He’d buried her in the sand, covering her wounds and packing the sand in tightly around her. Only her head and some of her neck remained uncovered. Her hands were bound, or so he thought.
But she’d been working beneath the sand. Working even as the moments ticked so slowly past, and he kept taunting her.
He had taken his time with this little game. Tried to break her in those endless hours.
She wouldn’t be broken.
Her hands were free. If he’d just move that knife away from her neck . . .
He lifted the knife and stabbed it into the sand—into the sand right over her left shoulder. She choked out a cry as the sharp pain pierced her precious numbness.
“You’ll beg soon,” he told her. Then he was on his feet. Stalking away from her. “They all do.”
He’d left the knife in her shoulder and made the mistake of turning his back on her.
She’d lived this long . . . if she was going out, she’d fight until her last breath.
Her fingers were free. She just had to escape the sand. The heavy sand that he’d packed and packed around her.
Burying me.
She could feel the faint cracks start to slip across the sand as she shifted. Her strength was almost gone, but she could do this. She had to do it. If she didn’t, she was dead.
PROLOGUE
WHAT DO YOU SEE FOR MY FUTURE?”
Emma Castille slowly glanced up from the cards that were spread on the table before her. The young girl who sat across from Emma appeared to be barely sixteen. Her blond hair was secured in a haphazard knot at the nape of her neck, her clothes were faded, and her blue eyes were wide with a fear that couldn’t be controlled.
Emma didn’t reach for the cards on her table. She just stared at the girl, and said, “I see a family that’s waiting for you. You need to go home to them.”
The girl’s chin jerked. “Wh-what if they won’t have me?”
“You’d be surprised at what they’d have.” Darkness was coming, the night slowly creeping to take over the day. Emma knew that she would have to leave Jackson Square soon. Her time was almost up.
The others around her were already packing up their booths for the day. Psychics. Artists. Musicians. They were a mixed group, one that assembled every day as the sun came out, to capture the attention of the tourists in New Orleans.
Emma wasn’t psychic. She wasn’t gifted when it came to music or art. But she did have one talent that she used to keep her alive and well fed—Emma had a talent for reading people.
For noticing what others would too easily miss. Too easily ignore.
“You’re running from someone,” Emma said flatly. The girl had already glanced over her left shoulder at least four times while they’d been talking. Fear was a living, breathing thing, clinging to the girl like a shroud.
Emma knew what it was like to run. Sometimes, it seemed as if she’d always been running from someone or something.
“Will he find me?” the girl asked as she leaned forward.
Emma almost reached for the girl’s hand because she wanted to comfort her. Almost. “Go back to your family.” The girl was a runaway. She’d bet her life on it.
The young blond blanched. “What if it’s the family you fear?”
At those words, Emma stiffened.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me that everything will be all right?” the girl asked. She stood then, and her voice rose, breaking with fear. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me that I’ll go to college, marry my dream man, and live happily ever after?”
Others turned their way because the girl was nearly shouting.
“Aren’t you?” the girl demanded.
Emma shook her head. She didn’t believe in happily ever after. “Go to the police.” She said this softly, her words a direct contrast to the girl’s angry tone. “You’re in danger.” There were bruises on the girl’s wrists, bruises peeking out from beneath the long sleeves of her shirt. A long-sleeved shirt in August, in New Orleans? Oh, no, that wasn’t right. What other bruises are you trying to hide?
The girl stumbled back. “Help me.” Now her voice was a desperate whisper.
Emma stood, as well. “I’ll go with you—” Emma began.
But the girl had glanced over her shoulder once more. The blonde’s too-thin body stiffened, and she gasped. Then she was turning and running away. Shoving through the tourists crowding the busy square. Running as if her very life depended on it.
Because maybe, just maybe, it did.
Emma called out after her, but the girl didn’t stop.
Let her go, let her go.
But Emma found herself rushing after the girl, going as fast as she could. But New Orleans, oh, New Orleans, it could be such a tricky bitch, with its narrow streets and secret paths. Emma couldn’t find the blonde. She turned to the left and to the right, and she just saw men and women laughing, celebrating. Voices were all around her. So many people.
And there was no sign of the terrified blond girl.
Emma paused, and pressed her hand to the brick wall on her right as she fought to catch her breath.
But the wall was . . . wet. She lifted her hand, and in the faint light, she could see the red stain that covered her palm. A red that was—
Blood.
About the Author
Award-winning author CYNTHIA EDEN writes dark tales of paranormal romance and romantic suspense. She is a New York Times, USA Today, Digital Book World, and IndieReader bestseller. Cynthia is also a two-time finalist for the RITA® Award (she was a finalist both in the romantic suspense category and in the paranormal romance category). Since she began writing full-time in 2005, Cynthia has written more than thirty novels and novellas. She lives along the Alabama Gulf Coast.
www.cynthiaeden.com
www.avonromance.com
www.facebook.com/avonromance
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By Cynthia Eden
The LOST series
BROKEN
TWISTED
SHATTERED
PRAISE FOR CYNTHIA EDEN
AND HER NOVELS
BROKEN
“Sexy, mysterious, and full of heart-pounding suspense!”
Laura Kaye, New York Times bestselling author
“I dare you not to love a Cynthia Eden book!”
Larissa Ione, New York Times bestselling author
“Fast-paced, smart, sexy and emotionally wrenching—everything I love about a Cynthia Eden book!”
HelenKay Dimon
“Cynthia Eden writes smart, sexy and gripping suspense. Hang on tight while she takes you on a wild ride.”
Cindy Gerard, New York Times bestselling author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Broken copyright © 2015 by Cindy Roussos
Excerpt from Twisted copyright © 2015 by Cindy Roussos
SHATTERED. Copyright © 2015 by Cindy Roussos. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition NOVEMBER 2015 ISBN: 9780062349675
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062349668
FIRST EDITION
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Cynthia Eden, Shattered
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