got away with murder. He’s on the run from it, trying to start a new life in
a new town.
But his past won’t let won’t him escape, and it’s determined
that his future will not long.
paid in full.
sad, haunted eyes, of Jace Camden. Something about his wounded soul
called to her—like a like a whisper of a melody in a mysterious
abyss she should have the sense to ignore.
realistic and dark manner*
Five Years Ago
His eyes were cast down and fixated by the dried blood on his hands.
The brightness of the fluid hours ago on his hands was dark now after the crushing passage of time—how much, Jace had no idea. Perceiving its passage proved impossible.
“Mr. Camden? Do you know why you are here?”
He heard the officer speak and Jace fought through the heavy sorrow to look upward to seek out the man.
“Yes. My wife is dead.” His flat voice devoid of emotion. Perhaps when the soul became overwhelmed, it just numbed out to react in order to protect itself. The two detectives looked at each other and stepped away to speak in whispers as Jace’s eyes returned to his hands. The only thing not covered in dark crimson were the silver bracelets of the cuffs encircling his wrists and linked to the table.
Splatters of Laura’s blood were gruesomely dark against the white of his shirt, a rip near the cuff, a grass stain, and dirt from when they tackled him in the yard.
Why had he been in the yard?
The events of the day and night were fuzzy as if his mind was wrapped in flannel, surrounded by wool and refused to expose itself in the coldness of reality.
The burly looking detective came in close to brace his arms on the table and met Jace’s eyes when they lifted upwards. The countenance of the detective was cold and calculated—a glare of blue with bright white compared to Jace’s own—which were dazed, bloodshot and exhausted in his mirrored reflection behind the detective.
“I will ask this question very simply. Very slowly so you listen and answer correctly. We clear?”
Jace’s brow furrowed as he nodded and his brain tried to form sparks of understanding but they had gone dark from the horror of all it had been forced to deal with.
The detective stated each word slowly and accented each word as if he thought Jace a child. “Did. You. Kill your wife?”
Kill? They had made vows—to have and to hold. In sickness and in health. Two souls bound together as if one. To love and live with that bond… Not kill. Not end.
He blinked at the officer as he ran his tongue along his busted bloodied lip, his eyes skidded downward to stare at the blood and he croaked hoarsely, “Yes. Because I couldn’t stop it.”
childhood, domestic violence survivor, homeless person, single mother
and a suicide survivor. But in every single one of those realities,
one thing remained true – my imagination.
to give that to her readers. Known for action, drama, laughter,
darkness and twists you don’t see coming in the same book, Ward is
known for writing books that are diverse, different and
spends her days and nights writing as therapy to handle surviving
domestic violence and loss of love. She is the proud parent of three
very independent grown children and grandmother to three delightful
herself late into the night as she writes out colorful and diverse if
not twisted characters and tales.
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