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Someone is methodically killing past members of The Consortium, a defunct group of ruthless businessmen who made their fortunes buying and selling prime Las Vegas real estate during the era that saw the beginnings of the mega casino and luxury hotels. Homicide Detective, Kennedy O’Brien, and her temporary partner, Reno Homicide Detective Hunt, race to stop a deranged predator who claims a new victim every forty-eight hours. The killer drugs his victims, slashes their wrists, and leaves a playing card with the body. As the clock continues to tick, the search for clues seems easy—too easy Kennedy suspects.
While chasing the killer, Kennedy must also try to control hotheaded Detective Hunt, who is hell-bent on finding out who killed the first victim—his best friend’s father. At the same time, she has to deal with a jealous Nick Campenelli, whom she may or may not be in a relationship with. Nick is unhappy with Kennedy spending so much time in close contact with the very smitten, Detective Hunt. Tossed into the mix are her retired cop grandfather, her self-appointed personal domestic slave, Elvis, and a boss who is demanding answers.
Is it any wonder that Kennedy doesn’t do relationships?
Enjoy an excerpt:
Kennedy, still half asleep, drew her gun, but wasn’t fast enough to take aim. A large, firm hand clamped over her wrist. “I wouldn’t do that, Detective O’Brien. Keep your hands still and drop the gun. You don’t need the weapon.”
Kennedy slowly released her Sig Sauer and laid her hands flat on her desk. She glanced around the detective’s bull pen. Nothing but empty desks.
“What now, ass-wipe? You think you can pull this crap in the middle of a goddamn police department?”
“I don’t see a lot of cops coming to your rescue. Do you?”
Kennedy sat up straight, stretched, and looked around. The place was deserted—really deserted. “Shit.”
“Been sleeping a while, have you? You’ve got some drool on the side of your face. I think there’s a paper clip stuck to your chin.” He plucked off the paper clip and held out his hanky. “Here.”
She slapped his hand away. “That’s none of your fucking business.”
“You have quite a potty mouth, don’t you, Detective?”
Kennedy gave a low growl. “Go to hell!”
“She’s friendly, too.”
“Who the hell are you and what the fuck-all are you doing here?”
He let go of her hand and gave her the Sig back. “Detective Lieutenant Kyle Hunt, Reno PD, at your service.” He cocked an eyebrow and took a bow.
“Oh.”
About the Author:
Now she spends her days turning her ideas into books. She lives in Marietta, GA with her husband.
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