ESCAPING
REALITY is book one in The Secret Life of Amy Bensen series and it is
now ON SALE for just $1.99 (reg. $7.99)
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your copy of this sexy, thrilling mystery at the following retailers:
About
the series: At the young age of eighteen, tragedy and a dark secret
force Lara to flee all she has known and loved to start a new life.
Now years later, with a new identity as Amy, she’s finally dared to
believe she is forgotten—even if she cannot forget. But just when
she lets her guard down, the ghosts of her past are quick to punish
her, forcing her back on the run.
On
a plane, struggling to face the devastation of losing everything
again and starting over, Amy meets Liam Stone, a darkly entrancing
recluse billionaire, who is also a brilliant, and famous, prodigy
architect. A man who knows what he wants and goes after it. And what
he wants is Amy. Refusing to take “no” as an answer, he sweeps
her into a passionate affair, pushing her to her erotic limits. He
wants to possess her. He makes her want to be possessed. Liam demands
everything from her, accepting nothing less. But what if she is too
devastated by tragedy to know when he wants more than she should
give?
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Amy…
My
name is all that is written on the plain white envelope taped to the
mirror.
I
step out of the stall inside the bathroom of Manhattan’s
Metropolitan Museum, and the laughter and joy of the evening’s
charity event I’ve been enjoying fades away. Fear and dread slam
into me, shooting adrenaline through my body. No.
No. No. This
cannot be happening and yet it is. It is, and I know what it means.
Suddenly, the room begins to shift and everything goes gray. I fight
the flashback I haven’t had in years, but I am already right there
in it, in the middle of a nightmare. The scent of smoke burns my
nose. The sound of blistering screams shreds my nerves. There is pain
and heartache, and the loss of all I once had and will never know
again. Fighting a certain meltdown, I swallow hard and shove away the
gut-wrenching memories. I can’t let this happen. Not here, not in a
public place. Not when I’m quite certain danger is knocking on my
door.
On
wobbly knees and four-inch black strappy heels that had made me feel
sexy only minutes before and clumsy now, I step forward and press my
palms to the counter. I can’t seem to make myself reach for the
envelope and my gaze goes to my image in the mirror, to my long
white-blond hair I’ve worn draped around my shoulders tonight
rather than tied at my nape, and done so as a proud reflection of the
heritage of my Swedish mother I’m tired of denying. Gone too are
the dark-rimmed glasses I’ve often used to hide the pale blue eyes
both of my parents had shared, making it too easy for me to see the
empty shell of a person I’ve become. If this is what I am at
twenty-four years old, what I will be like at thirty-four?
Voices
sound outside the doorway and I yank the envelope from the mirror and
rush into the stall, sealing myself inside. Still chatting, two
females enter the bathroom, and I tune out their gossip about some
man they’d admired at the party. I suddenly need to confirm my
fate. Leaning against the wall, I open the sealed envelope to remove
a plain white note card and a key drops to the floor that looks like
it goes to a locker. Cursing my shaking hand, I bend down and scoop
it up. For a moment, I can’t seem to stand up. I want to be strong.
I
have to
be strong. I shove to my feet and blink away the burning sensation in
my eyes to read the few short sentences typed on the card.
I’ve
found you and so can they. Go to JFK Airport directly. Do not go
home. Do not linger. Locker 111 will have everything you need.
My
heart thunders in my chest as I take in the signature that is nothing
more than a triangle with some writing inside of it. It’s the
tattoo that had been worn on the arm of the stranger who I’d met
only once before. He’d saved my life and helped me restart my life,
and he’d made sure I knew that symbol meant that I am in danger and
I have to run.
I
squeeze my eyes shut, fighting a wave of emotions. Once again, my
life is about to be turned upside down. Once again I will lose
everything, and while everything is so much less than before, it’s
all I have. I crumble the note in my hand, desperate to make it, and
this hell that is my reality, go away. After six years of hiding, I’d
dared to believe I could find “normal”, but that was a mistake.
Deep down, I’ve known that since two months ago when I’d left my
job at the central library as a research assistant, to work at the
museum. Being here is treading water too close to the bridge.
I
straighten and listen as the women’s voices fade before the room
goes silent. Anger erupts inside me at the idea that my life is about
to be stolen from me again and I tear the note in tiny pieces, flush
them down the toilet and shove the envelope into the trash. I want to
throw away the key too, but some part of me won’t let that happen.
Probably the smart, unemotional part of me that I hate right now.
Unzipping
the small black purse I have strapped across my chest and over my
pale blue blazer, that despite my tight budget, I’d splurged on for
this new job, I drop the key inside, sealing it away. I’m going to
finish my party. Maybe I’m going to finish my life right here in
New York City. The note didn’t say I’d been found. It only warned
I could be found. I don’t want to run again. I don’t. I need time
to think, to process, and that is going to have to wait until after
the party.
Decision
made, I exit the stall, cutting my eyes away from the mirror and
heading for the door. I do not want anyone to see me right now when I
have no idea who me is or will be tomorrow. In a zone, that numb
place I’ve used as a survival tool almost as many times as I’ve
tried to find the meaning of that symbol on the note, I follow the
soft hum of orchestra music from well-placed speakers, entering a
room with a high oval ceiling decorated with magnificent artwork. I
tell myself to get lost in the crush of patrons in business attire,
while waiters toting trays offer champagne and finger foods, but I
don’t. I simply stand there, mourning the new life I’ve just
begun, and I know is now gone. My “zone” has failed me.
“Where
have you been?”
The
question comes as Chloe Monroe, the only person I’ve let myself
consider a friend in years, steps in front of me, a frown on her
heart-shaped face. From her dark brown curls bouncing around her
shoulders to her outgoing personality and fun, flirty attitude, she
is my polar opposite and I love that about her. She is everything I
am not and hoped I would become. Now I will lose her. Now I will lose
me again.
“Well,”
she prods when I don’t reply quickly enough, shoving her hands onto
her hips, “where have you been?”
“Bathroom,”
I say. “There was a line.” I sound awkward. I feel awkward. I
hate how easily the lie comes to me, how it defines me. A lie is all
that I am.
Chloe’s
brow puckers. “Hmmm. There wasn’t one when I was there. I guess I
got lucky.” She waves off the thought. “Sabrina is freaking out
over some donation paperwork she can’t find and says she needs you.
I thought you were doing research When did you start handling donor
paperwork?”
“Last
week, when she got overwhelmed,” I say, and perk up at the idea
that my new boss needs me. I don’t need to leave. I need
to
be needed even if it’s just for tonight. “Where is she?”
“By
the front desk.” She laces her arm through mine. “And I’m
tagging along with you. I have a sixty-year-old admirer who’s
bordering on stalker. I need to hide before he hunts me down.”
She
tugs me forward, and I let her, too distracted by her words to stop
her. She’s worried about being hunted but I
am
the one being hunted. I thought I wasn’t anymore. I thought I was
safe, but I am never safe, and neither is anyone around me. I’ve
lived that first hand. I felt that heartache of loss, and while being
alone sucks, losing someone you care about is far worse.
My
selfishness overwhelms me and I stop dead in my tracks to pull Chloe
around to face me. “Tell Sabrina I’m grabbing the forms and will
be right there.”
“Oh.
Yes okay.” Chloe lets go of my arm, and for a moment I fight the
urge to hug her, but that would make her seem important to me, and
someone could be watching. I turn away from her and rush for a door,
and I feel sick to my stomach knowing that I will never see her
again.
I
finally exit the side of the building into the muggy August evening,
and head for a line of cabs, but I do not rush or look around me.
I’ve learned ways to avoid attention, and going to work for a place
that has a direct link to the world I’d left behind hadn’t been
one of them. It had simply been a luxury I’m now paying for.
“JFK
Airport,” I pant as I slide into the back of a cab, and rub the
back of my neck at a familiar prickling sensation. A feeling I’d
had often my first year on my own, when I’d been certain danger
waited for me around every corner. Hunted.
I’m
being hunted. All the denial I own won’t change my reality.
*
* * * *
The
ride to the airport is thirty minutes and it takes me another fifteen
to find locker 111 once I’m inside the building. I pull it open and
there is a carry-on-sized roller suitcase and a smaller brown leather
shoulder bag with a large yellow envelope sticking up from inside the
open zipper. I have no desire to be watched while I explore what’s
been left for me. I remove the locker’s contents, and follow the
sign that indicates a bathroom.
Once
again in a stall, I pull down the baby changer and check the contents
of the envelope on top. There is file folder, a bank card, a cell
phone, a passport, a notecard, and another small sealed envelope. I
reach for the note first.
There
is cash in the bank account and the code is 1850. I’ll add more as
you need it and until you get fully settled. You’ll find a new
social security card, driver’s license, and passport as well. You
have a complete history to memorize and a résumé and job history
that will check out if looked into. Throw out your cell phone. The
new one is registered under your new name and address. There’s a
plane ticket and the keys to an apartment along with a location. Toss
all identification and don’t use your bank account or credit cards.
Be smart. Don’t link yourself to your past. Stay away from museums
this time.
A
new name. That’s what stands out to me. I’m getting another
new
name. No. No. No. My heart races at the idea. I don’t want another
new name. Even more than I don’t want to be back on the run, I
don’t want another
new name. I feel like a girl having her hair chopped off. I’m
losing part of myself. After living a lie for years, I’m losing the
only part of my fake identity I’d ever really accepted as me.
I
grab the passport and flip it open and my hand trembles at the sight
of a photo that is a present-day me. How did this stranger I met only
one time in my life get a picture of me this recent? It doesn’t
matter I’d once considered him my Guardian Angel. I’m freaked out
by this. Has he been watching me all this time? I shiver at the idea,
and my only comfort is my new name. I’m now Amy Bensen rather than
Amy Reynolds. I’m still Amy. It is the one piece of good news in
all of this and I cling to it, using it to stave off the meltdown I
feel coming. I just have to hold it together until I get on the
plane. Then I can sink into my seat and think myself into my “zone”
that I can’t seem to fully find.
Flipping
open the folder, I find an airline ticket. I’m going to Denver and
I leave in an hour. I’ve never been anywhere but Texas and New
York. All I know about Denver is it’s big, cold, and the next place
I will pretend is home when I have no home. The thought makes my
chest pinch, but fear of what might await me if I don’t run pushes
me past it.
I
turn off my cell phone so it won’t ping and stuff it, with
everything but my new ID and plane ticket, back into the envelope. I
have my own money in the bank and I’m not about to get rid of my
identification and access to that resource. Besides, the idea of
using a bank card that allows me to be tracked bothers me. I’ll be
visiting the bank tomorrow and removing any cash I can get my hands
on. When I’d been eighteen, naive and alone, I’d blindly trusted
a stranger I’d called my Guardian Angel. I might have to trust him
now too, but it won’t be blindly.
Making
my way to check in, I fumble through using the ticket machine and my
new identification and then track a path to security. A few minutes
later, I’m on the other side of the metal detectors and I stop at a
store to buy random things I might need. All is going well until I
arrive at the ticket counter.
“I’m
so sorry, Ms. Bensen,” the forty-something woman begins. “We had
an administrative error and seats were double-booked. We—”
“I
have to be on this flight,” I say in a hissed whispered with my
heart in my throat. “I have to be on this flight.”
“I
can get you a voucher and the first flight tomorrow.”
“No.
No. Tonight. Give someone a bigger voucher to get me a seat.”
“I—”
“Talk
to a supervisor,” I insist, because while avoiding attention means
I am not a pushy person, and despite my initial denial of my
circumstances that might suggest otherwise, I have no death wish. I
am alive and plan to stay that way.
She
purses her lips and looks like she might argue, but finally she turns
away and makes a path toward a man in uniform. Their heads dip low
and he glances at me before the woman returns. “We have you on
standby and we’ll try to get you on.”
“How
likely is it you’ll get me on?”
“We’re
going to try.”
“Try
how hard?”
Her
lips purse again. “Very.”
I
let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. And I’m sorry. I have
a…crisis of sorts. I really have to get to my destination.” There
is a thread of desperation to my voice I do not contain well.
Her
expression softens and I know she heard it. “I understand and I am
sorry
this happened,” she assures me. “We are trying to make this right
and so you don’t panic please know that we have to get everyone
boarded before we make any passenger changes. You’ll likely be the
last on the plane.”
“Thanks,”
I say, feeling awkward. “I’ll just go sit.” Definitely
flustered, I turn away from the counter. Ignoring the few vacant
seats, I head to the window and settle my bags on the floor beside
me. Leaning against the steel handrail on the glass, I position
myself to see everyone around me to be sure I’m prepared for any
problem before it’s on me. And that’s when the room falls away,
when my gaze collides with his.
He
is sitting in a seat that faces me, one row between us, his features
handsomely carved, his dark hair a thick, rumpled finger temptation.
He’s dressed in faded jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, but he could
just as easily be wearing a finely fitted suit and tie. He is older
than me, maybe thirty, but there is a worldliness, a sense of control
and confidence, about him that reaches beyond years. He is money,
power, and sex, and while I cannot make out the color of his eyes, I
don’t need to. All that matters is that he is one hundred percent
focused on me, and me on him. A moment ago I was alone in a crowd and
suddenly, I’m with him. As if the space between us is nothing. I
tell myself to look away, that everyone is a potential threat, but I
just…can’t.
His
eyes narrow the tiniest bit, and then his lips curve ever so slightly
and I am certain I see satisfaction slide over his face. He knows I
cannot look away. I’ve become his newest conquest, of which I am
certain he has many, and I’ve embarrassingly done so without one
single moan of pleasure in the process.
“Inviting
our first-class guests to board now,” a female voice says over the
intercom.
I
blink and my new, hmmm, whatever he is, pushes to his feet and slides
a duffle onto his shoulder. His eyes hold mine, a hint of something
in them I can’t quite make out. Challenge, I think. Challenge? What
kind of challenge? I don’t have time to figure it out. He turns
away, and just like that I’m alone again.
SERIES
READING ORDER & SALE LINKS
Escaping
Reality #1
Infinite
Possibilities #2 (Available NOW!)
PRE-ORDER
BOOKS 3 & 4 NOW!
Forsaken
#3 (8/18/15)
Unbroken
#4 (9/7/15)
New
York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the
author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT SERIES, and is now in
development by Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland) for cable TV. In
addition, her Tall, Dark and Deadly series and The Secret Life of Amy
Bensen series, both spent several months on a combination of the NY
Times and USA Today lists.
Watch
the video on casting for the INSIDE TV Show HERE
Since
beginning her publishing career in 2007, Lisa has published more than
40 books translated around the world. Booklist says that Jones
suspense truly sizzles with an energy similar to FBI tales with a
paranormal twist by Julie Garwood or Suzanne Brockmann.
Prior
to publishing, Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was
recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised
by Dallas Women Magazine. In 1998 LRJ was listed as the #7 growing
women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.
Lisa
loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at on her website
and she is active on twitter and facebook daily.
About K.A. Tucker:
