In Harm's Way. Lyn Stone
“You’re a dangerous man to know, Detective,” Robin told him.
He released her hand and sat back, smiling a bitter smile. “Yeah, I can be that,” he admitted. “If I find out you’re jerking me around, you can count on it.”
Mitch knew the value of intimidation and was in no way opposed to using it when the time was right. So why did it make him feel so rotten, playing the big, bad cop with Robin? He knew she hadn’t killed James Andrews, but he did sense she was hiding something. Why didn’t he feel justified in shaking her up a little?
Dear Reader,
As the year winds to a close, I hope you’ll let Silhouette Intimate Moments bring some excitement to your holiday season. You certainly won’t want to miss the latest of THE OKLAHOMA ALL-GIRL BRANDS, Maggie Shayne’s Secrets and Lies. Think it would be fun to be queen for a day? Not for Melusine Brand, who has to impersonate a missing “princess” and evade a pack of trained killers, all the while pretending to be passionately married to the one man she can’t stand—and can’t help loving.
Join Justine Davis for the finale of our ROMANCING THE CROWN continuity, The Prince’s Wedding, as the heir to the Montebellan throne takes a cowgirl—and their baby—home to meet the royal family. You’ll also want to read the latest entries in two ongoing miniseries: Marie Ferrarella’s Undercover M.D., part of THE BACHELORS OF BLAIR MEMORIAL, and Sara Orwig’s One Tough Cowboy, which brings STALLION PASS over from Silhouette Desire. We’ve also got two dynamite stand-alones: Lyn Stone’s In Harm’s Way and Jill Shalvis’s Serving Up Trouble. In other words, you’ll want all six of this month’s offerings—and you’ll also want to come back next month, when Silhouette Intimate Moments continues the tradition of providing you with six of the best and most exciting contemporary romances money can buy.
Happy holidays!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
In Harm’s Way
Lyn Stone
LYN STONE
loves creating pictures with words. Paints, too. Her love affair with writing and art began in the third grade, when she won a school-wide prize for her colorful poster for book week. She spent the prize money on books, one of which was Little Women.
She rewrote the ending so that Jo marries her childhood sweetheart. That’s because Lyn had a childhood sweetheart herself and wanted to marry him when she grew up. She did. And now she is living her “happily-ever-after” in north Alabama with the same guy. She and Allen have traveled the world, had two children, four grandchildren and experienced some wild adventures along the way.
Whether writing romantic historicals or contemporary fiction, Lyn insists on including elements of humor, mystery and danger. Perhaps because that other book she purchased all those years ago was a Nancy Drew mystery.
This book is dedicated to
Alice and Richard Edge,
a beautiful, gracious lady and
a true Southern gentleman.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 1
“So, what’s your take on it, Kick? You think she did him?” Mitch Winton asked his partner in a low voice as he studied the woman in question just visible through the doorway to the bedroom.
The woman sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap, back ramrod straight. Mitch couldn’t see her face. She kept it turned away, probably so she wouldn’t have to look at the body again. One of the uniforms stood just inside the room with her.
Kick Taylor nodded. “She did it all right. No reason to think otherwise.”
“You question her yet?”
“Just the prelim I got on tape. This one’s a real ice queen. Cool as they come, not giving us squat.”
“Let me hear what she’s got to say.”
Kick hesitated, then handed Mitch the small tape recorder. “Not much to it. She’s been sitting like that since I got here. Davis and Mackie said she’s been in there the whole time. Didn’t even come out to answer the door when they responded.”
“She phone it in?”
“Affirmative.”
Mitch sighed. Why couldn’t he have just said yes? “So how’d we get on call tonight? Did I check the wrong roster?”
“Smith’s baby’s due anytime. I volunteered to switch with him and Williams.”
“He asked?” Mitch would be surprised if he had.
“No, I offered. Sorry I forgot to tell you. It won’t mess up your vacation, though. I can handle this one myself.”
There were perils in being gung ho, Mitch thought to himself. The captain had teamed them up a few months back when Kick had transferred from Vice, hoping Mitch could tamp down a little of Kick’s enthusiasm. He was a case hog. Still, there was no way he could have known about this one before it happened.
Homicide detectives were supposed to appear a little jaded, at least experienced. It didn’t give any of the principals involved a warm, fuzzy feeling if one of the people in charge acted as if they were working their first murder and their whole career depended on an immediate arrest. It was a whole lot different from Vice where Kick had spent his last five years.
“You’re looking too cool for words,” Mitch commented as he squatted and visually examined the dead man. White male, on the green side of forty, about six feet tall, exceptionally well dressed, probably considered good-looking without that hole in the center of his forehead. “Love the tie.”
“You talking to him or me?” Kick asked, methodically inching his way around the body counterclockwise, looking for traces of evidence like he was employed by forensics.
“You. The ducks are a nice touch.”
“Thanks,” Kick replied, smoothing a palm over his expensive neckwear, offering no explanation for what he was doing so well turned out this close to midnight on a Wednesday. He was a night owl and there was plenty to do in Nashville all night long. Probably got called in off a hot date.
Mitch admitted to a little envy. He had just about forgotten what a date was like. He’d been sound asleep when the phone rang. He suddenly felt very over-the-hill for thirty-six. Homicide was a bitch at any time, especially the middle of the night. Another hour and he would have been off the clock for two whole weeks.
“The weapon,” his partner said, pointing to a Beretta lying on the floor near the body.
“I guessed,” Mitch said dryly. One of the techs was getting ready to bag it. “Anyone hear the shot?” Mitch asked.