Return (Matt Turner Series Book 3) Read Online Free

gave me the gift of a normal life.”
    “Or perhaps simply ‘life.’ Great to hear you’re doing so well. If it’s not too traumatic, would you mind taking us through that day?”
    Joss nodded, and looked toward the audience, somber. “Of course.”
    So brave, Cameron snickered inside.
    As Joss Lynn spoke, Cameron watched her from the side, gazing from her ankles, slowly past her well-toned calves, and up. So utterly engrossed was he with her pleasing form, Cameron failed to notice the theater’s back door swing open as an attendee walked out.
    * * *
    The final cluster of guests left through the lobby’s glass doors, each carrying at least one autographed book. Cameron sighed and slid his last carton of books out from under the table. He counted six empty boxes, and began tallying sales in his head. Not the strongest day of the tour, but far from the slowest. Still, quite low for these Saturday attendance numbers. Maybe weekdays were better for the on-campus events.
    He gathered his pens and mailing list clipboard, depositing them into his laptop bag along with the tablet he used for credit card processing. One of these days he’d get a merch person to handle the transactions. He wondered if it came off unprofessional or down-to-earth, him running the table solo. The idea of having to pay someone, though: shudder. Perhaps he could—
    “Are you able to sign one more?” A man’s voice startled Cameron.
    Cameron looked up to see a fit, bearded man in cargo shorts and a thin, button-down flannel with the sleeves rolled up. He was flipping through a paperback copy of Psychometry and Matthew Turner .
    “Didn’t see you there,” Cameron said. Or hear you, he thought. He resumed packing up his things. “Thought everyone had gone. I closed out my register, but if you have cash-”
    The man cut him off. “Yes, I have cash. Do you sign the other books, too?” He gestured at the stacks of Meier/Turner books at the edge of the table.
    Cameron thought, Hmm, four more books would be a nice finish to the day.
    “Generally not—I mean, I obviously didn’t write them—but if you want to bundle all the books together, I suppose I could sign them, if you wish. I may even have a couple more of my two in hardcover.”
    “Perfect. I’ll take them all.” The man dropped a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the table.
    “Great. There’s actually sales tax on top of that. I think it works out to one-eleven and change, but let me start getting these signed for you. I do have to get out of here. Would you like these dedicated, or only signed?”
    “Dedicated would be great,” the man said as he placed the rest of the cash on the table. “Just put ‘Dear Matt,’ and then whatever you’d care to say.”
    Cameron snorted and began to write the salutation, trying to think of some clever line about the name. He paused after the r in Dear .
    Staring at the tip of his pen, the ink dot slowly expanding, he began writhing in his chair. His neck and back felt as though a heating lamp had just switched on behind him. His eyes rolled upward until they found the man’s face, a small smile behind the light-brown beard.
    Turner. Alive. Oh God, oh God—
    “Whatever you want to say there,” Turner said. “Doesn’t have to be fancy. Or remorseful. Or pleading. Or a longwinded explanation. Really, anything.”
    Cameron closed the book and slid his chair back to put some distance between them. He could see it now, even with the beard and shorter hair. The bright eyes, the shape of his ears, the facial structure. Matthew Turner was actually standing a few feet away from him. And he was goddamned huge —not remotely the withering skeleton from the photo. “You’re-”
    “Doing much better, yes. Listen, while you’re signing my books, could you answer some questions for me?”
    Cameron peered around for another soul, but they were the only two in the echoing lobby. Through the glass doors he could see a lone student walking across the