Atone
Recovered Innocence #2
By: Beth Yarnall
Releasing February
23, 2016
Loveswept
Loveswept
Beth Yarnall’s sexy and emotional Recovered Innocence series continues as two broken souls discover that keeping their hands off each other is even harder than facing their demons.
Beau: Six years. That’s how long I spent behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit—the murder of the woman I loved. Now I’m free, but life on the outside is a different kind of prison. I don’t know who I am or who I want to be. At least I have my sister, Cora. She never stopped believing in me. She even got me a job at the private investigation agency that cleared my name. And then Vera Swain walks into Nash Security and Investigations and kicks my world on its ass.
Vera: There’s only one thing that would make me come out of hiding after two years on the run: finding my sister. I made the mistake of telling a monster about her, the same monster who beat me and broke me. Now I’m forced to confide in Beau Hollis of Nash Security and Investigations. He looks at me like he knows me—the real me. He sees too much, makes me feel too much. The pleasure he offers is exciting and addictive. But I can’t fall for him . . . because my love could get us both killed.
Beth Yarnall writes romantic
suspense, mysteries, and the occasional hilarious Tweet. She discovered romance
novels in middle school and hasn’t stopped writing since. For a number of
years, she made her living as a hairstylist and makeup artist and co-owned a
salon. Somehow hairstylists and salons always seem to find a way into her
stories. Yarnall lives with her husband, two sons, and their rescue dog in
Orange County, California, where she’s hard at work on her next novel.
Beau: Six years. That’s how long I spent behind bars for a crime I didn’t commit—the murder of the woman I loved. Now I’m free, but life on the outside is a different kind of prison. I don’t know who I am or who I want to be. At least I have my sister, Cora. She never stopped believing in me. She even got me a job at the private investigation agency that cleared my name. And then Vera Swain walks into Nash Security and Investigations and kicks my world on its ass.
Vera: There’s only one thing that would make me come out of hiding after two years on the run: finding my sister. I made the mistake of telling a monster about her, the same monster who beat me and broke me. Now I’m forced to confide in Beau Hollis of Nash Security and Investigations. He looks at me like he knows me—the real me. He sees too much, makes me feel too much. The pleasure he offers is exciting and addictive. But I can’t fall for him . . . because my love could get us both killed.
Excerpt:
Cora
backs out the front door of her garage apartment, her arms full. I jog up the
walk and relieve her of the files she’s carrying. She locks the door and turns
to me, a big smile on her face. It gets me every time. A combination of joy and
surprise like she can’t believe I’m really there. I can’t believe it either. I
hope I never get used to this feeling, or to that smile. I hope she doesn’t
either.
I
follow her down the walk to her car and put her files in the trunk. I stand
just in time to see the car keys flying at my face and catch them before they
smack into my nose.
“You
have to practice sometime,” she says. “Drive us to work.”
I
haven’t driven in more than six years. My license expired while I was in
prison. My parents sold my car.
“Are
you sure?”
She
opens the passenger door and climbs in with a wink. I let out a frosty breath
in the cool morning air. This is one more thing I have to relearn in my life outside.
I slide into the driver’s seat and adjust it for my bigger body and longer
legs.
“The
mirrors too,” Cora reminds me.
It’s
like I’m taking driver’s ed all over again, but with my little sister as my
teacher. I hope driving isn’t as hard as riding a bike. That shit took me too
many tries to get right. I’m wobbly like a kid riding without training wheels
for the first time. Bike riding is a fucked-up metaphor for my life now.
Everything is an uphill struggle and scary as fuck. I suck so bad at it, I
wonder sometimes if I shouldn’t just commit a crime for real this time so I can
go back to the predictability and reliability of prison life. I won’t, but the
thought is scarily tempting sometimes.
You
wouldn’t think being free would be so hard.
I
do as Cora instructs and start the car. She coaches me the whole way. I’m
relieved when we arrive safely. Driving is a hell of a lot easier than riding a
bike. We get out of the car and head into the offices of Nash Security and
Investigation. I owe Cora and everyone in this place everything.
If Mr. Nash and his son, Leo, hadn’t agreed to help Cora find the bastard who
killed Cassandra and worked to set me free, I’d still be sitting in a cell. How
do you repay someone who rescued you from hell and gave you your life back?
I
juggle Cora’s files that I retrieved from the trunk, open the door for her, and
follow her inside. The receptionist, Savannah, looks up at Cora, then does a
double take when she spies me trailing behind my sister. Her first, fleeting
glance is full of female appreciation that quickly morphs into avid curiosity
tinged with fear. She doesn’t want to be attracted to an ex-con, but I’d put money
on her panties being soaked at the thought of fucking me. I’m a walking,
talking good girl’s bad-boy dream. I’m the guy she bangs once or twice on the
quiet just so she can brag about it later to her friends.
I
grin at Savannah, following it with a wink and a lick of the lips. She gasps
and presses her hands to her chest. Her cheeks bloom red. If we were alone I
bet I could take her right there on top of her desk. Wouldn’t even have to pull
her panties all the way down, just push up her skirt and pull them aside. She’d
shower after, feeling dirty, and later she’d jack off, reliving it. I’m not
even the slightest bit tempted by her or any other woman I’ve met since I got
out.
Another
way my life’s fucked up.
I
set Cora’s files down where she directs me to. Her office is small, with two
desks in the middle facing each other. It’s an odd arrangement, but Cora likes
it this way, I guess.
She
gestures to the desk opposite hers. “Have a seat.” She sifts through her pile
of files until she finds what she’s looking for, then pulls it out and comes
around to where I’m sitting. “I thought maybe I’d start you off with some
simple searches. See if you like the work.” She twitches the mouse, bringing
the computer screen to life. “These are the search sites we use.”
Clicking
on the top three bookmarked sites, she brings them up, explaining how they use
them and what info the sites can provide. She has me do some easy searches,
then leaves me on my own. I don’t suck at it. I’m actually quite good. And I
like the work. I’m halfway through the searches Cora wanted me to do when
Savannah sticks her head in the doorway.
“Vera
Swain, your ten o’clock, is here,” she tells Cora. Her gaze darts to me, then
back to Cora.
“Thanks,
Savannah. Want to sit in?” Cora asks me. “Take a break from the computer?”
“Sure.”
I stand and stretch.
Savannah
jumps and squeaks, then disappears from the doorway.
Cora’s
mouth bends into a frown. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her lately.”
“Don’t
you?”
“I’ll
talk to her.”
“Leave
it.”
I
follow Cora into the reception area. Savannah blocks whoever it is she’s
talking to so I can’t see who it is, but whoever they are, they’re small, much
smaller than Savannah’s five-nine frame. Savannah shifts, revealing a pastel
confection of a young woman about Cora’s age.
All
lace and silk, she’s sweet looking in her soft colors like she just walked out
of a Sunday church service. But the look in her eyes is wary . . . suspicious .
. . jaded, reminding me of angry, hard prison stares. This chick’s seen some
shit. More than that, she’s experienced some shit, has maybe even done some
shit. She’s a survivor. This I understand. I recognize her in the same way I
recognize the new man that stares back at me in the mirror.
Her
costume is nearly perfect. I bet if I sniffed her she’d smell like baby powder
and lemons. I edge closer to her. She catches me with a sudden flick of a
glance, freezing me where I stand. Everything about her shouts Back the fuck off.
It only makes me want to draw closer. Who is she? Who or what made her this
way? And why does she look at me like she knows who I am? Not the
TV-news-segment me, but the real me, the Beau deep down inside.
For
the first time since I got out of prison I don’t feel alone. There really are
others out there like me. One of them is standing mere feet in front of me,
regarding me with the same guarded, expectant look I’m wearing.
And she’s beautiful.
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Author Info
Beth Yarnall writes romantic
suspense, mysteries, and the occasional hilarious Tweet. She discovered romance
novels in middle school and hasn’t stopped writing since. For a number of
years, she made her living as a hairstylist and makeup artist and co-owned a
salon. Somehow hairstylists and salons always seem to find a way into her
stories. Yarnall lives with her husband, two sons, and their rescue dog in
Orange County, California, where she’s hard at work on her next novel.
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