"Ms. Diaz is now on my auto-buy list. In fact, I went and ordered more books by this very talented author. This book will appeal to fans of Julie Garwood's romantic suspense novels. In fact, she's just as good." ~ Cyndi Delia, Born to Read
“Chilling from the first scene on. Diaz has crafted the kind of tense psychological thriller that’s impossible to put down.” (Eileen Rendahl)
“The characters are well rounded, the romance is spicy, and the mystery is riveting. I highly recommend He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not to fans of romantic suspense.” (Long and Short Romance Reviews (5 Books))
“It’s all there. . .sizzling love scenes and a shivery good thrill ride.” (Margaret Carroll)
From the Author
The sweet music of her screams echoed in his mind as he inhaled the lavender-scented shampoo he'd selected for her. He sat cross-legged on the carpet of pine needles, stroking her hair, his fingers sliding easily through the silky brown mass he had washed and brushed.
Underlying that scent, the metallic aroma of blood teased his senses. He traced his fingers across her naked belly to the sweet center of her. The temptation to linger was strong, but the ritual wasn't complete.
He picked up the blood-red rose and tucked its velvety petals between Kate's pale, generous breasts. Molding her cool fingers around the stem, he pressed her palms together, embedding the single remaining thorn in her flesh. As he stood, her sightless pale blue eyes stared at him accusingly, just like they had in Summerville the first time he gave her a rose.
Let her stare. She couldn't hurt him anymore, not today.
A rhythmic pounding noise echoed through the trees, an early morning jogger trying to beat the impending heat and humidity of another scorching summer day. The sun's first rays were starting to peek through the pine trees, glinting off the rows of swings and slides.
Thump. Thump. Closer. Closer. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he listened to the jogger approach. Was Kate coming for him again, already? No matter how many times he punished her, she always came back. He'd walk around a corner and there she was, condemning him with a haughty look, taunting him with her sinfully alluring long hair.
He risked a quick glance down and let out a shaky, relieved breath. She was still lying on the ground. She hadn't come back to torture him.
After one last, longing glance at her body, he slid between some palmettos and followed his makeshift path through the woods. He emerged at the parking lot of Shadow Falls' only mall, next to a row of dumpsters. Exchanging his soiled clothes for the clean ones he'd hidden in a plastic bag, he quickly dressed. Then he stepped around the dumpsters, pitched the bag into his trunk, and got into the patrol car.