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Authors: Joyce Lamb

Tags: #Romantic Suspense, #Contemporary, #True, #Paranormal Suspense

True Vision

BOOK: True Vision
Table of Contents
Praise for the novels of Joyce Lamb
“Impossible to put down! A spine-tingling whodunit constantly keeps you on the edge of your seat with scenes that will make your toes curl . . . Joyce Lamb is a highly talented writer who knows how to write a captivating suspense novel.”

Manic Readers
“An enjoyable romantic police procedural.”

Midwest Book Review
“Top-notch suspense . . . Believable characters in an action-packed plot will enthrall readers. Like Tami Hoag and Iris Johansen, Lamb weaves the textures of romance and suspense together in a satisfying read.”

“This wonderfully written story is a must read for any fan of romantic suspense! Joyce Lamb is a master storyteller . . . Don’t miss out on one of the best novels ever written!”

Romance Junkies
“Fast-paced suspense, full of twists and turns and nonstop action . . . To find out the many other fabulous nuances of this story, you’ll just have to go and grab yourself a copy!”
“Page-turning suspense and a rewarding romance make for a riveting read.”

“Captures readers’ interest from the opening pages.”

Romance Reviews Today
“Lamb is back with another tale of murder, treachery and intrigue . . . Makes for good suspense reading.”

Romantic Times
“Full of shocking twists and turns . . . A wonderful novel that achieves the perfect balance between the romance and the mystery.”
“Lamb’s debut novel gets off to a fast and furious start . . .
Relative Strangers
is a rollicking ride full of blazing passion, nonstop suspense and heart-pounding action.”

“Intricate, transfixing and very intense, this is one thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Author Joyce Lamb makes an excellent debut with this true page-turner.”

Romantic Times
Berkley Sensation Titles by Joyce Lamb
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / June 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Joyce Lamb.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-101-18809-5
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

For Danielle, Michael, Nikole and Zach
Thanks to:
• Julie Snider, for your always enthusiastic and creative help on PR.
• Glenn and Diane Lamb, best party hosts ever.
• Lisa Kiplinger, Lisa Hitt, Charlene Gunnells, Chantelle Mansfield, Ruth Chamberlain and Karen Feldman McCracken, for being so excited to read the latest manuscript.
• Joan Goodman, Diane Amos, Linda Cutillo, Maggie Hoye, Susan Vaughan and Lina Gardiner, all extraordinary critique partners.
• Grace Morgan, for your absolute wonderfulness as a literary agent.
• Wendy McCurdy, for making me a better writer.
• And Mom, for everything.
eporter 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. Except the light wasn’t changing.
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 public watchdogs. The drive for advertising revenue had changed much of the newspaper industry from a Rottweiler cornering the bad guy into a fluffy toy poodle begging for a treat. 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
Charlie looked up, surprised as much by the sound of the voice as the name. No one but her mother called her that. She glanced behind herself, checking to make sure the woman had indeed waved at
. Which was silly, really, to think that another woman with the same given name would be standing right behind her.
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, faceup, 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,
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 limp right hand and gently squeezing. “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. Charlie stared down at the injured woman, not knowing what to do. Should she run to the paper for more immediate help? 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.”
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