Cold Blooded (A Bentz/Montoya Novel, Band 2) - Softcover

Jackson, Lisa

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1420138480 ISBN 13: 9781420138481

Verlag: Zebra, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

His Vengeance Will Be Repeated.  .  .

A woman's slashed, incinerated corpse is found in a seedy New Orleans apartment. Her killer is certain there were no witnesses, unaware that his every move was seen by a beautiful stranger--from her bed in a bayou cottage on the outskirts of town.  .  .

And Repeated.  .  .

Weeks later, another violent vision shatters Olivia Bechet's sleep. Convinced a serial killer is stalking the city, Olivia turns to the authorities. But jaded detective Rick Bentz doesn't believe her--even when a second body turns up, slain in exactly the same bizarre, ritualistic manner Olivia described.  .  .

And Repeated.  .  .

As New Orleans panics in the icy grip of a merciless killer, Olivia is frustrated by Bentz's skepticism--and captivated by her attraction to him. But soon her dreams are invaded by images of another murder. One that has yet to be committed. This time, Olivia recognizes not only the victim's face--but the murderer's. And both are closer than she ever imagined.  .  .

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

LISA JACKSON is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of over ninety-five novels, including You Will Pay, After She’s Gone, Deserves to Die, You Don’t Want to Know, Running Scared, and Shiver. She is also the co-author of the Colony Series, written with her sister and bestselling author Nancy Bush, as well as the collaborative novels Sinister and Ominous, written with Nancy Bush and Rosalind Noonan. There are over thirty million copies of her novels in print and her writing has been translated into nineteen languages. She lives with her family and three rambunctious dogs in the Pacific Northwest. Readers can visit her website at www.lisajackson.com and find her on Facebook.

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Cold Blooded

By Lisa Jackson

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

Copyright © 2002 Susan Lisa Jackson
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4201-3848-1

CHAPTER 1

"You need a woman," Reuben Montoya observed as he pulled the police cruiser into the lot of Bentz's apartment.

"Good. Maybe I could borrow one of yours." Bentz reached for the handle of the door. What he didn't need was any advice from a young cop with more balls than brains as evidenced by the earring winking in Montoya's ear and the neatly trimmed goatee covering his chin. The younger detective was smart as hell, but still a little wet behind the ears. And he didn't know when to keep his nose in his own business.

"Hey, I'm a one-woman man these days," Montoya insisted and Bentz snorted.

"Right."

"I mean it." Montoya slammed the cruiser's gearshift lever into park, then reached into his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

"If you say so."

"I could set you up." Montoya was a young cop, not quite thirty, with smooth bronze skin, a killer smile, and enough ambition to propel him out of his poor Hispanic roots and through college on an athletic scholarship. Not only had he kicked the living hell out of a soccer ball, but he'd made the dean's list every semester and then, upon graduation, with his future as bright as the damned sun, he decided to become a cop.

Go figure.

Montoya shook out a filter tip, lit up, and blew a cloud of smoke. "I know this nice older lady, a friend of my mother's—"

"Can it." Bentz shot him a look meant to shut him up. "Forget it. I'm okay."

Montoya didn't back off. "You're definitely not okay. You live alone, never go out, and work your tail off for a department that doesn't appreciate you. That's your life."

"I'll bring it up when I'm up for my next raise," he said and climbed out of the passenger seat. It was a cool night; the wind rolling off the river had a winter edge to it.

"All I'm sayin' is that you need a life, man. Your kid's gone off to school and you should have some fun."

"I have plenty."

"My ass."

"'Night, Montoya." He slammed the door of the Crown Vic shut, then made his way into the building. A woman. Yeah, that would solve his problems. He grabbed the evening paper and his mail on the ground level, then climbed up the stairs to his second-floor unit. What did Montoya know?

Shit. That's what the kid knew: shit.

Bentz had learned long ago that women only added to his problems; and he'd learned from the master.

Jennifer.

Beautiful.

Intelligent.

Sexy as hell.

His wife.

The one woman he'd given his heart to; the only woman he'd allowed to break it and break it she had. On more than one occasion. With the same damned man. He unlocked the door and snapped on the lights.

Hurt me once, shame on you.

Hurt me twice, shame on me.

Tossing his keys onto the desk, he shed his jacket and yanked off his tie. God, he could use a beer and a smoke. But not a woman. Trouble was, he'd sworn off all three. No messages on the answering machine. Montoya was right. His social life was nil. He worked out by pounding the hell out of a boxing bag that hung in the second bedroom, didn't even belong to a bowling league or golf club. He'd given up sailing and hunting years ago, along with high-stakes poker and Jim Beam.

Rolling up his sleeves, he walked to the refrigerator and stared at the dismal contents. Even the freezer, where he usually kept a couple of those frozen man- sized microwave meals, was empty. He grabbed a can of nonalcoholic beer and popped the top, then clicked on the TV. A sportscaster started rattling off the day's scores while highlights flashed in rapid-fire images across the screen.

He settled into his recliner and told himself that Montoya was way off base. He didn't need a social life. He had his work and he still had Kristi, even if she was off at school in Baton Rouge. He glanced at the telephone and thought about calling her, but he'd phoned last Sunday and had sensed she was irritated; hated him intruding on her newfound freedom at college, acted as if he was checking up on her.

He turned his attention back to the tube, where highlights of Monday night's Saints game was being replayed. He'd grab a sandwich at the local po'boy shop two blocks over then open up his briefcase and catch up on some paperwork. He had a couple of reports to write and he wanted to pull his notes together; then there were a few open cases that were going stale; he'd need to look them over again, see if there was anything he missed the first, second, third, and fourth times through.

He had plenty to do.

Montoya was wrong. Bentz didn't need a woman. He was pretty sure no one did.

Olivia didn't like the lawyer. Never had. Never would. She couldn't imagine how her grandmother could have trusted anyone so obviously crooked. Ramsey John Dodd, who liked to be called RJ, was as oily as Grannie Gin's fried chicken and twice as plump. "... so the estate's all wrapped up, the taxes and fees paid, all the heirs having gotten their disbursements. If you want to sell the house, now's the time." From the other side of his oversized desk in this hole-in-the- wall he called an office, Ramsey John tented his pudgy hands together and patted his fingertips. Behind him, trapped between the blinds and the only window in the airless office, a fly that should have died days ago buzzed in frustration, banging against the glass.

"I'm still not sure about moving."

"Well, when and if you decide, I could put you in touch with a good real estate man."

I'll just bet you could.

"Wally's a real go-getter."

"I'll let you know," she said, standing abruptly to end the conversation and help disguise the fact that she was lying through her teeth. She wouldn't give any associate of RJ Dodd the time of day much less any business.

He shrugged the shoulders of his too-tight suit as if it were no matter, but Olivia sensed his disappointment. No doubt he would have gotten a kickback for any referral that panned out.

"Thanks for all your help."

"My pleasure."

She shook his sweaty palm and dropped it.

Her grandmother could usually smell a con man six miles away. How in the world had she ended up with this snake? Because his services come cheap, was the obvious answer. Aside from that, RJ was a nephew of one of Grannie's friends.

"Just one thing that troubles me," RJ said as he forced himself from his squeaky chair.

"What's that?"

"How come you ended up with the house and contents, and your mama, she only got the insurance money?"

"You're the lawyer. You tell me."

"Virginia would never say."

Olivia offered him a weak smile. He was fishing and she didn't understand why. "I guess Grannie just liked me better."

His fleshy jaw tightened. "That could be, I suppose. I didn't know her very well, just enough to figure out that she was an odd woman, you know. Some people around these parts claim she was a voodoo priestess. That she read fortunes in tarot cards and tea leaves and the like, you know. ESP."

"Well, you can't always believe what you hear, can you?" she said, trying to change the subject. It touched a little too close to home.

"They say you inherited it."

"Is that what you want to know, Mr. Dodd? If I'm psychic?"

"It's RJ," he reminded her, grinning and showing off the hint of a gold molar. "No reason to get your back up. I was just makin' conversation."

"Why don't you ask my mother about all this?"

"Bernadette claims she didn't inherit the gift if...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Zebra
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1420138480
• ISBN 13: 9781420138481
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 480
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: eucomplyOÜ; hello@eucompliancepartner.com; ; Pärnu mnt. 139b-14; Tallinn; 11317; Estland