Cover reveal! Perfect for readers of Natasha Richards, E. Lockhart, and Karen McManus, Lying in the Deep is a juicy mystery of jealousy, love, and betrayal set on a Semester at Sea-inspired cruise ship, with a diverse cast of delightfully suspicious characters who’ll leave you guessing with every jaw-dropping twist.

After being jilted by her ex-boyfriend and best friend, Jade couldn’t be more ready to embark on the adventure of a lifetime—11 countries in 4 months, all from the luxurious Campus on Board ship—and to wedge an entire globe between her and the people who broke her heart.

But when Jade discovers the backstabbing couple are also setting sail, her obsession with them grows and festers, leading to a shocking murder. And as their friends begin to drop like flies, Jade and her new crush must race to clear her name and find the killer they’re trapped at sea with….before anyone else winds up in body bags.

Scroll down to see the cover and read a sneak peek! (And don’t forget to preorder your copy!)

Prologue

Now

I didn’t realize there’d be this much blood.

Yeah, he’d said there was blood all over the room. But I thought of how my mother would always huff and say things like, “Oh, Jade, you got ice cream all over yourself.” I’d glance down, expecting to be covered in chocolate goo, and there’d be this one lone dribble trailing down my shirt. Everyone always exaggerated these kinds of things.

But nope.

Not this time.

This time, there was literally blood all over the room.

A sea breeze rustled the curtains hanging from the wide-open French balcony doors, and even though I’d just been out on the top deck, I shivered, goose bumps coating my arms like a rash. I took another step into the suite to get a closer look, still gripping the cabin doorframe as though it could anchor me to a reality in which my best friend was still alive.

Well, ex–best friend.

That ship had sailed months ago.

Red slashed the ruffled white sheets, most of the blood pooled on the left side of the bed, like that’s where it had started. Like that’s where she’d been stabbed. Smears of it angled off to the right, toward the balcony—had she been dragged?—and there were even some maroon flecks on the ornate opaque room divider at the foot of the bed, separating the bedroom from a small living room area. One of the beige armchairs—the one closest to the balcony—hadn’t escaped the splatter.

Smudges streaked the balcony’s stark white doorframe, too, the door open, ominous, like a gaping void before the endless sea.

The buzzing in my ears drowned out the voices behind me in the hall—yelling voices, frantic voices—and I thought of the blood staining my own shirt’s hem. I tugged my jacket closed, hiding it . . . praying they wouldn’t think I did this.

After all, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she’d survived.

There was so much blood, too much blood, and the way the balcony rail was coated in it . . .

But then a thought crossed my mind, a thought that made me falter back a step, that made bile rise in my throat and shame burn my cheeks.

Yet I couldn’t help but think it.

That spoiled, selfish brat got exactly what she deserved.

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