Lucky Charm
When private investigator Matt Morrison’s best friend is murdered, all evidence seems to point at his company, but Matt’s every attempt at entry is thwarted. Violently. When pretty Ariel O’Donnell comes unexpectedly to his rescue, he resolves to keep her out of what is clearly a dangerous situation. Unfortunately, it seems Ariel is already involved and the forces set in motion by Bill’s death are closing around her.
The longer she walked down the hallway, though, the more it seemed wrong. The walls were unpainted. Plastic draped unframed doorways. Construction or remodeling. She would have remembered that as a landmark. She didn't. Her heart sank.
Think. Work it out logically, she told herself.
She couldn't. She couldn't remember the way out of the damn building.
Then something caught her attention.
A sound. Or rather, sounds.
Was that a voice?
Voices, definitely. A low rumble, a man's voice, but it was people talking. They didn't sound happy. At this hour, she didn't blame them. A second shift working late maybe?
People meant directions, though. Or so she hoped.
Relieved, she followed the sound of the voices to a doorway, parted the plastic flaps that covered it...and froze in shock and horror.
Four men. Two held a third and not gently...
They hadn't seen or heard her, they were too intent on what they were doing.
Ariel looked at the third man.
He didn't look good, blood stained his mouth, his expression was slack, there was an abrasion on one cheek and he sagged in the arms of the other two as the third man bunched his fist to hit him again.
With obvious effort, the battered man braced himself defiantly. He lifted his head and for the briefest of moments their eyes met.
Shock shot through her.
He had the most amazing eyes. Sea-ice eyes. Eyes of a green so intense it was like the sun shining through an iceberg, as clear as glass, as bottomless as the ocean. Bottle-green eyes. Piercing, intense.
He was handsome, his features strong and even, his face a little long, with a high forehead. Thick wavy dark blond hair spilled over it. His mouth was firm, with a split in it where they had hit him. His shoulders were broad, strong.
For a moment, he stared at her, dazed, and then those startling eyes registered her presence. They widened in alarm.
The other man hit him again.
If they kept it up, if they kept hitting him, they were going to kill him.
Valerie Douglas is a prolific writer and genre-crosser, much to the delight of her fans. She reads and writes classic fantasy, romance, suspense, and as 
