Praise for the novels of
“Neggers’ passages are so descriptive that one almost finds one’s teeth chattering from fear and anticipation as well as from the cold. The chill from the emotionless and guiltless killers’ icy hearts is enough to cause frostbite to our very souls.”
—
“No one does romantic suspense better!”
—Janet Evanovich
“Well-drawn characters, complex plotting and plenty of wry humor are the hallmarks of Neggers’ books. Jo and Elijah are very well matched, and readers will root for their romance.”
—
“Neggers’ trademark use of atmospheric mood and setting, including the mist of the title itself, comes front and center. What she’s done is add aspects of the high-action thriller to traditional romantic suspense, combining the best of both in creating a genre all her own. Flat out great.”
—
“Readers will be turning the pages so fast their fingers will burn…a winner!”
—Susan Elizabeth Phillips on
“When it comes to romance, adventure and suspense, nobody delivers like Carla Neggers.”
—Jayne Ann Krentz
THE WHISPER
COLD RIVER
THE MIST
BETRAYALS
COLD PURSUIT
TEMPTING FATE
THE ANGEL
ABANDON
CUT AND RUN
THE WIDOW
BREAKWATER
DARK SKY
THE RAPIDS
NIGHT’S LANDING
COLD RIDGE
THE HARBOR
STONEBROOK COTTAGE
THE CABIN
THE CARRIAGE HOUSE
THE WATERFALL
ON FIRE
KISS THE MOON
CLAIM THE CROWN
CARLA NEGGERS
COLD DAWN
To Margaret Marbury and Adam Wilson—
many thanks!
One
N ick Martini rolled out of the four-poster bed in his spacious room in an older part of Black Falls Lodge and turned on a light on his bedside table. He glanced at the clock radio.
Four-thirty.
“Hell,” he said, tempted to crawl back under the down comforter.
Instead he stood up on a thick, brightly colored carpet—yellow sunflowers against a blue background—on the pine-board floor and walked over to the double windows, their cream-colored drapes pulled tightly shut against the Vermont cold.
He’d arrived after dark last night. It’d still be dark out now.
He opened the drapes, anyway.
Yep. Dark.
He felt the below-freezing outside air seep through the windows but left the drapes open. In Southern California, he’d be asleep. Even in northern New England, with the three-hour time difference, he should be asleep. After his long flight yesterday and his drive from a small airport an hour north of the lodge, he’d almost turned around and found somewhere else to spend the night.
He’d always expected he’d check out Black Falls, Vermont, at some point, but it wasn’t his ten-year friendship with Sean Cameron, his business partner and fellow smoke jumper in California, that had finally brought him East to the Green Mountains and Cameron country.
It was a serial arsonist. A killer.
And it was Sean’s sister, Rose.
Nick looked over at the bed with its posts and pictured Rose in his bed in Beverly Hills eight months ago, her skin glowing in the aftermath of their lovemaking. She’d caught him staring at her and had pulled the sheet over her nakedness, as if only realizing just then what a huge mistake she’d made.
He raked a hand through his hair and bolted for the bathroom, with its gleaming porcelain and chrome and its soft, ultrawhite towels. He turned on the shower and tore open a bar of Vermont-made goat’s milk soap while he waited for the water to heat up. He climbed in, stood under the stream of water as hot as he could stand and told himself he still could turn back.
He didn’t have to see anyone else in Black Falls.
He didn’t have to see Rose.
For ten years he’d fought wildfires, and for six years he’d served on a navy submarine. He’d faced dangers and hardships, and he’d seen people die—he’d come close to death himself. He’d always done his best and acted honorably, even when he’d screwed up.
Until Rose Cameron.
As he shut off the shower and reached for a towel, he could taste her mouth, feel her breasts under his palms, hear her soft cries as she’d climaxed under him, clawing at him, sobbing his name.
They’d known exactly what they were doing that night.
Nick toweled off and got dressed in the warmest clothes he’d packed. He doubted he’d pass for a Vermont mountain man, but he didn’t care. He headed out to the hall, shutting his door quietly behind him and taking the stairs down to the lobby. The lodge, long owned and operated by the Cameron family, hadn’t seemed crowded when he’d arrived at nine o’clock last night. From what he’d learned from Sean over the years, it drew its biggest crowds in the warm-weather months.
Just as well, considering the spate of violence the town had experienced since the fall.
Since last spring, really.
A brochure tacked open on a bulletin board in the lobby listed daily winter activities. Nick could take his pick of such diversions as snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, arts and crafts, yoga, nature walks and dance lessons. He
