Karen Robards - The Midnight Hour

High Praise For
THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

Another thrilling story of suspense and romance from Karen Robards, who can be counted on to always do a good story and keep you interested on every page.

Romance Reviews

Sensual enjoyably light and airy.

Booklist

Absorbing The suspense keeps growing until the very end of the book. The characters feel genuine, especially Graces concern with her teenage daughters aberrant behavior. Fans of romantic suspense will heartily enjoy Ms. Robards newest book.

Harriet Klausner, Painted Rock Reviews

Remarkable! Once again, Ms. Robards brings us one unforgettable story.

Bell, Book and Candle

A tightly written mystery/romance Definitely a keeper.

Rendezvous

Ms. Robards, a powerful storyteller, has masterfully woven a nerve-shattering tale of suspense that explodes with passion. It is fascinating and intriguing to observe her characters as they grope through the maze of clues trying to discover the stalker. The conclusion is thrillingly unanticipated.

Old Book Barn Gazette

A tale of stalking and romantic intrigue.

People

Steamy romantic scenes.

Publishers Weekly

Dell Books by Karen Robards

GHOST MOON

THE MIDNIGHT HOUR

THE SENATORS WIFE

HEARTBREAKER

HUNTERS MOON

WALKING AFTER MIDNIGHT

MAGGYS CHILD

ONE SUMMER

NOBODYS ANGEL

THIS SIDE OF HEAVEN

FORBIDDEN LOVE

SEA FIRE

ISLAND FLAME

This book is dedicated to my parents,
Pete and Sally Johnson,
with love.
It is also dedicated, as always,
to the men in my life:
my husband, Doug;
and my sons,
Peter, Christopher, and Jack.

W HERE DO YOU THINK youre going?

The sound of his mothers voice affected him like fingernails scraping across a blackboard. His skin prickled, and he shuddered slightly. Turning to face her, he felt oceans of hostility surge through his veins. He hated her....

Out. His hand rested on the doorknob. She stood there glaring at him, arms crossed over the chest of her pink-flowered cotton robe. Her dyed-black hair was short and spiky with interrupted sleep. Her olive skin was creased with fifty-five years worth of sun worship, and worse. Without makeup to hide them, the bags under her eyes were as big and purple as grapes. Her neck was thin and wattled like a turkeys. She wore little white sock-things on her feet, and above them her legs were bare and scrawny, with big varicose veins twining like vines just below her knees.

She was ugly....

Its after midnight. Youre not going anywhere!

They were standing in the old-fashioned kitchen. It was long and narrow, with a faux brick linoleum floor and faux marble countertops. The cabinets were of plywood stained to look like oak. A scarred round table with four rickety-legged chairs took pride of place in the center of the room. On the table, there was a bowl of green plastic apples, the same apples that had been there since he could remember. Overhead, the illumination was provided by a single fluorescent fixture.

You off your Prozac, Ma? The drawled question was mocking. He turned away from her, turning the knob. He had thought to get out without waking her. Usually she slept like the dead, snoring like a drunk in the master bedroom just off the kitchen. Maybe shed been listening to Jay Leno. She had the hots for Leno, preferred him to Letterman. But usually she fell asleep before he came on.

I said youre not going anywhere! Youre seventeen years old, and youre living under my roof, and youll do as I say! Ill tell your father.... She was shriller than ever, shrieking shrill, as he ignored her, opening the door and running down the back steps into the welcoming night. The door slammed behind him, cutting her off in midtirade.

Ill tell your father... Big threat. It almost made him laugh. His father, the big-shot attorney who made his living suing people for a percentage of the award, was gone five days a weekin a slow week. When he got home, all he wanted to hear about was how many points Donny, jr., had scored in his basketball game, or whether Donny, jr., was gonna make the all-A honor roll again, like he usually did.

Big Don barely spared a glance, much less a word, for his younger son.

Hed known for years that as far as most peopleincluding his parentswere concerned, he was the moon to Donnys sun. Nobody saw him when the golden boy was around.

But the long hours after midnight belonged to him. The warm, windy darkness embraced him as he rolled his Honda 250 from the garage, straddled it, and took off with a roar down the driveway.

He smiled faintly as he pointed the bike toward his destination.

The sun had set now, and Donnys little brother had come out to play.

I T WAS JUST AFTER TWO A.M ., and Jessicas bed was empty.

Light from the hall spilled over the tumbled bed, leaving the rest of the room deep in shadow. Grace Hart didnt even bother to switch on the overhead light. Her tall, thin figure cast an elongated shadow across the pale rose carpet for no more than an instant. Then she moved. Three quick strides brought her to her daughters bedside. She yanked the covers clear to the foot of the bed just to make sure, but she already knew what she would find: nothing.

Jessica was not curled up in a tight little ball beneath the primrose comforter. A hasty glance around confirmed that Jessica was not in the tweedy pink armchair in the corner, or at her white-and-gold desk, or sprawled out with a pillow on the carpet. Grace didnt even have to check to know that Jessica was not in the connecting bathroom, or downstairs in the kitchen.... or, in fact, anywhere in the house.

Her fifteen-year-old daughter had snuck out.

Again.

Oh, God, Grace thought, staring blindly at the empty bed, what am I going to do?

There was no one but God to ask. She and Jessica lived alone. Grace loved her daughter more than life itselfbut lately she had grown terrified that she was losing her. This was the third time in the past two months that she had been awakenedby what? a stealthy sound? a bad dream? she didnt knowand risen from her bed to check on Jessica, only to find her daughter gone.

It was Monday nightno, Tuesday morning now. A school day. Jessica had to be up at 6:45 A.M . She had a Spanish test first period. Just before bedtime, Grace had spent an hour listening to her daughter conjugate verbs. The test counted double, and a good score could bring her C in that class up to an A, which would be enough to get her on the honor roll. They had both agreed that making the honor roll in high school was important, and Grace, at least, had been psyched about Jessicas chances. But how was she going to do on the test with no sleep?

Of course, Grace realized even as the question formed in her mind, that was the least of her worries at the moment.

The overriding one was, wheres Jessica?

She had a pretty good idea who her daughter was with, if not where she was. Now four weeks into her first year of high school, Jessica had fallen in with a new crowd, a cool crowd, she said, whose acceptance made her popular. The girls all wore flared jeans, midriff-baring tops, platform shoes, and neon-striped hair. (Talk about dj vu all over again: Grace had worn the same kind of thing, minus the Day-Glo hair streaks, when