was born into scandal. She lived in that shadow for so long. Rumors. But not only did Joshua—her adopted father—love her as his own, God loved her as His very own. God loves you. You are His very own. No matter what your background, what you were born into or what happened to you that you had no control over. You can come out from under that shadow and live in the light through the sweet, healing love of Jesus. You can be free to be who you are meant to be in Christ.
I love to hear from readers. Please email me at: [email protected] and visit my website at www.jessicarpatch.com. Don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter, Patched In, to receive book news, sales and freebies while you’re there!
Merry Christmas,
Jessica
The name of the Lord is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.
—Proverbs 18:10
To the lonely and fearful hearts. God sees. He knows. He loves you and is always for you. Stand firm in your faith and trust He’s working on your behalf. Perfect love casts out all fear.
As always, thank you to...
my brainstorming partner and rough draft reader, Susan Tuttle; my wonderful agent, Rachel Kent; and my brilliant editor, Shana Asaro. It takes a village to birth a book. Thank you for being my village!
Special thanks to: Michael Fagin at West Coast Weather for helping me with the forensic meteorology portion of the story. Any mistakes or stretches I made for fictional purposes are all on me! You were wonderful to talk to and provided a plethora of information. I appreciate your time in answering all of my questions thoroughly and professionally.
Contents
A country a version of “Holly Jolly Christmas” played inside Chief Deputy Sheriff Rush Buchanan’s Bronco. His coffee steamed from the insulated thermos and sleet pelted his windshield. Blue lights flashed and cast eerie shadows over Shepherd Rock Lake. Wind jostled his vehicle as he slid his hands into his lambskin gloves. Nothing about this moment was “holly” or “jolly.”
He opened the door and braved the nasty weather. East Tennessee had its perks, though. Splendor Pines was the gateway to the gorgeous Smoky Mountains, capped in white at the moment. But now, in the darkness, with the mountains shadowing the horizon, everything appeared sinister, especially with the headlights shining on the rusted and mud-caked car they’d dragged from the lake.
The crunching of tires on gravel turned Rush’s attention from the car and the pit in his gut. Sherriff Troy Parsons parked beside him and climbed out. He frowned and flipped his collar over his ears. “Well?” he asked in his gruff voice.
“It’s a Jaguar. Deputy Tate ran the plates. It’s hers.”
Troy grunted. Rush didn’t need to expound. Marilyn Livingstone had driven a Jaguar and she’d been missing since Christmas Eve seventeen years
