Gone Black

Book 2: Claire Morgan Investigations

by Linda Ladd

Genres: Private Investigators; Female Sleuths; Thrillers; Suspense

Synopsis

Includes an excerpt from Devil dead, by Linda Ladd.

Release date: January 5, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Underground

Print pages: 298

Sample

July 4

Just before two o’clock in the afternoon, Claire Morgan sat inside her cabin at Lake of the Ozarks in Missouri, staring at her nearly unrecognizable reflection in the bedroom mirror. Today was her wedding day, which in itself was pretty damn hard to believe. It also was Independence Day, which put a bit of an ironic twist to the whole thing, for sure, and if one really thought it through. Looking at herself, she couldn’t believe it was really her. Almost a year ago, Claire had downloaded a photograph of a bride off the Internet and emailed it to her friend, Nancy, where she worked down in Lafourche Parish in Louisiana. The wedding gown in the picture had been exactly the way Claire wanted her own gown to look when she walked down the aisle and married Nicholas Black.

And, oh man alive, wow and yes siree, Nancy had nailed the thing. Claire now looked exactly like the woman featured in that photo. So much so that it was slightly unnerving, even to her. Eerie, even. Fortunately, however, Claire’s hair was no longer blue black from her last undercover assignment that had required her to become a brunette overnight. It had returned to her natural blond shade again and was fairly long, too. Now that Claire was teensy-weensy buttoned-up in the big and fancy wedding gown, though, it all was a bit of a trial. The dress was on the elaborate side, big-time, and one that had a high-necked and long-sleeved bodice, all made of lace, and two petticoats, and say, about twenty-five yards of white silk taffeta in the skirt alone, and lots of other stuff that Claire had never even heard of, like peau de soie, whatever the hell that was, and tulle, not to mention rose point lace, but, of course, the dress had to have all of that stuff.

It was a good thing Nancy knew about fabrics and the like, because all Claire knew was that most of it was scratchy and cumbersome and annoying. The things she did for Black, wow, and he better like it after all this trouble, that’s all that she had to say. But she did look like the aforementioned picture, even down to her makeup, and pretty much put together like in the photo. So voilà, she was not Claire Morgan anymore. Okay, she didn’t much like the girly transformation, not at all, but Black sure as hell would. Yep, he was gonna freak out big-time when he got a load of her all dressed up in all this fancy wedding getup all right. He probably wouldn’t even know it was her. Neither would anybody else who knew her.

Claire laughed out loud, just visualizing the expression on his handsome face when he saw her in this frilly bunch of crap with its intricate lace and pearls and all kinds of other fluff. Yes sir, the groom’s shocked expression was gonna be the highlight of Claire’s whole wedding day for sure. That and the second-best part, getting off the heavy-as-an-elephant dress that had to weigh a ton and the ridiculous amount of makeup slathered all over her face.

Yep, the rest of the wedding ceremony was gonna pretty much suck big-time, which was the way she always had felt about the sappy and syrupy and overly sentimental kinda weddings that Black was such a sucker for. That would be the kind with its seventy layers of cake with the itsy-bitsy bride and groom on top, icy spiked punch, a zillion flowers sitting around everywhere, high heels that made you walk funny, and fluffy stuff to the max, but alas, all the fancy-schmancy agony had to be endured. But just for one day. Claire had her limits.

Truth be told, she would’ve preferred to just elope, find a Justice of the Peace in some tiny hamlet somewhere, tie the binding nuptial knot, and be done with the thing in one fell swoop and not a damn scrap of lace or stupid pearl in sight. But no, no, no way, Black had to have his traditional ceremony with oodles of everything and about a thousand candles, and all his old army buddies standing up with him, and all her law enforcement buddies dressed alike and standing with her. Oh, well. The pictures would look good. Of which, Black would probably order about six thousand.

But being the sweet and accommodating woman she was, on this occasion, anyway, she agreed to the ridiculous showy show of all shows, but now all she really wanted was to just hurry up and get it over with, already. Thank goodness, they were finally, finally, ready for the big moment to commence. Most of all, she was tired of making the wedding decisions without Black around, since he’d flown off to Italy, all excited and smiley, to make his no doubt over-the-top honeymoon arrangements.

Thank God, she had her good friends, Laurie and Nancy, to take all the wedding preparations into their extremely capable hands, both of whom had enough nuptial zeal and energy necessary to make wedding bells peal with joy and everybody sing out best wishes, happy, happy, and more happy. They had taken care of everything and had magically turned her front yard and little lakeside dock into a wonderland of white lattice, twinkling lights, tall white tapers, and greenery-draped arches, with about $50,000 worth of fireworks set to go off as soon as night fell over her cove on the lake. That last extravaganza donated by Black, of course. He did so like to light up the sky when he was feeling chipper. All of which Claire could do without, of course, but which she also thought looked very pretty but had the feel of some sugary chick flick. Maybe the kind with a happy ending. But alas, the things she did to make Black go all dimply, what was a gal to do.

The wedding was slated to start at two o’clock sharp, and Black had probably been holed up at Cedar Bend since early that morning, just champing at the bit, like he was the night before when he’d called her from Italy. He was no doubt over there in his penthouse now, pacing the floor in his usual impatient manner, since Laurie and Nancy had banished him until the start of the ceremony. She hadn’t heard from him yet, either, because she’d made him promise not to call or come over early or try to get a peek at the dress, which had been off-limits to him since Nancy had finished sewing the last bead and tiny little miniscule button on the bodice of the monstrosity. Slightly surprised that he hadn’t barged in anyway, which was his wont, she was glad he was playing by her rules. At least for today he was, but that probably wouldn’t last long.

Claire stared some more at her image and shook her head some more. Black was simply not gonna believe his eyes. But he should be speeding down her cove in his big powerful Cobalt 360 cruiser any moment now and they could get the big production on its way to fruition. Then she could stroll down the aisle with the gargantuan diamond engagement ring that he had given her the previous Christmas and become his legal wife. So hurry it up, Black, already, and let us get this damnable deed done.

Smiling, though, she remembered how excited he’d been when he had called last night. He was such a sucker for surprises. He liked to give them, too. And did so with great and uninhibited glee. No telling what he had in mind for the big secret wedding trip. Probably the first ever civilian honeymoon flight to the moon. Yep, if he could arrange that, he probably would. He had enough money to fly them there or even to Mars, maybe.

Claire stood up, picked up the heavy skirt, and walked to the loft railing where she could look downstairs into her big living area as well as through the big arched front windows and down to the dock where she was soon to be hitched. There were no helicopters buzzing about in the sky over her cove, no paparazzi lurking in the bushes, at least none that she could see, but she and Black had worked diligently to conceal the time and place for their very big deal. Black was a very well-known shrink, worldwide even, and certainly famous enough to get his share of breathless news coverage on his wedding, not to mention everything else he did. Truthfully, it would be a miracle if they managed to get through any of it without somebody with a long-lens camera selling a photograph or two to the tabloids. But she could only hope not.

Outside she could see where Laurie and Nancy had ordered the white chairs set up on her grassy front lawn, forty or so, twenty for Black and twenty for her, sitting out on either side of her graveled sidewalk, a.k.a wedding aisle. Most of the guests had already been seated. Her side of the nuptial congregation consisted mainly of police officers, of course, and her other law enforcement friends from when she’d worked at the Canton County Sheriff’s Office at the lake and the Lafourche Parish Sheriff’s Office down in the Louisiana bayous. Most of them had on their dress uniforms and looked very sharp indeed. Had on their weapons, too. Made her feel proud and more than safe among her own well-armed counterparts and cohorts.

Across the aisle from her best friends who were the ones who wore the blue uniforms, Black’s friends and invited guests sat and probably most of them as nervous as hell. Most of them warily eyed all the badges and guns and handcuffs gathered together on her side. Black’s older brother sat on the first row with his wife, as her dear groom’s only living relatives. Unfortunately, Jacques Montenegro also happened to be a notorious New Orleans mafioso, but nobody ever felt the need to mention such, especially Black, who was not in the family business and never had been and didn’t claim kin to Jacques, except to her and a few other trusted colleagues. But he did love his big brother dearly so that familial invitation went out along with all the others. Big Bro was surrounded by a beefy congregation of hoods and bodyguards, all looking highly uncomfortable in brand-new dark suits and matching red silk ties. Behind them sat Black’s other best friends, mostly big, tough-looking, ex-military types, all sporting buzz cuts, machismo, and muscles galore.

Oh, yeah, this was a wedding to remember all right. If anybody made it out alive, it would be because they were all, men and women, probably armed. She hadn’t banned weaponry on the invitation, but maybe she should have. Even she had strapped on her .38 in an ankle holster over her high-top Nike sneakers and under her honking big skirt. The dress was long enough, and who knew what might go down during the ceremony. She liked to be armed, made her feel more secure, which was a big necessity in her life.

The wedding party was a dichotomy of worlds, to be damn sure. Black also had chosen his favorite former Army Ranger cohorts for groomsmen. That would include John Booker, his best friend/crack private investigator, Jack Holliday, an ex-quarterback at Tulane who was another trusted army bud and who stood a mere six feet eight inches tall, and Juan Christo, who took care of Black’s place in the French Quarter of New Orleans, but who looked more like a WWE fighter, and who Claire also suspected might be one of Black’s go-to guys on his little covert military missions in which he took part now and again, and had on occasion lied to her about.

Most of them were now loitering around and looking sharp in their black tuxedoes at the end of her dock where Black would tie up his boat when he arrived. She hoped Laurie and Nancy hadn’t bedecked the dock with flowers. Or Black’s boat. That would be highly embarrassing. Her half of the wedding party was loitering around downstairs. Her partner when she’d worked at LAPD, Harve Lester, was going to motor her down the aisle in his wheelchair, and she had been very pleased when he had said yes. He was a true hero, wounded in the line of duty. Her partner at the lake, Bud Davis, was her man of honor. Then there was Laurie Dale, who had saved her life once upon a time when Claire had thought she was a goner for good one snowy, horror-filled night, and Nancy Gill, her best buddy in Lafourche Parish and medical examiner/seamstress extraordinaire.

Both women looked absolutely beautiful in their black strapless gowns. Claire had chosen black and white, mainly because she detested all those frilly pastels and flowery stuff that summer weddings usually entailed. If she had to go formal, it was gonna be black and white, and maybe one tiny touch of red somewhere was okay but only if she had to. Red roses would be all right, too, she guessed, but highly unnecessary and highly expensive. Simple and cheap, that was her motto. Always had been, always would be. But alas, extravagant was Black’s middle name, and rather ingrained at his molecular level or so it seemed.

Her best childhood friend, Gabe Lefevres, was an usher and so was her brand-new partner at her brand-new private detective agency, a guy by the name of Will Novak. Since she’d met up with him, she had grown very fond of Will and very fast, too. She loved the guy already and the way he had her back. Both men looked very big and lethal in their tuxes, she had to say. Will looked as uncomfortable in his duds, though, as Claire felt in her big heavy but very lacy and taffeta-y dress.

On the other hand, Novak looked as tough and intimidating as ever, so the guests probably gravitated over to Gabe’s arm when choosing an usher, out of extreme fear of Novak and/or the fact that Gabe always wore that charming, devil-may-care smile. Joe McKay had even shown up with his baby girl, Lizzie, who was the flower girl and looked adorable in her little lacy white dress, although Joe had told Claire he wanted to be a thousand miles away when she walked down the aisle with another man.

Oh, yeah, all in all, she and Black had quite an eclectic and eccentric crew gathered around to witness their vows and a good representation of all agencies of law enforcement and underworld criminals to boot. Hell, their wedding party probably collectively carried more handguns than a New York City SWAT team. Bad things happened to their merry little band, more often than not, and Claire was always on the lookout for incoming bad luck and trouble, which could strike on wedding days, just as easily as any other day of the year.

Downstairs, she could hear Laurie and Nancy laughing together and putting the finishing touches on the bridal bouquets. White roses and white baby’s breath for them. Claire had never even heard of baby’s breath and actually thought it sounded a little milky and lactose and off-putting. Her bouquet, on the other hand, was very small, just a few sticks of that baby’s breath stuff, because that was what that bride in the picture carried down the aisle. That was okay with Claire; the dress was heavy enough all on its own.

Laurie had baked one impressive and giant four-tier square wedding cake with lots of little curlicues and flowery junk and red roses and stuff on it. It was yellow inside, though, and moist and delicious, and Claire’s stomach growled just thinking about wolfing down a great big piece of it. She had been way too nervous and antsy to eat breakfast. Hell, she could face a shoot-out with a bevy of serial killers better than putting on that two-ton white dress and voluminous parachute-sized veil and traipsing down the aisle looking a whole hell of a lot like a Wedding Day Barbie.

But now the time had finally come. Everybody was dressed and ready, except for her. All she had to do was attach that long veil to the stupid little old-timey-nurse-hat-like-thing called a Juliet cap, or something like that, and pin it securely in her frozen hair and hightail it down the dock and get it over with. Black needed to show up first, though. Well, she wasn’t gonna saddle herself with that ridiculous mother of all veils until Black was standing out there waiting for her. And what was with wedding veils, anyway? The groom and the guests all knew what the bride looked like, unless they were wedding crashers. She sure as hell wouldn’t be fooling anybody when they found out she was the one hiding under it. It was short in front and see-through, anyway.

She sat down in front of the mirror again and stared at all the makeup that Nancy and Laurie had slopped on her face. She thought she looked pretty silly, like some kind of cover girl or actress trying to be sexy with all that smoky eye crap and glossy red mouth. But Black would probably like it well enough, and he better enjoy it while he could, because he was never gonna see her face painted up to such a degree again. Not unless she had to pose as a hooker and arrest a bevy of johns again.

Outside, they had already started playing the personal music tape that Laurie’s husband, Scott, had made for them. For the enjoyment of the bored guests, she supposed. Must be pretty damn hot sitting out there in July in all their fancy togs, just waiting around for something interesting to go down. At least she had that big, towering oak tree in her yard that was throwing off some shade on most of them. Laurie and Nancy had found the most wonderful young woman to sing during the actual ceremony and kickin’ party planned for after the fireworks. Her name was Rebekah Northern, a lovely young girl with long blond hair and a truly beautiful voice, who hailed from Nashville and who was also well on her way to superstardom and the Country Music Awards, if Claire was any judge of talent. She would sing at the ceremony and then afterward at the reception. She toured the country with her mother/manager, JoAnne Westbrook, but they really looked more like sisters. Black was gonna love Rebekah’s voice. No doubt about it.

Right now they were still playing the taped music, and it had started the song Claire had picked out as her tribute to Black. It was called “Truly, Madly, Deeply” and was performed by this Australian band called Savage Garden, which was also pretty much an apt description of her front yard at the moment. She had never heard the song until she and Black vacationed in Tahiti for a while, because she wasn’t one to sit around listening to the radio or watching music videos. It had come on one morning when she’d been running on the beach with Black’s earbuds on. It had struck her right off that it pretty much hit the nail on the head about how she felt about Black.

Hell, they’d already done a lot of stuff the lyrics talked about. They hadn’t stood on a mountain together yet, because Claire wasn’t thrilled about great heights or thin air, to tell the truth. But they’d bathed in the sea plenty of times. It was a cool song. Black would like it, too. He had chosen an oldie goldie called “Unchained Melody,” which was pretty much a downer, if you asked Claire. The guy in it was off somewhere hoping his girl still loved him. But the guy who sang it had a really good voice, and Black loved it, so there you go. She stared at herself some more, wishing Black would just get there, already, not used to the taste of the lip gloss or the flowery smell of the hairspray that had concreted her hair into the chosen look. They had done an amazing job actually. Man, she really did look like the woman in that picture.

Outside, finally, and thank you very much, she heard the sound of Black’s big Cobalt speeding its way down the smooth water of her quiet cove toward her house. Well, it’s about time, Black, Claire thought. But then excitement hit her. Time to launch her well-planned goodies. Even though he’d called last night, he had still been gone a week, and she had missed him, despite all the wedding headaches that had been driving her crazy. The roar of the motor died into an idle as the boat was edged up to her dock, and she heard a slight smattering of applause from the assembled guests, who were really probably pretty hot and sweaty by now. It was midsummer in mid-Missouri, after all, and around ninety degrees at two o’clock in the afternoon. Who would’ve thought Black would be late for the wedding after all his wheedling and bitching about getting married, and sooner, rather than later.

So she turned and straightened her skirt, which was pretty much driving her insane. Sure hoped she didn’t fall down trying to drag it down the sidewalk to the decorated dock. But Black was gonna love it, and that was the point. And he would like it a hell of a lot more than she did, that was for damn sure. But the dress was for him, and he was going to be pleased as cherry punch when he got a glimpse of her in it. No doubt about it. She knew he was probably nervous about her chosen attire, no doubt expecting her to wear an oversized white T-shirt and white shorts with all her weapons in flower-bedecked holsters. She had the photographer ready to take a picture of Black’s face when he first glimpsed her getup.

Downstairs, the door was flung open and someone came barging in talking real fast and excited-like. It wouldn’t be Black; he’d promised to wait out at the end of her dock under that fancy flower arch that Nancy and Laurie had slaved over. In his black tux, looking as sexy and super scorchin’ hot as ever, no doubt and for sure. She kept smiling to herself, really pretty anxious to get this show on the road and be off to the purportedly amazing Amalfi Coast for the honeymoon, a destination that Black had let slip without even realizing it. No telling what he had dreamed up for them to do over there, knowing him.

The laughing and talking going on downstairs had now stopped completely, a strange hush falling over the assembled wedding party. Claire frowned, wondering what the hell? Everybody had been in great moods all day. Then she heard what sounded like Laurie crying her eyes out. Oh, God, what now? She jumped up and moved back to the railing again and looked down at her friends. Everybody looked up at her, and the expressions on their faces did not look happy anymore, not good at all. Morbid, in fact.

“What?” Claire demanded.

Nobody said anything.

Suddenly fearful, Claire felt a long, cold chill rise up and go skittering down her bare arms and legs in lots of undulating waves. “What’s going on? Tell me.”

Nancy’s eyes were full of tears now, too, and then she let out a little sob and looked away from Claire. That’s when Claire stopped breathing. She looked out at the dock for Black’s boat. “Where’s Black?”

Everybody looked away then, as if they couldn’t bear to answer her question. Claire felt her heart climb up the back of her throat and just stick there. She looked outside at the guests, trying to see Black among them, and just about the same time that “Unchained Melody” began to play. The guests were no longer sitting in the chairs but gathered in small knots, conversing and staring up at the house. Jacques had collapsed down on a chair, his face hidden inside his palms. His wife was kneeling in front of him, consoling him. Oh, God, oh, God, Claire thought.

“Tell me what happened!” Claire cried, lifting the heavy skirt and heading down the steps in an annoying rustle of lace and silk taffeta. She stopped halfway down. Nobody wanted to tell her anything. Nobody said anything or could even look up and meet her frightened gaze. Even Joe McKay, who always had a wisecrack, looked like he’d lost his best friend. She looked at Harve, who sat at the bottom of the steps in his wheelchair, his face filled with the most horrible look of sorrow.

“Maybe you better come down here, Claire,” he told her, his voice very quiet. “Something really bad has happened.”

Claire did not move. But she knew. She knew. It was Black. “What happened to him? Tell me.”

Then Joe stood up and picked up Lizzie in his arms. “C’mon, everybody, let’s go outside. Give Claire and Harve a minute alone.”

Claire watched them file out, so scared now that she couldn’t breathe. Oh, God, she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know. Outside, the music tape stopped with a jerk in the middle of the song that Black had chosen to dedicate to her. She swallowed hard. “Tell me, Harve. Don’t screw around with me. Just tell me quick.”

Harve took her hands, squeezed them, holding her eyes with his own somber gaze. “We just heard on the news, honey.” He stopped there, looked miserable and sick. “Nick’s plane exploded on an airstrip near Naples.” He paused, his eyes wet. “They said he was aboard and ready to take off.” He stopped again. “There were no survivors, Claire. He and his pilot were both on board. I am so sorry, so sorry, that this had to happen to you. Today, of all days.”

Claire went completely rigid, reaching out to support herself on the stair rail. “No. No, Harve. That can’t be true. No way, no way.”

Harve said, “Why don’t you sit down, honey? Come on, sit down here beside me.”

“He’s okay. I know he is. He’ll be here.”

“It’s on all the news channels, Claire. They’re all talking about it. They think it was a terrorist attack.” Harve hesitated briefly. “The plane exploded and burned up last night. They found two bodies aboard, Claire.”

“Well, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Black. I don’t believe it.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This is just terrible, just god-awful, right now, on your wedding day.”

Claire stared at him, at the tears that made his eyes shine, and then she turned without a word and climbed back upstairs. She wanted to be alone. She had to think. Think this through. It couldn’t be Black. Black was not dead. He could not be dead, no matter what they said. He would never do that to her. He would never miss their wedding. He’s the one who wanted it so badly. Shaky now, trembling all over, she moved to the bed and sank down on it, the stiff gown rustling underneath her. She sat there for a moment, alone in the extremely quiet house and told herself that she was having a bad dream, a really, really bad one this time but that she’d surely wake up in a minute and it would all be over. Black would be standing at the end of the dock in his tuxedo. Waiting and smiling, showing her all those killer dimples when she walked toward him, and he would be happy to be back home and raring to get married. That’s what was going to happen.

But she knew better, she knew, and her heart just clenched inside her breast, tighter and tighter, until she could not even breathe anymore, could not pull in enough air to take a breath. She went down on the floor then, on her hands and knees, the big white skirt ballooning up around her and just stared down at the carpet. She pulled in some deep breaths, trying to get a firm hold on her nerves, breathe in, hold it, breathe out, breathe in, hold it, but then a sob welled up at the bottom of her throat and came out in the stillness, all choked up and awful. Furious at herself, she sat up again and tried to regain control of her growing panic. It could not be. There was an explanation. Black would never do this to her. He would not do it to her. She sat there on her heels, and then she felt the most terrible kind of absolute, utter despair rising inside her chest.

Great, awful waves of horror engulfed her, terrible pain that made her stomach knot and her hands shake until she had to grip her fingers together. No way, no way, he got out, he had to get out. The body on that plane was not him. He was too smart, too careful. It wasn’t him, damn it. Black was indestructible. He was alive somewhere. She would just have to go find him.

The house still lay in complete silence around her, no one downstairs, and she stood up and tried to pull herself together. But then the ultimate truth of it hit her again, slammed into her like a runaway train. She leaned up against the wall, and then she slowly slid down to the floor in a heap and dropped her head down on her bent knees. Okay, okay, she would go there, go to that place on the coast. Naples or Ravenna or whatever the hell it was called. She would find him herself. But then her mind took over again, destroying her hope, her reason returning, and she knew it had to be true. Black was gone. He was just gone. All of a sudden, just like that. Gone forever. She was never going to see him again.

Then without even realizing it, she began to cry, tears hot and tracking down her makeup, but she just let it go, let the hard and wracking sobs happen, until they were done, and she grew calm again. Then she sat there alone and wished she were dead, too. She heard Laurie come in downstairs and call up to her, gently asking her if she was all right, if she wanted anybody to come up and be with her.. . .