Looking for a light and breezy, feel-good beach read? You've found it in Pajaro Bay.
Wounded artist Hallie Reed comes to Pajaro Bay for a summer job at the town's funky old amusement park. But when she wakes up after a mysterious car accident with a gap in her memory, she soon discovers the missing hour is the key to uncovering a secret that could get her killed.
Danger, romance, and a new beginning await Hallie during her summer at the beach, and she--and the whole town--will be changed forever by what she finds Under the Boardwalk.
Welcome to the little village of Pajaro Bay, with its cast of quirky characters and its cottages overlooking the sun-drenched coast.
The Pajaro Bay novels have won dozens of awards, including the Romance Writers of America®'s prestigious Golden Heart® Award for Romantic Suspense. Readers praise the series for its "sweetness," its "excellent characterization," and say the books are "adorable, lively and like a warm hug."
Read an excerpt:
Windy Madrigal's phone was ringing again. She listened as the "Call Me, Maybe" ringtone repeated itself, its volume muffled by her purse. It had been one of Zac's little jokes, changing her ringtone every time he got hold of her phone. He thought he was so funny. As soon as she got out of here, she was putting whipped cream in his track shoes.
The phone stopped, then a minute later started ringing again. "I should answer that call," she said.
The guy holding her purse in his lap just shook his head. Who was this crazy dude? She had no idea why he'd brought her to this stuffy little room, no idea why he was fidgeting with an old but lethal-looking Colt pistol and eyeing her with a thoughtful look.
"People will wonder where I'm at."
Again he shook his head.
So she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to ease the aching from the zip-ties holding her to the creaky wooden chair, and looked around again, trying to figure out where she was. A basement, maybe. No windows, no sense of where she'd been taken by this guy. Four walls, a low ceiling, a door. Cement floor. Lots of cobwebs. Single bare lightbulb hanging in the middle of the room. Yup, it was the standard horror movie basement room.
"There's probably already a search party out looking for me." She heard the beep from the phone that told her somebody had left her another text message.
The guy started rifling through her purse.
"Hey! That's mine." Dumb comment, since he hadn't seemed too concerned about her personal space when he bashed her in the head and brought her here. She was at least comforted by the fact that he hadn't touched her after tying her up. Hopefully that meant he wasn't a psycho, just a... "jerk," she muttered.
He ignored that. Fished her iPhone out of her bag and checked it. "Another text message," he said.
"Well, duh." He shot her a look and she decided to shut up.
Then something in the message seemed to surprise him, because he looked up at her with a cold, calculating expression that chilled her more than a frosty morning on Madrigal mountain.
He set the gun down and started messing with the phone, typing something and apparently doing a lousy job of it from all the cussing he did under his breath. Then he stopped. "Where's that place you went last week?"
"Have you been stalking me, dude? That is not okay."
He picked up the gun to point it at her, and repeated himself, slowly: "Where. did. you. go. last. week?"
She shook her head, trying to think. "Um, SJB? San Juan Bautista," she said when he looked blankly at her. "Checking out the mission records?"
"That's it." He started the typing routine again. "There." He smiled at her, a really creepy smile. "Now nobody's looking for you, princess."
There was a sound above them. She cocked her head to listen, and so did he. The door to the basement opening, maybe?
He put the phone back in her purse, then stood up. "We have company." He went out of the room, shutting the door behind him.