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

“Morning. How did you sleep?”

“Okay. How long have you been up?”

He grunted. “Since four. I had paperwork to catch up on so it was a good time to do it.”

“Are your parents out walking?”

“No. In fact, they’re gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone’?”

“They left a note. Apparently they left late last night, after we’d crashed. They’re flying out to San Francisco together for one of Dad’s business meetings. Said they didn’t want us to have to worry about anyone intruding on our ‘reconciliation.’” He made air quotes with lanky fingers. “But I think the real deal is that Dad had the business commitment and Mom decided to join him at the last minute. She can’t help her matchmaking tendencies.”

“Oh.”

“You look like the wind’s gone out of your sails.”

“I was just about to tell you that we needed to leave. I can’t live with the fact I’ve put a target on this house.”

“You haven’t done anything. Jimenez is the bad guy. If he finds you here, you’re not alone. I’m here and I’ll protect you. No one’s getting to you. Trust me.”

“I do trust you. You’re the top in your business.”

“But?” He was picking up on her worry.

“You said yourself that the cartel has limitless resources. How are you going to protect us against an arsenal that’s likely to arrive with his hired criminals?”

“We have backup, Dominique. It’s called the Grave Gulch Police Department. Add in the FBI as the cartel operates across state lines, and the Drug Enforcement Administration. Not to mention the state troopers.”

She watched his expression become more animated as he spoke. Stanton’s passion stemmed from his childhood obsession with law enforcement. He’d often spoken at length about it to her. Two of his three siblings had gone into law enforcement, too, no doubt inspired by the tragic unsolved murder of their Aunt Amanda. It provided the impetus for what Dominique suspected was a Colton genetic trait: to serve and protect. Stanton had picked personal security and protection instead of police work after college, when he’d discovered his real talent was working one-on-one with clients and security systems.

“What?” He paused, tilted his head.

“You are so into your job. It’s a good thing, don’t worry. I forgot how much you deal with on a daily basis.”

“No reason for you to remember any of that.” He sipped his coffee and stood up. “Are you hungry?”

She decided to stop fighting him, fighting her every instinct to disagree with him on each issue that came up. “I am. But you made lunch yesterday. My turn to cook.”

He shook his head. “Naw. Why don’t you tell me about Charlie Hamm, and your story, who you need to still interview? The sooner we get your piece filed, the better.”

* * *

“Okay. You’re absolutely right.” Dominique took one of the stools and watched him as he made them bacon cheese omelets. Bacon had always been irresistible to her. But Stanton was cooking it because it was in the Colton refrigerator, not for a personal reason like the fact that it was her kryptonite.

He did a mock grab at his heart. “Whoa—you’re admitting I’m right?” His grin was playful and she smiled back.

“Where to start? First, I already told you, Charlie was my student in the county jail. His poetry was exceptional. I have copies of his poems you can read if you want. They’re incredible. Working with him led me to listen to him and I wrote down all of it. How he believed fake evidence had been planted in the form of one of his fingerprints on a suitcase that held drugs. How all of the witnesses that could have testified that he wasn’t a pusher, that he was helping local addicts and dealers get off the stuff, somehow disappeared when it came time for the trial. And of course, Johnny Blanchard, whose testimony put Charlie behind bars. Charlie believed that Blanchard was paid off and/or threatened by the cartel. As for the fingerprint on the case with over one hundred thousand dollars in opioids, I can’t help but think Randall Bowe had everything to do with that. We don’t even know that it was Charlie’s fingerprint, as all we had, all the court accepted as evidence, was a statement from Randall that the print was Charlie’s. It’s as if the entire system let him down. But I think it was more a chain of bad guys who turned at Jimenez’s pressure.”

He whipped the eggs while the bacon sizzled in his mother’s extra-large cast-iron frying pan. “The fingerprint report should be easy enough to dispute. If Randall doesn’t have a digital scan of the actual print saved, it boils down to his word. And right now, his word isn’t holding a lot of water.”

“But he’s still on the police force!” Anger made her cheeks red and her eyes flash.

“Actually, Melissa told me he’s been furloughed until the investigation is complete. There’s a possibility of another corrupt cop, too. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I’m sorry, Stanton. That’s awful for Melissa, and the entire department. But it’s about time some progress was made on the internal investigation. I hope for GGPD’s sake it’s resolved quickly.” It would be a win to have the evidence against Charlie stricken, too. One step closer to justice for him.

“I don’t disagree. By the way, how are your feet doing? I noticed yesterday that your toes were swollen.”

She grinned. “I did make a mess of them when we were in the East Side. They’re fine, thank you. Wearing socks and sneakers for a while will help.”

“You like to wear dress shoes for work, though.”

“Since we won’t be going into town much, I’ll be happy to stay in socks, maybe hiking boots when I can get into the woods. Speaking of which, can we go to my apartment to get some of my clothing, my cosmetics?”

“I’m working on it. Our first priority is to get you into the station.”

For the rest of their breakfast she made notes on her phone of