The sleepy little New Jersey township has been relatively quiet as plans for the wedding of Claire Goodnite and Wesley O’Connell are in full swing. But when the patrons of the church’s singles group are being picked off one by one and branded with a scarlet letter in blood, Claire and the team put their festivities on hold to track down a killer.

It’s just another case, another day in the life of a police officer until tragedy strikes their small circle of friends. When one of their own becomes one of the victims, how will the group go on? Or more importantly, can Claire survive it?

It’s probably best you say your prayers . . .

Raw

Pain.

   What a stupid little word to describe what I am feeling right now—just four fucking letters—such a mundane word to explain the white hot lightning rips through my torso in the vicinity of where my heart used to be. It sears so acutely that my breath catches in my throat. 

   “No!” someone screams. I think it was me. It might have been me but I don’t know.

   Hands grab me from behind to stop me from closing the gap between me and the bloody body on the altar steps of my family church. These slabs of muscle and bone and joint and tendons restrain me, they hold me back from the jarring loss. But the cold truth of what has come to pass is front and center for all to see.

Anguish.

  This is anguish. This severe pain. A wound licked raw that I know will never heal. This is a wound that will only fester and turn putrid.

   “Let me go!” I wail. My voice is harsh and raw. The words are ripped from my chest leaving a raw wound in its wake.

   “No,” someone says. I don’t know who. I don’t care either. I can’t stop staring at the broken remains of someone I had loved above all else. Someone who managed to do the unthinkable, to break down my walls and invade my heart.

   Before I had looked at victims and thought why couldn’t I save them? Or it should have been me. But looking at the shell of what had been as it’s splayed on the plush carpet of the altar steps I know without a doubt that I would trade places in a heartbeat. If only it was my blood that was spilled and not theirs.

Greif.

   If this is what grief feels like I don’t want it. I want to go back to this morning when my life was normal. I had had the world at my feet, and my family was whole. I feel raw . . . exposed . . . I’m a wound that’s been flayed open down to the bone. But it cannot be stitched or cauterized.

   Maybe this is shock. I don’t know. All I do know know is that the world is a darker place tonight. This is not a loss that I or anyone else will get over. Not now, not ever. My name is Detective Claire Goodnite and everything has changed.

   I guess it’s best we say our prayers . . . 

Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.   Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.   10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.