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Dana Mackenzie finds herself working for a faceless financial institution—it’s either this or piercing ears at the mall—and while she’s grateful for a job, she has no intentions of following the corporate offices’ heartless orders.
When she’s instructed to repossess a 42-inch Sony television from an elderly couple, Dana intends to put her own twist on the assignment. But upon arriving at their run down house in a gang infested neighborhood, she’s horrified to find sweet old Mr. Sullivan murdered.
The homicide detective investigating the case is Nick Travis, Dana’s high school crush. Sparks ignite, but a dark secret threatens to keep them apart—unless Nick comes clean about the past.
Dana agrees to help Mr. Sullivan’s grieving family locate his grandson, a guy with a surprising new lifestyle who’s been missing since the day of the murder. Her good intentions put her in the thick of the murder investigation and on a collision course with the killer.
Excerpt:
Two
uniformed policemen charged into the bedroom, guns drawn. They
yelled at me. I couldn’t hear them with my heart pounding in my
ears.
While
one of the officers kept his gun trained on me, the other holstered
his weapon. He touched the arm of my blazer.
All
right, I didn’t know much about police investigations, but this
hardly seemed the time to admire my jacket, even though it cost a
small fortune.
“Blood,”
the officer said.
That
word oozed into the confusion in my mind.
I
looked down. Blood covered my fingers.
“Get
on your feet,” the officer with the gun said.
It
took a few more seconds but I finally realized what they were saying.
They thought I’d had something to do with Mr. Sullivan’s death.
My
brain refused to process this information. My life flashed before
me. My heart thundered in my chest. My stomach squeezed into a
knot.
And
then Nick Travis walked into the room.
He
did a double-take when he saw me, then waved at the uniforms to put
away their guns.
Nick
leaned down. “Are you hurt?”
I
heard him but couldn’t seem to make much sense out of his question.
“Are
you hurt?” he asked again, louder this time.
I
looked up at him, and asked, “Where’s Mrs. Sullivan?”
We
stayed like that for a second or two, him leaning down, me looking
up, staring into each other’s eyes, with the horrible possibility
of where Mrs. Sullivan might be arcing between us.
Nick
spoke to one of the uniforms who hurried out of the room, then knelt
in front of me. He picked up my hand and looked at my bloody
fingertips. I realized he thought the blood was mine. He looked
closer, then evidently satisfied I wasn’t injured, released my arm.
“Did
you see who did this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely to Mr. Sullivan.
“I
just got here,” I said.
I
couldn’t seem to stop looking at Mr. Sullivan. Nick caught my chin
and turned me to face him.
“What
happened?” he asked.
I
squinted my eyes closed for a second. “Somebody ran into me when I
came into the house.”
“What
did he look like?” Nick demanded.
“I—I’m
not sure,” I said.
“Tall,
short, white, Hispanic, old, young, male, female?”
The
urgency in Nick’s voice prodded me to think harder.
“A
man. Tall. White, I think,” I said. “I only caught a glimpse.”
“What
was he wearing?” Nick asked.
“A
hoodie,” I said. “Black, or maybe navy blue.”
Nick
repeated the description to the other uniform who hurried away, then
turned back to me.
“Would
you recognize him if you saw him again?” he asked.
Right
now I wasn’t sure I could pick my own mother out of a line-up.
“I
didn’t see his face, just the side of it, I think. I don’t
know.” I looked at the blood on my fingers and felt lightheaded
again.
Nick
caught me under my arms and pulled me up. He hustled me out of the
room. I tried to cooperate but my feet seemed to be on backwards.
At the doorway I turned back for a final look at Mr. Sullivan. Nick
pulled me down the hallway before I could see him that last time.
Nick
took me to the kitchen sink. He stuck my hand under the faucet and
doused it with dishwashing detergent. .
“Breathe,”
he said.
He
washed away the blood, dragged a dishtowel over my hand, then yanked
off my blazer and tossed it on the table. The room spun and I leaned
against him. He pulled me out the back door and dumped me on the top
step of the cement porch.
“Keep
breathing,” he said and sat down beside me. He caught the back of
my neck and pushed my head between my knees.
“Stay
here,” Nick said, and went back into the house.
I
kept breathing. Gradually my head cleared. Behind me, inside the
house, I heard all sorts of commotion. More officials arriving,
going about their duties. Probably a half dozen vehicles were out
front by now, lights pulsing, drawing neighbors out of their homes to
gawk, point, and speculate.
All
because a sweet old man, whose only goal in life was to keep a
42-inch Sony television for his wife, was dead.
Sometimes
life really sucked.
When
I take over the world, I’m definitely changing that.
Looks like a great read!
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