Ivy Kendall's only plan for her life was to teach, but then it all fell apart…
When Rory Clark disappears from UCLA after a lengthy online relationship with a “catfish” pretending to be Ivy, the sassy former model turned kindergarten teacher is forced to dive headfirst into the mystery in order to clear her name. The catfishing phenomenon meets good, old-fashioned police work when Cameron Lewis, a bossy San Francisco detective with a dominant streak, offers to help her uncover the awful truth about her stolen identity and Rory's disappearance. They've barely scratched the surface when Ivy is charged with a murder she swears she didn't commit.
As the evidence against her piles up and the intense attraction between her and Cameron deepens, Ivy wants nothing more than to lean on the tattooed detective. He's already seen her at her worse. Now she has to find the courage to trust him with her heart. But how can she when she's terrified doing so will ruin his career? Her greatest fear becomes reality when the ugly truth is revealed and their lives come tumbling down around them.
Betrayed by the one person she never suspected, Ivy makes a reckless decision that puts her in the sights of a murderer and jeopardizes Cameron's career. He will do whatever it takes to save the woman he loves…even if that means becoming a killer himself. Will he be able to reach her before it's too late, or will Rory's catfish take more than just one life? All Over You is a completely standalone sister novel to the All Falls Down duo, intended for readers aged 18 and over.
Maroon 5's Payphone rips through my bedroom, pulling me out of a deep sleep.
I groan and roll toward my nightstand, searching blindly for my cell. My head is pounding and my mouth feels like sandpaper. I never want to leave my bed. Why did I let Erin talk me into drinking so much?
Oh, right. Because she's the devil, and I'm clearly a glutton for punishment.
“I think I hate you, and I'm definitely never drinking vodka with you again,” I mumble into the receiver, pulling the blankets up over me and groaning. “How are you even functioning right now? My head is killing me.” Cracking my eyes open, I frown at the black marker scrawled across my forearm. “And why the hell am I naked with your name and phone number written on me?” Lifting my arm so I can read the text beneath her number, I groan again. “Property of Erin? In permanent marker? Seriously, you whore? That's never going to come off! I'm firing you as my best friend.”
“Uh…” a masculine voice answers with a chuckle.
I sit upright, my eyes widening. The blankets fall from around me and my head throbs in protest.
“You aren't Erin.” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
“No,” the guy says with another dark chuckle. “I'm afraid not.”
My mouth works, but no sound comes out. I cannot believe I didn't look at the phone before I started spouting off. Holding it away from my face, I squint at the number. It's familiar, but I can't place it. And it's already noon. I never sleep this late.
Jesus, what did Erin and I do last night?
I remember vodka, and Mitch and Erin grinding on the dance floor while Jake and I laughed our asses off at the two of them. A group of frat guys tried to pick us up at some point after my last set. Is that when Erin wrote on my arm? I can’t remember. I think Mitch poured us into cabs around three in the morning. Everything that happened in between is a little fuzzy, though.
I hate vodka. And my best friend.
“You still there?” the man asks, still laughing at me.
“Yes. W-who are you?” I hold the phone up to my ear, praying it's no one important.
“This is Detective Lewis with the San Francisco Police Department. I'm trying to reach Miss Ivy Kendall.”
Well, there goes my dignity.
“Oh my god,” I whisper-groan, flopping backward on the bed. “This isn't happening. I'm dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming this whole thing and I didn't actually just call you a whore and tell you that I'm naked.” I squeeze my eyes closed and whimper as soon as the word naked slips from my lips. Great. I just told a cop that I'm not wearing any clothes. Twice.
Detective Lewis laughs loudly into the phone. It's a nice laugh, all dark and low, masculine.
My stomach flutters.
“Miss Kendall, I presume?”
I consider telling him no. He can't tell my boss I'm an alcoholic with questionable morals who can't remember what the hell she did last night and definitely shouldn't be allowed around impressionable children if he doesn’t know it's me…right?
“Miss Kendall?” he says, and I think he's even more amused now.
Yep. I definitely hate my best friend.
“Yes, this is Ivy,” I say with a sigh and bite back the urge to tell him I'm not usually a crazy person. There's just no way to recover now, so why even bother? I've already humiliated myself enough, thank you very much.
Ayden lives in the heart of Arkansas with her childhood sweetheart/husband of twelve years, and their five furry minions. When not writing, she spends her time hiking, reading, volunteering, causing mischief, and building a Spork army. Ayden graduated summa cum laude with her Bachelor of Science degree in Criminal Justice and Forensic Psychology in 2009 before going on to complete her graduate degree in CJ and Law. She currently puts her education to use in the social services and CJ field.
Ayden also writes Young and New Adult fantasy under the penname A.K. Morgen.
Hi! I’m Naomi. I’m determined to help someone become a highly-paid freelance writer. My only question is, will it be you?
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