Booked to Kill, page 1
He walked behind her up the three floors.
When they reached the landing to her hallway, she came to a quick stop and Jack bumped into her. Instinct had him latching his hand to her hips to steady her. His chest heaved with the feel of her pressed against him, but warning bells went off in his head. “What’s wrong?”
She shifted her head to the side and kept her voice low. “There’s a man standing in front of my door.”
Urgency propelled him into action and he swept her behind him. He rested his palm on the butt of his sidearm secured at his hip, hidden behind his jacket. He stared at the broad back of the man who stood in front of Olivia’s door with something in his hands. A box?
Without moving, he yelled, “Whoever the hell you are, take a step away from the door and put your hands in the air.”
Dear Reader,
I’m so excited you’ve decided to take another ride with me. Since I’ve been home in Northeast Ohio more than usual the past couple of years, I wanted to take another trip to one of my favorite places: New York City. Even if that trip involves murder and took place in my mind before I put it down on paper.
When figuring out who I wanted to take this trip with, I homed in first on my heroine. In Booked to Kill, Olivia Hickman is a young widow who is trying to get her life back on track. I feel like she’s someone we can all relate to. I know I’ve had times in my life when things haven’t gone as planned or I find myself back at the beginning of a journey I thought would be in my rearview mirror. Olivia embodies some of the qualities I admire most—loyalty, bravery and kindness.
Detective Jack Stone enters her life when she’s at the lowest of lows, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. He doesn’t swoop in and clean everything up for her. He stands beside her and gives her someone to lean on as she learns to take those steps on her own. Jack shows Olivia that her past is special, something that brought her to the present. Honestly, out of all the heroes I’ve written, he reminds me most of my own hero, my husband, Scott.
Thank you for making the choice to read Booked to Kill. I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.
With all my love,
Danielle M. Haas
BOOKED TO KILL
Danielle M. Haas
Danielle M. Haas resides in Ohio with her husband and two children. She earned a BA in political science many moons ago from Bowling Green State University but thought staying home with her two children and writing romance novels would be more fun than pursuing a career in politics. She spends her days chasing her kids around, loving up her dog and trying to find a spare minute to write about her favorite thing: love.
Books by Danielle M. Haas
Harlequin Romantic Suspense
Matched with Murder
Booked to Kill
Visit the Author Profile page at
Harlequin.com for more titles.
To my mom, Brenda Hill. You’ve stood by my side through my lowest lows and highest highs. You’ve listened to every chapter I’ve ever written. My success wouldn’t be nearly as sweet without you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Excerpt from Colton’s Ultimate Test by Beth Cornelison
Chapter 1
Olivia Hickman stopped in front of the white-stone apartment building she’d once called home. The morning sun warmed her skin, and she sucked in a deep breath of the springtime air. The winter had been long and hard, and she wanted nothing more than to enjoy the vibrant green leaves on the tree-lined street and the subtle scent of flowers that mixed with the baking bread. Instead, she tipped her chin to take in the six stories that housed the loft where she’d once spent most of her time.
Happy times with a husband she loved in a life that seemed as if it existed only in her dreams.
Her nerves danced in the pit of her stomach as she steeled her resolve and barreled through the front door to the lobby. Walking into a place that held so many cherished memories and love never got easier—scrubbing away the presence of strangers who should have never been there in the first place was never fun.
She couldn’t dwell on that now. She should count her luck there was never a shortage of tourists in need of a reasonable place to stay in Manhattan. Especially when her loft offered plenty of space and high-end upgrades in the two-story apartment. Much more than anyone could find in a small hotel room surrounded by the constant noise of the city. And although it hurt to give strangers free rein of the loft, she needed the income from the rented space if she wanted to keep her focus on her art and not some soul-sucking job she took just to keep her head above water.
Pushing down the strobing ball of apprehension, she took a left to the stairwell, then bounded up the two flights to her old apartment. With her keys nestled in the palm of her hand, she let herself in and tears dotted her eyes.
A stab of grief pierced her heart. She and Dave had envisioned a long life with children running through their home. She never imagined she’d be forced to rent out the loft on one of those vacation rental sites. Selling wasn’t an option, at least not yet. Not when the closest she felt to Dave was in the brief moments she went back to the loft, even just to get it ready for the next renter.
Dark wooden floors ran the length of the open space, making the whitewashed brick of the walls pop. The same deep brown, suede couch she and Dave had purchased with money from their wedding occupied the corner, a shaggy cream-colored rug beneath it, a square coffee table anchored in the middle of the plush piece of carpet. An overnight bag sat open beside the couch, and Olivia frowned.
Crossing the large room, she peered into the bag. Women’s clothing spilled out the side. She puffed out a frustrated breath. The woman who had rented the loft was supposed to be gone an hour ago. If she was still here, it would push back Olivia’s entire day. “Hello?”
No response.
A slight shiver of trepidation zipped through her veins, and she licked her chapped lips. The lockbox attached to the door allowed her to rent out the space without ever coming face-to-face with the people sleeping in her home. Not meeting her lodgers made it easier to forget people invaded this sacred space with their own happy memories and loved ones.
She tiptoed to the kitchen, taking stock of every inch her gaze landed on and checking to make sure nothing screamed to her something was wrong. The poker rested in its place against the fireplace, and nothing had been disturbed from the bookshelves. The dishes she’d set out on the long table separating the kitchen from the living room were still perfectly set, the white orchid still in its pot on the marble countertop.
She lifted her chin to the second-story loft that took up half the area upstairs, leaving the second portion above the kitchen with high ceilings, allowing the exposed black beams to become the focal point. Clear glass encased the bedroom, giving an illusion of privacy while still keeping the open concept intact, and large windows lined the top of the walls, letting warm light flood the inside.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” She called out.
Nothing.
The stillness in the tidy apartment sent chills up her spine. Her heart picked up its pace and sweat collected in her palms.
Stop overreacting. Nothing happened. She’s probably still asleep.
She rounded the table toward the stairs. The woman had to still be in bed. She must have started packing her things the night before, then slept through her alarm. There had to be a reason she wasn’t answering. Why she hadn’t taken her stuff and left.
A crumpled body lay at the base of the stairs, a pool of blood seeping into the floor. Dark hair swirled around a woman’s face, her eyes wide and lifeless. Her lips parted as if her life had been cut short in the middle of speaking—or screaming.
Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth, capturing the shriek that poured from her throat. Her heart raced and fear clouded her vision.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not another death.
* * *
Irritation made Homicide Detective Jack Stone’s skin itch as he stood in a rented-out loft in the Meatpacking District. One young woman lay dead on the floor. Another woman, a knockout redhead with fear in her eyes, huddled on a sectional in the living room.
“You want to talk to her, or do you want me to?” Jack’s partner, Max, asked, dipping his chin toward Mrs. Hickman.
“I’ll talk to Mrs. Hickman. You take a look at the body.” He’d looked up information on the loft owner while Max had driven to the scene. Made more sense for him to speak with her, even if her beauty had been a punch in the gut at first sight.
Max nodded, then strolled over to where a young officer stood by the staircase, an unneeded bodyguard for
Jack kept his focus on Mrs. Hickman. As he crossed the room, he couldn’t help but be impressed with the clean, modern lines and the sheer size of the loft. The questions brewing in his mind couldn’t keep him from noticing the gleaming countertops in the droolworthy kitchen or the built-in bookcases lining an entire wall.
Mrs. Hickman sat hunched over her knees on the sofa, her blank stare lifting to meet his gaze. An oversize gray T-shirt hung loose on her slim frame, and her socked feet were planted on the rug.
“Mind if I sit?” He grabbed a notepad from his back pocket and waited for her response. No color settled in her ivory cheeks and a glassiness settled over her hazel eyes.
Sniffing back tears, she cleared her throat and gave a half-hearted attempt at a small smile. “Please do.”
He opted to sit on the cushion that gave him a better visual of her, his portion of the sectional adjacent to hers. He wanted a good read of her facial expressions as he took her statement. He smoothed the lines of his face, making sure no hints of sympathy—or even suspicion—came across. “My name is Detective Jack Stone. I’m sorry to cross paths with you this way. I know this conversation won’t be easy.”
She pinned him with her wide stare, lips pressed in a straight line. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
The quiet astonishment in her voice squeezed his heart. “Did you know the victim?”
She shook her head. “She was a renter. I list the loft on one of those vacation rental sites. She was staying for a couple nights.” Tears clung to her lashes, and she dashed them away with long, slender fingers.
He wrote down the information, not wanting to forget any details. “When did she check in?”
She ran a palm over her smooth forehead. “She was here for two nights. Scheduled to leave this morning.”
He made a quick note before meeting Mrs. Hickman’s wide-eyed stare. “Was she alone?”
Mrs. Hickman shrugged. “No other name was listed, but I never know when someone brings in a guest.”
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Any chance you have security cameras inside?” He’d spotted cameras outside the building, but any cameras inside the loft could clear up a lot of questions.
She wrapped her arms around her middle and sank into the back of the sofa. “No. I don’t have the money to invest in something like that right now.”
He raised his brows at her excuse, forcing himself not to ask the question sitting on the tip of his tongue. The loft was high-end in every way. How could the owner not afford to put up a few cameras for safety? He’d talk with the building manager about getting the footage for the outside cameras and hope he got lucky. “Can you tell me exactly what happened when you got here this morning?”
She sucked in a deep breath. “I came in and found a bag. I assumed the woman was upstairs.” She flicked her wrist to the opposite end of the couch. “I was frustrated at first and called out for her, but no one answered.” Her voice trailed off, and she dropped her gaze to her clasped hands on her lap.
He spotted the bag on the floor. Something to go through and see if they lucked out with a clue. Probably just clothes and toiletries, but he could always get lucky. He shifted back to her. “Was the door locked when you opened it?”
She scrunched her nose. “I think so. I mean, I used my key but didn’t pay attention to if the lock actually turned or not.”
Interesting. Forced entry didn’t appear to be at play. “Then what?”
“I went into the kitchen, then headed toward the stairs. That’s when I saw the body and called the police.” Her voice caught on the last word. “Was this just a horrible accident? Could she have tripped down the stairs and hit her head?”
Weirder things had happened, but he wouldn’t bet his paycheck on it. Neither would he throw out half-baked theories to a woman he didn’t know. “I can’t tell you that. All I know is we will need access to your apartment until we clear the scene.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, the fear and concern clear as day on the soft curves and slopes of her face. Opening her eyes, she refocused on him, but a sadness lingered in her expression. “Of course. Whatever you need. Can I go now?”
Standing, he tucked his lips at the corners then fished into the back pocket of his trousers. “Sure. Take my card.”
“Thank you,” she said, rising on unsteady legs.
He frowned. “Can you make it home all right? Is there anyone you can call to be with you?”
She managed a small smile. “I’ll be fine.”
A weird pull in his chest made him want to walk her home and make sure she was safe and sound. “I’ll be in touch.” The woman had been through hell, and even if he couldn’t ignore her connection to a suspicious death, a part of him wanted to protect her from going through any more tough times.
Instead, he offered a stiff nod and watched her walk out the door before joining Max beside the young woman whose life had been cut tragically short.
Max rubbed a palm over the back of his neck. “She have anything useful to say?”
“Woman was renting for a couple nights, and Mrs. Hickman walked in this morning to find the body. She was pretty shaken up. I’ll give her some time to absorb everything, then pay her a visit a little later. Right now, we need to focus on the victim.” His gut lurched as he took in the pool of blood spread around the dark hair like a disgusting halo of death. Even though he’d made the decision months ago to move from behind a desk where he worked for the Cybercrimes unit to time in the field solving homicides, the sight of death still turned his stomach.
That and the smell. The stench of fresh blood and the beginning stages of decay that mixed with the normal scents of lavender and vanilla from some plug in the wall was nauseating.
“Do you think she knows more than she’s saying?” Max asked, his blue eyes trained on the woman at the base of the stairs.
Jack cut his gaze to the door Olivia Hickman had walked through moments before. He’d need to dive in deeper and see if she was connected to the woman found in her loft. Even though a killer could be on the loose, a nagging feeling told him the hardest part of this investigation would be keeping a tight leash on his unwanted attraction to the beautiful woman at the center of it all. “I can’t say for sure, but you can bet your paycheck I’ll find out.”
Chapter 2
The sidewalks bustled with activity, New Yorkers hustling to the next important place while tourists meandered through the crowds and vendors searched for easy targets to purchase their knockoff goods. The morning was young, but exhaustion weighed down every step Olivia took as if she’d been awake for days. Sleep sounded amazing, but going home alone wasn’t an option, at least not yet. Not back to a quiet apartment with nothing but her scattered thoughts and images of death to keep her company.
Not knowing where to go, she allowed her legs to move of their own volition, her mind unable to stop replaying the moment she’d turned the corner and found a dead body at the base of the stairs. She couldn’t handle the stress—couldn’t carry around the worry and despair on her slim shoulders anymore. Not like she was given a choice. Life just kept throwing more and more crap on her plate until cracks and splinters threatened to break the damn plate in two.
The scent of coffee wafting from an open door penetrated the fog in her brain. She blinked, taking in her surroundings. A humorless snort puffed through her mouth, and she pushed her way past the cluster of people near the doorway of the bakery she’d been a patron of since it opened.
Since the day her best friend had poured her heart and soul into her entrepreneurial baby, The Mad Batter.
Black-and-white tile covered the floor while gray matte paint with a sprinkling of purple glitter coated the walls. A smattering of round tables with curved metal legs littered the room and a long glass-covered counter display case housed a variety of pastries. Teacups and gold stopwatches hung from the ceiling in front of the window, giving off the same whimsical vibe as Alice in Wonderland.
The sweet scents of vanilla and cinnamon mingled, mixing with the lingering smell of blood and death attached to Olivia’s nose, and turned her stomach. Images splashed back in her mind, making her knees shake. The chatter around her mixed with the whizz of an espresso machine and rang in her ears.
