Chapter 1
KAT
Sirens sound in the distance, my heart beating faster as the flames climb higher. Panic floods my veins as I cover my nose with my shirt, easing myself blindly towards the door.
I can only pray they get to me in time – that these aren’t the last moments of my life…
I’m frozen.
My eyes read over the words on the screen, the cursor flashing as it waits for more, my mind unable to reconcile what’s happening.
There’s no way.
My hands hovering above the keys, hyperaware as the sirens grow louder.
It’s not in my head.
It’s real.
Yelling from somewhere outside has me easing myself up from the oversized chair, keeping to the shadows as walk to the front window.
And gasp.
A small group has gathered at the end of the rental’s driveway, a box almost fully engulfed as an elderly man tries to work a fire extinguisher to put it out.
No.
This can’t be happening.
But in my heart I know it is. This can’t be a coincidence.
Rushing back to the chair, I snatch my phone up, clutching the device in my hand as I race back to the door and throw the lock. Tears stream down my face as my sock covered feet hit silently against the pavement, smoke wafting into the air as the fire department arrives.
They’re shouting for everyone to get back but I can’t move, the smell of smoke clinging to me like a second skin as the last of the flames are finally doused.
There are so many questions – the police and firefighters peppering me with one right after the other.
Who lives here? It’s a rental.
How long have you been here? A week. I was using it to get some work done.
Did you see anyone lurking around? No, I’ve been consumed with work.
Every question has an automatic answer – rehearsed as the crowd is finally ushered away, the box hacked open to ensure the fire is really out, the contents now strewn across the driveway.
Books.
My books.
Destroyed.
Charred beyond recognition to the untrained eye.
But I’d obsessed over those covers, made sure every detail was carefully woven into the design – designs I can never claim in public.
Because to the world I’m Kat Harrington, sister to Colt Harrington, shortstop for the Illinois Blues, a man dubbed charming both on and off the field – and an absolute sweetheart in the public eye.
Kat Harrington: bestselling author of children’s books filled with fun adventures, bright illustrations and important themes incorporated at age appropriate levels.
A wholesome image to match my brother’s.
But that’s not what’s smoking like a summer barbecue in the driveway of the rental.
“Ma’am, do you know why someone would do this?” The cop asks, fresh faced with his pen poised above a notepad. His nametag reads Samson and I want to tuck that away for a future character, my ears perking up at the conversation around me.
“Looks like Sloane Daniels books,” another one says, as he pokes around, “my girlfriend reads them I got her one for Christmas with a sweatshirt that says I love Smut.” He chuckles before sobering, his gaze landing on me before returning to the wreckage in front of him.
It’s enough to get the cop’s attention taking my statement, his body shifting close to look at something on the ground.
“What the hell?” He mutters the words and I can’t wait – I need to know.
Moving right next to him, I look down at the pavement, the bottom of the box intact enough to have protected something underneath.
A single word.
Intentional.
A word painted onto the driveway – a message – just like the others.
SINNER.
No one was ever supposed to find out but someone did and I can’t ignore the fact that I may well be in danger.
Because Kat Harrington, author of childrens books is darling. But Sloane Daniels, author of dirty and dangerous romantic suspense is not. At least not in this narrative.
And even though I knew I’d get hate mail simply for writing, this is different.
This is personal.
They know who I am.
They know where I am.
And there’s no telling what will happen next.
Looking down at the driveway, I do my best to keep an appropriate expression on my face even as my stomach rolls. I need to call my brother – I need to get help before this gets worse.
I need to figure this out before I become the victim in the one story I was never supposed to write…my own.