ECHOES OF DARKNESS
Book Two of the Darkness Small Town Suspense Series
Not every legacy deserves to survive.
Not every secret deserves to stay buried.
When a man is found hanged in the library of a small Sierra Nevada town, interim Sheriff Izar Llewellyn suspects murder. With help from the local doctor, she uncovers a deadly legacy dating back to the Gold Rush. But powerful forces want the past to stay buried—and they're willing to kill again.
EXPLORE
Echoes of Darkness
In the shadow of California's Sierra Nevada mountains lies Darkness, a town where secrets run as deep as the valleys and some families' roots are stained with blood.
Interim Sheriff Izar Llewellyn has enough on her plate, trying to prove herself worthy of her badge while battling small-town politics and her own painful past. But when a local mechanic is found hanged in the library's historical reading room, what looks like suicide soon reveals a darker truth.
As Izzy digs deeper, she uncovers a generations-old web of murder, land theft, and betrayal that threatens the town's most powerful family. With help from the town's brooding doctor, Cole Barrow, she begins to piece together a story that started during the California Gold Rush and never truly ended.
But some people will kill to keep the past buried, and Izzy's investigation has stirred up more than old ghosts. Now she's not just fighting for justice—she's fighting for her life.
A gripping romantic suspense novel that proves some family legacies are written in blood.
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Reviews
what people say
I love Izzy Llewellyn. She's new favorite cop.
Early reader
It's a gripping thriller and I love the romantic angle too. Not overdone, but Izzy and Cole's relationship give this story real depth.
early reader
Female lead-check. Small town suspense-check. Hunky love interest-check. What's not to love here?
early reader
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Chapter 01
Special Agent Izzy Llewellyn’s breath frosted in front of her face as she crouched behind a stack of wooden pallets and glanced around the desolate warehouse district, her fingers flexing around the grip of her Glock 19.
This was no Hallmark card. The snow was black and littered with mounds of exploded garbage bags. The organic matter spilling across the sidewalk should have smelled terrible, but the bitter wind whipping in off the Hudson River had mercifully incapacitated Izzy’s olfactory sense completely.
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