"Brennan [is] a master. The mystery [is] compelling and complex."-Associated Press In Best Laid Plans, newly minted FBI Agent Lucy Kincaid is settling into her job in San Antonio, Texas, when the corpse of Harper Worthington, the husband of a sitting congresswoman, is found naked in a motel on the wrong side of town. It's up to Lucy to locate the last person to see him alive: a teenage prostitute who seems to have vanished into thin air.
"The Lucy Kincaid/Sean Rogan novels just keep getting better!"-RT Book Reviews When forensics determines that Harper was poisoned, Lucy and her new by-the-book partner dig deep into his life to find out who might want him dead. Why did Harper lie to his wife and his staff? Was he involved in an illicit affair? Embezzling money? Laundering money for a drug cartel? Or was he simply a pawn in someone else's dangerous game?
"Can't-put-it-down suspense."-Fresh Fiction Lucy's boyfriend Sean Rogan is hired by Harper's company to run a security audit, causing friction between Lucy and the FBI. But when Sean finds a high-tech bug in Harper's office, an entirely new threat emerges-a far-reaching conspiracy run by a ruthless killer who will do anything to get what he wants, and kill anyone who gets in his way. And the person between him and victory is Lucy Kincaid.
Release date:
August 4, 2015
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
448
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Elise Hansen almost puked when she realized the guy was dead.
She bit her thumbnail, dreading what she had to do next.
"Why couldn't you have waited until after we screwed before you croaked?" she muttered.
But there was no turning back. She had the pictures she needed-he'd been out of it, but not so much that she couldn't get him into the right position-and now she had to finish it. In a manner of speaking.
Elise unbuckled his pants and pulled them down to his ankles. Then his boxers. He stunk, like he'd peed himself. She knew what she had to do, but it took her a minute to work up the courage.
"He's only going to get deader." She spit into her hand, then rubbed the guy's dick twice.
"Ugh." She ran to the bathroom to scour her hands. There was no soap, but the water got hot enough that she was satisfied there was no dead guy on her palm. She looked into the mirror-her makeup was still intact, but she reapplied the bright red lipstick because most of hers she'd smeared on the mark's neck and mouth.
No way in hell was she putting her mouth on his dick now that he was dead. Why couldn't he have just gone along for the ride from the beginning? She was young and cute and knew exactly what to do and say to get any guy off, even the most prudish prick. How could he say no? It made her job that much more difficult. And disgusting.
She'd damn well better get a bonus.
Elise left the bathroom and surveyed the room. Her prints and DNA were where they needed to be, her mark was half-naked, and she'd been in enough cheap motel rooms to know the scene looked exactly how she wanted it to.
She extracted his wallet from his pants and removed his cash-$120-then tossed the empty billfold on the nightstand. She grabbed his cell phone and pocketed it before walking out.
"Señora!"
Elise closed the door and froze.
"Señora, I'm here for Señor Worthington. He say to come back in one hour."
She turned and assessed the intruder. He was in his thirties, Mexican, with a moustache and rumpled clothes. A taxi was parked a few stalls down.
She showed her best seductive expression. "I wore him out." Then she winked. "I can wear you out, too, sugar."
He backed off. "Uh, I'm married." He held up his left hand to show her his ring.
"So was he. It'll be between you and me."
The taxi driver shook his head. "Can, um, you tell Señor that I'm here?"
She frowned. "He has the key." She knocked on the door, then shrugged. "Sorry. He sleeps like a rock, I guess." She hesitated, considering what this driver might do or say. Chances are he would leave but she couldn't count on it. She glanced around, saw no one, then bit her lip and said quietly, "You know, I really gotta go or my boss will take it out on my ass. I don't like being knocked around." She jogged away from the motel, keeping her head down.
The taxi driver didn't follow or comment.
At first, Elise thought getting caught outside the door would be trouble, but then she realized it could actually work to her benefit.
Once she was out of sight of the motel, she slowed to a walk and continued three blocks south. She opened the rear door of an idling black Mercedes, and settled back into the soft leather seat. The car pulled into traffic.
"Problems?"
"The guy didn't want to fuck. But I got the pictures, and everything else went as ordered." Sort of.
"Anyone see you?"
"Worthington's taxi driver returned. I hit on him and he scurried away."
Silence.
"What?" she said.
"You were supposed to be a scared whore, running because her john had a heart attack."
She rolled her eyes. "He barely spoke English."
"That doesn't matter! Dammit, Elise, can't you do one thing right?"
"I did it all right, and I'm not going to take shit from you. Told the driver that my boss would beat me if I didn't get back. Besides, he probably'll just disappear. He's a fucking taxi driver, not a rocket scientist."
"You're a fucking bitch."
"I learned from the best." She stuck her tongue out at the back of the driver's head. Mona Hill was an old whore; Elise was the next generation. But right now, they needed each other. "They'll find me and I'll play my part. I've already done my research. This is going to be a piece of cake."
"Don't get cocky. There's a lot at stake and we can't afford any screw-ups."
Elise scowled. Like Mona needed to tell her that?
Mona drove Elise ten minutes across town and pulled into a hotel roundabout. "Your john is waiting for you in room 606. Make sure you let the security cameras see you. And try to look at least a little scared."
"Nothing scares me." She took the card key from her driver.
"And that's what's going to get you killed, Elise. Fear can be healthy."
Fear? Not her. Never. Fear wasn't even in her vocabulary.
"This'll be a rough one," Mona continued, "but that'll play to our benefit."
"Maybe you should go fuck him then."
"Get out, and remember who owns you."
Elise got out of the car and slammed the door. No one owned her. She just let them think they did. She took a deep breath and tried to look scared.
It was hard to look scared when you'd been looking out for your own ass most of your life.
Because she had a hotel card key, she was able to access a side door and go up the stairs-not the elevator-to the sixth floor. She made a point to look down the hall both ways-let both security cameras see her, eyes downcast, looking skittish and guilty-then sought out room 606.
She let herself into the room. It was a whole world nicer than the motel she'd just left.
A man in his late forties lay partly clothed on the bed. She didn't know his name and he didn't know hers, but that didn't matter. Mona knew exactly who he was.
He was playing with himself while watching porn on the hotel's television. "You're late." He stood up. He was pudgy around the middle with a sharply receding hairline.
She pouted. "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you." She looked at X-rated video he was watching. The girl was masturbating while sucking off the guy. "You want me to do that to you?"
"I want a lot of things." He licked his lips. "How old are you?"
"How old do you want me to be?"
"Legal."
She smiled. "I'm legal."
"You look younger."
Because she was, but she wasn't going to blow this job. Too much money at stake. Sure, she was a little nervous. Who wouldn't be? But it wasn't like she hadn't done it before.
Elise walked over to the hotel bar and took out a bottle of vodka. She took a long swig, then put the bottle down. She moved things around a bit, put her purse down. The other mark's phone slid partly out of her bag. She smiled, took another drink, and turned around.
He was right behind her.
"I picked this hotel because the walls are thick, and I want to hear you. Understand?" He grabbed her by the wrists. It hurt, but she didn't react.
"Yes. I need the money first."
He frowned, but gestured toward a white envelope on the desk. He dropped her wrists and went back to the bed, watching her closely. She picked up the envelope, glanced inside, quickly counted. Two hundred dollars.
That, on top of the thousand dollars she was being paid to set the jerk up. With the earlier job, she was pulling in over three thousand dollars tonight.
Not bad. But there was even more money for her down the road. Tonight was just icing on the cake.
She stuffed the envelope into her purse, adjusted the flap, then said, "What do you want me to call you?"
"Call me Daddy. And I'm going to spank you. Hard."
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