Blood runs cold--especially in this family. Thanks to a newfound connection with his natural father, librarian Jordan Poteet is suddenly a member of a rich Texas dynasty. But a series of poison-pen letters warns him to stay away from the Goertz family reunion on a Gulf Coast island. He soon wishes he had, because his new kinfolk--four generations of them--are hiding secrets deep and dark enough to taint an entire bloodline. And an unexpected death makes it chillingly clear that the anonymous hate mail directed at Jordan isn't a joke. Ghosts of the violent past are walking. A murderer is on the move. And a terrible unfolding of tragedy has begun that will spare no one--not even Jordan himself. . . . Blood runs cold--especially in this family. Thanks to a newfound connection with his natural father, librarian Jordan Poteet is suddenly a member of a rich Texas dynasty. But a series of poison-pen letters warns him to stay away from the Goertz family reunion on a Gulf Coast island. He soon wishes he had, because his new kinfolk--four generations of them--are hiding secrets deep and dark enough to taint an entire bloodline. And an unexpected death makes it chillingly clear that the anonymous hate mail directed at Jordan isn't a joke. Ghosts of the violent past are walking. A murderer is on the move. And a terrible unfolding of tragedy has begun that will spare no one--not even Jordan himself. . . . Blood runs cold--especially in this family. Thanks to a newfound connection with his natural father, librarian Jordan Poteet is suddenly a member of a rich Texas dynasty. But a series of poison-pen letters warns him to stay away from the Goertz family reunion on a Gulf Coast island. He soon wishes he had, because his new kinfolk--four generations of them--are hiding secrets deep and dark enough to taint an entire bloodline. And an unexpected death makes it chillingly clear that the anonymous hate mail directed at Jordan isn't a joke. Ghosts of the violent past are walking. A murderer is on the move. And a terrible unfolding of tragedy has begun that will spare no one--not even Jordan himself. . . . Jeff Abbott is the nationally bestselling, award-winning author of multiple novels of mystery and suspense. His novels have been called "exciting, shrewd, and beautifully crafted" ( Chicago Tribune ), "fresh, original . . . intricately woven" ( Publishers Weekly ), and "excellent" ( South Florida Sun-Sentinel ). A fifth-generation Texan, he spent his childhood in Austin and Dallas with parents and grandparents who loved to tell stories. He lives in Austin with his wife and two sons. CHAPTER ONE   Mortal fear is knowing you’ve been poisoned. I sagged against the fine oak paneling, agony vying with numbness for control of my body. My heart raced with the knowledge that it was pounding its last rhythm, like the beat of a runner’s shoes against the road as he surges toward the finish line, toward blessed rest. Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed, trying to steady my breathing. I slid down to the floor, dizziness and nausea washing across my body like an obscene tide. I tried to cry for help and my throat felt dead. Raising one leaden arm, I managed to focus my vision on the blurred figures in the room.   And blinking, saw murder done before my eyes.   Step back with me two months.   My name is Jordan Poteet, and I’m the library director for the small Texas town of Mirabeau. This sometimes quiet hamlet lies on a crook of the Colorado River in the rolling countryside between Houston and Austin. Mostly the houses are tidy, the flower beds edged with a draftsman’s precision, the street loud with the laughter of playing children. But don’t be fooled by Mirabeau’s tranquillity. I’ve been back home for a little over a year and the past months have shocked me to the core of my being. I’ve seen death, and suffering, and loyalty, and love the likes of which I’d never known. But finally, my life had mellowed into a fairly easy ride—easy despite dealing with my mother’s increasingly severe Alzheimer’s and the unnerving fact that the man I forever thought was my father … wasn’t. And just when I thought I’d sailed into relative calmness, ordering my life into a semblance of normalcy, my biological father, Bob Don Goertz, upset my boat. By issuing the invitation from hell.   My girlfriend Candace Tully did not react in the way I’d hoped.   “Of course you’re going,” Candace said, brushing my hair out of my eyes.   We sat on the back-porch swing, sipping wine and watching the evening slide into purples and oranges as the sun set brilliantly against the hills. The loblolly pines were etched in darkness as light fled below the horizon.   “I am not going to this stupid reunion. All those people are Bob Don’s family, not mine.” I gulped at my wine. I can be as stubborn as a government mule when I set my mind to it and I could feel my brain encasing in concrete recalcitrance.   “Jordan. I think you could show Bob Don some consid