Love is Murder Read online

  Prepare for heart-racing suspense in this original collection by thirty of the hottest bestselling authors and new voices writing romance suspense today.

  Go on vacation with Allison Brennan’s Lucy Kincaid, where she saves a man from drowning, only to discover he is in far greater danger on land. Meet Roxanne St. Claire’s “bullet catcher”—bodyguard Donovan Rush—who may have met his match in the sexually charged “Diamond Drop.” Debut author William Simon shows us what happens when the granddaughter of the president of the United States is kidnapped. And Lee Child’s pitch-perfect “I Heard a Romantic Story” puts a whole new spin on Love Is Murder.

  Bodyguards, vigilantes, stalkers, serial killers, women (and men!) in jeopardy, cops, thieves, P.I.s, killers—these all-new stories will keep you thrilled and chilled late into the night.

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  Love Is Murder is the third Thriller anthology written exclusively by members of International Thriller Writers, Inc. Barely seven years old, ITW has a roster that reads like a who’s who of thriller writing, with 1,635 members representing 28 countries worldwide and over three billion books in print. Headed by current copresidents Douglas Preston and Kathleen Antrim, its board of directors has included such notables as Lee Child, Tess Gerritsen, Steve Berry, James Rollins, M. J. Rose, Carla Neggers, Gayle Lynds, David Morrell and David Hewson. More information is available on the ITW website, www.thrillerwriters.org.

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  SANDRA BROWN

  Sandra Brown is the author of sixty New York Times bestselling novels. Writing professionally since 1981, she has published more than seventy novels and has upward of eighty million copies of her books in print worldwide.

  She holds an honorary doctorate of humane letters from Texas Christian University, and in 2008 she was named Thriller Master, the top award given by the International Thriller Writers Association. Other awards and commendations include the 2007 Texas Medal of Arts Award for Literature and a Romance Writers of America’s Lifetime Achievement Award.

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  Lori Armstrong • Jeff Ayers & Jon Land • Beverly Barton • William Bernhardt • Allison Brennan • Robert Browne • Pamela Callow • Lee Child • J.T. Ellison • Bill Floyd • Cindy Gerard • Heather Graham • Laura Griffin • Vicki Hinze • Andrea Kane • Julie Kenner • Sherrilyn Kenyon • Dianna Love • D.P. Lyle • James Macomber • Toni McGee Causey • Carla Neggers • Brenda Novak • Patricia Rosemoor • William Simon • Alexandra Sokoloff • Roxanne St. Claire • Mariah Stewart • Debra Webb

  PRAISE FOR THE THRILLER ANTHOLOGIES

  “A slam-dunk collection of the best in the business.”

  —Steve Berry, New York Times bestselling author

  “For romantic suspense lovers, this is magical mayhem loaded with bark and bite. Downright beguiling.”

  —Jeffery Deaver, international #1 bestselling author

  “It’s like a box of chocolates—each one is different, but they’re all great.”

  —Joseph Finder, New York Times bestselling author

  “An absolute must-buy for thriller readers everywhere.”

  —Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “I love this book and you will, too.”

  —Tess Gerritsen, International bestselling author

  “Absolutely superb.”

  —Doug Preston, New York Times bestselling author

  “Gripping, exciting, engaging—every story will leave you breathless.”

  —Karin Slaughter, #1 internationally bestselling author

  Edited by New York Times Bestselling Author

  Including original stories from bestselling thriller authors

  Lori Armstrong • Jeff Ayers & John Land • Beverly Barton • William Bernhardt • Allison Brennan • Robert Browne • Pamela Callow • Lee Child • J.T. Ellison • Bill Floyd • Cindy Gerard • Heather Graham • Laura Griffin • Vicki Hinze • Andrea Kane • Julie Kenner • Sherrilyn Kenyon • Dianna Love • D.P. Lyle • James Macomber • Toni McGee Causey • Carla Neggers • Brenda Novak • Patricia Rosemoor • William Simon • Alexander Sokoloff • Roxanne St. Claire • Mariah Stewart • Debra Webb

  On Thursday, April 21, 2011, Linda Jones and I lost our very dear friend Beverly Barton; it hurts so much to realize anew every day that her laughter has been stilled forever, and yet in a way, it hasn’t. Her voice and her laughter live on in the words she wrote. Beverly loved the romance genre. She loved writing about love, and threw herself into her work with unbounded enthusiasm. I remember her emails to us when she was invited to join all these talented writers in the Love Is Murder anthology, how happy she was, how excited about her story “Poisoned.” So here’s to you, Beverly. We love you. We miss you. And, damn, you could write!

  —Linda Howard

  Contents

  Foreward

  Diamond Drop

  Cold Moonlight

  Poisoned

  Speechless

  Lockdown

  Spider’s Tango

  Night Heat

  B.A.D. Mission

  Deadly Fixation

  Hot Note

  Last Shot

  Grave Danger

  Without Mercy

  Even Steven

  Dying to Score

  The Number of Man

  Hard Drive

  After Hours

  Blood In, Blood Out

  Wed to Death

  The Honeymoon

  Execution Dock

  In Atlantis

  Break Even

  Dirty Low Down

  Broken Hallelujah

  Holding Mercy

  Vacation Interrupted

  I Heard a Romantic Story

  Author Biographies

  Foreward for

  LOVE IS MURDER

  Before I could read, my parents read to me, so I don’t recall a time in my life when I wasn’t losing myself in fictional worlds. On Mother’s and Daddy’s knees, I cultivated a passion for make-believe. I grew up with books as a staple and libraries as a second home. Reading was my favorite pastime as a child, and it became an addictive habit I never outgrew.

  I can’t remember the first romantic suspense novel I read. It might have been Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, or perhaps one of Mary Stewart’s classic blends of mystery and romance, or Victoria Holt’s sweeping, gothic tales. I read and reread them. They left me enthralled and wanting more…largely because so few authors were writing what we now call romantic suspense.

  But those who did write in that vein, though few in number, wrote it well and had an enormous impact on my professional future. They entertained me, but I also learned from them and continue to try to live up to the standards they set. Helen MacInnes and Evelyn Anthony come to mind. Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. One of the best cornerstone novels of the genre was Ken Follett’s Eye of the Needle. On the surface one could say that neither these authors nor their books have anything in common. Not so. They contain terror tinged with romance. Or is it the other way around? That depends upon the writer, but both elements are in their work.

  Romantic suspense is a combination of genres—and the mix is potent. Mysteries are puzzles that tease and test our minds. We experience an adrenaline rush from the high-stakes plots of thrillers. Romances remind us of the eternal power of love, honor and self-sacrifice. Stories of romantic suspense offer the best of all these. They give readers an exciting and emotional thrill ride that engages the mind, the heart and all the senses. Merging a rocky romance with a fast-paced thriller makes for a story that crackles with electricity.

  The element of love ratchets up the stakes for the characters. It intensifies their motivations, increases the tension and heightens the suspense. When a person one cares about—lover, spouse, child—is i
n jeopardy, all else ceases to matter. Failure isn’t an option. When what one stands to lose is the person most dear, terror is made manifold. But so are determination and courage.

  This then is the essence of good storytelling—an individual overcoming incredible odds to save a loved one from peril. This is what makes romantic suspense satisfying on multiple levels.

  And, lest I begin to sound too lofty, let’s face it—danger can be a turn-on.

  Love Is Murder is an anthology of short stories penned by some of our most popular romantic suspense authors. In addition, the anthology features stories by writers better known for their thrillers, but who often incorporate into their books the relationship layering that is the trademark of traditional romantic suspense.

  Also included are three stories that were selected from more than sixty blind submissions—D. P. Lyle’s vigilante story “Even Steven”; Jim Macomber’s domestic abuse tale “Execution Dock”; and William Simon’s riveting, high-stakes kidnapping “Spider’s Tango.” I’m overwhelmed by the quality of all twenty-nine stories and hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did.

  Inspired by the above-mentioned writers and others, many talented authors today write in this expansive genre that has diversified to include historical settings, the forensic sciences, police procedurals, the military, the justice system, espionage, the supernatural and plots ripped from the headlines. The variety offered by romantic suspense is vast, and so is the array of storytelling talent contained within this anthology.

  It is with a great deal of pleasure that I introduce these stories written in a genre which might not have a lengthy heritage, but certainly an impressive one. I’m proud to be included.

  ~ Sandra Brown

  DIAMOND DROP

  Roxanne St. Claire

  Sexy, naughty, savvy, and fun, this story has quick, smart dialogue and a fantastic twist. ~SB

  In spite of the cacophony under the marble dome of Antwerp’s Central Station, Donovan Rush heard the distinct tap of high heels about ten feet behind him. The main terminal echoed with a hundred different languages and shook with the shrill whine of high-speed train brakes on the platform levels, but the music of that familiar feminine drumbeat reached his ears and slowed his step.

  The footsteps grew closer, preceded by a whiff of peppery perfume, a whisper of a silky sleeve, a subtle clearing of a woman’s throat…and she passed him without a glance.

  But he stole one, and then stayed two strides behind her just for the fun of it.

  Mahogany waves clipped in a careful French twist revealed a slender column of a neck, squared but narrow shoulders casually draped in a bloodred scarf. Hip-hugging black leather pants molded to a heartbreaker of a backside then tapered over long, lean thighs.

  And then there were the noisemaking shoes. Five inches if they were a centimeter, platforms, open toes and little silver buckles that he’d like to unfasten with his teeth.

  Deadly.

  Too bad he’d only be in Antwerp for the brief hour it would take to pass security at the Beurs voor Diamanthandel, meet with the client’s sightholder, take delivery of two million dollars worth of rough-cut diamonds and get back on the Thalys for the return trip to Paris.

  There was no time for lovelies clad in leather. Especially when his boss had sent a text from New York just moments ago reminding him that the client for this routine diamond drop, Boisvert Jewelers, was run by a CEO who evidently did not tolerate tardiness. Lucy Sharpe had ended her brief text with three simple words: don’t be late.

  When the owner of the Bullet Catchers—and queen of understatement—issued a warning like that, no one who wanted to keep his job with her elite security firm would dare disobey. Especially not because he was, uh, sightseeing.

  The woman in front of him slowed almost imperceptibly, glancing to her left, then quickly pretending she hadn’t.

  Donovan did the same, noticing a man outside a café entrance, a cell phone to his ear, but his gaze on the leathers, as well. That made him human, since Donovan would guess that most male eyes in the terminal would take the same trip his had.

  But the highly trained bodyguard in him noticed the woman’s hesitation, the change in her heel-to-toe tempo and the aura of awareness that shot up around her.

  She shifted to the right just as the man ended his call. When he took a single step forward, she turned on one of those spikes and beelined in the opposite direction.

  The heels clicked into a trot.

  The gold-embellished station clock read twenty-one minutes to ten. Donovan had been doing the Antwerp diamond drops long enough to know he needed twelve minutes to clear security at the Bourse, and two minutes to cross the cobblestone street that led there. That left seven minutes to follow his instinct…and a woman who’d just upped her speed from purposeful to petrified.

  The man hustled toward her, small and spare and quick on his feet, smoky gray eyes locked on the lady, one hand in the pocket of a loose-fitting jacket.

  With the reassuring weight of a Glock under his sport jacket, Donovan kept his attention evenly divided between the two people. She took a sharp left toward stairs leading to the upper level train platforms, snaking her way through the crowd with a quick burst of speed.

  She paused once to glance over her shoulder, her gaze locking on Donovan’s for a split second before she looked away. At the top of the stairs she blended in with a pack of travelers on the train platform, but Donovan kept sight of the ruby scarf.

  So did the other man, who attempted the same maneuver up the stairs, but didn’t nail it as gracefully as the woman. His failure let Donovan get right behind him and stay there.

  Leather lady was on a tear now, running down the platform as the scream of the next high-speed train reverberated through the second level’s glass-domed ceiling. She spun around, giving Donovan his first chance to really see her face.

  Normally, he’d register the contours of beauty, the appeal of every feature from a whisper of a widow’s peak to a shadow of a cleft in her chin. But this wasn’t normal. That expression of raw, ripe terror was not normal.

  The man had her in his sights, then reached deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight like he was bracing to fire.

  Donovan pounced. An arm to the throat, a knee to the thighs, and the guy was down and done.

  “Hey!” He tried to thrust an elbow, but Donovan twisted the offending arm and locked it into a position of paralyzing pain. Certain he was immobilized, Donovan peered through the wall of the gathering crowd as the train doors zipped open.

  A red scarf fluttered as its owner darted on board. Holding on to the door, she leaned into the light to look straight at him.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed and then disappeared into the train.

  Donovan released his captive and stood slowly.

  “What the hell?” the man croaked with a heavy British accent, pushing himself up and whipping around to Donovan.

  Donovan stepped back and held up his hands. “Sorry. Had you confused with someone.” He turned to leave, but the man grabbed his jacket.

  “What’s your fucking problem, mate?”

  “Excuse me.” Donovan brushed the hand off and glanced at the clock above the platform. “I’m late for an appointment.”

  * * *

  “You are free to enter, Mr. Rush.” The last of three security guards handed Donovan his clearance papers with an officious nod, his heavily accented English flawless. “Monsieur Pelletier is waiting for you at table fourteen.”

  Donovan tucked his paperwork in the breast pocket of his sport jacket and entered the double doors to the main room. Sunshine poured through a hundred skylights, built for the express purpose of giving the jewel traders the best possible natural light.

  Dozens of tables flanked a center aisle where men sat in small groups, face-to-face, nearly every one wearing a jeweler’s loupe, examining stones.

  A middle-aged man sat alone at the far end of table fourteen, a black velvet cloth spread with
an array of cloudy white diamonds in front of him. He looked up as Donovan approached and stood, no smile on his angular, harsh features.

  Donovan slipped into the space behind the table, reaching out his hand in greeting, introducing himself. “I’m delighted to welcome Boisvert Jewelers to the Bullet Catchers client roster,” he added.

  “We understand your company provides the finest security couriers in the business.”

  “You understand correctly,” Donovan assured him, gesturing toward the diamonds. There was no time for small talk if he was going to make the train back to Paris and meet the client’s timelines.

  “This is what I’ve selected for you to deliver,” he said. “I know the CEO of Boisvert to be a connoisseur of excellence. I’ve no doubt these diamonds will meet the highest standards.”

  There were at least forty sizable stones, many that would be cut to make two or three multicarat diamonds. Pelletier had probably spent the past three days poring through hundreds and hundreds of rough-cut rocks delivered from Africa and Australia, his job as a sightholder to be the “eyes” for the parent jeweler back in Paris. A parent company with deep pockets, if they could manage this purchase.

  “You’ve chosen well,” Donovan said. Although it wasn’t his job to pass judgment on the diamonds Pelletier had purchased; his job was to safely deliver them to the Parisian jeweler whom he worked for. On time. “Is the paperwork complete?” If Pelletier had filled it out ahead of time, they were in luck.

  The man slid a packet toward Donovan. “Yes. I’ll need your signature in all the right places, while I pack this parcel and sign off on what you’ve taken.”

  The transaction was so standard, Donovan barely looked up from the pages he had to sign, flipping through each with just a cursory glance, until Pelletier pulled a cell phone from his pocket to take a call.

  “Excuse me,” he said softly before launching into rapid French. Unable to follow the foreign language spoken that fast, Donovan continued to sign, until a note of alarm in the other man’s voice made him look up.