked. He needed to know what put that look on her face, the one that said she’d never forget what she saw.

“He grabbed her and had a knife to her throat,” she said. Her voice cracked.

“Is he right or left-handed?”

She paused, her gaze drifting off toward the fireplace without really seeing it. “Left. He’s left-handed.”

“Good. And now that he’s closer, can you see anything about his face, his skin, that’s unique? Birth marks, moles, tattoos, anything?”

“He has a scar over his right eyebrow. Thin, shiny, and curling down his temple.”

“Good, good. Anything else?” He hated the excitement coursing through him, but information was information. If there was an ounce of truth to her story, they’d be a few steps closer. If not, maybe in the process of finding Mara, he’d nail Lily to the wall in a way he hadn’t been able to nail Cybill.

If Lily was handing him a boatload of bullshit, he’d turn it around and use it against her. No way would he take the bait again.

But how the hell could he find out? Because he sure as hell didn’t want to get close to her. Nothing good could come of that. Not with the way his body reacted to her movements, her scent.

“Just the black sedan that picked them up.”

“What kind of black sedan?

“A Lincoln.”

“Did you see the plate number? The car would have been close at that point if you were standing near her.”

“I didn’t get the plate number.”

“None of it?”

“No.”

He tossed his pad and pen to the ottoman and huffed out a breath. There it was. And he wanted to believe her. He really did, but she saw the guy’s scar, but no license plate number? He didn’t buy it.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Gee, there’s a shocker. I’ve got news for you, pal, you haven’t wanted to believe her since minute one,” Jasmine said, leaning forward with a scowl.

“Explain to me how she can see a scar on the man’s face, but not see license plate numbers.” He stood and began packing his pad and pen into his bag. “If it doesn’t make sense, it’s not true. This might all be fun and games to you, but there is a girl missing. Seventy-four percent of missing kids are dead within three hours. It’s been five days. I don’t have time to waste on stories. I don’t know what you’re deal is, but if you’re looking for some sort of angle to worm your way into the good graces of the family so you can bilk them for money, it’s not happening. Not on my watch.”

“Hey, who the hell do you think you are—”

“Jasmine, stop,” Lily said, putting a hand up to halt Jasmine. “You want proof, Mason? Do you really want proof? Because I have a feeling you don’t. You want me to be a hack and then you don’t have to acknowledge all the things that make you uncomfortable about me.”

“I loathe the fact that people like you even exist. This family is hurting. Mara’s mother and father go to bed at night in agony wondering every minute what’s happening to their daughter. Do you know what that does to a parent? Do you know what it’s like to almost wish your own child was dead so as to be assured whatever horrid torture you’re envisioning is not happening to them?” He snatched his recorder. He didn’t need an answer. Nothing he said would get through to people like her. People with no hearts.

She had him there for a minute. He’d admit it. That flinch and those quivering lips—

“This outrage isn’t about Mara. This is about Alegra.”

His blood ran cold. Pain sliced through him on a dizzying wave of disbelief at hearing his sister’s name whisper past Lily’s lips. She couldn’t know. How could she possibly know?

He whipped around, circled the ottoman and grasped Lily’s arm pulling her up onto her toes. “How? How do you know about her?” The sound bubbled out of him like an inhuman growl of grief.

“Because I’ve been seeing visions of you since I was six years old,” she said, while facing off with him.

© Casey Hagen, USA Today Bestselling Author