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by DV Fischer (Author)
I'm afraid of death.
Working at a funeral home will do that to you. And when my parents died, that fear became impossible to ignore. I needed out. A clean break. So I ran to a forgotten little town in Utah where no one knew my name.
The rental was cheap, a so-called fixer-upper. I didn't mind the work. But no one warned me how bad it really was-shattered windows, Pepto-pink toilets, peeling yellow wallpaper. Oh, and the bloodstains on the floor.
Or that the last tenant vanished without a trace.
They also didn't mention the man sent to do the repairs: brooding, intense, hot... and freshly released from prison.
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