By Steve Hamilton
On a freezing evening in Michigan's top Peninsula, an evening that wouldn't believe so strange if it wasn't the Fourth of July, an old wood boat plows full-speed right into a line of outdated railroad pilings within the shallow waters of Waishkey Bay. With Alex McKnight at the rescue challenge, the passengers are introduced thoroughly to shore. Alex figures the story's over…but he's lifeless wrong.
The boat accident's satisfied finishing becomes a residing hell for Alex whilst he discovers that the 3 males he kept are literally hooked up to a dangerous drug-smuggling syndicate that has his female friend, Ontario police officer Natalie Reynaud, deep undercover miles away. Now it's as much as Alex to do harm keep an eye on on either side of the border-and defend the girl he loves-before the cycle of violence comes round complete circle…
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Extra resources for A Stolen Season (Alex McKnight, Book 7)
Tis the gentleman, sir. ” The boy straightened a little and shook his head. “He appears to be dead, sir. ” It was but a short walk from Jackson's in Bond Street to their destination in Portman Square, but even so, Morton's long, purposeful stride soon had the boy out of breath again, precluding conversation. Following along the dimly lit street came the hollow echo of a tired horse and tradesman's cart, the owner shuffling numbly beside. A pile of cobbles and rubble forced Morton and the boy outside the line of iron posts that protected unwary pedestrians from street traffic.
But, then, what could Morton say? They had an “understanding,” of sorts, and gentlemen like Lord Arthur Darley were part of it. Gentlemen of quality. Likely married. A man who did not find his money chasing criminals through the streets of London. Arabella raised her head and stared at him rather defiantly. Morton looked down at the scrap of paper he still held in his hand. Unfolding it, he held it up to the light and read aloud. “It will find you soon enough, The empty night after the day. ” Arabella asked.
Lord Arthur clasped her hands. “And how are you, my dear? Are you sure you wish to be in here? ” Arabella's eye strayed to the dead man. “No, I'm well. I have just sent Miss Hamilton home with her brother. She did not want to leave but her friends prevailed. Poor thing,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Yes, poor Louisa,” Darley agreed. Morton felt his head shake involuntarily. Arabella Malibrant was no more a shrinking violet than Morton himself. He was sure she could step over a corpse in the street and not interrupt her conversation.