A Perfect Stranger. Jenna Ryan
She’d fought the paranoid feeling when she’d entered the house.…
The alarm had been on, and Marlowe had thoroughly searched the place. But when he came back downstairs, she sensed a change in him. He kept his eyes on hers and his expression even.
It fascinated her how a stare could hypnotize her. She couldn’t have dragged her eyes from his if she wanted to. Couldn’t have stopped him from backing her into the corner and bracing his hands on either side of her head.
Good thing she didn’t want to stop any part of this.
Desire balled in her stomach. Hunger clawed through her veins. Heat flowed over her skin. All from a mere touch.
He inclined his head slowly, still holding her gaze, but even when she felt his breath on her lips, he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around her nape and whispered the words she never wanted to hear.
“There’s someone in the house.”
A Perfect Stranger
Jenna Ryan
To the seven angels:
Sheena, Maya, Mystique, Salem, Serena,
Mandalay and Scarlett.
Love you all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jenna Ryan started making up stories before she could read or write. Growing up, romance alone always had a strong appeal, but romantic suspense was the perfect fit. She tried out a number of different careers, including modeling, interior design and travel, but writing has always been her one true love. That and her longtime partner, Rod.
Inspired from book to book by her sister Kathy, she lives in a rural setting fifteen minutes from the city of Victoria, British Columbia. It’s taken a lot of years, but she’s finally slowed the frantic pace and adopted a West Coast mindset. Stay active, stay healthy, keep it simple. Enjoy the ride, enjoy the read. All of that works for her, but what she continues to enjoy most is writing stories she loves. She also loves reader feedback. E-mail her at [email protected] or visit Jenna Ryan on Facebook.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Darcy Nolan— A photojournalist, she was forced to go into hiding after she helped send a drug lord to prison.
Damon Marlowe— The ex-cop turned P.I. has a dark past and no reason to care about the woman he’s just exposed. But he does.
Vince Macos— With his father in prison, has the drug lord’s son sent a killer after Darcy?
Valentino Reade— A Philadelphia cop in desperate need of money.
Elaine Holland— Darcy’s editor wants that big story, and Darcy could be it.
Trace Grogan— Unpopular, untrustworthy and low, he works with and wants Darcy.
Hannah Brewster— She runs a boarding house and has more secrets than people might suspect.
Cristian Turner— Hannah’s nephew arrived in town the day Darcy was first attacked.
John Hancock— The creepy boarding house tenant spends a lot of time watching Darcy.
Contents
Prologue
Los Angeles, 2006
The police station smelled of sweat and stale coffee. It sounded like the bargain basement of a New York department store. And with the outdated central air-conditioning in desperate need of repair, it was hotter than the depths of hell.
Unruffled, photojournalist Shannon Hunt fanned her face with a discarded file folder and wondered how many stories could be ferreted out of this room by a canny fly-on-the-wall reporter. Dozens, she imagined, possibly more.
The amusement that tugged on her lips blossomed into a smile when Carmela Holden, a captain in Vice for thirty-plus years, strode through the door and barked her name.
“My office.” She glared at the desk sergeant. “No interruptions.”
Inside, Holden rounded her desk. “Dye your hair,” she said without preface.
Shannon’s brows went up. “Excuse me?”
The captain stared hard. “Dye it, cut it, buy a pair of glasses, sell your house.”
“Condo. And again, excuse me?”
“Frankie Maco got twelve years in San Quentin.”
“I know. I testified at the trial.”
“Testified and were threatened.”
“Very subtly, Captain, by a nephew who was high at the time.”
“You didn’t notice Frankie grinning like a Cheshire cat in the background?”
“What I saw was a grimace, probably of pain over his nephew’s pathetic demeanor.”
“A threat’s a threat, to my mind. And twelve years doesn’t cut it for me. I wanted twenty-five. He deserved that for the cocaine in his storehouse alone.”
Shannon knew where this was going. She’d worked at a high-profile L.A. newsmagazine for the past eighteen months, had, in fact, contributed a good portion of the photo and video evidence that had set Frankie up. “Come on, Captain…”