9780804119788: Dancing in the Dark
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0804119783 ISBN 13: 9780804119788
Verlag: Ivy Books, 2003

Inhaltsangabe

Two years after the accidental deaths of her husband and son, widowSara Martin becomes the target of a series of persistent prank phone calls that bring hadsome detective Eric D'Angelo into her life, but their growing feelings for each other are complicated by a vicious serial killer stalking the streets of Austin, a murderer who has set his sights on Sara. Original.

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Dee Davis is the author of After Twilight, Just Breathe,Dark of the Night, and Midnight Rain. She has a B.A. in political science and history, and a master’s degree in public administration. During a ten-year career in public relations, she wrote television and radio commercials, three award-winning public service announcements, and multimedia presentations for several large organizations.

Davis is a member of the Romance Writers of America and various community volunteer organizations. Right now, the time she doesn’t spend at the computer is spent with her husband, daughter, and cat.

Visit Dee Davis on the Web at www.deedavis.com.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.




Austin, Texas

The shrill sound cut through the night.

It reached deep into Sara Martin's subconscious, jerking her from sleep, vanquishing her dream, dissipating like smoke on the wind. Angrily, she pushed upright, grabbing the phone.

"Hello?"

The line was silent, except for the soft hiss that meant someone was there.

"Hello?" She wasn't certain why she asked again. He never answered. Just waited, listening. As if he knew what he was interrupting-but that was impossible. With a release of breath, she slammed the receiver into the cradle, dismissing the prank. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

Not anymore.

Moonlight, filtering through the curtains, cast intricate shadows across the room, and she watched as they danced across the ceiling. Closing her eyes, she tried to recapture the dream, but as always it was illusive, coming only when it chose, never on demand.

Tears welled, and she pushed them away. Time, it seemed, did not heal wounds. It only left them to fester, the memory of all that was good tantalizing in its obscurity. Here in the dark, reality seemed a cruel joke. A punishment for a crime she'd never committed.

Still fighting tears, she reached for the lamp, and with the flick of a switch banished the shadows back into the night. Reflexively, she turned, her eyes searching the pillow next to hers. Wanting to find an indentation, a scent. Anything.

She traced the contours of the pillow, letting her imagination remember other times. Better times. But they were gone, along with her husband and son. Forever. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rolled over, fighting for control.

It was always worse at night.

Maybe it would be best if she'd just stop dreaming. At least that way the past would stay where it was supposed to be. But even as she had the thought, she knew she didn't mean it. The dreams were all she had left.



The smell was the first thing he noticed, and it wasn't as if he were new to crime scenes. But this one was bad. He could tell just from the sickly sweet stench of decaying flesh. With a sigh, Eric D'Angelo pushed past the crowd of homeless people and ducked under the yellow tape, steeling himself for the task at hand.

No matter how many murder scenes he worked, it was always one too many.

"Wondered if you were going to grace us with your presence." Tony Haskins ambled over as if it were Sunday at the park. His partner's girth and slow gait hid an astute mind and a quick wit.

"I was across town, and there were a few things I had to handle before I could leave."

"Right." Haskins' eyebrows rose, not missing a beat. "Anyone I know?"

"No." The single word brooked no further discussion. "So what have we got here?"

"Dead female. Caucasian. Looks to be somewhere between sixteen and twenty, and based on the clothing, I'd say she was a little bit more than just the kid next door." Tony shifted so that Eric could see the body.

A woman was sprawled beside a Dumpster, refuse scattered around her like a picture frame. Even without Tony's caustic comment, he'd have guessed at her profession. The gold lamé halter combined with the hiphugging skirt could have been considered chic, if it weren't for the fact that they were about two sizes too small. A smear of lipstick marred one cheek, blood staining the other, the two reds at odds with each other, the effect garish.

"She was left like this?" Eric frowned, trying to visualize the situation.

"No." Tony shook his head. "The guy over there found her. Evidently he pulled her out of the Dumpster to get at the stuff underneath, and then couldn't be bothered to call it in."

"Or wasn't able to tell the living from the dead." Eric shot a look at the old geezer. Between the grime and the layers of clothing, it was hard to tell what he really looked like, but the vacant gaze was apparent even from here. He'd seen it a hundred times over the years.

"Well, fortunately for us, he wasn't the only one digging in the garbage." Tony nodded toward a woman sitting on a crate, huddled over a Styrofoam cup of coffee. "She's the one who called. From over there."

Eric looked across the alley to the open door of a club, light slashing across the pavement like a rip in the asphalt. "How long since she called it in?"

"A couple of hours. Took the uniforms a little while to locate her."

"So what else do we know about the vic?" Eric walked over to the body, his seasoned mind already absorbing details.

"Not much. There's no I.D., although they haven't finished searching the Dumpster. There's no sign of struggle and very little blood. Which isn't consistent with her wounds. This woman was stabbed repeatedly, and unless I've missed something, that isn't easy to accomplish without leaving one hell of a mess."

D'Angelo bent down for a closer look. "There's blood all over the body, but most of it's dried." He frowned, reaching out to carefully touch her cheek. "Rigor's set in. And the smell alone indicates she's been dead more than a few hours."

"Wouldn't be impossible for her to have been in the Dumpster awhile."

"Not impossible." Claire Dennison joined them, her eyes narrowed in thought. Claire was a forensic specialist-a damn good one-and Eric was glad she'd responded to the call. "But not the case here. There's no blood in the Dumpster either. And even without an autopsy, it's fairly clear she bled out."

"So where's the blood?" Eric stood up, his gaze meeting hers.

"Could be anywhere." Claire studied the body with the cool eyes of a professional. "If we're lucky we'll find something to tie her to the killer. If not, maybe a fiber or two will at least give us a location."

Eric nodded, turning his attention to Tony. "Why were we called in?" They were technically off duty, and under normal circumstances, the murder should have fallen to someone else.

"The woman was raped."

"Kind of hard to tell with a hooker, isn't it?"

"Not when someone leaves their bat behind." Tony tipped his head toward a bloody piece of wood protruding beneath the skirt.

"Jesus." Eric forced his gaze away from the body, frowning at his partner.

"It gets worse. The guy took her fingers."

His eyes were automatically drawn to the hand folded against her breast. The lamé hid part of it, but now that he was looking-really looking-he could see that all five fingers had been cut off.

A quick glance at her other hand confirmed that it too had been altered.

"Son of a bitch." He swallowed a mouthful of bile, his gaze locking with Tony's. "He's back."

***

The soft sound of music filled the air, and Sara let the notes wash over her, the rhythm carrying away some of her tension. Taking a sip from her wineglass, she let the dark, smoky taste of merlot run down the back of her throat. Drinking alone was a dangerous luxury.

But, tonight, she needed it.

She took another sip, and stared at the phone. It would be so simple to pick it up, to call Ryan or Molly. But that would mean confessing her state of mind and, to be honest, she wasn't certain she had the energy. Besides, she was a firm believer in maintaining a stiff upper lip. A throwback to her days in foster care.

Never let 'em see you sweat.

She smiled despite herself. The music and the wine were working, the shadows that haunted...

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Verlag
Ivy Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2003
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0804119783
ISBN 13 
9780804119788
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
294
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar

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