No matter how much he drank, Gavin McAllister couldn't get the headline out of his head. Just words. He was a writer, made his living with words. The impact of the words directly correlated to the emotions of the reader. Words could be twisted, knives to open up wounds long hidden–maneuvered to evoke buried nightmares. Bare the soul, expose the wound, and you had a best seller. Make them laugh. Make them cry. Above all, make them feel something. He was an expert at manipulating words for emotion.
But he'd seen the body.
It wasn't a story this time. This time it was personal. The demon of his nightmares had no name, but now he knew where to look for him. Glade Springs had secrets. And no one uncovered secrets better than Jacody Ives.
