Tiffany Morrow

College student

Rescued trafficking victim, although she escapes her rescuers

Dealing with trauma, paranoia, and other issues

Sneak peek

Tiffany closed her eyes against the onslaught of thoughts swirling like a tornado in her brain as her hands slid over a strand of hair. The feel of it grounded her, even though she recognized that the gesture she couldn’t seem to stop meant she wasn’t as well as she was before.

She had thought she only imagined the demon horse with glowing red eyes at the airport, since it looked like so many of the demon creatures that had haunted her in the past, but there was no mistaking the mountain view she had seen out the window this morning. She was really and truly in Denver.

She was home. The nightmare of the jungle was over.

She had vague memories of the in-between. Men and women in white. Being tied down. The bearded man and the blond woman who had brought her here. She’d been trippin’ hard for days, so most of that was like a fever dream that had frightened even her. And she wasn’t frightened by much anymore.

She still didn’t feel normal—the noise of the bus was clawing into her head—but she was much improved over… before. She really didn’t know how much time had passed since she’d been carried out of that vile cabin in the Amazon. She did remember that—waking for a moment or two in the arms of someone strong—a red dragon. Whispered words she couldn’t recall. Words that had struck her as kind.

So why did you run from them? God, you do the stupidest things.

The voices that had been nearly eliminated before she had awakened in a Brazilian hell had been her almost constant companion without the meds whose job it was to hush them to a whisper.

She knew it would do no good to answer the voices. They never listened to her. But she did know why she was running from those who had helped her. Aaron McCain had spoken with kind and beautiful words. Justin Miranda had too. Kind words were often a trap. Who’s to say that those two weren’t taking her from one hell to another?

Will Yarnel

Australian ex-military

Works as a private investigator to find missing persons and trafficking victims

Based in Brazil

Current assignment: Taking trafficking victim Tiffany Morrow home to Denver CO

Can’t help a growing attraction to Dani Harper, despite her engagement ring

Sneak peek

Rod yawned again and pushed back from the table. “Sorry guys, but I’m done. I’m heading back to the hotel.”

Will nodded, thinking Dani would probably want to do the same, but she didn’t move. He smiled. “You’re not tired, possum?”

She shrugged. “I got in a short nap after my shower this afternoon.” She tilted her head toward the champagne on ice. “And it’s not gone yet.”

Will hitched a brow as he reached for the bottle once again. “I suppose this big ole thing won’t fit in those little tiny fridges they give us.” He poured out two more glasses, and she lifted hers to her lips. “So I guess you like champagne. I suppose that fits.”

“Oh, really.” She set the glass back on the table. “Fits in what way?”

Will twigged he’d probably spit out a clanger with that line. “Oh, just that you’re looking very schmick tonight.”

“Schmick?”

“Stylish, classy.”

“And why do I get the feeling you don’t approve? Either of my clothes or the fact that I like champagne?” She drank another sip.

God, now he was in trouble. “No, I didn’t mean anything… You look… lovely.” More than lovely, but seeing her mussed and sweaty in the jungle had nearly stopped his heart. Now she seemed… too sophisticated. Unreachable. He quickly grabbed his own glass and guzzled a third. She should be “unreachable,” you drongo. She’s engaged.

She drank the rest of hers as though it were a challenge, then waved down a passing waiter for another bottle.

Will leaned forward over the table. “Dani, you’ve had a pretty traumatic day. Maybe you should go easy—”

She matched his posture, her eyes radiating her irritation. “You’re damn right I’ve had a dramatic… traumatic day, and if I want champagne, I’m going to drink champagne. You are welcome to go to bed without me.” She waved a hand at her very own clanger. “I mean, go to bed with Rod.”

Will couldn’t help smiling. She was well on her way to drunk already.

“Don’t laugh at me!” she insisted crankily as the waiter showed up with their next bottle. “You know what I mean.”

Will sat back slowly, running a hand over his beard as he tried to suppress a laugh. He wasn’t sure where this mood was coming from, but he suspected that the danger she’d put herself in this morning was finally hitting her, and he wasn’t about to leave her to drink with the flies.

After the waiter unwrapped and popped the cork, Will took it and poured two more glasses.