are you trying to do, scare this fictitious Mr. Perfect away?”
“If he really loves you, he won’t be scared off so easy.”
Lucy kissed her brother on the cheek and went into her room. She changed into her sweats and T-shirt and crawled under the thick down comforter.
She hoped Patrick was right. She hoped someday she would find someone to love.
Read on for a special preview of
KISS ME, KILL ME
the next book in the Lucy Kincaid series!
ONE
As the cold wind whipped around her, FBI agent Suzanne Madeaux lifted the corner of the yellow crime-scene tarp covering the dead girl and swore under her breath.
Jane Doe was somewhere between sixteen and twenty, her dark-blond hair streaked with pink highlights. The teenager’s party dress was also pink, and Suzanne absently wondered if she changed her highlights to match her outfit. There was no outward sign of sexual assault or an apparent cause of death. Still, there was no doubt this was another victim of the killer Suzanne had been tasked to stop.
Jane Doe wore only one shoe.
Dropping the tarp, Suzanne surveyed the scene, trying in vain to keep her long, dark-blond hair out of her face. The relentless wind howled across the cracked, weed-infested parking lot of the abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn. It had also felled a couple of trees nearby; small branches and sticks skittered across the pavement. That wind most likely had destroyed any evidence not inside Jane Doe’s body.
Though the corpse didn’t appear to be intentionally hidden, waist-high weeds and a small building that had once housed a generator or Dumpsters concealed her from any passerby’s cursory glance. Suzanne stepped away from the squat structure and looked across the Upper Bay. The tiny Gowanus Bay was to the north, the New Jersey skyline to the west. At night, it would be kind of pretty out here with the city lights across the water, if it weren’t so friggin’ cold.
A plainclothes NYPD cop approached with a half-smile that Suzanne wouldn’t call friendly. “If it ain’t Mad Dog Madeaux. We heard this was one of yours.”
Suzanne rolled her eyes. Even with her eyes closed, she’d recognize Joey Hicks by his grating, intentionally exaggerated New York accent.
“No secret,” she said, making notes to avoid conversation. Hicks wasn’t much older than she. Physically fit, he probably thought he was good-looking, considering the swagger. She supposed he had some appeal, but the cocky “all Feds are assholes” attitude he displayed the first time they’d met on a murder case had landed him on Suzanne’s permanent shit list years ago.
She looked around for his supervisor, but didn’t see Vic Panetta. She’d much rather deal with the senior detective, whom she liked. “Who found the body?” Suzanne asked.
“Security guard.”
“What’s his story?”
“Found her on his morning rounds, about five-thirty.”
It was eleven now. “Why hasn’t the body been taken to the morgue?”
“No wagon available. Coroner is on the way. Another hour, they say. NYPD doesn’t got the resources you Feds got.”
She ignored the slight. “What was the guard doing her last night? Does he patrol more than one building?”
“Yeah.” Hicks looked at his notes. Though Suzanne didn’t like him, he was a decent cop. “He clocked in at four a.m. for a twelve-hour shift. Rotates between vacant properties throughout Sunset Park and around the bay. Says he doesn’t stick to a specific schedule, ’cause vandals watch for that.”
“What about the night guard?”
“Night is either Thompson or Bruzzini. According to the day shift, Bruzzini is a slacker.”
“I need their contact information.” She hesitated. Then—remembering her boss’s command to be more collegial to NYPD—she added, “I appreciate your help.”
“Did Hell freeze over since the last time we worked a case?” Hicks laughed. “I’ll get Panetta; I’m sure he’ll want to at least make a show of fighting for
“If he really loves you, he won’t be scared off so easy.”
Lucy kissed her brother on the cheek and went into her room. She changed into her sweats and T-shirt and crawled under the thick down comforter.
She hoped Patrick was right. She hoped someday she would find someone to love.
Read on for a special preview of
KISS ME, KILL ME
the next book in the Lucy Kincaid series!
ONE
As the cold wind whipped around her, FBI agent Suzanne Madeaux lifted the corner of the yellow crime-scene tarp covering the dead girl and swore under her breath.
Jane Doe was somewhere between sixteen and twenty, her dark-blond hair streaked with pink highlights. The teenager’s party dress was also pink, and Suzanne absently wondered if she changed her highlights to match her outfit. There was no outward sign of sexual assault or an apparent cause of death. Still, there was no doubt this was another victim of the killer Suzanne had been tasked to stop.
Jane Doe wore only one shoe.
Dropping the tarp, Suzanne surveyed the scene, trying in vain to keep her long, dark-blond hair out of her face. The relentless wind howled across the cracked, weed-infested parking lot of the abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn. It had also felled a couple of trees nearby; small branches and sticks skittered across the pavement. That wind most likely had destroyed any evidence not inside Jane Doe’s body.
Though the corpse didn’t appear to be intentionally hidden, waist-high weeds and a small building that had once housed a generator or Dumpsters concealed her from any passerby’s cursory glance. Suzanne stepped away from the squat structure and looked across the Upper Bay. The tiny Gowanus Bay was to the north, the New Jersey skyline to the west. At night, it would be kind of pretty out here with the city lights across the water, if it weren’t so friggin’ cold.
A plainclothes NYPD cop approached with a half-smile that Suzanne wouldn’t call friendly. “If it ain’t Mad Dog Madeaux. We heard this was one of yours.”
Suzanne rolled her eyes. Even with her eyes closed, she’d recognize Joey Hicks by his grating, intentionally exaggerated New York accent.
“No secret,” she said, making notes to avoid conversation. Hicks wasn’t much older than she. Physically fit, he probably thought he was good-looking, considering the swagger. She supposed he had some appeal, but the cocky “all Feds are assholes” attitude he displayed the first time they’d met on a murder case had landed him on Suzanne’s permanent shit list years ago.
She looked around for his supervisor, but didn’t see Vic Panetta. She’d much rather deal with the senior detective, whom she liked. “Who found the body?” Suzanne asked.
“Security guard.”
“What’s his story?”
“Found her on his morning rounds, about five-thirty.”
It was eleven now. “Why hasn’t the body been taken to the morgue?”
“No wagon available. Coroner is on the way. Another hour, they say. NYPD doesn’t got the resources you Feds got.”
She ignored the slight. “What was the guard doing her last night? Does he patrol more than one building?”
“Yeah.” Hicks looked at his notes. Though Suzanne didn’t like him, he was a decent cop. “He clocked in at four a.m. for a twelve-hour shift. Rotates between vacant properties throughout Sunset Park and around the bay. Says he doesn’t stick to a specific schedule, ’cause vandals watch for that.”
“What about the night guard?”
“Night is either Thompson or Bruzzini. According to the day shift, Bruzzini is a slacker.”
“I need their contact information.” She hesitated. Then—remembering her boss’s command to be more collegial to NYPD—she added, “I appreciate your help.”
“Did Hell freeze over since the last time we worked a case?” Hicks laughed. “I’ll get Panetta; I’m sure he’ll want to at least make a show of fighting for
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