Drawer #7

"I don't enjoy violence. I'm just-" She shrugged. "-good at it." She comes to life in a place she'd never have been caught dead: The stage of a strip club. Aghast, confounded, she turns to bolt, only to find herself staring into a wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Her heart slams with panic. Because that is not her face! When the bouncers turn aggressive, and won't let her leave, she fights her way to freedom with skills she didn't know she had. When Freddie meets the woman with no name-an amnesiac-he's hopeful that his life of loneliness has finally come to an end. Edgy, eccentric, and brutally beautiful, she is the most uniquely fascinating-and uniquely broken-woman he's ever met. But hidden in the past she can't remember are threats that prove perilous to forget. Every door they open in pursuit of her identity only leads to three others, behind each of which something sinister lurks. She talks in her sleep: Sea level. Desalt. Drawer number seven. What could it possibly mean? Uttered once, probably nothing. But for months on end? It has to mean something. Who is this woman who has no name? And just how far is Freddie willing to go for love? Will he die for it? Will he kill?