No Good Reason

“I can’t do this. I can’t do any of this without her.” Detective Sanne Jensen (not blonde, not tall, definitely not Scandinavian) and Dr. Meg Fielding (scruffy, scatterbrained, prone to swearing at patients) are lifelong best friends, sharing the same deprived background and occasionally the same bed. When a violent kidnapping stuns the Peak District village of Rowlee, both women become involved in the case.

As Sanne and her colleagues in East Derbyshire Special Ops search for the culprit, and Meg fights to keep his victim alive, a shocking discovery turns the investigation on its head. With the clock ticking, Sanne and Meg find themselves pushed closer by a crime that threatens to tear everything apart.

“[
Snowbound
] grabbed me from the first page and kept me on the edge of my seat until nearly the end. I love the British feel of it and enjoyed the writer’s style tremendously. So if you’re looking for a very well written, fast paced, lesbian romance—heavy on the action and blood and light on the romance—this is one for your ereader or bookshelf.”—
C-Spot Reviews

“[
Desolation Point
] is the second of Cari Hunters’ novels and is another great example of a romance action adventure. The story is fast paced and thrilling. A real page turner from beginning to end. Ms Hunter is a master at an adventure plot and comes up with more twists and turns than the mountain trails they are hiking. Well written, edited and crafted this is an excellent book and I can’t wait to read the sequel.”—
Lesbian Reading Room

“Cari Hunter provides thrills galore in her adventure/romance
Desolation Point
. In the hands of a lesser writer and scenarist, this could be pretty rote and by-the-book, but Cari Hunter breathes a great deal of life into the characters and the situation. Her descriptions of the scenery are sumptuous, and she has a keen sense of pacing. The action sequences never drag, and she takes full advantage of the valleys between the peaks by deepening her characters, working their relationship, and setting up the next hurdle.”—
Out In Print

“Once again Ms. Hunter outdoes herself in the tension and pace of the plot. We literally know from the first 2 pages that the evil is hunting them, but we are held on the edge of our seats for the whole book to see what will unfold, how they will cope, whether they will survive – and at what cost this time. I literally couldn’t put it down.
Tumbledown
is a wonderful read.”—
Lesbian Reading Room

“Even though this is a continuation of the
Desolation Point
plot, [
Tumbledown
] is an entirely different sort of thriller with elements of a police procedural. Other thriller authors (yes, I’m looking at you Patterson and Grisham) could take lessons from Hunter when it comes to writing these babies. Twists and turns and forgotten or unconventional weaponry along with pluck and spirit keep me breathless and reading way past my bedtime.”—
Out In Print

No Good Reason

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http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

No Good Reason

© 2015 By Cari Hunter. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-396-7

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: June 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editor: Cindy Cresap

Production Design: Susan Ramundo

Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

Snowbound

Desolation Point

Tumbledown

No Good Reason

Thanks and a packet of chocolate HobNobs to Rad and Sandy at BSB for giving this one the green light, pointing me in the right direction, and saying yes to more books featuring this lovely cast. To Cindy for her editing prowess and for whacking some of my more arcane Brit-speak on the head. To Sheri for finding the right rocks and the right light to go with them. To my Work-Wife, Kelly, for keeping me laughing, sharing my love of biscuits, and directing all my daft research questions on to her long-suffering husband, Col. (Thanks, Col!) To everyone who’s read my books, sent feedback, written reviews, and become friends. And to Cat—as ever—for her patience and skill as a beta, but mainly for being daft enough to marry me.

In Memory of

Fiona Bone & Nicola Hughes

(12601)              (14846)    

“Born Brave”

She hurt. She hurt when she opened her eyes, and she still hurt when she closed them. Her tongue felt thick, too big for her mouth, and sticky against the cloth bound across it. She shouldn’t be able to feel the cold grit beneath her bare thighs, the dampness of the air, the raging thirst; she had never been able to feel them before. She had never been able to move before, either, to touch her fingers to the slick stone or to raise her hands and feel what they were tied with: some kind of plastic-coated rope, knotted tightly enough to bite into her skin. The muscles in her arms were leaden and slow to obey, her fingers fumbling as she pulled the cloth away from her lips. She tore at the rope with her teeth, snarling and weeping with frustration when it refused to slacken. A slither of sound made her freeze, breath held, heart racing, but nothing followed, no footsteps, no grunt of effort as if something heavy were being lifted. He never seemed to be gone for long, but then how could she gauge the time through the darkness and the drugs?

She jumped as a droplet of water splashed against her shoulder.

“Fuck…”

She was unsure whether she had drifted to sleep, unsure what she had been trying to do beforehand. Her hands twitched as if to prompt her, and with a shock of remembrance, she began to work at the rope again. Blood oozed into her mouth from her cracked lips, but the knot showed no sign of loosening. She gave up and drew her knees toward her, unable to stop herself gasping as she picked at the bindings around her ankles with stiff fingers. This knot put up little resistance, though the ligature left puffy circles in her numbed flesh.

She fell as soon as she tried to stand, bruising her hands and face against the stone. The pain gave her a split second of clarity, and she almost identified the vague thought that was nagging at her, but it faded at once. Letting it go, she staggered to her left, toward the point from which he always approached. She squeezed through the only gap she found and let the fresher air guide her path, a thin breeze that wrapped itself around her skin and set her shivering, even as she sucked in huge, grateful breaths. Leaving the stench of blood, excrement, and urine behind, she threw herself at the wooden pallet wedged into the low entrance point. Kicking at the planks drove splinters into her heels, but the air was growing cleaner still, and she could see flashes of the outside now. One final push knocked the barrier down, the momentum hurling her onto her hands and knees. She crawled over the threshold and then got to her feet, swaying and trembling and surrounded by nothing.

“Oh God, oh God.”

Nothing: no lights, no obvious paths, no signs of civilisation. There was just a thin sliver of moon and the wind howling across the moors.

“Somebody help me, please,” she whispered. “Please, please.”

She was still begging even as she started to run, her feet alternately sinking into the wet peat and tearing on the gritstone. She lost count of the number of times she fell and had to stagger back up. Only once did she stop, to quench her thirst at a small pond. Unable to coordinate her bound hands, she lowered her head and lapped at it like an animal, the water tasting earthy but clean and cold. When she stood again, her head swam, and her vision twisted in dizzying circles. She closed her eyes, listening to the wind whistle through the boulders, their massive silhouettes darker even than the sky. One day, not long ago, she had climbed rocks like that, scrambling for footholds and handholds, reaching up toward…