Isabel Wroth

Portrait of Death Isabel Wroth

"It's time to go home, Jo."I hear the voice in my dreams, but I don't understand what it means. I am home. I haven't left for two weeks because once again, my name and my private life is the hottest topic in local news, only this time, it's not a drug-addled ex-boyfriend dragging me through the mud. Some intrepid reporter no one ever heard of before tracked my parents down in Florida and asked for a comment about my recent brush with a serial killer. Now, they're here in Manhattan, and every other day there's another exposé. Another story. Another lie. My plan was to ignore it all. To wait for the feeding frenzy to die down, go about my business, focus on the strong, powerful man in my bed who whispers and growls in my ear that I'm his. But my plan isn't working, and now I understand what that voice in my dreams meant. I have to go back to the place where I lived as a child. To the place where my brother died. I have to go home and give one more interview to set things right... before it's too late.