I have a secret. Actually, I have a lot more than one, but I figured I’d go easy on you since we just met.
My real name isn't Ally Justice. That's the name someone back at headquarters made up--I was sure--to have a good laugh at my expense.
I'm not from this small town in Colorado. I'm stuck here until the drug cartel in D.C. takes the price tag off my head. And it's a big number. If I could spend it after I was dead, I'd think about taking the gig myself.
Turns out I'm not really excited about the thought of being dead just yet. So here I am, in this unique--they call it quirky--town of Shotgun, Colorado. Totally out of my element. I don't do nature, or animals, or snow.
Yet here I am, stuck. I'm supposed to lay low, mind my own business. Blend in. But seriously? Did anyone back home do any ReCon on this town? The Bingo hall is like C.I.A. Headquarters where not one stone--I mean town secret--is left unturned. The mayor's widow thinks the sidewalks are her personal roads because, well, they used to be. And her son, the sheriff, is very nice to look at. Not that I'm looking.
I'm settled — sort of. I'm minding my own business.
It's not my fault a dead body turned up in my backyard and suddenly I'm the prime suspect.
The sheriff could be sexy, coming at me with those handcuffs. He has potential. However, I’m not going to jail for a crime I didn’t commit. Guess there’s nothing left for me to do now but solve this mystery myself.
