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HEROES ARE MY WEAKNESS
Susan Elizabeth Phillips
Releasing in Paperback July 28th
Avon Romance
The
dead of winter.
An isolated island off the coast of Maine.
A man.
A woman.
A sinister house looming over the sea ...
He's a reclusive writer whose macabre imagination creates chilling horror novels. She's a down-on-her-luck actress reduced to staging kids' puppet shows. He knows a dozen ways to kill with his bare hands. She knows a dozen ways to kill with laughs.
But she's not laughing now. When she was a teenager, he terrified her. Now they're trapped together on a snowy island off the coast of Maine. Is he the villain she remembers or has he changed? Her head says no. Her heart says yes.
It's going to be a long, hot winter.
An isolated island off the coast of Maine.
A man.
A woman.
A sinister house looming over the sea ...
He's a reclusive writer whose macabre imagination creates chilling horror novels. She's a down-on-her-luck actress reduced to staging kids' puppet shows. He knows a dozen ways to kill with his bare hands. She knows a dozen ways to kill with laughs.
But she's not laughing now. When she was a teenager, he terrified her. Now they're trapped together on a snowy island off the coast of Maine. Is he the villain she remembers or has he changed? Her head says no. Her heart says yes.
It's going to be a long, hot winter.
Now Available in Paperback
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Excerpt
Annie didn’t usually talk to her
suitcase, but she wasn’t exactly herself these days. The high beams of her
headlights could barely penetrate the dark, swirling chaos of the winter
blizzard, and the windshield wipers on her ancient Kia were no match for the
wrath of the storm that had hit the island. “It’s only a little snow,” she told
the oversize red suitcase wedged into the passenger seat. “Just because it
feels like the end of the world doesn’t mean it is.”
You know I hate the cold, her
suitcase replied, in the annoying whine of a child who preferred making a point
by stamping her foot. How could you bring me to this awful place?
Because Annie had run out of
options.
An icy blast rocked the car, and the
branches of the old fir trees hovering over the unpaved road whipped like
witches’ hair. Annie decided that anybody who believed in hell as a fiery
furnace had it all wrong. Hell was this bleak, hostile winter island.
You’ve never heard of Miami
Beach? Crumpet, the spoiled princess in the
suitcase retorted. Instead you had to haul us off to a deserted island
in the middle of the North Atlantic where we’ll probably get eaten by polar
bears!
The gears ground as the Kia
struggled up the narrow, slippery island road. Annie’s head ached, her ribs
hurt from coughing, and the simple act of craning her neck to peer through a
clear spot on the windshield made her dizzy. She was alone in the world with
only the imaginary voices of her ventriloquist dummies anchoring her to
reality. As sick as she was, she didn’t miss the irony.
She conjured up the more calming
voice of Crumpet’s counterpart, the practical Dilly, who was tucked away in the
matching red suitcase in the backseat. We’re not the middle of the
Atlantic, sensible Dilly said. We’re on an island ten miles
off the New England coast, and the last I heard, Maine doesn’t have polar
bears. Besides, Peregrine Island isn’t deserted.
It might as well be. If
Crumpet had been on Annie’s arm, she would have shot her small nose up in the
air. People barely survive here in the middle of the summer let alone
winter. I bet they eat their dead for food.
The car fishtailed ever so slightly.
Annie corrected the skid, gripping the wheel more tightly through her gloves.
The heater barely worked, but she’d begun to perspire under her jacket.
You mustn’t keep complaining,
Crumpet, Dilly admonished her peevish
counterpart. Peregrine Island is a popular summer resort.
It’s not summer! Crumpet
countered. It’s the first week of February, we just drove off a car
ferry that made me seasick, and there can’t be more than fifty people left
here. Fifty stupid people!
You know Annie had no choice but to
come here, Dilly said.
Because she’s a big failure, an
unpleasant male voice sneered.
Leo had a bad habit of uttering
Annie’s deepest fears, and it was inevitable that he’d intrude into her
thoughts. He was her least favorite puppet, but every story needed a villain.
Very unkind, Leo, Dilly
said. Even if it is true.
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Susan
Elizabeth Phillips soars onto the New York Times bestseller list with every new
publication. She’s the only four-time recipient of the Romance Writers of
America’s prestigious Favorite Book of the Year Award. Susan delights fans by
touching hearts as well as funny bones with her wonderfully whimsical and
modern fairy tales. A resident of the Chicago suburbs, she is also a wife, and
mother of two grown sons.
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