Will Shaw and his friends are typical college students, enjoying dances and parties without much care for life beyond. When Thomas, a handsome Naval officer and newly arrived student, nearly stumbles into Will and his friends, Will's heart spins, though he doesn't understand why. Sparks of something new burst within, opening his eyes to possibilities he'd never dreamed. In the giddy fog of a forbidden courtship and the safety of the campus bubble, the world's troubles seem far away. Until they aren't.

When ghostwriter Maz Amani inherits a house from an uncle he’s never heard of, he offers heartfelt thanks to the universe, packs up his car, his cat, and his skepticism about mysterious uncles leaving all their worldly goods to unknown nephews, and high-tails it to a small town halfway to the Oregon coast. Anything would be better than week after week of couch surfing his way around Portland. Even if the alleged house is a rundown shack ridden with termites, spiders, and—shudder—rats, he’ll deal. Because hey, he owns a house!

Weirdly, people don’t react overly well when you’re caught standing over the dead body of a murderer who’d walked free. It’s not that I thought my fellow homicide detective would rejoice when he saw what I’d done, but is a pat on the back too much to ask for? Maybe a gold star at the very least? The problem is that the person who caught me is Gabriel, the only person I care for and adore… and he’s prepared to look the other way if I leave homicide and promise to never kill again.

The first time Bee Bannister met Tom Wright, he couldn’t stand him. Everything about the man aggravated him—his perfect hair and body, his confident arrogance, and the way he looked straight through Bee. Which is why it’s such an unpleasant shock to find that he’ll be sharing space with him while on a Christmas holiday with friends in Scotland.

Maybe I have an overactive imagination, but the hot guy next door totally gives off serial killer vibes. Why else would he know how long it takes to bleed out from a wound? Yeah, ok, so I asked, but it was research. Being an author definitely makes for some odd questions (someone had better clear my browser history when I die, that's all I'm saying). It's not like I'm stalking my hot neighbor or anything—there's nothing wrong with watching him out my window. Although I might have my own stalker (and not the cute harmless kind), which is kind of terrifying.