Single Title








with USA TODAY Bestselling Author 

Julie Miller!


  February Book Giveaway!
Entry Deadline Feb. 24th

Kansas City Cover-Up by Julie Miller


It's time for another "Friends" Book GiveAway this month. To celebrate the romance of Valentine's Day, I'm giving away a collection of books by various authors, representing different romance genres. Because this prize will involve more shipping costs to the winner, I'm asking that entrants be limited to United States mailing addresses. And for all my international readers, don't worry, I'll be back next month with a giveaway that all of you can enter!

To enter, read the excerpt from my March 17 release, KANSAS CITY COVER-UP, the first book in my Precinct: cold Case miniseries. Answer the easy question at the end. Then email me your answer, along with your U.S. mailing address. My dog, Maggie, will put her nose to work and select a winner from amongst all the correct entries. Deadline to enter is February 24th.

Julie Miller February Book giveaway







Rules for Julie's Contests

  • One entry per person.
  • By entering, entrants grant permission for their name to be posted on the Julie Miller web site at and in Julie's newsletter.
  • Winners will be chosen by random drawing from among all entries.
  • The odds of winning depend upon the number of participants.
  • Void where prohibited.



RT BOOKLovers Convention, Dallas, TX


Romance Writers of America Annual National Conference, New York City  



Julie in San Antonia, TX at the 2014 RWA National Conference


50 Book pin presentation is Craig Swinwood-CEO Harlequin Enterprises, Dianne Moggy-Editorial Director, HQ Ent, Moi, Leslie Kelly-fellow 50-book award recipient, Lorianna Sacilotto-VP, HQ Ent

Sitting beside me at the Harlequin party is Linda O. Johnston


BJ Daniels, Delores Fossen and me


Julie in Atlanta, GA at the 2013 RWA National Conference

Julie with good buddy B.J. Daniels

Delores Fossen, Julie Miller, B.J. Daniels



Julie Miller at the PRW 20th Anniversary

Julie's local writing group, the Prairieland Romance Writers, celebrates 20 years of excellence in romance fiction at an anniversary Open House in Grand Island, NE
Prairieland Romance Writers celebrates 20 years of excellence in romance fiction!


Author Julie Miller

Authors Scott and Julie Miller

Kearney, NE Booksigning, The Sequel Bookshop
Julie Miller, and Scott & Julie Miller


Independence, MO Booksigning
L-R Saranna DeWylde, Julie Miller, Janette Kenney, Sherri Shackelford, Cheryl St. John

Julie in New York City at the 2011 RWA National Conference

Julie Miller--Times Square

View of Times Square from Julie's hotel room

Julie Miller @ Transformers movie premiere

Julie at the Transformers movie premiere (Hi, Bumblebee!)

Julie Miller--Times Sqaure & Broadway

Times Square and Broadway

Julie Miller--RWA NYC 2011

My roomie, Elle James, Brenda Jackson, and my agent Pattie Steele-Perkins at the RWA booksigning

Julie Miller--RWA NYC 2011

The massive Literacy Autographing at RWA



Julie in Los Angeles, CA, at the 2011 RT BOOKreviews Convention

""The Do's & Dont's of Series Romance " workshop with Judy Duarte, Candace Havens, Julie Miller and B.J. Daniels.

"Lights! Camera! Party! the Series Romance Way" Reader Event
Back row: Kira Sinclair, HelenKay Dimon, B.J. Daniels, Lynn Raye Harris
Middle row: Judy Duarte, Crystal Green, Rebecca York, Candace Havens, Janette Kenney, Jan Hambright, Delores Fossen, Brenda Jackson
Front row: Kathleen O'Reilly, Kimberly Lang, Jade Lee/Kathy Lyons, Carol Erickson, Julie Miller


At the Booksigning

View from my hotel The Westin Bonaventure  in downtown L.A.

Went to hear Dean Koontz speak. Delightfully witty and educational! (and one of my fave authors!)

Barn View from my hotel, the Hollywood sign in the distance up in the Hollywood Hills.





Copyright  ©2015 by Julie Miller

Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.










Chapter One
            “How is this a cold case?”  Detective Olivia Watson squatted down beside the body with the bashed in head lying on the plush office carpet.
            The pool of blood looked fresh enough.  The alleged murder weapon, a civic volunteerism trophy from the dead man’s own desk, had already been bagged and packed away by the CSI trading notes with the medical examiner nearby.  A uniformed officer and two building security guards were holding back a bevy of shocked and grieving office staff from the Kober & Associates’ PR firm, as well as curious onlookers from other businesses in the building beyond the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the victim’s outer office door.  The two KCPD detectives on the far side of the room interviewing the distraught secretary who’d discovered her boss’s body after her half-day spa appointment seemed to have the crime scene well under control.  So why call in representatives from the Fourth Precinct’s Cold Case Squad?
            Olivia rested her forearms on the thighs of her dark-wash jeans and studied the sixtyish man’s still features again.  The glass and steel high-rise in downtown Kansas City was almost as new as the murder itself.  She was used to working cases with pictures out of dusty boxes and autopsy reports that raised a lot of unanswered questions.  She’d worked with skeletal remains and mummified corpses and alleged victims whose bodies had never been found at all.  Most people assumed the cold case squad was an easier gig than working a fresh investigation.  She liked to think of it as a smarter assignment, requiring more insight and diligence than other divisions at KCPD.
            Olivia was a third generation cop, like two of her three brothers.  And the third one worked in the medical examiner’s office.  After two years in a uniform, five years in vice and the past year working cold cases, she’d learned that killers who’d eluded capture and thought they’d gotten away with murder often proved to be more devious and more dangerous than any other criminal out there.  It was her job to track down those killers and finally get justice for those forgotten victims whose memory often died with their closest family and friends.
            So why was she here to assist two perfectly capable detectives when there was a stack of her own investigations back at HQ to sort through?
            “There must be a connection to one of our dead file cases.  But if there is, I don’t see it yet.”  She glanced up at her new partner, Jim Parker--back from the dead himself after a particularly harrowing undercover assignment for the Missouri Bureau of Investigation.  “Do you?”
            Jim’s green eyes surveyed the room the way she had.  “I recognize Ron Kober from the newspapers.  Besides owning a Top 50 Company here in K.C., he helped get Adrian McCoy elected to the state senate a few years back.  Looks like he was doing pretty well on his own, without the senator.”
            Olivia arched a dark eyebrow.  “Until today.”
            She liked Jim well enough, respected his reputation as a cop, appreciated that he got her sarcastic sense of humor.  But after that humiliating debacle with her last partner, learning to trust him was hard.  Thankfully, Jim was a newlywed, completely crazy about his wife, Natalie, and showed nothing but a friendly professional interest in his relationship with Olivia.  Still, she found herself thinking about her words before she spoke to him, guarding her thoughts and feelings, which was no mean task for a woman with her volatile Irish roots.
            “A man with this kind of money probably has plenty of enemies,” Jim suggested.
            An angle which she was sure the lead detectives were already exploring.  Still didn’t explain why she and Jim were here.  She looked back down at the body, willing the corpse to speak and share his secrets.  But she wasn’t psychic and dead men didn’t talk.  However...
            Her eyes went past Kober’s body to a scrap of torn paper underneath the desk.  She snapped a picture with her cell phone before reaching over the dead body to pick it up with the sterile gloves she wore.
            Jim crouched down beside her.  “What did you find?”
            Olivia turned the tiny square over between her thumb and index finger.  “Four numbers.  I don’t know.  It may just be a piece of trash.”
            “Looks like a torn up piece of stationery.”  Jim picked up the waste basket beside the desk and set it between them to sort through its contents.
            But there were no other little hand-torn shreds like this one.  “Could be the last digits of a phone number.”
            Jim replaced the waste basket and stood.  “Or part of an address or social security number.”
            “Or a locker number or part of a combination lock.”  Olivia straightened beside him, spotting a pad of dove gray paper on the desk that matched the piece in her hand.  She picked it up and angled it in the light to see if she could read any indentations in the surface.  But there were too many marks from previous notes to make out anything specific.  “Maybe it’s just a testament to their housekeeping service not doing its job, and isn’t related to the crime at all.”
            Just in case, though, she jotted the 3620 in her notebook before handing the scrap of paper and Kober’s scratch pad over to the CSI.
            She tucked her own notepad into the pocket of her short leather jacket and peeled off her gloves, following Jim to the door.  “So if this isn’t our case, why are we here?”
            Jim nodded to the detectives hovering over the weeping woman across the room.  “Hendricks and Kincaid are taking lead on Kober’s murder here.  Sawyer Kincaid called us in as a courtesy.”
            Frowning, Olivia stuffed the gloves into the back pocket of her jeans.  “And he didn’t say why?”
            “He just said it was a directive from higher up.”  He touched her shoulder to indicate he was taking a detour.  “Looks like they’re wrapping up that interview.  I’ll go ask if they can make sense of any of this yet.”
            While her golden-haired partner crossed the room, Olivia indicated she’d head on downstairs and meet him at the car.
            She shouldn’t have acknowledged the visceral impact of the short black hair and chiseled cheek bones of the man waiting just outside the office door as she passed him.  Admitting any kind of gut-kick attraction to a man was, at least, an inconvenience, and, at most, a huge mistake.  Her relationship with Marcus had taught her that.
            But the man’s piercing blue gaze locked on and followed her through the doorway.  The skin at the nape beneath her short hair tingled with awareness at his interest.  Only, she wasn’t sure if it was sensual nerves fluttering to attention, or an alarm going off.  Either way, she wasn’t about to flutter for any man, and she wasn’t going to ignore those survival instincts that warned her of danger.
            Olivia stopped in the middle of the assistant’s office and turned to face Mr. Tall, Dark and Staring.  “May I help you?”
            He pulled back the front of his tan corduroy sports coat and tucked his hands into the pocket of his jeans, assuming a casual stance she wouldn’t match.  “I can tell you why you’re here, Detective Watson.”
            Her chin jerked up ever so slightly at the stranger calling her by name.  Un-uh.  That wasn’t an advantage she’d allow.  Her hand instinctively came to rest over the Glock holstered to her belt.  “Do I know you, Mister...?”
            “Not really.”  The man straightened from the wall where he’d been leaning, and she could see he stood a good five or six inches over her 5’7” height.  “Ron Kober is the man my fiancée, Danielle Reese, was getting inside information from for a story she was writing when she was murdered six years ago.”
            “Danielle Reese?”  Why did that name sound familiar?  Didn’t matter.  This guy was still a couple steps ahead of her in the conversation, and she didn’t like it.  “You didn’t answer my question.  Who are you?”
            “Gabriel Knight.”
            Was that supposed to mean something to her?  That deep, succinct announcement made it sound as though he thought he was somebody important.  But she’d have remembered a face like that.  Not exactly handsome with all those sharp, unsmiling angles, but definitely interesting.
            Olivia blinked, silently reprimanding herself for even noticing such irrelevance.  It was more important to note that she saw no sign that he was wearing a gun, and since he hadn’t flashed a badge to identify himself, he couldn’t be a cop.  Gabriel Knight must be a curiosity seeker who’d probably lied to the uniformed guard about having some kind of information on the case so he could get close enough to see the dead body.
            “Sir, did one of the detectives ask you to come past the crime scene tape for questioning?”  He didn’t answer.  Proof enough for her that Gabriel Knight was trespassing on the crime scene.  She thumbed over her shoulder the hallway.  “Then you can’t be in here.”
            “I’ve got press credentials.”  He tugged at the cord hanging around his neck and pulled a plastic card from his shirt pocket.  “I’m covering the murder for the Journal.”
            A reporter?  “Yeah, well my badge outranks your little piece of plastic.  If you’ll wait out front with the other reporters, the press liaison will be downstairs to give a briefing in a few minutes.”  She took him by the arm and turned to escort him into the hallway, but the man didn’t budge.
            “You need to talk to me.”  His voice was low and articulate, and, without being a breathy whisper, was for her ears alone.  “I have information on this case.  That’s why the officer out front let me through.”
            “Then you should talk to Detective Kincaid or Detective Hendricks.”  She released him to point out the big man with the dark hair and the black man with the diamond stud in his left earlobe in the other room.  “I can introduce you when they’re through with their witness.”
            But Gabriel Knight grabbed her elbow and pulled her back beside him.  “You may not read the paper, but I know who you are, Detective Watson.  You and your partner are part of the cold case team, working older, unsolved crimes.  Like the murder of Dani Reese.  She was an investigative reporter, a colleague of mine.  The woman I loved.  She was found dead at an abandoned warehouse down on the river docks six years ago.  Shot through the head like some common criminal.  I’m the one who called Chief Taylor and suggested he send a team from your department here this afternoon.”
            Olivia jerked her arm from his grasp.
            “You called the Fourth Precinct chief?”  Who’d filtered the request down through Sawyer Kincaid and on to Jim and her.  She hated anyone who felt they were entitled enough to call in and break the rules of standard police procedure whenever it suited them.  She could do the low, threatening voice, too.  “You know, we have real work to do, Mr. Knight.  KCPD is not at your beck and call to dig up sidebars for whatever story you’re working on.”
            “Trust me, detective, there is nothing more real to me than finding Dani’s killer.  If your people won’t do it, I will.”
            Her people?  Cops?  Like her friends and father and grandfather and brothers?  The same men and women who’d solved her own mother’s brutal slaying two decades earlier?  This guy was bashing them?
            And then something else he said registered, cooling the defensive anger that had flashed through her veins.  The woman I loved.
            She empathized with the kind of senseless violence, anger and grief Gabriel Knight had suffered more than he knew.  It only took one deep breath, one thought of her mother’s smiling face, to remember her sensitivity training.  “Every victim believes the death of his or her loved one is our most important case.  I’m sorry for your loss.  But if the department hasn’t made enough progress on Ms. Reese’s death to suit you, it’s only because there haven’t been any substantial leads.  Not because we’ve given up.”
            “This is a lead.  There has to be a connection to Kober.  Find it.”
            “I promise you, if we get new information on your fiancée’s death, we’ll look into it.”
            “Coming from you, that’s not terribly reassuring.”
            Bristling at the dig that felt inexplicably personal, coming from a man she’d never met, Olivia gestured toward the yellow tape.  She bit down on the urge to demand an explanation and invited him to walk beside her.  “We never give up on a case.  Ever.  But some take longer to solve than others.  It’s a matter of prioritization.  We review cases every day and try to focus our time, money and manpower where it can do the most good.”
            “You’re preaching departmental protocol, Detective Watson.  And that’s not a good enough answer.”  He stopped at the outer door, dipping his head slightly as he faced her one more time.  “You find out who killed Kober, and I guarantee you’ll find a lead on Dani’s murderer.  It may even be the same man who committed both crimes.”
            With that warning, he ducked beneath the tape and stalked away.  Olivia shook her head at the uniformed officer’s questioning look about whether or not he needed to stop Knight before he pushed his way through the gathering of onlookers and got on the elevator.
            She was still processing the oddly charged and cryptic encounter when she felt a tap at her elbow.  She nodded to Jim and he lifted the crime scene tape for her to exit in front of him.  “You know who you were talking to, don’t you?”
            “Yeah.  He said his name was Gabriel Knight.  He’s a reporter.”
            “Not just any reporter.”  They stepped onto the elevator and Jim pushed the button for the ground floor.  “Gabe Knight writes the crime beat column for the Kansas City Journal.”
            Her instincts about men must still out of whack after dumping Marcus.  Otherwise, she’d have pieced together the name with the clues he’d dropped.
            “He’s the guy who wrote all those editorials about KCPD not being able to catch the Rose Red Rapist?”  And when the task force did finally catch the creep and put him on trial, there hadn’t been one word of praise or apology, merely a recitation of facts and something like, “...about damn time”.  Olivia groaned at her ineptitude as she walked out with Jim.  Somehow she felt as if she’d betrayed her brethren cops by even having a conversation with the department’s most outspoken critic.  “And I was nice to him.  Well, I was civil.  He thinks Kober’s murder is related to the unsolved death of his fiancée a few years back.  Danielle Reese?  He’s the one who got us invited to the crime scene.”
            They circled the gathering of television cameras and reporters on their way to her SUV.  She felt Knight’s blue eyes following her from the crowd awaiting the press conference as they crossed the street, but studiously ignored the urge to meet his watchful gaze.
            “He probably approached you because he thought you’d be softhearted and sympathetic to his cause.”  She glared at Jim over the hood of the car before they both climbed in.  “Clearly, he doesn’t know you very well.”
            Okay, so Jim’s dry wit could make her laugh, too, just like her brothers’ teasing guff usually did.
            Olivia’s smile faded as they fastened their seat belts.  “He’s poking his nose into our crime scene, trying to get the scoop on the rest of the press--and then he turns around and criticizes us for not catching every last bad guy, or doing it fast enough to suit his idealistic timetable?  That just sticks in my craw.”
            She looked through the windshield to glare at the presumptuous Mr. Knight.  But those smug blue eyes were nowhere to be seen.  Even with a second search among the reporters gathered in front of the building, she didn’t spot his rich, coal black hair.  “That son of a...”  Had that self-important buttinsky snuck back inside the building?  Un-uh.  Not on her watch.
            Olivia pulled her keys from the ignition and opened her door.  “Can you get a ride with somebody?  I’m going to have a couple more words with Mr. Knight.”
            Jim climbed out on the opposite side.  “Do you need me to go with you?”
            “No, I can handle him.”  As soon as he’d closed his door, she hit the locks and hurried around the hood of the car.
            “Olivia, we’re a team, remember?  I’ve got your back.”
            “I know.”
            “How come I don’t quite believe you mean that?”
            Olivia stopped mid-charge.  Marcus Brower had supposedly had her back, too.  And while her former partner had never once let her down out on the streets, his betrayal behind closed doors would probably always taint her ability to trust a man who wasn’t family again.
            But Jim Parker didn’t deserve to be blown off because some other guy was a two-timing jackass she’d put her career on hold for.  “Sorry.  You and I are still in the getting to know you phase, I suppose.  Sometimes, people like Gabriel Knight don’t take a woman cop seriously.  I need him to understand that when I tell him to go away and let us handle things, I mean it.”
            Seemingly satisfied with the apology and that much of an explanation, Jim nodded and pulled out his cell phone.  “The man’s a cool customer from what I hear.  Don’t let him rile that Irish blood of yours.”
            “Too late for that.  Say, maybe you can pull out the file on Dani Reese’s murder so I can get up to speed on whatever it is Knight is blaming us for.  See if we can find that connection to Kober he claims, too.”  She waved goodbye as Jim placed his call.  “I’ll catch up with you back at HQ.”
            “Roger that.”  She heard an amused voice behind her as she darted across the street.  “Good luck, Mr. Knight.”

Question:  What does Gabriel Knight do for a living?




Enter Now!

Back To Top





Julie Miller




1 1/2 months later
            “Reitzie.”  Annie lifted the lazy Siamese from the domino tumble of picture frames on the mantel where he was lounging while Nick carried up their overnight bags from their weekend getaway to St. Louis.  She set the cat on the floor and shooed him off to find where his counterpart, G.B., was hiding.
            In between unbuttoning her coat and untying the pink scarf that Grandma Connie had knit for her, she straightened one beloved picture after another.  When she reached the mutilated photo from the Baseball Hall of Fame, she smiled.  Without feeling one pang of regret, she opened up her paisley messenger bag and pulled out one of the souvenir post cards she’d bought on their trip and quickly swapped out the old picture for the new one.  She crumpled the memory of her ex-fiancé in her fist and tossed it into the trash.
            “There.”  Annie was admiring the new picture of Busch Stadium in St. Louis, and the new memory it represented, when Nick came in.  He locked the door behind him and hung up their coats.  She pulled the new picture on the mantel to a more prominent position.  “That’s better.”
            Nick came up behind her to wind an arm around her waist and doff a salute to the statue of Stan ‘the Man’ Musial.  “Much better.  Maybe Stan and your dad are up in heaven playing some catch right now.”
            Feeling a pang of melancholy, Annie leaned back against his solid warmth, and found even more comfort when he slipped the other arm around her as well, and pressed a kiss against her cheek.  The sadness quickly passed and she folded her hands over his, soaking in all the miraculous changes in her life since that fateful New Year’s Eve.
            She had a reason to celebrate the holidays now.
            She had a family--one that was bigger, crazier, more accepting and loving than any she could have imagined for herself.
            She wasn’t alone anymore.
            She had Nick.
            On New Year’s Day, Nick Fensom had promised her seventy-two hours of personal protection and free chauffeur’s service.  Now, he’d promised her a lifetime together.
            Annie held up her left hand and marveled at the beauty and symbolism of the simple diamond solitaire he’d given her on Valentine’s Day.
            He cupped her outstretch hand in his, angling it to catch the light in each facet.  “Happy?”
            She nodded.  “More than I have been in...”  She laced her fingers with his and pulled his arm back to complete the snug warmth of the embrace.  “...I don’t know how long.  You gave me a family, Nick.  You make me feel like I belong somewhere, like I belong to someone, like I’m never going to feel alone again. 
            “Yeah, but do you love me?”
            “Of course, I do.”
            “Well, a guy wonders, you know, because, um... technically, you never said yes.”
            Annie spun around in his arms, mortified.  “I didn’t?”
            Despite the grin, he was shaking his head as he twirled a lock of her hair between his index finger and thumb.  “As I recall, you burst into tears, blubbered some stuff about how happy your dad would be that I asked you to marry me in front of Musial’s statue, and then you started kissing me.”  Annie arched a skeptical brow as his handsome blue eyes met hers and the Irish bluster continued.  “Now, while I’m not opposed to that sort of activity, sometimes you’re hard to read--and it can be a little tricky on a man’s ego not to be entirely sure.”
            Annie caught his face between her hands.  “Do you really have any doubts about how much I love you?  What was it you once told me?  You’ll know when I make a promise to you.”
            “Pretty pithy stuff, huh?”
            She pulled his face closer to hers and stroked her thumb across his mouth.  “Then let me make this promise to you, Nicholas Fensom--I love you.  I need you in my life.  I want to be your wife.”  She stretched up to press a kiss to his lips before standing back to raise her right hand and lay her left over his heart.  “In front of Mom, Dad, Stan and the cats... my answer is yes.”
            Nick’s grin was devilish as he wound his arms around her and pulled her hips up against his.  “I liked all the kissing better.”
            “You...”  She smacked his shoulder, taking care to avoid the newly healed wound that could have killed him when he saved her life.  The crime lab building was under repair as well, and both the detective and the lab were back at work.  “You’re terrib--”
            With a laugh, Nick’s mouth covered hers, ending the teasing, demanding that she prove with her heart and body what her words had already confessed.  And Annie willingly accepted the challenge.  Nick slid his deliciously warm hands beneath her sweater and dipped his tongue into her mouth.  Annie’s fingers went to the hem of Nick’s shirt, untucking it from his jeans, taking the same liberties to stroke and touch and grab that he took with her.
            His thighs crowded against her, driving her back into the arm of the sofa.  Annie wrapped her arms around his neck and turned, steering him around the couch.  He pulled her along with him a couple of steps, drawing his tongue along that sensitive bundle of nerves beneath her ear.  “I love the way your mind thinks.”
            “I love the way your--”  He gently nipped the spot and Annie gasped, shuddering with desire.
            She tugged on his belt buckle as Nick’s seductive assault backed her into the wall.  His hands were under her sweater again, making it difficult to recall the rest of her sentence.  But the power of his kiss, the need of his hands, the hardness of his body made her realize that words were no longer necessary.  The tension that had simmered between them from their very first meeting blazed into white-hot passion.  They were yin and yang.  Opposites attracting and completing each other.  Perfectly in sync.  Perfect together.
            Nick pulled her away from the wall to sweep the sweater off over her head, exposing her torso to the chilly air of her apartment.  But he palmed her bottom and lifted her up against him, singeing her body with the solid heat of his.  Annie wrapped her legs around his hips as he reclaimed her mouth and stumbled to the bedroom.  There, in a flurry of dropping clothes and stolen kisses, they fell onto the bed together.
            There was no more teasing, no more debate, no more doubt about the unexpected love they’d found together.  Nick sheathed himself and settled between her legs as Annie impatiently drew him down on top of her.  There was nothing wounded about his compact, beautifully toned body beyond the scar on his shoulder.  He was fit and fine and sexier than than the box score of a perfect game as he began to move inside her.
            His fingers tangled into her hair as he thrust himself in to the hilt and whispered against her ear.  “I love you, Annie.  I love you.”
            Believing that promise with all her heart, she let go and flew over the edge into pure bliss with him.
            The cats had joined them in bed, anchoring the quilt around Annie’s toasty feet, when stereo pagers went off sometime later.  She startled awake, pushing aside cats and covers to reach for her phone on the bedside table while Nick rolled to sit up on his side to retrieve his phone from his jeans on the floor.
            “It’s work.”  They announced in unison.
            “I’ll call in.”  Nick pulled on his shorts and jeans and tossed her the pants she’d worn earlier.  “You get some clothes on before you distract me again.”
            As alert and worried as she’d been replete and content moments earlier, she quickly dressed.  A call from Dispatch before the sun was up could never be a good thing.  The grim look on Nick’s face echoed as much as he called his partner’s number.
            “Spence?  It’s Nick.”  Annie tiptoed around the bed and Nick circled his arm around her, drawing her close.  “Yeah, we’re both here.”
            Annie caught most of the conversation with the task force commander, and was glad she’d packed her spare kit in the back of Nick’s Jeep.  The men the Cleaner had blackmailed into killing Annie and destroying evidence were either dead or jailed.  The only one who’d survived the assault on the crime lab had been unable to give them a usable description of the woman who’d recruited him because all the arrangements, from impersonating police officers to infiltrating the lab, had gone through Raj Kapoor.  But, thanks to her and Nick, they had a trace sample to identify the rapist’s blood type, and a fingerprint they could match to the Cleaner--once they got the right suspect in custody.  It was evidence that could help put them both away in prison for a very, very long time.
            But the grim report from Spencer Montgomery reminded them both that there was more work to be done.  Nick ended the call and pressed a kiss to Annie’s temple.
            “Time to go to work, slugger.”  He strapped on his gun and his badge.  “The Rose Red Rapist has struck again.  We’ve got another crime scene.”


Top of Page

Copyright 2015 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd. Cover Art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.

This site owned by Julie Miller © 2002 - 2015
Site designed and maintained by
JustAFew Promotions
Last Update  February 1, 2015