For Nikki, the discovery is a gift, the perfect subject for her next crime book—though Reed has made her promise not to keep involving herself in dangerous police business. But despite the increasing tension between them, Nikki can’t stay away from this story. Rumors are widespread that the burial site is the resting place of the Duval sisters—three young girls who went to the movies with their older brother, Owen, twenty years ago, and never returned. Forensics confirms that the remains belong to Holly and Lily Duval. But where is the youngest sister, Rose?

Owen Duval was, and remains, the prime suspect, alibi or no. But as Nikki and Reed delve deep into the mystery, fractures in the case begin to show. There is more to the sisters’ disappearance than anyone ever guessed. Far from an isolated act, those deaths were just the beginning. And there will be no rest, and no relenting, until the killer has buried the twisted truth along with his victims …

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Lisa Jackson’s

THE THIRD GRAVE,

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CHAPTER 1

Bronco Cravens was sweating bullets.

Not only because of the heat from an intense Geogia sun.

But from his own damned case of nerves.

He rubbed his fingers together in anticipation, but didn’t move, just searched the undergrowth through narrowed eyes one last time. He tuned into the sounds of the lowland: The lap of water against the muddy banks, the whir of dragonfly wings as the narrow-bodied creatures darted along the shore and the tonal croak of a bullfrog hiding somewhere in the reeds.

The air was still and thick. Sultry enough to paste his shirt to his body.

His nerves were stretched thin, his blood running hot at the thought of what he was about to do. He searched the heavy undergrowth for any kind of movement and licked his already-chapped lips. Sunlight and shadow played through the Spanish moss draped live oaks, but he saw no one, no flicker of movement, felt no eyes boring into his back.

Squinting, he tried to distinguish sunlight from shadow through these dense woods. The swollen river moved quickly in a soft rush, mosquitos buzzing near his head but he heard nothing out of the ordinary.

No sounds of footfalls or twigs snapping. No murmur of hushed voices or the crunch of tires on old gravel just over the rise. No whine of a distant siren.

No, it seemed, he was all alone.

Good.

No time to lose.