Trusting a Stranger (Harlequin Intrigue) - Softcover
The sexiest fugitive alive
Wanted for murder, Graham Calloway has hidden for years in a remote mountain cabin, desperate to find the killer who framed him. Keira Niles, too, is running from her shattered life when, during a blizzard, a mysterious, silent stranger pulls her from her wrecked car. Their sizzling attraction is instant; mutual trust is not. While Keira doubts Graham's innocence, Graham fears she'll expose him.
Instead it's an unforeseen betrayal that threatens Keira, causing Graham to risk exposure—and his life—to rescue her and redeem himself. For the first time he wants a future...but will the killer let him have one?
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Melinda writes happily-ever-afters, one page at a time, from her coastal home in British Columbia, Canada. She lives with her own handsome hero of a husband and their three children. When not writing, she can be found at the soccer field - playing or watching - or curled up with a good book.
Keira Niles stepped on the gas, checked her rearview mirror and smiled.
Admittedly, it was kind of a forced smile.
But it was a smile nonetheless.
Because today was going to be the day.
The one where she said yes.
The one where she gave in to Drew Bryant, the handsome, friendly neighborhood businessman whom she'd been flirting with for four years.
Today, she would tell herself—and believe it—that his business-minded attitude was a complement to her socially conscious one instead of a sharp contrast to it.
Yes, she was finally ready to dismiss the doubts in her mind that had never seemed all that reasonable to start out with.
Drew was as close to a perfect man as she'd ever met. Calm and predictable, financially stable and kind. Tall enough that when they kissed for the first time, she'd probably have to tip her head up at least a little, and good-looking enough that he'd probably stay that way until both of them were too old to care anyway.
It was a good list. A good cross section of pleasant characteristics that were totally at odds with the nervous butterflies in her stomach.
Go away, Keira grumbled at them.
But no. She was nervous, and the butterflies were prevailing. So she did the only thing she could—she beat them down as forcibly as she knew how.
No more excuses, no more waiting for this, that or the other thing.
She straightened her dress over her thighs and glanced at her bare ring finger on the steering wheel one more time. Maybe soon it wouldn't look so naked and exposed. So free.
Don't be silly, Keira, she chastised herself.
But it wasn't that silly, if she thought about it.
Her parents would be happy if she settled down. They weren't getting younger, and neither was she. Or Drew. He was nearly forty, and he'd hinted enough times that he was just waiting for the right girl. He'd also hinted enough times that maybe Keira was that girl. Jokingly called her his girlfriend on repeat since he moved in beside her parents just a few years earlier.
He was a good, stable man. Handsome. Friendly. A catch.
Just this morning, when she'd come by to water her mom's rhododendrons, he'd paused to say goodbye before he left for his business trip. He'd given her a peck on the cheek—and while it hadn't lit her up with fireworks, it hadn't felt bad, either. It wasn't until he drove away that Keira saw that he'd left his briefcase behind.
And a man on a business trip needs his briefcase.
It was a sign. A subtle push that she ought to take a spontaneous, romantic leap.
After only the briefest hesitation, she'd decided to do it. No call, no warning. Just a seizing of the moment. So she grabbed the overnight bag she kept at her parents' house and set out on the four-hour trip to the Rocky Mountains and the aptly named Rocky Mountain Chalet.
It was a chilly oasis right in the middle of the mountains—a hot spot for honeymooners who preferred ski hills to sandy beaches and hot toddies to margaritas. The surrounding resort town had year-round residences, too, but the chalet was really the hub of activity.
It would've surprised Keira if her parents' soft-spoken neighbor had chosen a place like this for a weekend of business, but she doubted he'd picked it himself. His clients, who often stopped by his house, and whom she'd had only a few occasions to meet over the past few years, seemed like the kind of men who liked nice things. Bespoke suits and menus that didn't have any prices.
Not that Drew was any less classy. He was just a little more understated than overpriced. A little more golf shirt and chinos, and little less glossy necktie and cufflinks. A square-cut diamond versus a marquise.
You're stalling.
Keira realized that she had stopped, her hands on the wheel at exactly ten and two, her eyes so glazed over that they almost didn't see the forbidding sign that pointed out cheerily how solidly she was about to seal her fate.
No Turnaround, Twenty-Two Miles, it read.
The drive time had passed far more quickly than she thought. The hours had felt like minutes, and the resort was close now.
Was what she was doing crazy and impetuous? Maybe. But it was also the perfect story to tell their friends. Their kids, if they had them. Plus, she got the feeling that settling into a life with Drew wouldn't allow a whole lot of wildness.
Which is a good thing, she reminded herself.
She was mild mannered and easygoing, too. So they were kind of perfect for each other.
And she was almost there. That final turn up the mountain was all it would take.
"Well," she said to the air. "This is it."
Somehow, the second she clicked on her turn signal, the air got colder.
And when she depressed the gas pedal and actually followed through on the turn itself, Keira swore she had to turn the heat up.
Graham woke from the nightmare far too slowly.
It was the kind of dream that he deserved to be ripped away from quickly, not dragged from reluctantly.
In it, he'd been chasing Holly through their home. She'd started out laughing, but her laughter had quickly turned to screams, and when Graham caught up with her at the bottom of the curved staircase, he saw why. Sam's small body was at the bottom. Graham had opened his mouth to ask what Holly had done, but she beat him to it.
"What did you do?"
The words were full of knowing accusation, and try as he might, he couldn't deny responsibility for the boy's death.
The image—and the question—hung in Graham's mind as he eased into consciousness.
In reality, he'd never seen Sam's body—just the aftermath and the blood.
In the dream, though, it was always the same. Holly alive and Sam dead, and Graham left broken and unable to shake the false memories. He wished desperately that they would disappear completely, or at least fade as he opened his eyes. Instead, they tightened and sharpened like a noose around his psyche.
Survivor's guilt.
Graham was sure that was a large part of what he felt. The problem was he was increasingly sure he wasn't surviving.
The leads had dried up long ago, his investigation into who had pulled the trigger growing frustratingly colder with each year.
Even the name—Michael Ferguson—the one thing he'd had to go on, had never panned out.
Graham had always believed the truth would come out and, with it, justice. It had never been a part of his plan to live out his days—to survive them—in the middle of the woods in a cabin no one knew existed. He sure as hell never thought he'd wake some mornings wondering if he was as guilty as everyone thought he was.
What kind of man admitted publicly that he didn't love his wife just days after being accused of her murder?
Did an innocent man escape police custody and promptly disappear?
In the early days, those questions seemed easy to answer.
An innocent man ran only so he could give the authorities enough time to prove his innocence.
Four years had gone by, though, and instead of gaining traction and credibility, Graham's story had at first exploded in hatred and bitterness. Then faded to obscure infamy.
Dreams like the one he'd just had made him question every choice he'd made since the second he picked up his cell phone on that morning.
What if he hadn't answered it at all?
What if he'd called 9-1-1 himself instead of giving that nosy neighbor the time to do it?
What if—
The squawk of Graham's one and only electronic device cut off his dark thoughts. The bleep of the two-way radio was so unexpected that he almost didn't recognize it.
The mountain range that held the cabin hostage also insulated the location from uninvited transmissions. The two-way mounted to the underside of Graham's bed could only be reached one of two ways. Either the message sender had to be less than a hundred feet away, or he had to be right beside the tower at the top of the mountain, tuned to exactly the correct frequency.
The first would mean initiating lockdown mode. Which Graham wasn't in the mood for.
The second meant someone was trying to reach him on purpose.
And only one person knew where he was. "G.C., do you read me?"
Dave Stark. A friend. A confidant. The only person who'd stuck by him over the years. He was the man who'd placed the call to Graham on that morning. Whose voice threw Graham back every time he heard it.
"You there?" Dave asked.
Graham swung his legs from the bed and reached down to flip the switch.
"I should be asking if you're there. And why you're calling me sixteen days ahead of schedule. We're regimented for a reason."
"G.C., stop being your bullheaded self for one second... I have good news."
Graham went still. Good news? He wasn't sure what to do with the statement.
"Come again?"
"I found the man we've been looking for."
The world spun under Graham's feet. His mouth worked silently. Four years of waiting to hear those words, and now that he had, he couldn't think of a single damned thing to say.
"You still there, G.C.?"
Graham cleared his throat. "Where is he?"
"A place you know well."
"Stop being cagey, Dave. It doesn't suit you. Or the situation."
"Home."
Home. Forty-nine miles of nearly inaccessible terrain and two hundred more of straight highway driving is all that stands between you and the man who very likely killed your wife and son, and robbed you of your life. Michael damned Ferguson.
Hmm. Graham was far from stupid. What were the odds? And why had he surfaced now?
"He's there on business. Must've thought enough time had gone by that no one would be looking," Dave added as if in answer to Graham's silent question. "Booked in a hotel under another name, but I swear to God, G.C., I'd recognize the man in my sleep."
"You've got the snowmobile ready to go?" Graham asked.
There was the slightest pause. "Yeah. But there's a weather advisory out. They're expecting a blizzard and the whole town is shut down already. No one can get in or out. Blockades up and everything."
"You can't get around them?"
Another pause. "Of course I can. But I won't. Had to flash my ID just to get away long enough to come up to the tower."
"So flash it again."
"It's taken me this long to find him, I don't want to get caught because of a stupid decision. The blockades will be up all night, and probably into tomorrow. If it's clear enough by morning, I'll find a way out. One that won't arouse the suspicion of every rent-a-cop in the area."
"If he gets away—"
"He won't. His hotel reservation in Derby Reach is good until Wednesday morning, G.C., and I paid the clerk a hundred bucks to watch him. Two full days is plenty of time."
Graham stifled his frustration. "Fine."
"Over and out."
By the time the radio screeched, then went silent, Graham was already pulling clothes from his freestanding closet. No way was he waiting another twenty-four hours to get to Dave.
And Ferguson.
Keira stepped on the gas and squinted into the snowy onslaught, then glanced in the rearview mirror, trying desperately to see...anything. It was a hopeless endeavor. Someone could be right on her bumper, and she wouldn't know the difference.
Just minutes after she pulled her car onto the road that led up to the resort, the big, friendly flakes had turned into tiny, angry ones that threatened her vision.
Then she'd heard the announcement. They were closing the roads down. Emergency access only. She couldn't turn around, even if she wanted to. She just prayed that she'd get there in one piece.
In fact, if her calculations were right, she was kind of sure she should already have gotten there.
She gripped the wheel tightly.
The terrain underneath her car seemed to be growing steadily more uneven and the front-wheel drive hybrid was starting to protest.
But she pushed on.
"So much for signs," she muttered, and shot Drew's briefcase a dirty look.
Keira looked at the rearview again.
If someone was behind her, would they be able to see her, even with the lights on?
Unconsciously, she pushed down on the gas again, and her car heaved underneath her.
"C'mon, you stupid thing," she muttered. "Any second we'll reach the turnoff for the resort and you can go back to being your eco-obsessed self again."
After another few minutes of driving, the trees on the other side of the road still hadn't thinned out, and there was no break in the blizzard.
It really did seem to be a blizzard now. Even though it was technically daylight, the whiteness of the snow somehow darkened everything in Keira's line of vision.
So that's what a whiteout means.
She flicked on her high beams. They made no difference.
At last, Keira turned to the logical voice in her head for guidance.
Its reply was an unexpected shout.
Moose!
The huge, hairy beast stood out against the blank whiteness. It stared down the car. And it wasn't moving. It's not moving!
"I know, dammit!" Keira yelled back at the voice.
She swung the steering wheel as hard as she could. In reply, the tires on the hybrid screeched their general disapproval of the maneuver. As the speedometer dropped down to ten miles an hour, the car skidded past the moose and, for just a moment, relief flooded through Keira's body. But when she tore her eyes away from the animal, she saw that she'd simply traded in one disaster for another. A yawning chasm beckoned to her hybrid.
And all she could do as she sailed over the edge was close her eyes and pray.
As Graham stomped through the ever-thickening storm, his feet grew heavier. Even his snowshoes seemed to protest the slow trek. The route was steep and a lot of it bordered on treacherous. The bonus was that vertical climb turned a forty-mile hike into a ten-mile one instead.
Sweat built up on Graham's skin, dripping down his face and freezing in his beard. He flicked away the ice and paused to take a breath. The air was cold enough to burn. But neither the snow nor the wind were enough to block out the raging of his thoughts.
You knew the storm was coming but you picked this path anyway and you don't have a damned thing to complain about. You're sure as hell not giving up.
He slammed down his snowshoes with even more force and moved on. His internal monologue was right in so many more ways than he'd meant it to be. He hadn't just picked this particular path at this particular moment. He'd picked all the paths that led up to the metaphorical storm—perfectly matched to the actual one—which was his life.
The king of bad decisions.
With a crown of regret.
He almost laughed. Today of all days was not the day to turn into a poet.
Been alone far too long, he thought.
Then...
Admittedly, it was kind of a forced smile.
But it was a smile nonetheless.
Because today was going to be the day.
The one where she said yes.
The one where she gave in to Drew Bryant, the handsome, friendly neighborhood businessman whom she'd been flirting with for four years.
Today, she would tell herself—and believe it—that his business-minded attitude was a complement to her socially conscious one instead of a sharp contrast to it.
Yes, she was finally ready to dismiss the doubts in her mind that had never seemed all that reasonable to start out with.
Drew was as close to a perfect man as she'd ever met. Calm and predictable, financially stable and kind. Tall enough that when they kissed for the first time, she'd probably have to tip her head up at least a little, and good-looking enough that he'd probably stay that way until both of them were too old to care anyway.
It was a good list. A good cross section of pleasant characteristics that were totally at odds with the nervous butterflies in her stomach.
Go away, Keira grumbled at them.
But no. She was nervous, and the butterflies were prevailing. So she did the only thing she could—she beat them down as forcibly as she knew how.
No more excuses, no more waiting for this, that or the other thing.
She straightened her dress over her thighs and glanced at her bare ring finger on the steering wheel one more time. Maybe soon it wouldn't look so naked and exposed. So free.
Don't be silly, Keira, she chastised herself.
But it wasn't that silly, if she thought about it.
Her parents would be happy if she settled down. They weren't getting younger, and neither was she. Or Drew. He was nearly forty, and he'd hinted enough times that he was just waiting for the right girl. He'd also hinted enough times that maybe Keira was that girl. Jokingly called her his girlfriend on repeat since he moved in beside her parents just a few years earlier.
He was a good, stable man. Handsome. Friendly. A catch.
Just this morning, when she'd come by to water her mom's rhododendrons, he'd paused to say goodbye before he left for his business trip. He'd given her a peck on the cheek—and while it hadn't lit her up with fireworks, it hadn't felt bad, either. It wasn't until he drove away that Keira saw that he'd left his briefcase behind.
And a man on a business trip needs his briefcase.
It was a sign. A subtle push that she ought to take a spontaneous, romantic leap.
After only the briefest hesitation, she'd decided to do it. No call, no warning. Just a seizing of the moment. So she grabbed the overnight bag she kept at her parents' house and set out on the four-hour trip to the Rocky Mountains and the aptly named Rocky Mountain Chalet.
It was a chilly oasis right in the middle of the mountains—a hot spot for honeymooners who preferred ski hills to sandy beaches and hot toddies to margaritas. The surrounding resort town had year-round residences, too, but the chalet was really the hub of activity.
It would've surprised Keira if her parents' soft-spoken neighbor had chosen a place like this for a weekend of business, but she doubted he'd picked it himself. His clients, who often stopped by his house, and whom she'd had only a few occasions to meet over the past few years, seemed like the kind of men who liked nice things. Bespoke suits and menus that didn't have any prices.
Not that Drew was any less classy. He was just a little more understated than overpriced. A little more golf shirt and chinos, and little less glossy necktie and cufflinks. A square-cut diamond versus a marquise.
You're stalling.
Keira realized that she had stopped, her hands on the wheel at exactly ten and two, her eyes so glazed over that they almost didn't see the forbidding sign that pointed out cheerily how solidly she was about to seal her fate.
No Turnaround, Twenty-Two Miles, it read.
The drive time had passed far more quickly than she thought. The hours had felt like minutes, and the resort was close now.
Was what she was doing crazy and impetuous? Maybe. But it was also the perfect story to tell their friends. Their kids, if they had them. Plus, she got the feeling that settling into a life with Drew wouldn't allow a whole lot of wildness.
Which is a good thing, she reminded herself.
She was mild mannered and easygoing, too. So they were kind of perfect for each other.
And she was almost there. That final turn up the mountain was all it would take.
"Well," she said to the air. "This is it."
Somehow, the second she clicked on her turn signal, the air got colder.
And when she depressed the gas pedal and actually followed through on the turn itself, Keira swore she had to turn the heat up.
Graham woke from the nightmare far too slowly.
It was the kind of dream that he deserved to be ripped away from quickly, not dragged from reluctantly.
In it, he'd been chasing Holly through their home. She'd started out laughing, but her laughter had quickly turned to screams, and when Graham caught up with her at the bottom of the curved staircase, he saw why. Sam's small body was at the bottom. Graham had opened his mouth to ask what Holly had done, but she beat him to it.
"What did you do?"
The words were full of knowing accusation, and try as he might, he couldn't deny responsibility for the boy's death.
The image—and the question—hung in Graham's mind as he eased into consciousness.
In reality, he'd never seen Sam's body—just the aftermath and the blood.
In the dream, though, it was always the same. Holly alive and Sam dead, and Graham left broken and unable to shake the false memories. He wished desperately that they would disappear completely, or at least fade as he opened his eyes. Instead, they tightened and sharpened like a noose around his psyche.
Survivor's guilt.
Graham was sure that was a large part of what he felt. The problem was he was increasingly sure he wasn't surviving.
The leads had dried up long ago, his investigation into who had pulled the trigger growing frustratingly colder with each year.
Even the name—Michael Ferguson—the one thing he'd had to go on, had never panned out.
Graham had always believed the truth would come out and, with it, justice. It had never been a part of his plan to live out his days—to survive them—in the middle of the woods in a cabin no one knew existed. He sure as hell never thought he'd wake some mornings wondering if he was as guilty as everyone thought he was.
What kind of man admitted publicly that he didn't love his wife just days after being accused of her murder?
Did an innocent man escape police custody and promptly disappear?
In the early days, those questions seemed easy to answer.
An innocent man ran only so he could give the authorities enough time to prove his innocence.
Four years had gone by, though, and instead of gaining traction and credibility, Graham's story had at first exploded in hatred and bitterness. Then faded to obscure infamy.
Dreams like the one he'd just had made him question every choice he'd made since the second he picked up his cell phone on that morning.
What if he hadn't answered it at all?
What if he'd called 9-1-1 himself instead of giving that nosy neighbor the time to do it?
What if—
The squawk of Graham's one and only electronic device cut off his dark thoughts. The bleep of the two-way radio was so unexpected that he almost didn't recognize it.
The mountain range that held the cabin hostage also insulated the location from uninvited transmissions. The two-way mounted to the underside of Graham's bed could only be reached one of two ways. Either the message sender had to be less than a hundred feet away, or he had to be right beside the tower at the top of the mountain, tuned to exactly the correct frequency.
The first would mean initiating lockdown mode. Which Graham wasn't in the mood for.
The second meant someone was trying to reach him on purpose.
And only one person knew where he was. "G.C., do you read me?"
Dave Stark. A friend. A confidant. The only person who'd stuck by him over the years. He was the man who'd placed the call to Graham on that morning. Whose voice threw Graham back every time he heard it.
"You there?" Dave asked.
Graham swung his legs from the bed and reached down to flip the switch.
"I should be asking if you're there. And why you're calling me sixteen days ahead of schedule. We're regimented for a reason."
"G.C., stop being your bullheaded self for one second... I have good news."
Graham went still. Good news? He wasn't sure what to do with the statement.
"Come again?"
"I found the man we've been looking for."
The world spun under Graham's feet. His mouth worked silently. Four years of waiting to hear those words, and now that he had, he couldn't think of a single damned thing to say.
"You still there, G.C.?"
Graham cleared his throat. "Where is he?"
"A place you know well."
"Stop being cagey, Dave. It doesn't suit you. Or the situation."
"Home."
Home. Forty-nine miles of nearly inaccessible terrain and two hundred more of straight highway driving is all that stands between you and the man who very likely killed your wife and son, and robbed you of your life. Michael damned Ferguson.
Hmm. Graham was far from stupid. What were the odds? And why had he surfaced now?
"He's there on business. Must've thought enough time had gone by that no one would be looking," Dave added as if in answer to Graham's silent question. "Booked in a hotel under another name, but I swear to God, G.C., I'd recognize the man in my sleep."
"You've got the snowmobile ready to go?" Graham asked.
There was the slightest pause. "Yeah. But there's a weather advisory out. They're expecting a blizzard and the whole town is shut down already. No one can get in or out. Blockades up and everything."
"You can't get around them?"
Another pause. "Of course I can. But I won't. Had to flash my ID just to get away long enough to come up to the tower."
"So flash it again."
"It's taken me this long to find him, I don't want to get caught because of a stupid decision. The blockades will be up all night, and probably into tomorrow. If it's clear enough by morning, I'll find a way out. One that won't arouse the suspicion of every rent-a-cop in the area."
"If he gets away—"
"He won't. His hotel reservation in Derby Reach is good until Wednesday morning, G.C., and I paid the clerk a hundred bucks to watch him. Two full days is plenty of time."
Graham stifled his frustration. "Fine."
"Over and out."
By the time the radio screeched, then went silent, Graham was already pulling clothes from his freestanding closet. No way was he waiting another twenty-four hours to get to Dave.
And Ferguson.
Keira stepped on the gas and squinted into the snowy onslaught, then glanced in the rearview mirror, trying desperately to see...anything. It was a hopeless endeavor. Someone could be right on her bumper, and she wouldn't know the difference.
Just minutes after she pulled her car onto the road that led up to the resort, the big, friendly flakes had turned into tiny, angry ones that threatened her vision.
Then she'd heard the announcement. They were closing the roads down. Emergency access only. She couldn't turn around, even if she wanted to. She just prayed that she'd get there in one piece.
In fact, if her calculations were right, she was kind of sure she should already have gotten there.
She gripped the wheel tightly.
The terrain underneath her car seemed to be growing steadily more uneven and the front-wheel drive hybrid was starting to protest.
But she pushed on.
"So much for signs," she muttered, and shot Drew's briefcase a dirty look.
Keira looked at the rearview again.
If someone was behind her, would they be able to see her, even with the lights on?
Unconsciously, she pushed down on the gas again, and her car heaved underneath her.
"C'mon, you stupid thing," she muttered. "Any second we'll reach the turnoff for the resort and you can go back to being your eco-obsessed self again."
After another few minutes of driving, the trees on the other side of the road still hadn't thinned out, and there was no break in the blizzard.
It really did seem to be a blizzard now. Even though it was technically daylight, the whiteness of the snow somehow darkened everything in Keira's line of vision.
So that's what a whiteout means.
She flicked on her high beams. They made no difference.
At last, Keira turned to the logical voice in her head for guidance.
Its reply was an unexpected shout.
Moose!
The huge, hairy beast stood out against the blank whiteness. It stared down the car. And it wasn't moving. It's not moving!
"I know, dammit!" Keira yelled back at the voice.
She swung the steering wheel as hard as she could. In reply, the tires on the hybrid screeched their general disapproval of the maneuver. As the speedometer dropped down to ten miles an hour, the car skidded past the moose and, for just a moment, relief flooded through Keira's body. But when she tore her eyes away from the animal, she saw that she'd simply traded in one disaster for another. A yawning chasm beckoned to her hybrid.
And all she could do as she sailed over the edge was close her eyes and pray.
As Graham stomped through the ever-thickening storm, his feet grew heavier. Even his snowshoes seemed to protest the slow trek. The route was steep and a lot of it bordered on treacherous. The bonus was that vertical climb turned a forty-mile hike into a ten-mile one instead.
Sweat built up on Graham's skin, dripping down his face and freezing in his beard. He flicked away the ice and paused to take a breath. The air was cold enough to burn. But neither the snow nor the wind were enough to block out the raging of his thoughts.
You knew the storm was coming but you picked this path anyway and you don't have a damned thing to complain about. You're sure as hell not giving up.
He slammed down his snowshoes with even more force and moved on. His internal monologue was right in so many more ways than he'd meant it to be. He hadn't just picked this particular path at this particular moment. He'd picked all the paths that led up to the metaphorical storm—perfectly matched to the actual one—which was his life.
The king of bad decisions.
With a crown of regret.
He almost laughed. Today of all days was not the day to turn into a poet.
Been alone far too long, he thought.
Then...
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherHarlequin
- Publication date2015
- ISBN 10 0373698836
- ISBN 13 9780373698837
- BindingMass Market Paperback
- Number of pages224
- Rating
Buy New
Learn more about this copy
US$ 23.24
Shipping:
FREE
Within U.S.A.
Top Search Results from the AbeBooks Marketplace
Stock Image
Trusting a Stranger (Harlequin Intrigue)
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Condition: New. Buy with confidence! Book is in new, never-used condition 0.4. Seller Inventory # bk0373698836xvz189zvxnew
Buy New
US$ 23.24
Convert currency
Stock Image
Trusting a Stranger (Harlequin Intrigue)
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. Brand New Copy. Seller Inventory # BBB_new0373698836
Buy New
US$ 20.27
Convert currency
Stock Image
Trusting a Stranger (Harlequin Intrigue)
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. New. Fast Shipping and good customer service. Seller Inventory # Holz_New_0373698836
Buy New
US$ 21.46
Convert currency
Stock Image
Trusting a Stranger (Harlequin Intrigue)
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. Buy for Great customer experience. Seller Inventory # GoldenDragon0373698836
Buy New
US$ 22.44
Convert currency
Stock Image
Trusting a Stranger (Harlequin Intrigue)
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. New. Seller Inventory # Wizard0373698836
Buy New
US$ 26.38
Convert currency
Stock Image
Trusting a Stranger (Harlequin Intrigue)
Seller:
Rating
Book Description Paperback. Condition: new. New Copy. Customer Service Guaranteed. Seller Inventory # think0373698836
Buy New
US$ 27.37
Convert currency