St. Martin's Paperbacks
“No need to fret, Zander,” Elektra Worthington had assured her brother Lysander when he’d silently protested her strategy. “What could possibly go wrong?”
She ought to have known better than to jinx matters by saying such a thing. Worthington plans, no matter how well-laid, had a way of twisting ever so slightly sideways.
Now she sat in a dripping ruin at midnight, with her elderly but functional—mostly—pistol on her lap, staring at the suntanned and handsome—if a bit on the shaggy side—bound and