The Bridge

By: Carol Ericson

His past is coming back to haunt him, and only one woman can bring this detective the redemption he needs in Carol Ericson’s new miniseries, Brody Law.

Under the Golden Gate, Elise Duran refused to be a serial killer’s next victim. She was the first of the abducted to survive. And Detective Sean Brody was there to make sure a second chance wouldn’t be necessary.

As the elusive murderer sends them messages, both personal and gruesome, the point becomes clear: no one can escape death. But Sean’s presence can’t be any stronger as he shadows Elise while on the job—and off it—proving she couldn’t have asked for a better protector. Though beneath his cool exterior Sean hides a troublesome secret. One that’s absolutely to die for…

He lifted one eyebrow. “Is that what you think this is all about? Protection? Securing a witness?”

The pulse in her wrist ticked up several notches. Could he feel it? “I’m the only witness you have right now.”

He chuckled in the back of his throat, and the low sound sent a line of tingles racing down to her toes.

“The SFPD is not in the bodyguarding business. We’re not going to put you in the Witness Protection Program. Everything I’ve done for you has been off the books and off the clock.”

She twisted her own napkin in her lap as she tilted her head back to take in his imposing figure. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do you have to ask?”

Chapter One

He wanted to kill her.


The whispered name floated along the fog, mingled with it, surrounded her.

Her eyes ached with the effort of trying to peer through the milky white wisps that blanketed the San Francisco Bay shoreline, but if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her.

And she planned to keep it that way.

A foghorn bellowed in the night, and she took advantage of the sound to make another move toward the waves lapping against the rocky shore. If she had to, she’d wriggle right into the frigid waters of the bay.

She flattened herself against the sand, and the grains stuck to her lip gloss. It now seemed ages ago when she’d leaned over the brightly lit vanity at the club applying it.

“Elise, come out, come out wherever you are.”

His voice caused a new layer of goose bumps to form over the ones she already had from the cold, damp air. Her fingers curled around the scrubby plant to her right as if she could yank it out of the sand and use it as a weapon.

If he caught her, she wouldn’t allow him to drag her back to his car. She’d fight and die here if she had to.

The water splashed and her tormenter cursed. He must’ve stepped into the bay. And he didn’t like it.

She drove her chin into the sand to prop up her head and peered into the wall of fog. The lights on the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge winked at her. The occasional humming of a car crossing the bridge joined with the lapping of the water as the only sounds she could hear over the drumbeat of her heart.

And his voice when he chose to speak, a harsh whisper, all traces of the refined English accent he’d affected outside the club gone.

What a fool she’d been to trust him.

Another footfall, too close for comfort. She held her breath. If he tripped over her, she’d have to run, find another place to hide in plain sight. Or at least it would be plain sight if the fog lifted.

The damp cover made her feel as if they were the only two people in this hazy world where you couldn’t see your hand two inches in front of your face.

Who would break first? The fog? Her? Or the maniac trying to kill her? Because she knew he wanted to kill her. She could hear the promise in his voice.


She wanted to scream at him to stop using her name in those familiar tones—as if they were old friends. Instead of predator and prey.

She didn’t scream. She pressed her lips together, and the sand worked its way into her mouth. She ground it between her teeth, anger shoving the fear aside for a moment.

If this guy thought she’d give up, he’d picked the wrong target. The Durans of Montana were nobody’s victims.

A breeze skittered across the bay, and debris tickled her face. White strands of fog swirled past her, and for the first time since she’d hurled herself from the trunk of her captor’s car, she could see the shapes of scrubby plants emerge from the mist.

She swallowed a sob. When she’d least expected or wanted it, the cursed San Francisco fog was rolling out to sea.

A low chuckle seemed to come at her from all directions. He knew it, too.

Time to make a move.

Elise pinned her arms to her sides and propelled herself into a roll. Once she had the momentum, the rest was easy as she hit a slight decline to the water.

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