Authors: Liliana Hart
Tags: #Private Investigators, #Mystery, #Literature & Fiction, #Murder, #Humor, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Women Sleuths, #Crime Fiction
I cracked my eyes open one at a time and immediately wished I’d left them closed. Nick stood in the doorway, his weapon pointed steadily at Savage as his glacier blue eyes met mine. He was alive. I felt the breath leave my body on a sigh of relief, and then realized he wasn’t as excited to see me as I was to see him. His gaze was glued to our compromising position, and if looks could kill I’d be six feet under.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I croaked out. “I swear.”
“Gee, doesn’t that sound familiar.” His voice was harsh, and the lines of his mouth were pinched. “Just remember that payback’s a bitch, sweetheart. Too bad I don’t have a tranquilizer gun.”
I pushed Savage away and felt lightheaded all of a sudden from the adrenaline rush. He steadied me and I stumbled out of the closet, gulping in deep breaths of air just as I heard Nick say my name with some alarm. I couldn’t seem to get my bearings. My head was fuzzy, and it was like everyone was talking to me from underwater. And my leg felt like it was on fire. I listed to the side and remember Nick’s arms coming around me just as the lights went out and I fainted.
Thursday
“
R
ise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Nick said.
That sounded so familiar I almost smiled, but it hurt too bad so I stuck with grimacing.
I cracked my eyes open one at a time stared at Nick. I must have fallen asleep after the doctor had come to see me. I’d been admitted to the hospital overnight for observation, but I was ready to get out of there. I was dressed and just waiting for my release papers so I could go home and suffer in the privacy of my own house.
“The nurse brought the
bullet they took out of your leg by. It’s in a jar there on the table. The doctor thought you might like a souvenir.”
I grimaced
and didn’t bother looking at the bullet. The pain was all the proof I needed.
“So
fill me in,” I said. “Who were those men?”
“Russian loyalists. Natalie Evans was picked up and char
ged with murder and collusion, and the FBI is investigating the possibility of espionage. She killed Sasha Malakov.
“
We were right about her funding her homeland by selling off the stolen gems. She doesn’t like the current party that’s in control and she thought if she sent the opposition enough money, then they could take control. She’s been using her influence in politics for years to siphon American money into their hands. And this isn’t the first time she’s used priceless gems as a way to get quick cash for her cause.”
Nick messed with one of the flower arrangements that was sitting on my bedside table, and I wondered briefly when it had arrived.
“It turns out things didn’t go how Natalie planned. She had her own spy with his own agenda working under her at Sirin, and he was the one who orchestrated the shooting in the hotel room and killed Amanda Whitfield. He planned to take the cash for himself and send the Tear of Ivan back to Russia where it belonged because he believes their heritage shouldn’t be sold to the highest bidder. We were able to confiscate the money and the gems, and the gunmen are being held without bail. Natalie was very forthcoming with information once she realized no attorney in the world could get her out of prison without some kind of deal.”
“So she’ll get off anyway?” I asked.
“Not necessarily. It turns out she was funding the old communist party, and the current government wasn’t too happy to find that out. They’ll be more than happy to take care of her if we’ll hand her and the Tear of Ivan over. And to make the loss up to Christian DeLuce, they’ll be sending over some other museum quality goods as an act of good faith.”
“So everything worked out in the end, huh?” I said.
He stared at me somberly and I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ve changed my mind about thinking it’s a good idea for you to get your P.I. license. This isn’t a profession meant for a woman like you,” he said. “You’re not hard enough for the job, and you’re going to get yourself killed if you keep putting yourself in the middle of these situations. I can’t deal with that hanging over us all the time. I need you to be safe. To live a normal life. There are other teaching jobs out there you could apply for.”
I smiled sadly and broke eye contact as the urge to cry seemed to come out of nowhere. I cleared my throat and licked my dry lips once before deciding what to say.
“You know, I was engaged to a man once who saw this image of me
. He had in his mind from the start exactly the person he wanted me to be, without ever getting to actually know the real me. He needed me to be the wife of a prominent businessman. To not have too many serious thoughts and to be a good hostess or dinner companion when he had clients over. He wanted to me go to my little teaching job so I’d have something to keep me occupied and come home and be a doormat that didn’t interfere in his life or do anything controversial. During that time I turned into this robot of a woman that I didn’t even recognize.”
I found the courage to look him in the eyes, because I wanted him to know that I was nothing but serious about what I was about to say.
“I love you,” I said and would have laughed at the alarm in his eyes if the whole situation hadn’t been so sad. He opened his mouth, but I held up a hand. “No, don’t say anything. I’m telling you I love you, and I’d do almost anything you ever asked of me, but I’ll never let myself become that woman again. Not even for you. If you can’t handle the real me then that’s your shortcoming. Not mine. I need someone who will support me always. Not just when it’s easy.”
Nick stood and braced his hands against the side of the bed, his head hanging down as
he gathered his thoughts. He looked up at me and he had his cop face on, his eyes devoid of any emotion.
“The sad thing
, Addison, is that I’m pretty sure I love you too. And I’ll be glad to support you through anything else. But you putting your life on the line constantly for no good reason isn’t something I can get behind. I can’t be in a relationship where I’m spending all my time worrying about you. I have enough of that to deal with in my own job.”
“Well, I guess we know where we stand then,” I said, not backing down. I wanted to find the anger that I knew I should be feeling at his ultimatum, but I couldn’t manage to dredge it up. Mostly I just felt heartbroken.
“I guess we do,” he said softly. “You’re supposed to be discharged soon. Can I give you a ride home?”
I laughed a little tearfully but refused to let them fall. “No, I’ll have Kate come get me.”
He nodded once and moved to the door. “See you around,” he said.
I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to watch him walk away.
***
Kate would have come to get me, but she was testifying in court and wasn’t able to leave, so I called Rosemarie and asked if she’d mind. I’d taken another pain pill before we’d left the hospital to take the edge off. Between my leg and Nick, I was content to spend a couple of days in a drug-induced haze until I was back to my old self.
Rosemarie parked her yellow Beetle in front of my house and launched herself out of the driver’s seat to come around and help me out. My crutches were hanging out the window and she pulled them out before opening the door for me. My attention was distracted by a jogger running toward us who looked an awful lot like Savage.
He was wearing black athletic shorts and nothing else, and sweat gleamed on his chest. His hair was damp
and his muscles gleamed bronze in the sunlight.
“Sweet mother,” Rosemarie said.
“Amen, sister,” I said.
I turned and put my feet on the pavement, trying to decide the best way to maneuver myself up, when Savage slowed his pace and walked up to us.
“You need some help?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t mind a hand.”
He got me under both arms and pulled me gently to my feet, holding me steady until I could get the crutches where I needed them. I’ll admit my brain was fuzzy, otherwise it wouldn’t have taken me so long to ask the obvious question.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Don’t you have your own neighborhood to jog in?”
He stepped back to give me some room and grinned. “This is my neighborhood. I live in that house right over there.” He pointed to the little white house that was across the street and over one from mine, and I closed my eyes, wondering why I’d been put on this earth for other people to torture.
“Of course you do,” I said. “I think I need another pain pill.”
I hobbled my way up the sidewalk and ignored his soft laughter.
“See you around, neighbor.”
Liliana Hart is the pseudonym for an author of more than a dozen books. She lives in Texas with her husband and cats, and loves to be contacted by readers.
Connect with me online:
http://twitter.com/Liliana_Hart
http://facebook.com/LilianaHart
If you enjoyed reading
Whiskey Sour
, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy this book, too.
Lend it
. This e-book is lending-enabled, so please, share it with a friend.
Recommend it
. Please help other readers find this book by recommending it to friends, readers’ groups and discussion boards.
Review it
. Please tell other readers why you liked this book by reviewing it at Amazon or Goodreads. If you do write a review, please send me an email at
[email protected]
so I can thank you with a personal email. Or visit me at
http://www.lilianahart.com
.
MacKenzie Box Set
(includes the 5 books listed above)
The MacKenzie Security Series (includes the 3 books listed above)
Prologue
I’m not the kind of person to dwell overmuch on the details, but even I knew I couldn’t talk my way out of my current predicament if I got caught.
I looked both ways down the deserted alleyway to make sure I was alone. A dumpster and crumpled trash that rolled across the cracked pavement like tumbleweeds was my only company. I’d gotten lucky—the moon was only a sliver in the sky and not enough to make me visible to any passersby. I was still new at this whole breaking and entering thing.
I opened my brand new Kate Spade clutch and pulled out the black cloth packet of lock picking tools I’d bought online. I’d had to practice my new hobby incognito because my best friend and boss, Kate McClean, sometimes got an eye twitch when she knew the lengths I’d go to research my job.
My name is Addison Holmes, and I’m a private investigator in training for the McClean Detective Agency. That basically means I spend most of my time spying on adulterers, making coffee, and being babysat by my trainer since I have a tendency to get into trouble whenever I’m out on my own. But in my defense, I usually managed to get the job done. I had the scars to prove it.
I’d been practicing my B&E skills by watching YouTube videos and using the back door of my house as a test dummy. It had only taken me three tries before I’d managed to click the tumblers into place, which was terrifying considering I was a woman living alone and there were more talented lock pickers than I out there. I couldn’t really afford better locks, so I kept a chair pushed under the door and my gun under my pillow.
It was fortunate the back door of the clinic I was trying to break into couldn’t afford better locks either, but it still took a good fifteen minutes before the lock gave. The night air was cool, but I was sweaty as a stripper’s G-string because of nerves. I had to rub my hands on my shorts twice before I could turn the knob. I cursed as I thought about fingerprints, so I quickly wiped off every surface I’d touched with the hem of my Bon Jovi T-shirt, pulled a pair of rubber medical gloves out of my purse and snapped them on.
I slipped into the clinic, closed the door at my back and then bit back a yelp when the air conditioning unit came on with a rumble.
“Shit,” I breathed out. I relaxed and decided I should’ve gone to the bathroom before I’d left the house. My bladder couldn’t take the stress of illegal activity.
The clinic smelled of Lysol and antiseptic and it was long and rectangular in shape. Ugly gray brick on the outside, metal roof, and white industrial blinds were on all the windows so those who frequented the clinic had ultimate privacy.
The reception desk divided the rectangle into two parts—offices on the left and the patient rooms toward the right. Even the thought of what happened in those rooms made me throw up in my mouth a little. There wasn’t enough Lysol in the world to cleanse away what happened in there.
The door I’d entered was on the side with the offices, and I passed through a long narrow hallway with white floors and wood paneled walls. The lights were off and the only reason I could see at all was because of the red nightlights spaced every twenty feet or so in the ceiling.
I stifled a nervous giggle at the thought that I’d once seen a horror movie that reminded me an awful lot of my current situation. I reached into my purse and pulled out my gun just in case there were zombies. At least I’d worn tennis shoes instead of high heels in case I had to make a run for it.
I’d wasted enough time building up my courage so I set forward with determination. I snuck past two bathrooms and a water fountain and wondered if it was against the criminal’s code to sneak into the bathroom and relieve myself. But with my luck, that’s when the SWAT team would break down the doors and the Enquirer would be standing there to take pictures.
I pulled the strap of my purse over my body and held the gun in a two handed grip. In my mind I was just like Laura Holt from Remington Steele, only curvier and without eighties hair. I made my way to where the hallway met the main area, squatting low and peeping around the corner to make sure I was alone.
The place was silent as a tomb and I crossed in front of the reception desk without even a squeak from my sneakers. My stealth abilities had improved by about a hundred and fifty percent since my first day on the job. Which wasn’t saying much. It was the same thing as saying a kindergartner could finally use the paste without eating it.
My heart was thudding a hundred miles a minute and the red glow from the lights was creepy as shit. My goal was fairly simple: I needed to get into the locked room I’d noticed on my first visit to the clinic and search the files. The room was at the end of the opposite hall past the patient rooms, made to look more like a janitor’s closet than anything else, but I’d glimpsed the rows of file cabinets during my tour a couple of days before.
I was halfway down the hallway when I heard a horrible moan. My heart stopped and I turned around to run back from the way I’d come when I heard it again. And though it
was
horrible, it wasn’t a death moan. I’d heard a few of those sounds over the past months. Back when I was having regular sex I’d even moaned like that myself. From the increasing volume I was guessing she was enjoying herself, whoever she was. Either that or she was declawing a cat without anesthesia.
To say my curiosity was piqued was an understatement. I’d never been very good at listening to the part of my mind that told me I shouldn’t stick my nose where it didn’t belong. I made my way closer to the sounds, hurrying my steps because it sounded like she was winding up for the finale, and I noticed the door was open a crack and light flickered from beneath.
I meant to be quiet. I really did. But the sight that greeted me was enough to draw a gasp from my lips. A pair of familiar blue eyes met mine and widened in surprise. My own eyes narrowed and I felt sick to my stomach as I took in the scene. It was worse than I could’ve imagined.
The woman reached a climax shrill enough to break glass and the tension ratcheted up the temperature several degrees. A pregnant silence followed her cataclysmic orgasm, and I realized if I didn’t breathe a little slower I was likely to end up hyperventilating.
“I should’ve known you’d show up here,” Nick Dempsey said, closing his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into turning around and going back home so I can get this straightened out.”
I raised a brow and cut my eyes to the loaded weapon in his hand. “No, I don’t think so.”
He sighed and put his gun away, reaching over to turn the TV off and the X-rated flick that had been playing. The smells of old sex and new death assaulted my senses, and I swallowed back the bile that rose at the sight of the body at Nick’s feet.
“At least you put on gloves when you came in,” he said, nodding at my hands. “I’d hate to think you smudged the prints of whoever broke in.”
“Someone broke in?” I asked, guilt sending a rush of heat to my cheeks.
“You didn’t see the front door shot to shit and standing open when you came inside?”
“Umm…sure I did. How could I have missed that?”