The Red Chair by Dänna (Danna) Wilberg


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The Red Chair

The Red Chair by Dänna (Danna) Wilberg (The Grace Simms Mysteries #1)
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 478 Kb

The Red Chair : Love. Fear. What do we really know about a person? Psychotherapist Grace Simms relies on her professional prowess to tether her feelings when college crush Jess Bartell returns to Sacramento and fear strikes close to home. Someone is watching. Skulking in the dark. Calling in the middle of the night. Grace fears an experience from her past may be clouding her judgement, until she finds the note threatening her life. In her profession, threats and violent behavior come with the territory. She knows everyone has a tipping point, but who would want to harm her? When Grace turns to police, Sergeant Garret Weston suggests she get a dog. However, when stalking turns to murder, Weston begins sniffing around Grace’s clients, forcing her into a decision…defend her code of confidentiality…or catch a killer. Does love return in a happily ever after, or is it just distraction? Is it better to love what you fear or fear what you love?

“The dark-haired man sitting next to James dipped one manicured hand into his cashmere coat pocket, extracted a wad of money, and said, “If you want her attention, I suggest a twenty.”

James winced. “A twenty?”

“A lap dance will set you back a C-note,” the man said. “But hey, you’re a decent looking guy. A twenty might get you a peek.” The man winked and extended his hand. “The name’s Jess Bartell.”

“James,” he replied, shifting in his seat. While his eyes roamed Candy’s curves, James imagined the pleasures her luscious lips could perform. “Damn, she’s hot.”

“Watch this.” Jess waved a hundred-dollar bill. Candy, drawn like a magnet, crouched down and jiggled her breasts inches from his face. He deposited his money inside her bejeweled thong.

“Thanks, Counselor,” she purred.

She winked at James and blew him a kiss. Her perfume sweetened the air, the fragrance exotic, distinctive, expensive―like the woman wearing it. “Jesus Christ, she’s amazing,” he said. James drained his glass and set it on the bar. He turned to his new friend. “I haven’t been to a strip club in years.”

Jess threw back a shot. “How about another drink?” he asked. “My treat.” He tossed a fifty on the bar, ordered two more shots of Black Maple Hill, and turned to James. “You must be married.”

“Past tense,” James chuckled bitterly. “Took me two years to get my kids back. You?”

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