From the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sloane Monroe novels comes a gripping new series about love, loss, murder, and a broken former detective who's about to be drawn out of hiding.
For the past two years, Georgiana "Gigi" Germaine has been living off the grid, until today, when she hears some disturbing news that shakes her. Georgiana's brother-in-law has been murdered, her seven-year-old niece kidnapped. As the hours waste away, Georgiana races back to a town she left behind, and a former life she's still not ready to face.
From the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sloane Monroe novels comes a gripping new series about love, loss, murder, and a broken former detective who's about to be drawn out of hiding.
For the past two years, Georgiana "Gigi" Germaine has been living off the grid, until today, when she hears some disturbing news that shakes her. Georgiana's brother-in-law has been murdered, her seven-year-old niece kidnapped. As the hours waste away, Georgiana races back to a town she left behind, and a former life she's still not ready to face.
Lark Donovan rubbed her eyes and blinked at the shadow on the wall in the hallway. Seconds before, she swore it had moved. She leaned back on the pillow, pulled the blanket over her nose, and peered into the darkness.
âDaddy?â she said. âIs it you?â
           The hallway hummed along to the repetitious beat of a ceiling fan in the distance, and after staring at the same spot for a while, the wall remained stationary, and Lark grew tired. Maybe sheâd been wrong. Maybe she hadnât seen anything after all. Or maybe it was William Shakespaw, the family cat.
           âWilly?â she said. âIs it you? Here, kitty, kitty.â
           The cat didnât come.
           At bedtime, after Larkâs parents read her a story and tucked her beneath the covers, they always closed the door behind them, even though they knew she was afraid of the dark. Once theyâd gone and she was alone, she imagined thingsâhorrible things, like sharks springing forth from the water beneath the carpet and biting off one of her toes when she dangled her foot too far over the side of the bed.
The bogeyman was real.
Lark was sure of it.
Sheâd tried convincing her mother once, but her mother had just rolled her eyes and said, âYouâre being ridiculous, Lark. Monsters arenât real. Neither are ghosts or bogeymen or any of the silly things you conjure up with your imagination. I close your door for a reason. I donât want you growing up to be a nervous Nellie. You need to be brave.â
Lark wasnât brave, though, and most nights when her mother thought she was sleeping, she was awake, waiting for her parents to retire to the den to watch television so she could tiptoe through the darkness and crack her bedroom door open again. She was careful never to open it too much, just enough to let in a hint of a glow from the nightlight her mother kept plugged in down the hall. When daybreak came, Lark was careful to remember to get out of bed and close the door again before her mother came in to wake her. So far, her plan had been a success. In the five months sheâd been doing it, sheâd never been caught.
Deciding the movement on the wall had been nothing more than a figment of her overactive imagination Lark snuggled back inside her blankets. She gave her stuffed unicorn a squeeze and began drifting off to sleep again when she heard her fatherâs raised voice. She wasnât able to make out what he was saying, and she wondered whom he was talking to so late at night. Her mother was out of town. They were all alone in the house. Werenât they?
For a time, Lark remained still, listening. All was quiet at first, and then she heard another manâs voice. It was breathy and deep, far different than her fatherâs. The manâs voice sounded like it had come from outside. Lark scooted halfway down her bed until she reached the window. She brushed the curtain to the side and peeked out.
Larkâs father was standing by the pool in the back yard with his arms folded. His face looked the way it always did when Lark was about to be scolded. Another man stood next to him. A man Lark hadnât seen before. The manâs pointer finger was stabbing at the air, and his face was all scrunched up.
 Larkâs father said something to the man, and then he swished a hand through the air and shook his head. The gesture seemed to irritate the man, and he reached out, shoving Larkâs father in the chest. Larkâs father shoved him back, and then the man dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a gun.
Larkâs father stepped back and he raised his hands in front of him. Although Lark couldnât hear his words, she read his lips when he said, âPlease, donât.âÂ
It was the first time Lark had ever seen a gun in real life. A couple of years earlier, sheâd watched a man on television shoot at a bearâtwice. Lark had gasped when she saw it, prompting her mother to enter the room, grab the remote control, and change the channel.
Curious about the interaction between the man and the bear, Lark had said, âMommy, why did the man on TV shoot at the bear? The bear was only trying to eat the manâs sandwich.â
âNever you mind,â her mother had said. âIâll tell you when youâre older.â
Staring at her father now, Lark wished she were older. She wished she could do something, even though she didnât know what could be done. She thought about hopping off her bed, running outside, and shouting, âHey! Stop it! Stop being mean to my daddy!â
But before she could do anything, the man aimed the gun at her father and fired. Her father pressed his hands over his chest. He looked at the blood trickling down his shirt and stumbled backward, collapsing into the pool.
Lark pressed her hands to her lips and screamed.
The man jerked his head back. He saw Lark, and his eyes widened. He tucked the gun beneath his jacket and walked toward her. Lark knew she should back away from the window, but her body wouldnât cooperate. It had gone numb. The man reached the window, pressed his face against the glass, and tapped a finger against the windowpane.
 âHello there,â he said. âWhatâs your name?â
Stricken with fear, Lark thought of her mother and what her mother would say if she were there now, watching the events unfold. She closed her eyes and pretended she was somewhere else, somewhere safe, and the sound of her motherâs voice thundered through her mind like a lionâs roar. âBe brave, Lark! RUN!â
Little Girl Lost sounded like a gritty detective story, the first in a new detective series. I do love a good mystery series, and Iâm always on the lookout for a new main character to follow from case to case.
Georgiana âGigiâ Germaine is the star of this show, and sheâs a likable enough character. Sheâs a bit broken although we donât know exactly why in the beginning. Little tidbits here and there are enough for a reader to hazard a generalized guess, but we donât get that information until the end. Georgiana is certainly flawed, and she doesnât always play by the rules, but those things make for some of my most favorite heroes and heroines in these kinds of stories.
As for the case, it all started out with an edge of your seat scene. Iâm always that way when a child is involved, and this one was quite well done and definitely gripping. Then the story slowed down and started losing me. I get that this is a new series, and a certain amount of introduction and description is necessary for setting the stage, but I prefer that to be done organically throughout the story. Here, we get a whole lot of information about characters and places but very little about the case. Georgiana does some investigating, but it kind of felt like she was getting nowhere to make time for all that extra information. We get plenty of chats with this person and that one where we learn lots of mundane things but very little to do with the case. It just felt like there shouldâve been more urgency, especially with Georgiana looking for her own niece. A niece taken by her fatherâs murderer. Parts of the story seemed like there was a book before this one where things took place, particularly a college friend who could have been more or was more. I just found myself wanting to skim to get to a point when things would pick up.
Things do start to move at around the halfway mark, and the pace steadily speeds up as Georgiana follows one lead after another and moves from dangerous situation to more dangerous situation. Once the story builds some momentum, the author paints a tension-filled picture of our detective and the clues leading to the killer and hopefully, young Lark alive and well.
So, for me, Little Girl Lost has a solid beginning, as in the very beginning when the murder happens, and it has a good second half. Itâs the stuff in the middle that couldâve done with some tightening up. Itâs not a bad book by any means, but itâs not without its issues, so Iâve come out somewhere in the fair to middlin range.Â