The Art of Love and Murder
Read The Art of Love and Murder Online
Authors: Brenda Whiteside
Tags: #Contemporary,Suspense,Scarred Hero/Heroine
Praise for Brenda Whiteside and…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
The Art
Of
Love and Murder
by
Brenda Whiteside
Love and Murder
Series, Book One
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Art of Love and Murder
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Brenda Whiteside
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Rae Monet, Inc. Design
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-384-1
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-385-8
Love and Murder Series, Book One
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Brenda Whiteside and…
THE MORNING AFTER
“If you like contemporary, down home western romances blended with laugh-out-loud humor, you simply must check out...Brenda Whiteside. You will not be disappointed...”
~The Romance Reviews (5 Stars, Top Pick)
~*~
“This is a really fun read that is based on falling in love at first sight...The story flows very naturally and is well-paced; I even held my breath towards the climatic scenes near the end. I heartily recommend this book.”
~Margo, Coffee Time Romance and More (5 Cups)
~*~
“A story this reader absolutely enjoyed...Brenda Whiteside has penned a story that excites...Her storytelling is simply divine. She makes falling in love at first sight truly real in every sense of the word. A recommended read by far.”
~Linda L., The Romance Studio (5 Hearts)
Dedication
For Frank
Thanks for all the hours spent brainstorming with me.
Chapter One
Lacy quickened her pace.
The footsteps behind her did the same.
As fast as her feet touched the bricks, her heart beat twice that speed. If only she could clear the narrow alley, step onto the lit sidewalk...
Like a magnet, the street light pulled her forward and she lunged out of the darkness.
Her hand slammed to her chest. After a hard intake of breath and a fast exhale, she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. With her head down and the strap of her purse in a tight fist against her breast, she whirled around to cover the last block at a trot…
And jarred with the collision as if she’d hit a cement wall. She careened off balance, but hands grabbed her shoulders keeping her upright.
She gasped and reared back out of the tight hold. Using her fisted purse as a weapon, she hurled a defensive blow to a broad chest. The hulk didn’t flinch, and she lifted her knee, landing a jab short of her target and into the tree-sized thigh. “
Ehhh,
” she cried out as her knee jammed into unmovable muscle.
“Lady, I’m not going to hurt you.” The man held his ground and loomed over her, his hands at his chest fending off the swing of her fist.
Her vision filled with the imposing figure, and a chill shivered her body.
Run
screamed in her head. This time the swing of her purse missed the target as she turned to escape.
His hand caught her arm and pulled her close.
“Help, help me!” Her voice came high and hysterical.
“I
am
trying to help.”
Both hands gripped her shoulders now, and her feet came partly off the ground, forcing her to look into his face.
“What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?”
Her head swung side to side, but the empty street and sidewalks could have been a ghost town. In the distance, a jazzy tune drifted through the air with voices too far away to help.
She gulped.
He waited.
Fear clawed her chest even though he stood quietly. His eyes, shaded by night, stared into her face. The street lamp held the man in a halo, outlining a stance and bulk that brought Paul Bunyan to mind. The grasp on her shoulders, firm and steady, left no choice but to hold still and consider her options. She took a ragged breath and held it with tight stomach muscles. If he’d intended to hurt her, he surely would’ve dragged her back into the alley.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded her head. He released his hold, his hands sliding down her arms, trailing a shiver of gooseflesh behind them.
“Oh, hell,” she choked out, releasing the breath, panting for air as if she’d run five miles at full speed. She bent at the waist, fists on her knees and caught her breath. Her heart still pumped like mad; the after rush of adrenaline turned her legs to jelly. “Oh, hell.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
She raised her head enough to peek through her hair at the legs belonging to the voice. Cowboy boots and well-worn jeans hugged muscled thighs. When had Paul Bunyan left Minnesota and traded in his lumberjack lace-ups for cowboy boots?
“Are you okay?” His voice filled the night air, eased through her heavy breathing.
Lifting one hand, she waved him off and nodded her head. Her other hand rubbed the knee that had encountered the immovable hulk of a man.
Two more deep breaths and her heart sank back to its rightful place. Slowly, she rose to face her would-be rescuer.
He jammed his fingers into jean pockets and looked quizzical, but certainly not dangerous, in spite of his size—over six feet. At five foot seven, Lacy looked many men in the eye; she had to lift her chin to meet his face. The faint crease lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows spoke to his age, possibly early forties like herself. He stood, boots planted on the sidewalk with legs that matched his upper body girth. What happened to the plaid shirt? This Paul Bunyan wore a gray T-shirt with the logo of The White Wolf Spirit, a store she’d seen across the street from her hotel. His shoulders and chest were broad, solid without the proverbial rippled muscle effect. No wonder her assault on him resembled a gnat ramming a wall.
“You scared the crap out of me.” The urge to get in his face with a primal scream, to relieve the rush fear left behind, jarred her.
“Were you running from someone?” He spoke as if conducting an interview.
“I heard someone following me.” She glanced behind her. “I thought...when I ran into you...” The obvious conclusion she’d made didn’t need voicing. A twinge in her thumb reminded her to ease the grasp on her purse strap.
He moved toward her, and a residual ping of fear made her twitch at his closeness. But when he glanced down the alley, inches from her, he warmed the night between them, surprising her with a whiff of fresh, pine-scented air.
“Did you see anyone?” He regarded her with a dispassionate expression.
“No. I said I
heard
someone.”
“Are you sure?” His voice echoed quietly.
He seemed to measure her, his dark eyes searching deeper than he should. She clutched her purse tighter in her fist. His soothing voice didn’t change the fact he was still a stranger on a dimly lit street.
“I...I think so. No, I’m sure.”
“It’s not advisable to be walking alone down dark breezeways.”
His tone sounded like a lecture for a child. She shook her hair from her face and squared her shoulders. A grown woman didn’t need a reprimand. “Breezeway? Yes, well, it’s not like it’s an alley for Pete’s sake, with trashcans and rats.” She glanced at the darkness she’d escaped. “It’s paved with brick, and the doors have signs on them. Damn near a Civic Center Mall walkway.”
“Civic Center?”
“Yeah.”
He raised a brow.
“In Scottsdale. Lots of restaurants and bars and museums. For people, not cars. But we light our walkways.” He’d scared the hell out of her, and now he gave her advice. The placid face, the level voice only served to irritate. “This is damn small town USA. A woman should be able to walk around at night. Shouldn’t she?”
“We’re small compared to Scottsdale, but we’re still inhabited by humans.” A patronizing, half-smile accompanied the lecture-toned voice. “I’d advise sticking to lighted streets at night, and preferably in the company of others.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chamber of Commerce.”
Rock music cut through the dark of the alley and filled the caustic quiet her words left behind. A couple on the sidewalk across the street softly laughed as they passed by. His quirk of a smile remained; evidently her sarcasm left him unscathed. Friendly eyes regarded her for a moment, then he looked as if he’d been caught staring, and his glance dropped to his boots. He’d been so overwhelmingly powerful, so suddenly in her path that she hadn’t noticed until then what a ruggedly handsome face he had. The old-fashioned street lamp lit his hair, dark brown with streaks of gold and pulled back in a ponytail at his neck. Something about him, maybe his nose or cheekbones, suggested they might share a Hopi heritage.
This helpful stranger didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of her ill temper. Her anger, misdirected at him, bordered on rude. Not his fault. He’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Or maybe in the right place.
Losing interest in his boots, he glanced at the alley, then back into her eyes.
“Um, well, thank you for coming to my aid. I’m sorry about all the hitting...and the knee.” The ache reminded her.
He waved off her half-assed apology and gifted her with a quick smile. “You were frightened. No harm done.” His strong voice softened. “But I’m serious about not walking after dark...alone.” A deep breath followed and he shifted his stance.
The display of sincere concern for an unknown woman with a quick caustic tongue touched her. His brute masculinity and woodsy scent didn’t hurt either.
She smiled, warming to the tough guy with a gentle manner. “You’re absolutely right.”
Two young men stepped around them, smoking and talking, headed down the alley toward the music. He watched them pass then asked, “How far do you have to go? To a hotel, I assume?”
“I’m staying at the Grand View Hotel. Another block.”
“Ahhh, the Grand View. The haunted Grand View.”
“So I read.” The brochures and web page had devoted quite a bit of time to the hotel’s reputation. That worked for Lacy and her friend, Phoebe, when they’d researched where she would stay.
The barest hint of a smile returned to his mouth, and his head ticked in a nearly imperceptible nod. “Perhaps the footsteps following you—”
“Were not my imagination.” Her mission in Flagstaff to learn more about the mystery swirling around the artwork left by her mother might have her imagination working overtime—but not about ghosts.
He chuckled. “It’d be understandable.”
“I tell you, someone followed me.” She raised her voice half an octave. Helpful or not, he could keep his condescending attitude.
“Okay, okay.” The smile fell away, and his brow wrinkled. “Would you like me to walk with you?”
Shaking her head and pointing toward the Grand View Hotel, she said, “That won’t be necessary. I can see the hotel from here. Thank you, anyway.” She returned the purse strap to her shoulder and glanced into his face when she passed him. Concerned? Interested? “I appreciate your consideration and help.” She wilted under his gaze. “Have a nice evening.”
Thin-soled sandals didn’t help her wobbly knees on the cobbled cement, scored to look like stone, when she attempted to walk away with an air of confidence. The last glimpse of the stranger’s attractive face left her weak-kneed like her fear of assault earlier. She wanted to get back to the hotel and hide her head under the covers.
As she moved farther from the distant music, no echoing footsteps followed her. But then, she didn’t hear his steps receding either. She
was
certain she’d heard steps in the alley earlier, and she was certain the intriguing stranger now watched her.
