Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

at their job—four, if you counted the ability to ask a question.

But there was something he forgot to mention—a need to work sources. It was why Peter called Cheryl Sams at the funeral home earlier and why he was on the phone with his buddy now. “Listen, I wouldn’t bother you on Sunday if it wasn’t important. I’m doing background on a former Denver detective—left the force about two years back—and I have some questions.”

“Sure thing,” said Scott. “Your call got me out of looking at napkins for my daughter’s wedding reception.”

Seriously? Scott’s baby girl was getting married. Maybe Peter was old. “The detective’s name is Luis Martinez. He led up the murder investigation for the Mustangs QB. From an article I found, two years back, looks like the investigation had a lot of moving parts. Then, Detective Martinez gets put on administrative leave, never to return to the force.”

“You know that two years is like two decades in the media world, but I do recall that case. It was big news. Lots of heads rolled.”

“Including the detective? Was he a scapegoat for something?”

“Best I can remember, the cop and the QB were friends from early on. They grew up on the same block, that kind of thing. There was some scuttlebutt about the fact that the detective shouldn’t have been involved in the case. Or at least he should’ve disclosed the friendship, which wasn’t exactly a secret.”

Peter wrote and spoke at the same time. “Is that enough for someone to get canned in Denver?”

“Not really,” said Scott. “But there were rumors—unsubstantiated, mind you—that the detective was a suspect in the killing. Again, rumor, but he was told to leave the case alone and he didn’t.”

“Any other rumors?” Peter asked, flipping the pad to a clean sheet of paper.

“The theory was that the detective had a lot of gambling debts. But the guy left the force, and we found a new story to follow like a gaggle of geese.” Scott paused. “What’s this about, anyway?”

“Detective Martinez has turned up in Pleasant Pines and I want to know why he’s here.”

“We-e-ell...” Scott drew out the word.

“‘Well’ what?” Peter asked, knowing that there was more.

“There was also a rumor about a shadow agency involved with the case.”

“Shadow agency?” Peter wrote the words on the page, then circled them twice. “What’s that?”

“You know, private security but on steroids. They kind of work with the government. They kind of work for themselves.”

Peter stared at the door, seeing nothing. What would a shadow agency be doing in Pleasant Pines, Wyoming?

From the other end of the call, Peter heard voices in the background—female and upset.

“Listen,” said Scott, “I have to go. Be on the lookout for the wedding invite.”

“I’ll be honored to attend. I’ll even wear a tie,” Peter joked. He never wore a tie.

“Tie? You’ll need a tux for this one.”

Tux? Ugh.

“Tell me one thing,” said Scott. “How many freaking shades of pink exist in the world?”

“A million,” said Peter. “There are a million shades of pink.”

“And then some,” said Scott before hanging up the phone.

Peter reviewed his pages of notes about Luis Martinez—some facts verified, others little more than innuendo. But his eye was drawn again and again to two words. Shadow agency.

It was then that he realized an important truth. There was a sixth element to be a journalist. Never ignore a story.

Luis Martinez might be the key to one of the biggest stories in the history of Pleasant Pines.

* * *

Julia, along with the rest of the team, had put in a long day with the investigation. Interviews had been conducted and searches had taken place. Still, they were no closer to discovering what had happened to Tom Dolan. As the sun set, she sent the team home.

Now, hours later, Julia sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by files, photographs and statements. Tom Dolan seemed to be a genuinely nice guy. His friends were loyal. His parents were kind. Hell, even his ex-girlfriend was distraught over his death. He didn’t have any outstanding debts. He donated to charities and volunteered his time at a local foodbank.

There was nobody who wanted to harm him...yet, someone had.

So far, Doc Lambert didn’t have a cause of death. Despite the fact that both Julia and Chloe had asked that a blood-tox report be expedited, the state labs had made no promises for timely results.

Which meant what?

Julia had no motive. No suspect. No cause of death.

But there was more to the case. There had to be.

The two-dollar bill, ripped in half, and found in Tom’s wallet, was a direct link to Darcy Owens. Julia stared at a picture of the half bill. The image blurred as the room around her faded to nothing. Trapped in her mind, her thoughts returned to the bunker. Darcy blocked the only exit. Drunk on her own hubris, Julia thought that she could outsmart the serial killer and somehow get to her firearm. Julia had lunged for her gun. With a gleeful look in her eye, Darcy had brought down an ax on Julia’s hand. Thwack.

Fire danced along Julia’s palm as the photograph slipped from her grasp and fluttered to the floor. Bending to pick it up, she froze, her heartbeat racing.

Had a face been peering at her through the window over the sink?

Julia moved to the sliding glass door at the back of her house. The motion-sensitive light was dark. She flipped on a set of floodlights that lit her backyard. Bare trees and the remnants of last summer’s garden were visible from where she stood...but nothing else.

Her own reflection wavered in the glass. Had that been what she’d seen? Had Julia simply caught a glance of her own reflection? Still, she should at least walk the perimeter of her property. She had neighbors who counted on her to keep them all safe.

Before she could move, her phone trilled with an incoming call.

Julia lifted the cell from the table.

Her mother.

Damn. She hadn’t called her back. It was after 9:00 p.m. local