New York Times bestselling author Andrea Kane's gripping new page-turner, Wrong Place, Wrong Time, bolts out of the starting gate and straight into the winner-take-all world of competitive horse show jumping, where drugs, alcohol, money, and egos collide and two strong-willed families risk everything to protect the ones they love.
Sometimes bad things happen to good people . . . especially when they're in the wrong place at the wrong time. What begins as a romantic weekend in a cozy cabin turns into a deadly nightmare when Sally Montgomery's companion, Frederick Pierson, is murdered. But instead of regarding Sally as a victim, the police are after her as their prime suspect.
To evade the authorities and a brutal killer, Sally goes into hiding, relying on her wits and basic survival skills to stay alive. Desperate, she calls Pete Montgomery, her ex-husband and former NYPD detective turned private investigator, for help. With Sally's life on the line, Monty recruits their daughter, Devon, to work on the case with him.
Devon has her father's cop instincts. As she probes deeper into the murder, the investigation brings her closer to uncovering a dangerous Pierson family secret -- one that could destroy the family empire and its heir apparent, Blake Pierson. Though powerfully attracted to Blake, Devon isn't sure if he's friend or foe. She does know that he'll do anything to protect his family. With Devon's heart and Olympic show-jumping gold at stake, how far will his family loyalty extend?
Time is running out. Danger is closing in. Can Devon prove Sally's innocence before she becomes the killer's next victim?
The skies were that harsh shade of gray that signified winter in upstate New York.
Sally Montgomery's secondhand Chevy truck jostled along the narrow, snow-covered excuse of a road that led from her house to the sprawling horse farm a mile down the way. She would have hiked it -- she usually did -- even at this ungodly hour of 6:30 a.m. Everyone at her nursery school thought she was crazy. A fifty-two-year-old woman, choosing to trek two miles round-trip by foot, and before sunrise, no less?
But, hey, she was in great shape, she loved the outdoors, and the truth was, the hike cleared her head, made her feel alive.
Except on days like today. Even Sally drew the line here. It was frigid outside, January making its presence known full force. Subzero temperatures, high winds, and not a hint of sunlight. Plus, it had snowed again last night, just a couple of inches, but enough to make the as-the-crow-flies path she normally walked a disaster.
Hiking would be hazardous at worst and miserable at best.
So, it was four-wheel-drive time.
With a twist of the steering wheel, she turned left and drove through the gates that marked the private entrance to the Pierson farm. Rows of pine trees lined the way, and Sally's headlights caught the reflection of glistening icicles dangling from them, as well as the sparkle of fresh-fallen snow on the five hundred acres of land. The view was spectacular.
The house and its surrounding structures were even more so.
House was a misnomer, she thought as she drove past the snow-covered fenced-in paddocks and toward the buildings that defined the Millbrook estate. First came the seven-thousand-square-foot cedar-sided house. Then came the outbuildings -- multistalled barn, feed and tack rooms, heated wash stalls, not to mention a massive indoor jumping arena and two smaller indoor arenas. The estate was magnificent -- the largest, most elaborately designed warmblood farm in Dutchess County, with a lighted outdoor ring, exercise track and jumping arena, and grounds that included a pond and gazebo worthy of a Currier and Ives holiday card.
Sally's breath never ceased to catch when she saw the place.
But that wasn't why she loved coming here.
She loved coming here for the horses. Edward Pierson might have made his millions in the restaurant business, but his passion was right here. For years, he'd sponsored winning show horses. Now, at almost eighty years old, he not only showed but owned and bred some of the most successful and exquisite warmbloods in the country. They were extraordinary, with more ribbons than Sally could count, and personalities as individual and unique as their beauty and skill. She treasured her time with them -- all of them, not just the three she was paid to exercise. True, she needed the extra money she earned coming over here each morning, pitching in alongside the Pierson grooms. But the truth was, she would have done it for free.
Her tires crunched in the snow as she pulled her truck up to the barn and came to a stop. She was early. Frederick wouldn't be arriving for another half hour. That worked out fine. It would give her a chance to check on Sunrise, see how her leg was faring. She'd been favoring it the other day. Hopefully by now it was on the mend.
Climbing out of her truck, Sally tromped her way to the wooden doors.
God, it was cold. Elbowing her way inside, she rubbed her gloved hands together for warmth. She could hear the horses whinnying softly and moving around in their stalls.
First things first. Sunrise.
She went down to the mare's stall, stroking her neck in greeting. Sunrise was a graceful chestnut with regal white markings and dark, expressive eyes.
