fuonlyknew

 

“A riveting, pulse-pounding, adrenaline
rush of a thriller. Do not miss this book!” -Noelle W. Ihli,
author of Gray After Dark

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“Gripping
and full of surprises, The Bluff
is a clever psychological suspense with layered characters and an
atmospheric setting. Traymore masterfully ratchets up the tension
little-by-little until the shocking,
explosive end.” –Tracey
Devlyn, USA Today bestselling
author

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“What do you have to lose, Kate?” Ryan asked me, as we stood on the bluff
looking out on Lake Michigan.

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Turns out, almost everything.

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When I first moved
from Manhattan to this small town six years ago, I worried about many
things. I worried about finding a job. I worried that I’d be bored.
I worried that my relationship with charming photographer Ryan
Breslow was moving too fast. But I never worried about whether the
ground beneath my feet would crumble—both literally and
figuratively.

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My marriage didn’t
go as I’d imagined. A year ago, Ryan met his untimely death in a
car accident that’s still under investigation. Isolated and alone,
all I wanted was to sell my home and leave Crest Lake and its painful
memories behind.

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But with my home
inching ever closer to the edge of the crumbling bluff, the property
has become unmarketable. All of us on the lakefront have lost chunks
of property, and tempers are at a boiling point about what to do
next.

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And now, on the
evening of a contentious vote about how to fix this pressing issue,
my nemesis on the shoreline committee has been murdered. I know how
it looks, but it’s not what it seems. I have to get my plan passed
and cash out.

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Because I have secrets.

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And they won’t stay buried forever.

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ELEVEN

KATE

I awake to find myself rubbing my forearms vigorously with my hands and realize that I’m freezing cold. Something goopy and wet pushes into the space between my toes.

I look down.

I’m standing in mud.

Perilously close to the edge of the bluff.

My eyes widen. I gasp and take a few steps back. I turn to look behind me, and my heart races. A trail of footprints on the pavers stretches to my back door, illuminated by the motion lights in my backyard that pierce the black of night. I look down at myself, the spotlight shining on me. My sheer white nightgown is stuck to me, and my skin shows through the gossamer fabric. I’m wet, I realize. I look up at the night sky. It’s drizzling, and I need to get back inside. But I’m still foggy, not quite grasping what’s going on.

How did I get here?

Then it hits me. What must have happened. I head back to the house. My racing heart starts to slow, but the pounding in my chest is replaced with an uncontrollable shivering that rattles my bones. I get inside and lock the door behind me.

But then I remember the brick. And I think about the fact that somebody could have slipped into my house while I was outside. The alarm people are coming in a few days, but that does nothing for me now.

The chances are slim, I tell myself. But still. I look around, and I don’t see anyone. Then it dawns on me that if someone wanted to kill me, they could have simply pushed me off the cliff. So, I head upstairs to take a hot shower before I catch my death of cold.

I haven’t had a sleepwalking episode in decades, not since my father died and left me parentless, but I remember all too well what they feel like. I’m devastated. I wonder what triggered it. I had one of those feelings again last night before I went to bed. Like someone was watching me. That’s nothing new, though, and it doesn’t explain why this is starting up again.

I need to get ahead of it. It’s dangerous. And suddenly, prison isn’t my biggest fear. At least in prison, I wouldn’t be able to plunge myself off an eighty-foot cliff, shattering my body into a thousand pieces on the rocky shore below.

I laugh out loud at the thought and wonder if I’m starting to lose my mind.

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