Die Smiling

Book 3: Claire Morgan Thriller Series

by Linda Ladd

Genres: Police Procedurals; Psychological Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

Die Young Hilde Swensen is a beauty pageant queen with a face to die for and a body to kill for. But by the time Detective Claire Morgan finds her in a shower stall--posed like a grotesquely grinning doll--Hilde is anything but pretty. She's the victim of a sick, deranged killer. And she won't be the last. . . Die Beautiful Brianna Swenson is the beauty queen's sister--and the girlfriend of Claire's partner Bud. She tells Claire that Hilde had plenty of enemies, including a creepy stalker, an abusive ex-boyfriend, and a slew of jealous competitors. But what she doesn't say is that they both shared a dark, disturbing secret. A secret that refuses to die. . . Die Smiling From the after-hours parties of a sinister funeral home to the underworld vendettas of the Miami mob, Claire follows the trail with her lover Nicholas Black, a psychiatrist with secrets of his own. But it's not until she uncovers evidence of unspeakable acts of depravity that Claire realizes she's just become a diabolical killer's next target. . . "One of the most creepy, crawly and compelling psychological thrillers ever." --Fresh Fiction on Dark Places

Release date: August 1, 2008

Publisher: Pinnacle Books

Print pages: 385

Sample

Canton County Homicide Detective Claire Morgan roused up from where she lay dozing in the shade of a palm-draped cabana, relaxed and at peace with the world. Out in front of her, she could hear the never-ending roar of the wild ocean surf. Stretching luxuriously, she opened sleepy eyes and gazed down the long planked pier that stretched far out beyond the breakers. The cerulean blue of the South Pacific Ocean spread out to the far horizon in a panorama of incredible tropical beauty.

After a particularly traumatic homicide case in which she had been used as a punching bag by an insane serial killer, she had earned herself a lengthy and paid medical leave. Nicholas Black, who happened to be her honeybun and newly designated fiancé, had decided they were getting away for a while and then flown her off on his own private Learjet. About five thousand miles later, they ended up at Motu Teta, which had turned out to be the most glorious little private island in the Atoll of Rangiroa in Tahiti, which happened to be smack dab in the middle of the French Polynesian islands, which happened to be smack-dab in the middle of the aforementioned South Pacific Ocean. After which he declared they would never leave said paradise again.

Truth be told, she didn’t put up much of a fight. Not yet, anyway. Tahiti had certainly lived up to its slice-of-heaven reputation, plus some. For almost two months now, they had slept with plantation shutters pushed aside and wide sliding doors left open to the warm tropical breezes, frolicked in the sunlit sea and made love in their own little palm-covered villa in their own little paradise on earth. Just the two of them, left alone to enjoy and explore the flora and fauna of the three-mile-long and very private island that Black had leased just for her so she could recuperate and forget some very bad things that had happened to her.

Even better, their main house was lovely and spacious, a villa that went by the well-deserved name of Bungalow Royale. It even had a personal chef who came in by boat every evening and prepared them a gourmet meal and a picnic lunch for the next day, then cleaned up the kitchen, replenished all their supplies, and took off for places unknown. Talk about pampered and privileged and obscenely sublime. No people, no cars, no murders, no death, no bloody crime scenes, and last but not least, no getting beat up by anybody wielding hammers and/or baseball bats. What more could a gal ask for?

Sighing, Claire felt so unbelievably loose and pliant that she could barely even move her muscles. Not that she wanted to. Missing her dear and ultra-generous one, Claire turned her head, shielded her eyes, and peered down the curved beach to the point, where waves pounded into the golden sands with immense power and ferocity. Black was still down there and having what looked like one helluva good time on his surfboard. At the moment, he was way, way out past the swells, sitting astride a big yellow and red surfboard, moving up and down with the waves, black hair wet and slicked back, muscles sun browned and more than impressive, waiting for the big one no doubt. He was as good at hanging ten as everything else he did, all masculine grace and balance and male confidence. Yep, he was quite a guy all right.

During their lovely sojourn upon the island, he’d even talked her into learning how to surf, which involved actually pushing herself up to standing on her own matching yellow and red board and riding it all the way in to the beach. That was a feat that she didn’t think possible, considering her fear and loathing of man-eating sharks. In fact, they were probably out there now, cruising under the water and waiting for a tasty lunch of one famous American psychiatrist by the name of Nicholas Black.

Today, however, had been super fantastic, just like all their other Tahitian days. They’d both enjoyed sailing in the morning and scuba diving all afternoon long, at least until she’d thrown in the towel and retreated with her sunburn to the shady cabana in the calmer part of the lovely half-moon bay. No telling how long Black could keep it up. The man had stamina, to be sure, and he did love to surf. So, very comfortable and content, she closed her eyes again and slept some more, grateful for the peace and quiet and whispering trade winds and surging surf and warmer than warm day.

Not sure how long she had slept, she came awake later to that same and now familiar crash of the ocean and lay there on the nice soft cushion, listening, loving it, loving Tahiti, loving Black, loving life. At the moment, yes, she was a happy camper. Black was happy, too, happy as a lark in fact. He loved these islands and would probably stay forever, as he had decreed, if their future abode was left up to him. Claire, on the other hand, was now ready to go home and get back to real life and all the perils it presented. She’d had plenty of time alone to think and consider and worry about what she wanted to do next and what Black wanted her to do next and what was the best future for both of them. She had made some very tough and serious decisions wiling away the pleasant days and weeks, and all she had to do now was tell him. That opportunity came along about twenty minutes later when he finally came striding down the dock, done battling the waves, and collapsed on the cushions beside her.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” he said, reaching out and pulling her up against his chest.

“Stop, you’re cold and wet.” She laughed, though, at the way he was nuzzling her neck. He didn’t shave every day anymore, and his whiskers were scratchy.

“You should’ve come back out there, Claire. The waves were magnificent.”

“Yeah, I saw them. They’re a little too intimidating for me, but you looked good on that surfboard, I have to say.”

Black grinned and kissed her cheek, and then turned onto his back, heaved out a deep breath, and shut his eyes. Claire turned over and braced the side of her head in her palm so she could look down at him. He looked so totally at ease now, hair even darker when wet and pushed off his forehead, as tanned and fit and handsome as she’d ever seen him. Maybe she should wait some before she got so serious, let him enjoy himself a little while longer. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe the time had come. No time like the present, or so they say.

“Listen, Black, I’ve had a lot of time to think, you know, way out here in the middle of nowhere. So I’ve been thinking things through.”

He didn’t open his eyes or even turn his head. “Good. That’s what I was hoping you’d do. This place is good for soul-searching.”

“I’ve made some decisions.”

Okay, that got his attention quickly enough. He opened those bluer than blue eyes of his and turned on his side, too, bracing his head in his palm, so they lay facing each other. He searched her face. “What kinds of decisions?”

“Number one decision. I’m ready to go home.”

First, his face reflected surprise, and then a frown, but one that disappeared almost at once. Then, he said, “I thought you liked it out here. I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“I do like it here. It’s been the best two months of my life.”

That made him smile. “Come on, then, let’s stay a little longer, another month maybe, just the two of us. Nobody around to bother us. All alone together in paradise. Like the honeymoon I’ve always wished we could have.”

“You gotta get married first for a honeymoon to happen.”

“Right, go ahead, stick in the knife, twist it around, why don’t you? But at least you’re wearing your engagement ring now. That’s something I guess.”

Claire smiled at him but got right back to business. “I really need to go back to work.”

That brought out a heavy sigh. “You’re on extended medical leave, if I recall. Charlie said to take as long as you needed.”

“Well, I’ve done that. It’s April, and I’m perfectly all right now. All my bruises and swelling are long gone, and I miss working.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, really? Maybe that’s because you haven’t stopped working since we got here. You have a conference call every single morning while I’m out taking my run on the beach. You get emergency calls from your psychiatric clinics on your sat phone all day and night long. I don’t have my work, and I miss it.”

“You only recently healed from a terrible beating. You need more time to get over it, both physically and emotionally.”

“I am over it. I miss my friends. I miss my house. I miss everything we left behind. I miss my job.”

“And there lies the problem. Your job.”

“Maybe not.”

Black perked up considerably. “No?”

“Well, for one thing, I’ve decided to quit my homicide position and go private.”

Pure shock, followed by one helluva big smile and the deepest dimples she had ever seen on man, woman, or child. Oh, yeah, he looked euphoric, to be sure. “No joke? Really? You’re going to do it?”

“After a lot of thought, I think it’s the best thing for both of us.”

“Well, thank you, God. Finally, at long last, you’ve come to your senses.”

At that, Claire smiled a little. But she was serious, and she wanted him to be, too. “I thought I was gonna die on my last case—you know how bad it was. I had accepted it, out there when I was alone in the dark and lying in that sleet and snow. I thought I would freeze to death before anybody found me.” She stopped, not liking to relive those last minutes before she lost consciousness. She tried to shake the awful memories out of her head. “Well, I’ve realized that I don’t particularly want to die, not yet. I don’t want anything quite that terrible to happen to me again, either. That night made quite an impression.”

“You’ve handled it better than most people would. I’m just sorry it had to happen to you.”

“So I’m gonna take you up on your offer to fund my private investigation business, but there’s gotta be some conditions. Some ground rules. You do understand that, right?”

Black grinned. “Oh, yeah, I figured that was going to happen. But anything you want, anything at all. Just name it.”

“Okay, then. You gotta let me be in charge. I am the boss. I make the decisions, I decide which cases we take, I decide who I work with and how we get the job done. Your advice is always welcome, of course, but I call the shots.”

Black was still smiling and nodding. “Absolutely. No problem. Claire Morgan Investigations. I like it.”

“Uh-uh. My name already pulls in way too much notoriety. I sure don’t need any more. I’ve got a name in mind, too. Something simple.”

“Yeah? What?”

“INTEL.” She watched his face closely, curious if he’d go for it.

Black considered a moment. “Short and simple, easy to remember. I can have business cards designed and stationery made up within a couple of days. I’ll order my PR guys to come up with ads and TV spots.”

“You are not hearing me, Black. I just said that I want this all kept simple and quiet. I want uncomplicated. No publicity.”

Nonplussed, Black just stared at her. “No publicity? None? Why not? How will clients find you?”

“That’s right. No ads, no TV, no radio, no nothing. I want to do this on the QT.”

“And again, I ask you, and you’ll get cases how?”

“Word of mouth, friends who need some kind of help, that sort of thing. Referrals from your colleagues and friends, or mine.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever you say.”

“And I want a lot of it to be pro bono, you know, completely free of charge. Especially if the client doesn’t have much money. Because I know how that feels.”

Black frowned. “Well, I’m not so sure about that. I’m a businessman, Claire. You do want to make some money on this thing, right?”

Claire continued, ignoring his last question. “And I’m gonna stay on with Canton County Sheriff ’s Department in an advisory capacity. If Charlie’ll let me do that. I’ll just take a leave of absence for a while to set things up, see how I like working private. Then I can help out Bud and Charlie as a special investigator, if they need me on a homicide case. Same thing down in Lafourche Parish with Russ Friedewald and Zee Jackson. If they need me, I want to be available.”

“No problem. We can iron out all the details later. We’ll set things up as soon as we get home.” He paused and considered her. “More important to me, when’s the wedding going to be?”

Claire had wondered when he was going to bring that up. She’d been expecting it ever since they arrived, but he hadn’t said a single word about getting married until that moment. “Well, actually, I’ve been giving some thought to that, too.”

“Man, is this ever the day that I’ve been waiting for. So when’s it going to be? How about tomorrow? We can fly over to Papeete on the big island, get married, and head home as man and wife.”

“I was thinking more like some time this summer, around the Fourth of July, maybe.”

“That’s a long way off.”

“If you’ll remember and since you’re so sentimental, that’s around the time we met. And that will give me time to plan everything.”

“I’d rather do it here and now, but I’ll take what I can get. If that’s what you want, July it is.”

“Okay, and one more thing. Laurie Dale and Nancy Gill are gonna help me with the wedding, and they said we need some music. I need you to choose a song for the wedding. Something that reminds you of us. You know, kinda like our song.”

“How about the ‘Wedding March’?”

“No, no, something that fits us. You know, as a couple. A regular song.”

“‘Here Comes the Bride’?”

Claire laughed. “Stop, Black. Be serious. I mean it.”

Black appeared to think, but only for a moment. “‘Unchained Melody.’ Without a doubt. My favorite song.”

“Okay. How does that go?”

“You don’t know how ‘Unchained Melody’ goes? By the Righteous Brothers? Good God, Claire, you ever listened to a radio in your life?”

“I don’t have time to sit around and listen to the radio. All that noise keeps me from thinking about my cases.” Nope, she wasn’t particularly romantic, she admitted it. But he was, sometimes anyway, and did it rather well actually. Just so he didn’t go overboard and embarrass her, it usually turned out pretty cool.

Black just grinned, and then he sang a couple of verses to her, very low, and he actually didn’t sound too bad. Corny as hell, true, but not too bad.

Claire shook her head, laughing at him. “I dunno, Black. That sounds pretty damn sappy. Like we live eight thousand miles apart, and I hate you.”

At that, Black stopped singing, his smile fading, his dimples disappearing, and he became very solemn, very fast. He continued with the words but now he just said them, his eyes holding hers, and in a way that sobered her expression, too.

They just stared at each other, Claire completely blindsided by his abrupt change in mood.

“Tell me you aren’t going to back out of the wedding, Claire.”

Claire hadn’t been expecting that, either. But she had shown some reticence about getting married in the past, so she could understand his question. But she wasn’t dragging her feet now, not anymore. “No way am I ever gonna back out of the wedding. Absolutely not. And that’s a promise.”

Black smiled. “Well, okay, then. Why don’t you come over here and show me how much you love me?”

His light mood returned, and he pulled her in against his chest. Claire was certainly okay with that, so she slid her arms around his neck and found his mouth, enjoying the intimacy as much as he did. Now things were settled, and she felt happy. Happy and relieved. Black seemed pleased with their future now, too, and there would be no more worrying about what lay ahead for them. Good or bad, the die was cast. So she lay there in his arms, enjoying their closeness, his tender touch, the way he could make her feel, and gradually let go of all thoughts except for him.

Unfortunately, however, their little moment of mutual ecstasy did not last long. The insistent buzz of a boat’s motor broke into the crashing of waves, a sound that was highly unusual around their isolated island. Claire immediately pulled away from Black and sat up and searched the shining sea, slightly alarmed, that vital self-protective instinct shooting alive, the one she had learned not to ignore, and learned the hard way, from many past, and yes, horrible experiences. Living nightmares followed her around like her shadow on a summer afternoon, so better safe than sorry had been her motto for a long time now. She finally spotted a big black boat that was headed straight at them and at a very high rate of speed. Which, of course, did not bode well for them now, or in the past, or in the future, or ever actually.

“That’s probably just Edward, coming over to cook dinner,” Black told her, reaching for her again, not worried in the least. But then again, he hadn’t been recently beaten up by a crazy man with a hammer, either.

“No, it’s not. It’s got a much bigger and more powerful motor than Edward’s does. I can tell the difference in the way it sounds.”

Not once since they’d arrived on Motu Teta had another boat approached their cove, so Black also now sat up and took notice. Silently, they watched the speeding craft gain on the far end of their pier. After a moment, Black was apparently concerned enough to pick up a pair of high-powered binoculars off the table beside him.

“So who is that, Black? Friends of yours, maybe?”

“Don’t think so. Only a few people even know we’re out here. But those guys are definitely coming here to see us.”

Black stood up, shielding his eyes from the dazzling fire and orange brilliance of the setting sun, one that was painting quite a glorious, Leonardo da Vinci–ish backdrop behind the boat. “You stay here. I’m going to walk out there and see what they want. It’s probably nothing. Maybe the real estate people need my signature to renew the lease, something like that. Wait here. I’ll take care of it.”

Claire leaned back against the cushions and watched him stride off barefoot down the dock, still wearing his black swim trunks. She had on the blue and red one-piece swimsuit that she had bought for herself when they landed in Papeete, one she deemed more suitable for scuba diving and windsurfing and spear fishing than the yellow string bikini Black had gotten her. Skimpy bikinis were not exactly appropriate for company. Especially unknown company who happened to be driving straight at them, full speed ahead and with no invitation. She picked up her Glock 19 from the table beside her and pulled it out of the leather holster.

Claire had learned a long time ago that she would be wise to always anticipate trouble, no matter how unlikely it was, and therefore kept her weapons never far from hand. Even out in the middle of nowhere, in the vast reaches of the South Pacific. Within minutes, the boat had slowed and pulled up to the end of the pier pilings where Black was waiting. Claire stood up, too, still holding her weapon down beside her leg. After her last case, she had vowed never to be taken captive again, not by anybody. She would never again take chances, not now, not any time in the future. She had learned her lesson. Bad guys were very bad. Evil was very evil. Dead was very forever.

The two guys in the boat threw docking lines to Black, and he caught them and looped them around the pilings. Both of the men on the boat had on plain white ball caps and white T-shirts and white pants and white sneakers. Veritable male angels, they looked like. They climbed out and started talking to Black with a lot of expansive gesturing. Bad thing was, they both suddenly pulled out their own semiautomatic weapons and trained them on Black’s bare chest. Never known to be stupid, Black raised his hands and then was quickly forced down onto his knees. By that point, Claire was running down the pier toward them, her own weapon held two-handed and pointed squarely at the lead man’s chest.

“Drop your weapons!” she cried out over the wind and surf. “Put them down! Now!”

The two assailants glanced over at her and didn’t seem to be shaking in their boots. Both kept their guns beaded on Black’s heart, apparently considering him the greater danger. Wrong.

Closer now, she found that the two men were smaller than Black, which didn’t mean much since he was six feet four and probably around two hundred twenty or thirty pounds, mostly hard muscle. On the other hand, both guys were wiry of build and tough looking. Neither was particularly muscular or intimidating and didn’t seem worried about the loaded gun she held pointed at them. That was a very big mistake on their part.

“I will kill one of you before you get a shot off,” she called out calmly. “Put the guns down. I am not kidding. I will shoot you.”

Then the smaller man swiveled his weapon to her. The other one kept his handgun beaded on Black. “Throw your gun in the water, sister. Now!” he ordered her in a harsh voice.

Sister? What was he? A two-bit Al Capone? At that point, however, Claire decided that Black’s lead assailant had assaulted people before, probably frequently, too, and starting from around age eight up. He knew what he was doing. He wasn’t Polynesian, not judging by the short-cropped red hair and matching goatee and Caucasian features and Australian accent. The other guy was white-blond and clean shaven with steely dark eyes and looked just as deadly. So, question was, who had she and Black pissed off in Australia? Okay, at least the Australians hadn’t shot them down on sight. That was one good sign, among a plethora of rather bad signs.

“Get serious,” she told him, and meant it. “I will shoot you dead, trust me. I won’t hesitate. I stopped hesitating a long time ago.”

“Wait, now, just wait a minute, all of you,” Black said, always the calm and collected one when confronted by armed hooligans. Yep, he was as composed and steady and clear thinking, as usual. None of those things applied to her, of course. But he was a famous shrink, and all, and he knew how to defuse dangerous situations. Herself ? She usually defused them with a well-aimed bullet, or two. Something Black usually frowned upon. He probably wouldn’t this time, though, since his chest was the one with the bull’s eye on it.

A peace lover at heart, Black was still busy placating. “How about we all take a deep breath here? Nobody needs to shoot anybody. Who are you guys? What do you want from us? Is this a robbery? Hey, take whatever you want. We aren’t going to stop you.”

Well, speak for yourself, Black, Claire thought.

“Our orders are to bring you out to the yacht. The boss said you’re both dangerous. So call the bitch off or she’s the one who’s gonna end up dead.”

Bitch, was it? Well, that was certainly uncalled for. In fact, it was downright tacky. “I rather doubt that, mate. But either way, I’ll have time to blow your head off.” Strangely, now Claire felt very calm. Maybe Black’s composure had finally worn off on her. Felt good, like old times. She had a gun in her hand and it was pointed at a bad guy. Yep, she was ready to get back to work, all right. Her finger was itching to pull the trigger a couple of times, maybe more.

Her gaze met the ginger guy’s blue eyes and held as steady as steady could be. She infused utter and complete hatred in hers, just so he’d know. After ten seconds or so, Crocodile Dundee’s gaze wavered first, but only slightly. Maybe he didn’t want a bloodbath after all. Maybe he was fond of his head and wanted it to remain intact. Maybe he was sorry about calling her a bitch. Probably not that, though.

“Who the hell do you work for?” Black said, beginning to sound a tad impatient himself. “What do you want with us?”

“Jonas Quinn sent us here. He wants to talk to you.”

Claire shifted her eyes just slightly and gauged Black’s reaction. At the name, he appeared to relax, and visibly, too. She did not.

Black said, “Jonas is here in Tahiti?”

They both pronounced the man’s name as Yonas, with a Y. Who did that? Eastern Europeans, maybe? But apparently, and most likely, this Jonas was one of Black’s secret pals/ex-military buddies. Well, good deal, Black knows the bad guys. Couldn’t hurt in an armed standoff. Maybe they wouldn’t be getting blood all over the pier after all. That kind of cleanup would probably blow to hell Black’s super big security deposit, Claire thought. “Who the hell is Jonas Quinn?” she said, not particularly patient, either, especially when three guns were still ratcheted and deeply involved in the discussion.

“He’s an old friend of Jacques’s,” Black told her, not taking his eyes off the men.

Oh, God, so this had something to do with Jacques? But of course, it did. Jacques Montenegro was Black’s older brother, a brother who just happened to be a Mafioso way down yonder in New Orleans. Nobody but Claire and a select few knew about their kinship. That’s the way Black wanted it, of course, because he wasn’t involved with the underworld and never had been. Any inkling of such involvement would ruin his life and thriving career. So mum it was. Nevertheless, Jacques was still a criminal of sorts, and Claire did not like Black’s close association with him, but maybe it wasn’t so bad at the moment, with two of his thug friends holding them at gunpoint.

“Put the gun down, Claire. I know Jonas. He’s okay. He’s not going to hurt us.”

“Sorry, but those two guns pointed at us make me think maybe you might be mistaken about that.”

“We’ll go with you,” Black told their ersatz and rather rude guests. “Put down the guns, or Jonas won’t be happy.”

Claire frowned. Au contraire, Black. She wasn’t gonna be happy, either. “Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere with these guys. Guess it’s their big loaded weapons that give me pause.”

The two Mr. Clean impersonators considered Black some more, and then looked at her weapon, then at each other, and then finally they lowered and sheathed their guns.

Claire let out a relieved breath. “Okay, that’s better. But don’t think I’m lowering my weapon until you leave this pier with both of us nice and safe, and still in one piece.”

“I know Jonas, Claire,” Black repeated calmly, now looking at her. “He’s okay. He means us no harm.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Hey, I know, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“She’s a cop,” Black said to the twin Aussie henchmen, as if that explained her miff. “She won’t shoot you unless you make a move on us.”

They didn’t look convinced. They didn’t look like they liked her much. And vice versa, to be sure. Black and his less-than-savory friends. Claire was gonna have a serious sit-down with him.

“Are you sure about this, Black? You know, stepping down into this boat with two armed gunmen and letting them take us to God knows where. Something about that seems less than cautious. Maybe we could invite this Jonas guy here for dinner instead. You know, arm ourselves and then feed him a nice dinner with our guns beaded on his forehead.”

Black walked over to Claire and spoke softly next to her ear. “It’s okay, I swear. I know him very well. He’s like family to me. We’ll be safe enough. I’m just curious what he wants and how the hell he even knew we were out here. This isn’t like him at all.”

Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat—and lots of people, too. That was her motto. “Okay, if you say so. But I’m telling you right now. I’m not giving up my weapon. Don’t even think about it. I don’t trust these two guys. That one called me a bitch.”

Stupid One, and his also armed friend, Stupid Two, just stood there, no longer trying to act tough. Apparently, they had been trained not to shoot friends of their employer, just point guns at them and threaten them with death. They climbed back into the boat and waited without saying a word, guns back in their holsters, their expressions pretty much indicating REM sleep.

“Come on, let’s get dressed,” Black said. He took hold of Claire’s arm and led her back down the planked pier to the covered cabana. There, they quickly pulled on their matching loose white gauze island shirts and drawstring linen pants and stepped into island sandals, outfits they’d been wearing daily over their swimsuits during their peaceful sojourn on the island. At least, it used to be peaceful.

“You are absolutely certain about this, Black? I don’t mind telling you that I don’t like any of it. Not one little bit. Your old bosom buddy or not.”

“Let’s just look at it as another adventure out here in the middle of the Pacific.”

“Yeah, right. An adventure I can do without.”

“Come on, you’ll love Jonas. He’s known for his charm.”

“Who the hell is he?”

“He used to be an Australian arms dealer. I think he’s gone legit since he was deported from the U.S.”

“Oh, my God, are you kiddin’ me? And we’re gonna go out there on his turf, just like that? I’m a law enforcement officer if you’ll recall.”

“Well, not anymore. You already made that decision, didn’t you?”

That brought Claire up short. She realized then that being a P.I. was going to take some getting used to. Not being able to flash a badge and threaten to run people in, for instance. No badge, no cuffs, no incarceration. Well, maybe the cuffs. Even so, that was gonna crimp her style, big time. Well, crap. She already had misgivings, and it hadn’t even been half an hour.

“What about Jules Verne? You want to leave our poor little poodle out here alone to fend for himself ?”

“He’s by himself when we go sailing. Besides that, he’ll follow Edward to the kitchen when he gets here.”

“Maybe we should take him, just in case.”

“Let’s go. Don’t worry. You’re gonna like Jonas. If he’s on the boat, he’ll probably have his wife and daughter aboard. He’s a great family man. Loves them both dearly.”

Jeez, Claire thought. What did she and Black have to do? Fly to the dark side of the moon to keep the bad guys from finding them? But she trusted Black implicitly, so she walked alongside him down the length of the planked pier and stepped down into the bobbing boat. Still, she kept the Glock in her right hand and hanging loosely down beside her thigh, ready to go if need be. The guy who had called her a bitch fired up the motor and off they went to God only knew where. Probably a black pirate ship flying a flag decorated with skull and crossbones. Claire sat down in a side seat and kept her gun in her lap but pointing in the direction of the driver’s back. Just to be on the safe side of course. Maybe Black was hunky dory with the situation now and thought this Jonas guy was just as sweet as iced sugar cookies, but Claire was not so sure. Go figure, but deadly mobsters and armed intruders who called her a bitch highly annoyed her.

One icy December morning the older daughter found out for sure that her mother didn’t really love her. She was not even eleven yet when she opened her eyes that day. Light crept through the slat blinds on the dormer window beside her, gray and misty, slithering like ghosts. The attic was freezing this early in the morning, and she shivered and snuggled deeper under the thick quilted blankets.

Oblivious that Christmas day had finally dawned, her little half sister slept peacefully beside her, snoring softly from a stuffy nose. Sissy was eight years old, and everybody agreed that she was the prettiest little thing, so much prettier than her brother or older half sister. Oh, yeah, dear little Sissy was beautiful, all right, and it made the older one sick to her stomach the way people fussed over Sissy as if she were something so special. And it happened no matter where Momma took them, Wal-Mart or McDonald’s or Pizza Hut, just about anywhere they went was exactly the same. Everybody wanted to reach out and touch Sissy’s hair. The older one hated Sissy’s stupid silky yellow hair. She hated every single other thing about Sissy, too, especially that little innocent smile that really wasn’t innocent at all. Nobody ever seemed to notice it wasn’t, except for the older one, and she always did.

The older one turned her back on her oh-so-perfect little sister and raised up on one elbow. She reached for the window cord, pulled the blinds up about a foot, and then gazed outside in awe at a winter wonderland. Snow was falling gently, and she watched it spiral down, then suddenly flutter this way and that when the wind swirled. She had watched it last night, too, at bedtime in the glow of the dusk-to-dawn lamp beside the old barn. Sometimes she didn’t like so much cold, though, when she remembered the place where she’d lived with Momma and her real daddy, where it had been warm all year long. Now she lived in this colder place, ever since Momma had remarried and had two more children named Sissy and Bubby. No one here had an accent, like the one she’d gotten from her daddy who came from another country, either, and sometimes the other kids made fun of her, so she was trying to get rid of it.

It had snowed nearly every day since school let out for the holidays, and great drifts made her yard look like a giant birthday cake covered with smooth, shiny vanilla icing. She could barely make out the snowman they’d built yesterday. It had a carrot nose and two red apples for eyes, but Momma’s pink-checkered apron around its waist was covered with white.

Snow piled on the windowsill, t. . .