Two opposites. Undeniable attraction. Three mobsters. An offer they can’t refuse. It sounds like trouble as Jackson Jones and Mackenzie Cunningham, reluctant partners and two of the best private investigators in Los Angeles, return to solve their most dangerous case yet.
Jackson Jones and Mackenzie “Mac” Cunningham can’t agree on anything. After coming close to death on their last case, the two have decided to team up but they can’t even decide on how to furnish their new office. Jackson wants to make a big splash. Mackenzie just wants a desk and some filing cabinets to clean up the mess. Before they can reach a truce on the decor, the two PIs get an offer they have no choice but to accept: infamous gangster Big Ced and two of his mafia dons want them to track down a package. Or else.
Things heat up in more ways than one as Jackson and Mac track down the sensitive information for the mobsters, while a police investigator is on their tail. When sparks fly between Mackenzie and Lieutenant Good Looking, Jackson’s jealousy and fiery back-and-forth with his partner has them flirting with danger in more ways than one. As they race through LA’s fanciest neighborhoods in a race against time, Jackson and Mac must stick closer to each other than ever as they dodge bullets, bad guys, and their feelings for each other.
In the tradition of Mr. & Mrs. Smith set in modern LA, Sounds Like Trouble puts a fresh spin on the great investigative duos with an intoxicating blend of mystery, humor, and witty banter that you won’t want to miss.
Release date:
July 8, 2025
Publisher:
Atria Books
Print pages:
256
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Chapter 1: Jackson Chapter 1 JACKSON Despite the pair of armed thugs looming over me, it was a beautiful morning on Venice Beach.
I was seated on the patio of a hip beachfront coffee shop called Drip Drop. The tiny café was part of the carnival-like collage of souvenir shops, fast-food joints, weed dispensaries, psychic parlors, and artist stalls that lined the Venice boardwalk. My loft was just a block away, so on those mornings when I felt like giving my Keurig a rest, I’d throw on some sweatpants and wander down for a freshly brewed cup of vanilla-nut roast.
Prior to the arrival of my two surly visitors, I was sipping my coffee, watching the daily parade of local oddballs on the boardwalk, and strategizing about how to convince my new business partner, Mackenzie Cunningham, to double the furniture budget for our new office.
A little over a week ago, Mac and I received the keys. The 650-square-foot storefront space, located in downtown Culver City, was move-in ready. Unfortunately, Mac and I weren’t ready to move in. The only things occupying our new place were a couple of cheap folding chairs and stacks of file-storage boxes. We couldn’t agree on how to decorate the place. Mackenzie was all about function. A clean and professional look was good enough. I disagreed completely. Looking successful is just as, if not more, important than looking professional. When clients crossed our threshold, I wanted them to believe we were killing it. That we didn’t need their business. That they’d be lucky to hire us. For weeks now we had visited dozens of furniture stores in search of a happy medium with zero success.
I was determined to have it out with Mac. Somehow convince her to see things my way. At least, that was my plan for today until my two visitors dropped into the Drip Drop.
“Sorry to bother you. Are you Jackson Jones?”
Admittedly, that opener threw me. When I first spotted the two African American men approaching me in designer suits with hip-level gun bulges, I instantly pegged them as professional lawbreakers… AKA gangsters. Detectives can’t afford Tom Ford and Hugo Boss. What I didn’t expect was polite gangsters. Either way, I knew these brothers were trouble, so I went for a Hail Mary.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head and focusing on my coffee. “Sorry.”
The two men didn’t budge or take their eyes off me.
I figured the dude who spoke first was the one in charge. He had a perfectly cropped beard and better shoes than his pal, and I was pretty sure his nails were manicured. And although he was the younger of the two—I guessed early thirties—there was an aloof certainty in his eyes, like someone who thought he was untouchable.
“Mr. Jones,” he said, “let’s forgo the games.” His voice was even-toned and measured, with an educated ring. He sounded more like a lawyer than a criminal. “My name is Prentice Willis. My father is Cedric Willis. I’m here on his behalf regarding an urgent matter.”
I was mid-sip when Prentice brandished his father’s name, and I damn near did a spit take. Cedric Willis was infamous. Known on the streets as Big Ced, head of the most powerful criminal organization in LA. Big Ced’s crew didn’t really have a name, but whispers called them the Black Mafia. Even the old-school Italian mob, which had slipped a rung or two over the decades, didn’t screw with Big Ced’s operation. His big black fist had a grip on everything, from traditional rackets like drugs, gambling, and sex trafficking to cutting-edge misdeeds like cyber scams and ransomware attacks. Over the last decade or so, Cedric Willis had launched many legit businesses in an effort to go corporate and rehabilitate his image, but everyone knew that Willis Worldwide was just a facade for a sophisticated and dangerous criminal empire.
I couldn’t imagine what urgent matter had caused Big Ced to seek me out, but the very idea put a knot in my gut. Trying very hard to maintain my cool, I said to Prentice, “I don’t believe I’ve ever met your father.”
“You haven’t. Not yet. That’s why I’m here. He’d like a meeting at his office.”
“About what?”
“All I’m allowed to say is what I’ve already said… it’s an urgent matter.”
“Oh, I see. He’s looking to hire a private investigator.”
“Correct.”
I sighed under my breath and eased back in my chair. I didn’t want anything to do with public enemy number one and now I saw a way out. I frowned and said to Prentice, “Unfortunately, right now I’m moving into a new office, so I’m kind of on a break. If it’s urgent like you say, you might want to find someone else. Sorry.”
I’m not sure Godfather junior heard a word I said, because he didn’t miss a beat. “Mr. Jones, if you know who my father is, and I’m certain you do, then you know on what scale he operates. This could be an enormous opportunity for you.”
“Right, I get that but—” I hit the pause button because of the way Prentice’s sidekick eyeballed me. Not only was he older, but he was also bigger. An ex–football player was my bet. Seeing his jaw tighten and his hands ball into fists instantly told me they didn’t come out to Venice Beach to hear Jackson Jones say no.
“You know what?” I said, changing my tone. “Let’s schedule the meeting for tomorrow. I’m guessing Big Ced—sorry, Mr. Willis—likes to sleep in so, I don’t know, how about eleven a.m.?”
“He’s expecting you now.”
I blinked. “Now? You want me to drive there now?”
“No. There’s a car waiting around the corner. It’s better if you ride with us.”
Time stopped briefly. Then I couldn’t help myself. I shook my head and laughed.
The two men traded looks, then Prentice said, “Something funny?”
“Yeah. I thought Bogart shit like this only happened in movies.”
Prentice, to his credit, wasn’t offended. Instead, he chuckled. “Look, my father just wants to talk. Nothing more. You’ll be perfectly safe. You have my word.”
I don’t know why I would believe the word of a gangster, but the dude sounded like he meant it. Also, to be honest, I was damn curious about this whole urgent matter business. Lastly, Prentice wasn’t kidding about his old man. Cedric Willis wasn’t called Big Ced because he was fat or muscular. No, he earned that nickname because everything Big Ced did, legal or illegal, he did, well… big. Maybe this would turn out to be a straight-up PI gig with a Big Ced–sized payday. Maybe this truly was an enormous opportunity.
“Okay, I’m in,” I said, reaching for my iPhone. “Just let me call my partner so she can meet us there.”
“There’s no need to call Ms. Cunningham,” he said. “That’s being handled.”
I almost laughed at his reference to Mac as Ms. Cunningham. He obviously didn’t know Mac the way I did.
“Um. When you say being handled do you mean like the way you two ran up on me? Just so you know, she isn’t as easygoing as I am. I mean, she might even—”
Prentice held up a definitely manicured hand. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go. My father hates to be kept waiting.”
“Sure.” I left a tip on the table, then exited the patio and followed them.
For an instant I considered taking off down the boardwalk, but then remembered that I was no longer working alone. I now had a partner to worry about… and count on. And she had to be able to count on me. Even if I gave these jokers the slip there was no way to be certain what would happen to Mackenzie.
So, yes, I willingly followed two armed criminals to their car.
There’s a popular T-shirt many vendors sell on the Venice boardwalk that warns: Venice Beach, Where Art Meets Crime.
Yeah, tell me about it.
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