The Tempest Murders
By P.M. Terrell
About the BookDetective Ryan O'Clery has always had dreams of a beautiful woman he'd loved and lost but when he discovers his ancestor's journals from his native Ireland, he realizes his dreams are really the other man's memories.
Now he is working a series of murders in North Carolina that are eerily similar to cases Rian Kelly was working when his soul mate was murdered during one of Ireland's most horrific storms, in which the Atlantic Ocean swept over the island all the way to the Irish Sea.
As Hurricane Irene barrels toward the North Carolina coastline, Ryan discovers the serial killer's real target is a reporter who bears a striking resemblance to the woman of his dreams-a woman with whom Ryan O'Clery is falling deeply in love.
Is history destined to repeat itself? Or can Ryan save Cathleen Reilly from a killer intent on destroying everything he ever loved?
You can follow her blog at www.pmterrell.com.com.
Purchase your copy here.
ExcerptThey were bites away from finishing their meal when the sky opened up. There might have been a warning, had he been by himself and able to observe his surroundings; but by the time he noticed the trees bending deeply and the gray clouds roiling, the rain had descended on them in a torrent. Within seconds, their food was floating.
A tiny shriek escaped Cathleen's lips as she vainly tried to keep the rain off her head.
Ryan jumped up, grabbed her wrist and in one fluid movement, had her on her feet. They raced for the back door, managing to rush inside just as a wicked clap of thunder sounded, followed almost instantly by a white streak of lightning.
Once inside, he closed the door, plunging them both into relative silence. He turned around, an offer to get her a towel on his lips. But when he laid eyes on her, the words froze. She was completely drenched. Her hair was hanging in folds from which water streamed until it formed a puddle on the hardwood floor. Her thin blouse was plastered to her body and seemed to highlight the black lace bra beneath. It further accentuated a slender waist before giving way to jeans that she now appeared to have been poured into. Her feet were soaked and as he took in the petite toes peeking out, he found himself staring at the pink polish and a Celtic toe ring before his eyes moved back up her body.
By the time they reached her eyes, he felt as if he was on automatic pilot. His mind was completely blank, his emotions swept away. He stepped toward her at the exact moment he reached out and pulled her to him, the wet blouse teasing his chest. He didn't look in her eyes but closed his as his lips locked onto hers.
They were everything he'd dreamed about; full and moist and soft. But she wasn't kissing him.
He stopped and took a step backward, separating them. She stood perfectly still and stared at him with eyes that had grown round and huge. Her face had lost its color and as she continued staring at him, he realized she was in shock.
Horrified with his own boorish behavior, he stumbled over his words. "I am so sorry. I've never done anything like that in my life-"
She rushed at him and for the briefest of moments, he didn't know if she planned to slap him or pummel him or push him to the side to rush out the door. He staggered backward to get out of her way but when she descended on him her arms encircled his neck, pulling his head down to hers.