Praise for the novels of Tara Taylor Quinn

      “Quinn smoothly blends women’s fiction with suspense and then adds a dash of romance to construct an emotionally intense, compelling story.”

      —Booklist on Where the Road Ends

      “One of the skills that has served Quinn best…has been her ability to explore edgier subjects.”

      —Publishers Weekly

      “Quinn ties you up emotionally as her wonderful voice explodes into the mainstream.”

      —Reader to Reader on Where the Road Ends

      “One of the most powerful [romance novels] I have had the privilege to review.”

      —Wordweaving on Nothing Sacred

      Street Smart is filled with “deception, corruption, betrayal—and love, all coming together in an explosive novel that will make you think twice.”

      —New Mystery Reader Magazine

      “Street Smart is an exciting novel…action-packed and fast-moving…Tara Taylor Quinn has done a beautiful job.”

      —Writers Unlimited

      “Quinn writes touching stories about real people that transcend plot type or genre.”

      —All About Romance

      Hidden

      Tara Taylor Quinn

      Dear Reader,

      There are some stories that just insist on being told. They come to you without warning or explanation. They take up residence in that corner of your brain reserved for private thoughts, and they nag at you, sometimes incessantly, sometimes quietly, sometimes in the middle of the night when you aren’t sure if you’re dreaming or awake. If you don’t heed them they take a seat and stay put until finally, out of desperation, you agree to listen and to write. Hidden is one such story. It first came to me almost three years ago in the middle of a long-distance telephone conversation. I listened to the story for a second, losing track of the real-time conversation because of the interruption—and I don’t know that I’ll ever regain credibility with the person who was at the other end of the phone and doesn’t understand writers at all. And then I told the “voice” to shut up. It quieted but didn’t leave.

      I told the story to get lost. I was contracted for seven books, and it wasn’t one of them. I didn’t write that kind of book. But even as I thought the words, silently listed the reasons, I knew the story wasn’t leaving.

      It hung around for a couple of years, bugging me periodically, reminding me that it was waiting. And in a meeting with my agent, in reply to a question she’d asked, this story stood up from its seat in a corner of my mind and suddenly it was all I could see, all I could think about. I told my agent about it. Her response was completely positive. Surprised, I then talked to my editor, who also showed no signs of shock or hesitation. Only I remained, secretly, doubtful of my ability to pull this off.

      And then I sat down to write. I opened myself to the story, and I can now honestly tell you that this is the best work I’ve done to date. Hidden is a story about people who, at least to my mind, are very real. I’d love to hear what you think about it! You can reach me at P.O. Box 13584, Mesa, Arizona 85216 or at www.tarataylorquinn.com.

      Till then, enjoy!

      Tara Taylor Quinn

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      For Quinnby, Henry J, Maya and Abrahamburger, who are the angelic bearers of unconditional love and support. If they were my only teachers in life, it would be abundant.

      Thank you to California senator Jack Scott for his generous insights into a day in the life of a California state senator, and to Phil Blake, EMS Management Analyst with the San Diego Fire Department for cheerfully and enthusiastically answering a plethora of questions. Any mistakes in representing either career are mine.

      A heartfelt thanks also to Lynn Kerstan, who shared her hometown of San Diego with me and who not only chauffeured me around but took me to dinner. And thanks to Jill Limber for running down to her local San Diego fire station to find out what color uniform the firefighters were wearing. And to Lisa Kamps, former firefighter turned romance writer, for all the tidbits about the life of a firefighter.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

       1

      San Francisco Gazette

       Tuesday, April 5, 2005 Page 1

      Single Socialite Disappears

      Leah Montgomery, one of the country’s most sought-after and elusive heiresses, was reported missing by her brother, San Francisco attorney Adam Montgomery, and sister, Carley Winchester, in San Francisco last night after she failed to attend the $200 a plate orphaned children’s fund-raiser she’d spent the past six months organizing. The thirty-one-year-old was last seen yesterday at 3:20 p.m. leaving Madiras where, according to the upscale salon’s owner, Samantha Ramirez, Montgomery received her weekly massage and manicure and had her hair cut and styled, in preparation for that evening’s event.

      Again according to Ramirez, Montgomery had been planning to wear a black satin gown with red lace trim. Late last night, when police searched Montgomery’s penthouse condominium, they found a dress matching that description hanging from one of the two shower heads in the woman’s shower. Montgomery’s white Mercedes convertible is also missing.

      There are no leads in the case, though police are rumored to be questioning California’s newest state senator, attorney Thomas Whitehead, who was to have been Montgomery’s escort at last night’s fund-raiser. Whitehead was elected to the Senate last fall, just fourteen months after his six-months-pregnant, fashion-designer wife, Kate Whitehead, disappeared without a trace. Before her disappearance, Mrs. Whitehead was frequently seen in the company of her longtime best friend, Leah Montgomery.

      “Mama! Mamama!”

      Shaking, heart pounding so hard she could feel its beat, Tricia Campbell lowered the newspaper enough to peer over the top at her eighteen-month-old son. She could see him sitting there in his scarred wood high chair in their modest San Diego home, pajamas covered with crumbs from the breakfast he’d long since finished, wispy dark curls sticking to the sides of his head. Could smell the plum jam he’d smeared all over his plump chin, cheeks and fingers. And she could definitely hear him…“Mamamama! Down!” The baby, pounding his clenched fists on the stained tray of his