The memory of her fight with her mother was vivid. It had started as an argument about a boy Adria had been seeing on the sly and accelerated quickly to a full-blown battle.

“The Lord thy God is a vengeful God, Adria-”

“He’s not my God,” Adria, then eighteen, had said. “He’s your God, Mom. Yours. But he’s not mine!”

The slap had been one of the few blows Sharon Nash had ever inflicted upon her adopted daughter and it had stung deeper than Adria’s skin; the pain had reached the thick hide that covered her soul.

“Don’t you ever, ever talk like that again.” Sharon’s breath, bitter from the coffee and tinged with the underlying odor of gin, had drifted over Adria’s face. “Now, go wash up, and you forget about ever seein’ that boy again. He’s trash, y’hear. Trash. Just like his ma. Bad blood flows through his veins, girl.”

“And what kind of blood flows through mine?” Adria had demanded.

“We don’t know-you don’t need to.”

“Of course I do!”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways-he brought you to us for a reason. You’re not to question His wisdom, y’hear?”

Adria had turned on her heel and fled to her little bedroom tucked under the eaves of the second story.

Years ago. But it seemed like yesterday and the argument seemed to ring through the tiny motel room near the airport.

She’d remembered the fight because of Zachary Danvers, another rogue, another man she should avoid. Though she’d only talked with him for a few minutes, she’d read all about him and his family, her family, and she hadn’t been disappointed.

He was the black sheep of the family-kicked out of the house and cut out of his father’s will more often than not. He did things his own way, didn’t give a hang that he was born rich, and he was cursed with an irreverent spirit that just might want to help her find the truth.