The Chain of Lies - By Debra Burroughs Page 0,86

other in silence, neither seemed in a hurry to let go.

Emily was first to gently break the silence. “Colin?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “Didn’t I see a diamond ring?”

“Oh, sorry.” He pulled back from her embrace. “I got so excited when you said yes that I forgot to slip it on your finger.” He opened the box again and pulled the ring out.

Emily offered him her hand and he slid the spectacular ring on her finger. She held it up to admire it and it sparkled in the twinkling light. “The ring is stunning, Colin. You have excellent taste.”

“In rings and in women.”

She smiled at him, then her gaze returned to the ring as she continued to hold it up and admire it. “Mrs. Emily Andrews. That sounds nice.”

“I’ve never heard a more beautiful name.” Colin took her left hand and tenderly kissed the back of it, then softly kissed her lips. “Mrs. Emily Andrews,” he repeated, looking longingly into her eyes, “as long as we both shall live.”

– THE END –

Thank you so much for reading my book, The Chain of Lies.

I hope you enjoyed it very much.

The highest compliment an author can get is to receive a great review, especially if the review is posted on Amazon.com.

Please, read on… for an exciting sneak

peek of The Scent of Lies, A Paradise

Valley Mystery: Book One

Oh, what a tangled web we weave

when first we practice to deceive.”

~ Sir Walter Scott

PROLOGUE

Life has a way of not turning out the way you had planned, of taking you down roads you had no intention of ever going. Moving in unexpected twists and turns, some bends in the road make you stronger, while others can destroy you.

~*~

The housekeeper gasped and split the air with a horrifying, ear-piercing scream as she burst in on the mister and misses. She discovered the wife, clothed in a creamy satin robe, with her dark wavy hair floating around her shoulders, kneeling beside her husband’s almost lifeless body, which lay on the plush living room floor.

The wife stared wide-eyed at the bloody kitchen knife in her hand.

“Help me,” the man whispered almost imperceptibly, terror shimmering in his eyes, trying to grab hold of her wrist.

“Ricardo,” she cried, shaking her head violently. “No! This can’t be happening.”

“Delia...” he gasped.

“Call nine-one-one, Marcela!” the misses ordered.

“Marcela,” the man hissed with his last breath.

“Oh, my God, Miss Delia!” Marcela stood paralyzed.

“For heaven’s sake, Marcela, go call the police!” the wife screeched. “I think my husband is dead!”

CHAPTER 1

“Babe, it’s time to get up,” Emily Parker muttered sweetly.

She had awakened to the brilliant morning light streaming in through her bedroom window and sleepily stretched her arm out to her husband’s side of the bed, searching for his warmth. At the sensation of the crisply cold sheets, her hand recoiled. Flipping back the covers, she sat up and shook her head. After all this time, she still caught herself reaching out for him.

It was late on a lazy Saturday morning. Sleeping in was so unlike her, but after tossing restlessly in the night, with imaginings of her late husband floating in and out of her mind, she hadn’t drifted off to sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

Now, after a quick shower, she stood in the middle of her overflowing walk-in closet, looking for the perfect outfit to wear for her celebratory lunch with her best friends. She surveyed the racks of clothes, unable to make up her mind. She glanced at his side of the closet. Everything was exactly as Evan had left it that final morning six months ago. Still, she had not yet been able to bring herself to get rid of his things—she had her reasons.

From time to time she would drape herself in one of his shirts or sweaters just to smell his scent and to feel him near. Today would be one of those times. Compelled as she was by her dreams, her need to feel close to him won out over her need to hurry, and she buried her nose in a navy blue hooded sweatshirt hanging on the rack. Breathing in the lingering trace of his rugged masculinity brought him vividly to her mind. She could not help herself—she still missed his crooked smile, the warmth of his strong arms wrapped around her and how glorious he made her feel when they made sweet love.

Emily pulled it off the hanger and shrugged it on, hoping for some emotional comfort. Then she zipped it up and stuck her hands in the

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