JAGGER
He found her standing over the victim, holding the murder weapon.
She promises she’s innocent.
The truth? It could destroy them both.
Feared as much on the streets as at a crime scene, Homicide Detective Max Jagger has dedicated his life to one thing—speaking for the dead. During one of the most oppressive heat waves on record, theformer Navy SEAL is called to a scene where a real estate heiress is found standing over a body, covered in blood, holding the murder weapon.
She says she’s innocent.
To make matters more confusing, the incident coincides with the mysterioustheft of the Cedonia Scroll—an artifact long dismissed as local folklore. But now, during the small town’s annualMoon Magic Festival, the legends are stirring again… and all eyes are on Sunny Harper.
Despite her name, Sunny is as beguiling as a fallen angel—clever, guarded, and, perhaps worst of all, utterly intoxicating. When evidence suggests she may have had an accomplice, Jagg begins to believe she’s not just innocent… she’s in danger.
Torn between duty and desire, Jagg takes Sunny to a secluded lake house—off the grid and against every rule.There, he begins to uncover the truth behind her enchanting green eyes… and the secrets that could drag them both under.
And when the full moon rises, Jagg must decide if he can trust the woman who could cost him everything—before the shadows close in.
1
JAGG
Athin fog slithered through the headstones like a virus, creeping through the cemetery like a living, breathing thing.
The crowd had long gone. I was the only one left.
I tipped my head toward the moon. Clouds, thick and glowing with an iridescent sheen, crowded its edges.
A full moon was coming—and I didn’t like it.
The temperature hadn’t dropped below the low eighties, and after six straight days of triple-digit scorchers, it felt like the air itself had a pulse.
I leaned back against the tree, my feet planted in front of me. Uneven rows of headstones—most tilted and unreadable—speckled the rolling hills, the grass now brown and wilted.
I popped another pain pill, chased it with whiskey, and flung a rock into the bush in a half-hearted attempt to shut the cicadas up. They didn’t.
Despite the bugs and suffocating humidity, I couldn’t leave. I stared at that damn trident, etched on the headstone in front of me, until the thing began to blur.
It had been eight hours since the small, southern town had gathered in their black best, weeping, grieving, trying to understand.
I scanned the tree line past the clearing for the hundredth time. The chatter had died down, like it always did in small towns after eight p.m. Only a single logging truck had passed.
I smashed a mosquito the size of a thumbnail against my arm, already feeling another land near my ear.
God, I hated the heat. I hated this place. And I hated this tie around my neck.
I hatedthe smell of overturned earth—a scent that never failed to trigger memories. One dead body, two, three, four… spinning, spinning, spinning, their eyes locked on mine, begging for answers. Begging for justice.
I swiped the sweat from my brow and dropped my head against the tree.
I found myself contemplating heaven and hell, and good and evil, as I had done so many times before. The lines between them blurred a long time ago for me. I didn’t believe in absolutes anymore. Not after everything I’d seen. Evil wasn’t a red-eyed demon with horns—it was human. Ordinary. Evil drove kids to pull triggers and mothers to lie under oath. Evil wore lipstick and made dinner.
People talk about evil like it’s some external thing. A monster. A ghost. A scapegoat.
It’s not.
It’s us.
