Availability date: 02/22/2016
When high-powered Memphis defense attorney, Ross Patterson, is murdered, his estranged wife, Priscilla, and step-daughter, Hilary, are two of the prime suspects. Hilary teams up with sexy private investigator, Colin Blackwood, to find the real killer. Their search brings them into contact with some of Ross’s sleazier clients. The more they discover, the more they realize Ross was less than ethical in his practice. As the suspect list grows, so does the danger. Yet through it all, Hilary and Colin find time for each other. Can they and their newfound love survive?
Maybe I was too hasty in brushing him off. Maybe I should go out to dinner with him. I can pump him for information and he’d never suspect. After all, I was Ross Patterson’s flighty, fun-loving stepdaughter—not to be taken seriously.
My heartbeat increased at the thought of doing my own investigating. Why not? I could do this. All I had to do was call him and say I changed my mind—that I was bored and wanted to get out. He’d believe that in a New York minute.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have his phone number—at least not in my current cell phone. I changed cell phones like some people changed shoes—as often as possible. Had to have the latest gadgets and apps. And the numbers I stored also changed frequently. People came and went in my life. People like Don Merrick.
It was also my good fortune to be a bit of a hoarder when it came to phones. I had several dating back four or five years. Who knew when I’d want a number again? Don wasn’t in my newest. It had been at least two years since I’d seen him, which meant that phone was stuffed into a desk drawer at my place.
I shut off my computer and grabbed my purse. A quick trip home was in order.
I spotted a TV news van parked across the street from my townhouse. So they’d finally tracked me down. I drove past, turned the next corner, and parked out of sight. I dashed across the lawns to the back garage door and slipped inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, I entered the kitchen. Maybe staying at Ross’s was a good idea after all. Reporters weren’t likely to get past the gatekeeper in the subdivision.
I entered the dining room and stopped short. The drawers to the sideboard were open—not a lot, but just enough to let me know someone had been here. I didn’t have many expensive items downstairs, but my jewelry box in the bedroom was crammed with several nice pieces.
Pausing, I listened. Silence reigned. Surely the thief still wasn’t here. I took a chance and crept into the living room. The desk drawers and those of the secretary also showed signs of having been searched.
I stopped at the foot of the stairs, licked my lips, and wondered if I was being a fool. Get out and call the cops. The silence got on my nerves. My breaths quickened. I hustled back to the desk and looked for my letter opener. It was ornate and sharp—a perfect weapon for self-defense, assuming that if the thief was still here, he didn’t have a gun.
Of course, the thief isn’t here. He’s long gone. Still, better safe than sorry.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the opener, so I grabbed a pair of scissors instead and tiptoed up the steps. No one jumped from a doorway to halt my progress. I tiptoed down the hall to my bedroom door. It stood half closed. I pushed it open and entered. My gaze never made it to the jewelry box.
Instead, I stared at the body of Don Merrick on the bedroom floor, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling—with my letter opener sticking out of his chest.
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