Die Before I Wake

Die Before I Wake
Laurie Breton

Just five days after they meet, Julie Hanrahan and Dr. Thomas Larkin exchange vows on a moonlit Caribbean beach, the whirlwind conclusion to a romance that's swept her off her feet. Tom is sexy, witty and charming and Julie's sure she's found her Prince Charming. But not every fairy tale ends happily ever after. With a workaholic husband, a hostile mother-inlaw and a resentful stepdaughter, the honeymoon doesn't last long. Especially after Julie finds out that Tom's first wife didn't die in an accident after all.The cops called her death a suicide, but Julie is convinced that somebody helped Beth over the side of the Swift River Bridge. Every marriage has its secrets. Julie is starting to wonder if she'll survive discovering the truth about hers…or die before she wakes.

Praise for

LAURIE BRETON

“Don’t plan to go to bed early.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Point of Departure

“Breton skillfully balances the suspense and romance.”

—Publishers Weekly on Final Exit

“Breton keeps the readers guessing from the first page to the last…a great read.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Final Exit

“Gritty and realistic, Mortal Sin is a powerfully written story…a truly exceptional book on many levels.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Breton’s way with characters—and her knack for giving her tales a twist—elevates this story above most.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Lethal Lies

Laurie Breton

Die Before i Wake

For Grace,

who’s more than a boss,

but also a friend,

and who puts up with me

as graciously as her name implies

whenever I’m on deadline!

Thanks to my amazing editor, Valerie Gray, for the past six years. They’ve been great! Thanks also to the members of the MIRA art department, who always give me awesome covers. And, of course, to everyone else at MIRA Books who’s involved in the process of turning words typed on a page into a living, breathing book.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

One

I’ve always been a white-knuckle flier.

Normally the most rational of people, I have trouble trusting any law of physics that expects me to believe that a fifty-ton aircraft loaded with two hundred people is going to stay in the air because of something having to do with lift and thrust and air currents. In my narrow world view, gravity wins out every time. Every ounce of common sense tells me that the only possible outcome to such a scenario is for the plane to plummet from the sky, carrying me, and 199 other passengers and crew members, to a fiery death.

The flight from L.A. to Boston had taken about eight hours, and somewhere around Pittsburgh, we’d hit turbulence in the form of a hurricane that was battering the Northeast. I’d been forced to close my eyes to keep from seeing lightning tap dance all around the 747’s wing tips. Eventually, the thunder and lightning gave way to rain, and I relaxed a little. But it was more than the storm, more than my customary terror of falling from the sky in a ball of fire, that had my fingertips pressing permanent prints into the armrest of my first-class seat; it was the fear of what waited for us on the ground.

The plane began its descent into Boston. Beside me, Tom sat calmly leafing through an in-flight magazine as though he did this kind of thing every day. Thomas Larkin, OB/GYN, small-town New England doctor, widower, father of two and all-around heartthrob, was my new husband. And I still couldn’t believe it.

Julie Larkin. Julie Hanrahan Larkin. I kept mentally trying out the name, just to see how it sounded inside my head. What it sounded like most was disbelief. We’d met on a cruise ship, off the coast of Barbados. The trip had been a birthday present from Carlos and the girls at Phoenix, the L.A. boutique I managed. Because thirty was a significant birthday, and because the last couple years of my life had been a complete train wreck, my bighearted coworkers had thrown me a birthday bash, complete with black balloons, a male stripper and a ticket for a Caribbean cruise. They’d joked with me about finding Prince Charming somewhere on that floating palace. He would look like Johnny Depp—minus the eyeliner and the sword—and have more money than Donald Trump.

I’d gone along with the joke, even though I wasn’t in the market for a man. After the unimaginable losses of the last two years, I’d made it my mission to fill the empty void inside me with work. I had no room—or desire—for romance. After my divorce from Jeffrey, I’d expected to take a lengthy hiatus from the dating scene. Like maybe the rest of my life.

But, as John Lennon so famously said, life is what happens while you’re making other plans. Eighteen hours into the cruise, I found myself seated next to Dr. Thomas Larkin at dinner. Tom fit all the romantic stereotypes: He was tall, dark and handsome. Smart and witty and charming, with vivid blue eyes and a smile that drove like an arrow directly into my heart. Best of all, he made me laugh, when I hadn’t laughed in a very long time.

There were other things I also hadn’t done in a very long time. Following the guiding principle that what happens on the Princess line stays on the Princess line, I threw myself wholeheartedly into a shallow, scorching, unabashedly shameless shipboard romance. Ten days, I reasoned, and I’d be back in L.A., selling rhinestone bracelets to anorexic young blondes who played tennis and spent half their lives at the beach. In the interim, a little sun, sand and sex were just what the doctor ordered.

Except that, somewhere along the way, what was supposed to be no more than a shipboard fling turned into something else. And on the morning when Tom, his hair as rumpled as my bed sheets, pulled out a blue velvet box that held a single diamond solitaire, I realized he was offering me more than just marriage. He was offering me a second chance. A fresh start. And the opportunity to leave L.A., and all its sorrows, behind.

There was nothing left for me in L.A. Dad was gone. Jeffrey had moved on to bigger and better things. And Angel, the baby I’d lost, was nothing more than a sweet, painful memory. For a while, I’d been thinking about quitting my job, climbing into my beloved yellow Miata, and driving off alone into the sunset.

But Tom offered me so much more than that.