Summer Share, a Shore Thriller

Karen Jefferies moves to New York City from the Midwest without knowing a soul to take a job at a prestigious law firm. There she meets socialite Paige, who quickly befriends the fish-out-of-water and shows her how to cram a social life into an 80-hour work week. 

Paige convinces Karen to join her in an annual ritual of endless parties and fun; a summer share rental at the Jersey Shore with 14 other people. Karen is skeptical but quickly becomes enamored with the motley cast of characters that she shares the house with and jumps wholeheartedly into the Jersey Shore scene.

But all is not as perfect as it seems, as Karen discovers when she stumbles upon the dead body of a girl that she saw arguing with a boyfriend just moments earlier. Based on Karen’s eyewitness account, the boyfriend is arrested and all seems to return to normal. When more bodies start showing up, it is clear that a killer is on the loose.

And no one is safe.

Here’s a sneak preview of the opening of the book.

Karen fled.

She fled away from the horror behind her, a monster who had taken her best friend from her, and would surely take her own life as well if they caught her.

She fled towards the raging water before her, a different kind of monster, roaring with the untold power of the sea as the massive hurricane swell pounded the beach.

She fled across the sand, her toes finding purchase in the fine grit and throwing up rooster tails in her wake, like a great thoroughbred coming down the home stretch.

She fled from her fears twofold; from the terrifying ordeal she had just escaped, and the literal manifestation of fear she had of the rough surf she was escaping towards. The whitewash was unmistakably visible even with the overcast night, reflecting the lights from the beachfront homes and the esplanade running in front of them. Even a hundred feet from the water’s edge, she could feel the salty sea spray on her face.

She frantically searched around for another way out, even as she continued to scream fruitlessly for help. Ahead to her right was the inlet seawall, an impenetrable line of boulders twelve feet tall that extended from the top of the beach to far out into the water. On her left was the ocean itself with its towering ten foot waves, which she was approached at an angle in her sprint.

She stole a glance over her shoulder and saw the killer gaining, now only fifty feet or so behind. If she stopped to try and escape in the opposite direction on the beach, or head back towards the promenade, she had little doubt her pursuer would catch her and plunge the huge knife deep into her body.

She couldn’t fight back. She was wounded, a deep gash on her right forearm that had already faded from a fiercely burning flame to a dull throbbing ache. Blood freely flowed down her arm and bathed her hand and fingers in syrupy warmth. It would be of little use if she needed to defend herself again. It would also make trying to swim out through the breakers nearly impossible.

She had little choice.

Karen fled.

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