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Masked by Moonlight - Softcover

Buch 1 von 11: By Moonlight

Gideon, Nancy

 
9781439149638: Masked by Moonlight
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1439149631 ISBN 13: 9781439149638
Verlag: Pocket Books, 2010

Inhaltsangabe

IN THIS STUNNING FIRST BOOK FROM NANCY GIDEON’S SIZZLING NEW SERIES, A TENACIOUS COP AND HER SHAPE-SHIFTING ENEMY SACRIFICE EVERYTHING FOR FORBIDDEN DESIRE.

ALL SHE WANTS IS REVENGE.

New Orleans homicide detective Charlotte Caissie is dedicated to bringing down the crime boss responsible for her father’s murder. Using Jimmy Legere’s mysterious and irresistible right-hand man is a dangerous gamble, and not only due to his reputation as more monster than man. Because her feelings for Max Savoie are . . . complicated.

THEN HE RISKS HIS LIFE TO SAVE HERS.

Rescued from the swamps as a child, Max exists silently in Legere’s shadow, heeding only his voice—until Charlotte Caissie awakens his emotions and tests his loyalties. Stepping outside his cautious rules threatens more than just his heart. He could expose his darkest secret.

NOW THEY’RE BOTH IN OVER THEIR HEADS.

Testing boundaries they weren’t meant to cross means facing the truth about who and what they are—and what they need from each other. If Max is the murderer she seeks, Charlotte could be his next victim. She can’t afford to trust any man. Good thing Max isn’t one.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

A writer whose fifty novels since 1987 cover the romance spectrum, Nancy Gideon thrives on variety. Under her own name and several pseudonyms, she’s written award-winning category romances, historical and paranormal bestsellers, earned a “Career Achievement for Historical Adventure” and a HOLT Medallion, and has had two original horror screenplays optioned for film. A Michigan native, she works full time as a legal administrative assistant.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

One

GLADIDON’T have to clean up this mess.”

Detective Charlotte Caissie examined an unidentifiable piece of the victim on the bottom of her stiletto-heeled boot before scraping it off on the wet cobblestones. A grimace of distaste shaped her boldly exotic features.

“I’ve never known you to clean up anything, Cee Cee, darlin’,” Alain Babineau said from the other side of the vehicle. “If you’d wear practical shoes to work, you wouldn’t be picking up our evidence like a litter sticker and carrying it all over the place.”

She studied her stylish footgear, then scowled at her partner. “At least my wardrobe doesn’t come straight outta my high school yearbook.”

“No, you get yours from the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog. And you wonder why my wife thought you were a hooker the first time you met.”

“You’re just jealous ’cause your wife prefers to dress like Doris Day.” She smoothed the short leather skirt that was several inches from a working girl’s advertisement. It wasn’t her fault she had legs as long as an NBA star’s. Nor would she apologize for her in-your-face looks. The exaggerated bristle of short dark hair, dramatically rimmed kohl-black eyes, the slash of crimson lips, and model-sharp angles under café au lait skin complemented her aggressive no-nonsense attitude. A wardrobe that was more Xena the Warrior Princess than Suzie Homemaker flaunted her strong, curvy build and emphasized what she was inside: tough, confident, and capable. All cop. All the time.

“There’s more of him over here. Not exactly sure what, though.” Her partner straightened, observing the remains of T-Bob Gautreaux with a sigh. A weary grimness about his eyes toughened the all-American looks that were more suited to a country club than a grisly murder scene. “The ole boy sure did get around. Can’t decide whether to call in the coroner or the city sanitation crew.”

“What do you make of it, Babs?” Cee Cee’s gaze tracked the last frantic moments of the Caddy’s ride by the devastation left in its wake. Skid marks, dents, glass, and blood. Lots of blood. “He was in a helluva hurry to get away from something.”

“Don’t look like the poor bastard had much luck.”

“He had luck, all right. All bad.” Cee Cee activated her radio. “Boucher, whatchu come up with over there at the house?”

“More of the same, detective.” The youthful voice thinned with strain. “I’m almost through taking pictures here.”

“I don’t think I’ll be needing any wallet-size prints.” She took a bracing breath before asking,“Any sign of the wife and kid?”

“No, ma’am.” Quieter. “Thank God.” Then a puzzled tone. “You making the wife for this?”

“I don’t think so, Joey. A woman on her worst PMS day couldn’t come up with this kind of pissed off.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” The rookie officer’s whisper was laced with horror.

Cee Cee glanced about the gore-strewn street. “I have.”

In all her years on the force, the last four of them carrying a shield, Charlotte Caissie had seen all sorts of inhumanity dealt out by her fellow man. Shootings, stabbings, punitive maimings—nothing surprised her any more. But this, this carnage they’d come across now and again, was different in a way that made her scalp prickle viscerally. This wasn’t an act of anger or revenge or even ritual. The savagery of it was unthinkable on this side of sanity. The way the victims were torn apart went beyond mutilation, requiring a power and single-minded purpose that was more beast than man. But no animal she knew possessed the kind of foresight and cunning to kill, then lie in wait to kill again. To stalk and pursue with intelligent discrimination. It was a thinking beast who hunted the dark city streets. One with specific targets. One who left a merciless message underlined in entrails. A message meant to be taken seriously.

She took it very seriously.

“Finish up, Joey, and get on over here before the rain washes away what’s left of Mr. Gautreaux.” She switched off the radio and returned to the unmarked car where her partner sat inside to protect his suede varsity jacket as he ran names through their database. She leaned against the door frame, her relaxed posture belying the sharp-edged expectation winding through her. “Find what we both knew we’d find?”

Babineau looked up, a feral smile on his aftershave-ad-smooth face. “Gautreaux and Surette, both low-level gamblers in over their heads to guess who?”

Anticipation had her teeth grinding. “Jimmy Legere. How come his name pops up every time we find ourselves looking down into an empty chest cavity?”

“Nothing says ‘I own you’ like mortal fear. Shall we go pay him a visit and see what he’s been up to?”

Cee Cee checked the crime scene. The tape was up, holding back the swarm of press who managed to scent out the dead like flies. Their people were in control, if any control could be had at the site of such depravity. The forensic team was busy unloading their high-tech gizmos in a focused rapture, making her and Babineau’s presence obsolete.

“Let’s go.” She dropped behind the wheel with a fierce smile. “Let’s just stop by uninvited.”

THERE WAS NO way to drop in unexpectedly on Jimmy Legere. The eight-foot walls surrounding his sprawling estate were studded with surveillance cameras that could summon a crew of armed men in an instant. But as they approached, the wrought-iron gates stood open, almost as if to welcome guests at four in the morning. As if they’d been expected.

She followed the long drive beneath a heavy lace of live oaks, through the formal gardens where statuary stood like cold, nude ghosts under the waning moonlight. In the daytime, the place had a faded elegance to it. At night, it gave her the creeps. She parked so their vehicle blocked the front steps and hesitated within its safety for a minute. There was enough of the old ways steeped in her heritage to get her nape bristling in uncomfortable wariness—a kind of walking-over-graves nervousness, making her wonder if there were more ghosts roaming behind the pale stucco walls. The ghosts of those Legere had killed.

Shaking off the superstitious shivers, she got out of the car. The sound of the door slamming echoed back off the mist. She didn’t bother giving the grand home an admiring glance; she’d been there before. With Babineau following, she marched up the marble steps, surprised that no one had arrived to intercept them. No one ever caught Jimmy napping, which was why he was still alive. The wide porch was darkly shadowed, smelling of verbena and musty wood. She strode across it toward the massive front door.

“Kinda early to be making house calls, isn’t it, detective?”

The low voice came out of the blackness, so close that she felt warm breath against her cheek. It took Cee Cee a moment to swallow the heart that had catapulted into her throat. She’d nearly leapt out of her fancy new T-Bob Gautreaux-stained boots.

“But not too early for you to be up and around,” she countered in a gruff tone to cover her start of alarm. She could sense rather than see him, standing right at her elbow, a forceful presence cloaked in stillness. No wonder...

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Verlag
Pocket Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2010
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1439149631
ISBN 13 
9781439149638
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
400
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