By Tami Brothers

 

Undercover in Jimmy Choos

 “What the hell were you thinking?” Danny could barely see Désirée in the light coming from the small sliver of the crescent moon. Although it had worked well for them while he and Drew waited to ambush the trio, he hated the lack of visibility now.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you could have been killed. Why would you bait him like that? He was just waiting for an opportunity to hurt you.”

The exchange brought back the sick feeling he’d experienced when seeing Jacques leer at Désirée earlier. He’d kill that bastard if he wasn’t already dead. This thought was quickly blocked by a sharp pain that radiated from his shoulder and into his back when she cinched the makeshift tourniquet tighter. He winced when she let the extra length of leather fall against his wound, then immediately felt the loss of heat when she sat back on her heels.

“What was I supposed to do, Detective?” she snapped, exposing her irritation. “Wait for someone to rescue me? You know as well as I do those maniacs killed two people in that library. I was marching to my death. There was no way I was going quietly.”

“But you weren’t going to die. Drew and I had this under control.” The thought of how quickly that control had turned to chaos had Danny’s stomach twisting like the blades on a lawnmower. “And what was that with the gun? You could have shot me.”

“Apparently, I should have.”

The words she muttered under her breath brought a tight smile to his lips. He loved how she had a comeback for everything he threw at her. Just the thought of her holding that gun had his body reacting in a way he never expected. He hadn’t actually seen her in the act because he’d been a bit busy, but he could easily picture it now. “Where the hell did you learn to shoot a gun anyway?”

“I didn’t. That was my first time.”

Damn! That shot was tricky enough, but for someone who had never shot a gun….He shook his head and immediately regretted the movement. The sharp pain drew a moan he’d been holding back. Before he could blink, Désirée was back at his side, her hands searching for some unknown threat. His roller coaster of emotions took a sharp turn as the pleasure of her touch blocked out his pain.

“Where does it hurt? I know he cut you. I saw the blood earlier.”

“It’s nothing. A scratch.” Yeah right. A scratch that would probably require a handful of stitches, but she didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know about the gunshot wound either.  Letting go of a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, he allowed himself to lean back against Désirée’s leg. Her warm hand cradled his head. Oh, that felt good. He’d had worse wounds and knew these didn’t warrant the treatment he was receiving, but if he could keep her right where she was by letting her take care of him, then that’s exactly what he’d do.

A shudder rippled through her body. Instantly, he was worried. He’d been so caught up in what had happened, he’d never checked to see if she’d been hurt. Jackknifing to a sitting position, he lifted her so she was half sitting on his lap.

“Stop! What are doing? You’re going to make it bleed more.”

He ignored the mind-numbing pain and the push of her hands against his good shoulder.  He ran his hand down her neck and across her back while using his injured one to keep her from sliding away. “Did he hurt you?” If he so much as harmed one hair on her head.

“Danny, I’m fine. The only things that sustained any damage are my Jimmy Choos.”

Okay. Call him a girly guy, but he’d sure as hell grown to appreciate Jimmy Choos the moment he’d seen Désirée in those man killer shoes that first day. His dreams had been filled with images of the sedate librarian in those sex kitten shoes. So much so that they’d had him coming up with excuses to see her time after time. Again, pushing aside the wild thoughts, he focused his attention on Désirée and making sure she was telling him the truth about her lack of injuries.

Although he tried to keep the pat down professional, he couldn’t ignore the distinct curves. By the time he’d completed his search, they were both breathing hard. Even in the dark of night, he could tell she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Just that quickly, the need to kiss her overrode his sense of self-preservation. Moving slowly, he guided her closer. Reaching up, he smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes, giving her time to back away.

God, she was beautiful. The last month had been pure torture working this case and keeping her at arm’s length. More than once he’d wanted to kiss her but his sense of ethics wouldn’t allow it.  A near death experience had a way of putting things into a whole different perspective.

Her warm breath against his lips was intoxicating. His head spun as he closed the distance. When skin met skin, all thoughts of taking things slow vanished. Danny only slightly noticed the pain in his shoulder and side when he pulled her tight against his chest and deepened the kiss. Her moan of surrender was a boost to his ego. His hands began retracing the path they had taken during his earlier search.

She had just wrapped her arms around his neck when the piercing sound of a siren pulled them apart. Breathing heavily, he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. Willing the parts of his body that had instantly reacted to the sexy librarian to behave, he took several deep breaths. “Damn that man.”

“What?”

He took great pleasure in hearing the breathless confusion in her voice. “I was talking about Agent Jordon. He has got to have the worst timing.”

“I don’t know about that. Probably isn’t the right time and place for this.”

Danny chuckled. She was right. He had no idea how he would explain “this” to his supervisor, let alone the press that would surely follow the sounds of the sirens. A shout drew both their attentions and they watched as the silhouette of his unmarked car parked at the end of the cemetery’s entrance was outlined by lights of the approaching police vehicles. Agent Jordon was waving his hands over his head to draw their attention. He could just see the outline of Giselle sitting in the back seat.

“I think I’d better move before they start heading this way.”

When Désirée started to slide from his lap, Danny tightened his grip. She turned to face him, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. After a moment, he pulled back and strained to look into her eyes. “This isn’t finished, Désirée.”

With those final words, he loosened his hold and allowed her to slip away.

# # #

Stale air engulfed Désirée the moment she pulled open the doors of the library. Three days had passed since all the excitement and after the sheriff’s department had collected their evidence, not a soul had stepped foot inside the building. Of course, that wasn’t by choice. Nope. She would have been there the very next morning, but the yellow “Do Not Enter” police tape had prevented that.

Instead, she had been relegated to wait like everyone else in town to find out the results of the investigation. At least they had been able to bury Ada knowing her murder had been solved. Shaking off the grief she’d allowed herself to wallow in for three days, Désirée squared her shoulders and marched on.

The dull click of her sedate pumps echoed through the empty foyer. The sound left a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Oh, how she had grown to love those Jimmy Choos. Unfortunately they had been collected for evidence along with a truckload of other incriminating items the night she almost died. The last time she’d seen Detective Bonner. Jackass!

Pushing her irritation aside, she dropped her over-sized shoulder bag onto the front desk and paused to take in the damage. The place was a mess. Her beloved books had been strewn throughout the room. The carelessness was like a knife in her chest. Some of it caused by the team called in to investigate a crime that was far larger than anyone involved could have guessed. But most caused by two criminals who felt the library would be a perfect place to front their illegal operation.

Who knew fencing stolen clocks could be so lucrative? Or so deadly.

“Ms. Devereaux. Can I have a word with you?”

Désirée jumped at the quiet greeting. Immediately she felt foolish when she saw who had called from the front foyer. Dressed in business black from her expensive Ann Taylor pumps to her matching rare black pearl necklace and earrings, it was obvious the woman was here in an official capacity.  “Yes, Mrs. Kitteridge.”

Squaring her shoulders, she pasted a smile on her lips and prepared to accept whatever fate the Dragon Lady decreed. As she watched the woman approach, Désirée couldn’t help but admire the sense of strength Mrs. Kitteridge projected. After all, the Kitteridge family had been affected by this crime more than anyone. Not only did they have to deal with the loss of some very valuable items, they also had to deal with the accusations Giselle Dumont was making about Mr. Kitteridge. The con artist had been front-page news since her arrest. 

On top of that, this new library branch had been nothing but trouble time and time again to the Board of Commissioners. Because of that and the reasons behind the problems, Désirée was positive she was about to hear the worst.

“Ms. Devereaux. I trust you have recovered from the incident the other night?”

Incident? Okay… “Yes, ma’am.”

The older woman held Désirée’s gaze for a moment before nodding. Turning her attention to a manila folder the other woman was opening, she immediately focused on a letter that was paper clipped inside. She reached out automatically when it was handed to her. Printed on the County Commissioner’s letterhead, Désirée knew this wouldn’t be good.

After reading the first two paragraphs, she heard a buzzing in her ears. By the time she read all the way to the bottom of the page, she had to lock her knees in order to keep them from buckling.

Looking up from the letter, there was no mistaking the admiration in the woman’s gaze. Désirée cleared her throat before speaking. “I thought you were going to close the branch.”

“Close the branch? Why ever would we do such a thing?”

“Because of all the problems we’ve had.”

“Dear girl. You really believe we would close the library for something like that? The community needs this library. And we need someone as dedicated as you to run it.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” The interruption alone was enough to stop the rest of Désirée’s denial. “Who else would have come back here after having found a friend murdered? Then a second one. And after having been kidnapped and almost killed? Look at you. It has only been three days and the very moment the police lift the yellow tape, you are here wearing a skirt and heels.” She paused to let the meaning sink in. “Why did you come in today?”

Désirée stuttered, surprised at the questions. “I… well, I didn’t want our patrons to think badly about the library. If anyone should stop by, I didn’t want them to fear what had happened.”

With a matter-of-fact wave of her hand, Mrs. Kitteridge tilted her head as if that was the answer she was looking for. “There you go. That is why we are not closing this branch and why we, as a committee, are offering you the position of head librarian.”

This left Désirée momentarily speechless. After several seconds of silence, she was finally able to ask, “Head librarian? Me?” Dare she hope for something she had worked so long to achieve?

“Yes. Head librarian. The vote was unanimous.” A small smile cracked the staid expression. “The community is fully behind us on this, judging from the amount of mail we’ve been receiving praising you and the courage you have shown. I’m afraid if we did try to close down this branch we might have a revolt on our hands.”

Désirée allowed herself to lean against the desk, overwhelmed by the offer and the praise. “Everyone wants the library to stay open? They want me?”

Again, the corners of Mrs. Kitteridge lips twitched. “Well, there was one patron who felt that after all the chaos we should consider closing. In fact, he outright demanded it.”

“Darren Bennett.” Who else.

“You don’t need to worry about what Mr. Bennett thinks. Besides, the petition that Gertie Johnson passed around town and the large number of signatures she received overrides any objection Darren Bennett might raise.”

Her head full of information, Désirée had a tough time wrapping her mind around everything.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything right now. Think about it. You’ve been through a lot the past month. Take your time and get back to us. In the meantime, we do have a crew coming in on Monday to start the repairs. I’m guessing you will want to be a part of this project. If not, just let us know and we’ll make certain that someone capable is here to handle it.”

Relieved to be given the extra time to make her decision, Désirée stood as Mrs. Kitteridge picked up her purse. “Thank you.”

“No. Harrow County thanks you, Ms. Devereaux.” With a nod, she left.

Désirée watched until the front doors closed, then she turned back to the mess. Even as bright as it was with all the lights on and the sun shining through the windows, the room looked dreary and ominous. There was a lingering feeling of the violence that would forever be a part of the library’s history. Maybe it was the books scattered around the room. Or maybe it was the knowledge of everything that had happened. Whatever the reason, Désirée didn’t like it.

Stepping over to the closest table, she reached down to pick up a handful of books from the floor. Worth Every Riskby Dianna Love Snell rested in her hand and she couldn’t help but smile from the feel that emanated from the book. Love and security. That was what the heroine was searching for and exactly what the hero gave her. She could tell the past reader had felt the same thing. That feeling was what this place needed. But how to get it there from its current state was the problem she needed to solve.

As she straightened to lay the book on the table, her heart leapt when she caught sight of the tall, muscular figure walking slowly towards her. She hated the flutter of fear that momentarily paralyzed her. This was quickly replaced by anticipation when she recognized him. Regardless of how big of an ass Detective Danny Bonner was, she had to admit he was one fine-looking man.

“How’ve you been?”

These words were followed by the Detective’s signature Cheshire grin and instantly Désirée was ready to fight. “How have I been? Three days have passed since I almost died and all you have to say is,‘How have you been?’”

“You almost died? I was the one who got stabbed. Hell, you only missed shooting me by six inches. You want to talk death, Librarian, I can talk death.”

“I was trying to save your life, you big ass.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I was holding my own.”

Désirée snorted and propped her fists on her hips, the book still clutched in her right hand. “Holding your own? Didn’t look like that from where I was. In fact, it looked like Jacques stabbed you.” Her gaze was instantly drawn to his shoulder. Everything looked perfectly normal, so maybe it wasn’t as bad as she had envisioned.

Returning her gaze to his face, she squelched the tingling feeling she got every time she was near him. Her face flamed at the knowing look in his eyes. He certainly didn’t miss a thing. Dang him. “You…you… Aaggghhh! You arrogant, insufferable, rotten, difficult, selfish, pig-headed excuse for a man. I can’t believe I let myself—” Damn. That was close. Throwing up her hands, Désirée turned her back on him.

“Let yourself what?”

“Forget it.” Hoping he would just go away, Désirée bent down to pick up the remaining books on the floor near the table. The disappointment she felt over his cavalier attitude couldn’t compare to the hurt she’d felt over not hearing from him the past three days.

“Read the book, Librarian.”

Désirée ignored him as she stacked the books on the table and headed toward the check-out desk. There was plenty to do around here and she certainly didn’t need to stand here listening to whatever his excuse might be. ‘This isn’t finished, Désirée.’ Those words had echoed through her head a thousand times a day since she’d watched as he’d been driven away in the ambulance. She should have insisted she ride along with him instead of being forced to stay and answer stupid questions. Maybe then she would have gotten a few answers about what was happening between them instead of the complete silent treatment she’d received these past three days.

Irritated that she was still letting this bother her, she plopped down in her seat and picked up a handful of paper clips that had been knocked over, then started stacking the pens and pencils. Trying to ignore the pounding of her heart, she strained to hear his footsteps. She wasn’t sure which she was hoping to hear, those leaving or those coming toward her. Either way, she was afraid to breathe and miss it.

Before she could start on the stack of papers that needed to be filed, a book appeared on the desk in front of her. As irritated as she was at him, she was even more impressed that she hadn’t heard him approach. Looking up, she did her best to give him the intimidating glare she’d practiced time and time again with unruly patrons. It came in quite handy with some of the tough teenagers who came into the library.

“Read the book.” Then as if it was an afterthought, he added “please.”

Désirée frowned. He almost sounded like a caring human being there for a moment. Looking down at the book he’d tossed in front of her, she realized it was the Dianna Love Snell book she’d been holding earlier. “I’ve read this book numerous times. I don’t need to read it again. I have way too much to do.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Désirée.”

The soft tone of his voice had her pausing again. The sincerity was overwhelming. Looking back down at the paperback book, she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why he wanted her to “read” this specific one. Looking back up, she answered, “I already read the emotions on this one. The person who last held the book was honest and trustworthy. They cared deeply for someone else and there is an overwhelming feeling of concern for that person.”

“Is that all?”

Even more puzzled, Désirée leaned back wearily in her chair. “Love. I felt an overwhelming sense of love. Is that what you were looking for?”

His Cheshire grin was back as he sat down on the edge of the desk. “Yes. That’s exactly what I was looking for. Any idea who the person was?”

“Listen Detective, you know that’s not how this works. Yes, sometimes I can see the person, but most of the time I can’t. It just depends on how well I know them.”

“Then try ‘reading’ the book again.”

This time when she looked into his eyes, she could see there was something there. Where before at the pizza parlor, she could see that he desired her, it now looked like something more. Without looking away, she reached out and picked up the book. Immediately, she felt the love she’d felt earlier. Relief mixed in with amusement. It was him. She could ‘see’ the concern he’d had the night she’d been kidnapped. She could feel his quirky humor, the fact that he had a habit of dropping his socks wherever he took them off, that he hated fish of any kind, and that he took his mother to lunch as a special treat at least once a month. But what did it mean?

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you, Librarian? When I found you missing the other night, my heart stopped. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive. Whoever we were dealing with had already killed two people. I had to assume they were willing and able to do the same with you.” At this, he leaned his head back and heaved a sigh. Désirée was shocked to hear the catch in his throat when he exhaled.

Standing up, she stepped around the desk. Cupping his face in her hands, she gently forced him to look at her. The anguish she saw in his eyes mirrored the terror she’d felt when she’d seen that he had been stabbed. “Danny. I’m fine. You got there in time. They didn’t hurt me.”

“I know. But I almost didn’t make it. When that bastard threw that knife at your feet, I could have killed him right then and there. It was stupid of me to even attempt to take him instead of shooting him. I thought I could take him down without using my gun.”

“You would have.”

“Probably. But we’ll never know, will we? Instead, I get to hear from you for the rest of my life how you saved me. You know how humiliating that will be? Already the guys at the station are razzing me about it.”

Désirée paused. The rest of his life? Did he mean what she thought he meant? “Um, what do you mean about the rest of your life?”

And just like that the Cheshire grin was back. “Well, I figure it’s going to take me a good six months to convince you not to be irritated with me. Then it might take another six months to convince you to go out with me. Judging from the look in your eyes, I might be off a few months there.”

“But why did it take you three days to come talk to me? Why didn’t you call?”

“Honey, it took us a good forty-eight hours to make sure we got everything out of here. Finding out Jacques temporarily worked for the construction company that built the library opened up a whole other can of worms.  We had to be certain no one else was involved.  That no one else would be able to get back in here without an invitation. For the last twenty-four hours I’ve been locked in a room tying up loose ends and cataloging everything. What you are seeing is me just now receiving my get-out-of-jail card. The sheriff was so sick of me by this point that he insisted I take the day off.”

That answered one question that had been nagging at her the past three days, but not all.  Désirée raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You couldn’t have called? I was a huge part of this case. How could you shut me out like this? Maybe I could have helped.” This time it was Danny’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Knowing exactly why he was questioning her, she shook her head. “Okay, so it ticked me off that after all we had been through you didn’t even consider calling to see how I was doing.”

“Baby, if it weren’t for the case I would have been here in a heartbeat. Okay, I should have called. I just needed some time to accept all of this.”

“Accept what exactly?”

“You ‘read’ the book.”

She couldn’t stop the relief that washed through her. “Yeah, but I would rather hear it from you.”

After a moment, he reached up and cupped her face. “Désirée Devereaux, I’m falling in love with you. In fact, I’m pretty close to being all the way there.”

“Really? So the waiting three days to call me was your way of making sure you weren’t just wanting to finish what we started in that field?”

“Yes.”

The answer was immediate, but Désirée wasn’t completely satisfied. “Or was it your way of keeping me out of the middle of the investigation?”

The anguish in his eyes was unmistakable. “Not the investigation, Désirée. I needed to make sure those two were the only ones involved. I know you. If you thought you could help solve this somehow, you’d be running around acting like some undercover librarian. There was no way I was going to put your life in danger like that. Not again.”

Désirée ignored the little flip of her heart at the alpha male-type comment and his need to keep her safe. “I’m not some weak woman who can’t take care of herself, Danny. I don’t need a man thinking he can dictate what he thinks will keep me safe.”

“Désirée.” 

He drew out the sound of her name along with an impatient growl in the back of his throat. Which drew another smile from her. She decided to give in. A bit. “Of course, I can see your point and I understand your reasoning behind doing what you did.”

“Désirée…”

Again, she decided to take pity on him. “Detective Danny Bonner, I’m falling in love with you, too. In fact, I’m already there.”

Before she could finish expressing her feelings, he pulled her close, swept her up tight against his chest, and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss quickly turned hotter when he parted her lips with his tongue. Belly twisting in anticipation, she growled in frustration when he broke away.

“I almost forgot. I got you something.” He adjusted his grip and reached down to pick up a melon-colored gift bag.

Désirée arched her eyebrow before taking it. What could be so important that he’d interrupt that steamy kiss? Even now her lips trembled at the loss of contact.

Confused, she pulled out the tissue paper and peeked inside. The moment she saw the off-white box, she knew. Pulling out the shoebox, she couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear when she saw the Jimmy Choo label. “You didn’t.” Pulling off the lid, she let out a squeak when she saw the prettiest pair of peep-toe, patent-black four-inch pumps. “Oh man! How did you know?”

“Know how much you loved those impractical shoes?”

“Impractical? How can you say they are impractical? Jimmy Choo is NOT impractical.”

“Easy girl. I may have said impractical, but I also think they are sexy as hell and I’ve thought of you wearing those shoes every day since the first day I met you. These aren’t exactly like the ones you had, but since I was buying them, I figured I might… well… I’d probably better not touch the book again or I might scare you away.”

Clutching the shoes to her chest with one hand, Désirée wrapped her arm around his neck. Grinning, she couldn’t help but say, “Detective, if you haven’t already guessed by now, I don’t scare easy.”

“I hope not.”

Wowza! How could she not love this guy?

Okay, so the past month had not been ideal with the loss of a couple of friends and all the craziness she’d been through. Regardless of Danny’s comment about her going undercover, Désirée had no immediate plans to stick her neck on the line like that again. From the sexy come-hither smile he was shooting her, she was certain her sexy detective could give her all the excitement she needed.

At least for now.  And with that thought, she pulled her hunky dectective in for another heart stopping kiss.

#  #  #

Sigh. There’s nothing like a happy ending, is there? Now that you have a smile on your face, leave a comment for a chance to win. (And don’t forget to check the sidebar for the current winners!)

Tune in tomorrow for the winners of the $25 Amazon gift card and the Petit Four and Hot Tamales cookbook.

By Sia Huff

You Know Too Much

Danny Bonner slammed his fists against the display table. Somewhere lurking in these lists of names was the Library Killer. As a professional he shouldn’t let emotions get tangled up with Désirée. But it was too late; his feelings were as intertwined as a bullet spinning through the barrel of a gun. He closed his eyes to recall Désirée’s whispered words and her beautiful sea green eyes pleaded with him to find her. Think, damn it. Désirée said she was in a field. Fellow cops were out scanning every unplanted field in the county. There were too many open fields around the rural town to count. She also said he was trying to kill her.

The click of a hammer sounded behind him. Close. “Put your hands in the air and turn around.”

Bonner had heard that voice only once, earlier today. But he wasn’t going to do anything stupid with a gun pointed at his back. Slowly he turned to face his assailant.

“What did you do with Désirée?” Drew Jordon asked. Recognition shone in the younger man’s eyes as he lowered his 9mm Beretta. “Detective Bonner…shit. When I saw the lights on and the place vandalized…” He scanned the books slung across the floor.

Bonner picked up the book closest to him that he’d swept to the floor earlier in frustration. Désirée wouldn’t be happy with his treatment of her books. His hand flexed around the spine and he laid it on the table. “No assistant librarian carries heat. Who are you?” Drew still wore the jeans and Converses but the silky vest and white shirt were replaced with a black turtleneck and the diamond stud was gone.

“I’m FBI, on loan to Interpol.” Jordon holstered his weapon.

“If I had time, I’d ask why you’re undercover in a library. But right now, I need to find Désirée. She’s missing and got off a call telling me she’s was in a field with the killer after her.”

“I assume you have every cop in your jurisdiction combing the area for her. Tell me what I can do.”

“Help me scan these lists. We’re looking for a male.” He— Danny scanned through half the pile again—there was only one guy on these lists. “Désirée said he was going to kill her. See if you find any man’s name on here beside Skirt Boy.”

Jordon snorted at the name. “Skirt Boy?”

His first name is Jacques. No last name, not even through the police database.” Bonner told him.

Jordon’s eyes lit with interest. “Jacques Dumont, cousin to Elle Dumont.” He fished a scarred picture out of his back pocket and handed it over. “Does Skirt Boy have a female French counterpart?”

Bonner clutched the well-worn corner of the photo. “She goes by Giselle here.” Unease gripped Bonner’s spine at the loving gaze in the photo that Giselle, Elle or whatever her name directed at the man standing next to him now. “Your being here now, it is business or pleasure?”

“All business.” The conviction in Jordon’s eyes made Bonner believe Giselle wouldn’t be happy to see the FBI agent again. “Giselle Dumont’s an art thief. I’m surprised she used her real name here. Interpol has been tracking her for five years with little luck.” He tucked the picture away. “What does Jacques have to do with the pretty little librarian?”

“She may have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The two other murder victims are directly linked here, to the new branch.” Bonner scrubbed his hand over his face.

“So both murders happened in this Library?”

“Yes. I see where you’re headed. We’ll set a trap.” Bonner’s large hand grazed over the cover of the book he’d left on the table, Worth Every Risk, by Dianna Love Snell. Désirée was worth every risk. On the front it read Intimate Moments. He’d sure love to have many intimate moments with the emerging beauty, to really show her how beautiful she was to him. Désirée could read books, read the emotions of the last person to touch them. Concentrating on the book, he left her a message. “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here.” Bonner doused the library branch in darkness.

“One more thing,” Jordon said as they walked out the front door, “Interpol discovered Elle and Jacques have airplane tickets under alias names reserved for 11:30 tonight.”

# # #

“Giselle, please just tie me up here,” Désirée pleaded. “By the time I’m found you’ll be long gone.”

An old fashioned ring tone interrupted. Giselle pulled her cell phone from her purse and turned her back on Désirée. “Oui?” Giselle spoke in rapid French to the caller. There was no way Désirée could hope to understand her side of the conversation.

The bell tower from the church rang out. Désirée closed her eyes and counted the hours… nine. Was Danny near? Had he found the clues she’d left in the field, the trail of her shoes? The darkness would hinder him. Tomorrow he might find the shoes, but tomorrow would be too late for her. She needed to do something and soon.

“If I don’t wish to sell the clock to you, I won’t,” Giselle yelled into the phone. “It will be sold to the highest bidder.” She punched the end button. When she turned back around, her eyes were glazed over.

Giselle zeroed in on Désirée and smiled. Désirée’s skin crawled. All the hours they’d spent in the book club and Désirée never suspected the French woman was crazy.

“I’m sorry, mon amie. You know too much… have seen too much.” Giselle returned the cell phone to her purse and pulled out a gun. The black piece of metal was relatively small, but deadly none the less. “Don’t worry; I won’t let you suffer like the others.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Desperation laced Désirée’s voice, “I promise.”

Skirt Boy hurled his knife into the ground, his disappointment clear. “I want to kill her my way, here…now.”

“No, Jacques. We can’t carry her to the library. It will be too messy. I let you have your way with Ada. Remember? And Désirée’s our friend. She has been kind to you too. It’s only right that we repay that kindness.”

This time when Giselle looked at Désirée she seemed quite herself. Yet that was no longer a comfort to Désirée.

“If only that Fred Carson didn’t show that clock. But it’s too late.”

I’m going to die because the FedEx man showed me a stupid clock. “I don’t care about any clock. Books, that’s what I love. You know this, Giselle, you love books too. It’s why we became friends.”

“I wish it weren’t so.” Regret laced her voice but her eyes were resolute.

“I didn’t betray you. Ada did. Fred did.” If she could just keep Giselle talking maybe someone would see the light coming from this little shack and realize where Jacques had brought her.

“The miserable cur signed his own death warrant the day the new library opened. The slobbering fool couldn’t stop crying long enough to see I’d overheard his betrayal. I watched him show you Rose Clair. There had to be consequences.”

“Rose Clair?”

Giselle started to pace the small confines of the shack, as if the very thought upset her all over again. “He planned to give my clock, my Rose Clair, to the old bat Ada. Can you imagine?” She pivoted back on the toes of those spiked heels and hatred burned in her eyes. “He was in love with her, a woman twelve years his senior. And he used me to prove his love to the old bat as I used him to smuggle Kitteridge’s valuable clocks out of the country. We were almost to the end when she found out I’d seduced him. Then Ada’s love turned to greed and Jacques and I knew she must be eliminated. It was easy enough to handle with the new library not yet open.”

But why kill her if you already paid her off? Didn’t that ensure her silence?”

“That fool woman thought all my hard work was going to pay for her cruise. Haa. I was not going to give in to blackmail.” The affront on Giselle’s face was almost comical. “We were to meet at the new branch. Instead of the money, well, she got a different payment.”

Désirée bowed her head at the memory of rage she’d read in those books. She didn’t stand a chance. But she had to try and stay alive as long as possible. If that meant talking to Giselle until her tongue turned blue, she’d try. “And Fred, why kill him?”

“Fred became hysterical. It was pathetic really. And only a matter of time before he broke completely and went to the police. You see, there’s nothing I can do for you.” Giselle’s tone turned matter of fact. “Jacques, retrieve the package.”

First Jacques pulled his knife from the packed dirt and ran the blade over his thumb while sneering at Désirée. She wanted to vomit. His eyes never left her face.

“Quickly, Jacques,” Giselle prodded him.

He knelt down in the corner of the lean-to and scraped the dirt off a trap door. Lifting it, he hauled the FedEx package out of its hiding place.

No more stalling, mon amie.” The French murderess strutted to the door and leaned out grabbing something from the ground.

Désirée’s heart stuttered in her chest as fear strangled her vocal cords. It was too late. She was going to die now.

A flash of black landed at her bare feet.

“Missing these?” Giselle asked.

Her Jimmy Choo shoes.

“Jacques, put that knife to good use and cut off Désirée’s other heel. We wouldn’t want her to hurt her feet.”

Oh no, her clues were retrieved… by the wrong person. Danny would never find her now.

# # #

The moon shone bright as Giselle prodded Désirée through the open field. There was nowhere to hide. Why no one saw her stumbling on these uneven, destroyed high heels she couldn’t imagine. Yet she would not end up like her once beautiful shoes. One thing was for certain, she’d grown up in this small rural community. Giselle and Jacques moved here less than a year ago. The French pair was intent on the shadows from the woods all around them. Yet the tall trees were too far to aid Désirée in her escape. Still, she had the hometown advantage and she’d use it.

When she’d been a child, old farmer Jones had grown corn and turned this field into a maze. The moon had been her comfort with the cemetery just beyond. She’d scared herself silly knowing there were more people buried in that graveyard than were alive above ground in the town. Now old farmer Jones rested there. The haints might not come out to get her but their granite headstones were the only thing around that could deflect a bullet. Steadily she moved at an angle through the small mounds and valleys of the plowed dirt.

How many bullets could a small gun like Giselle’s hold? Six? Eight? Désirée wished she knew. Three more humps of fertile ground; then she’d make a break for it.

Thhhump sounded next to Désirée and soil spit at her ankle. Jacques had thrown his bowie knife and it landed at her feet. Had he missed her on purpose or was his aim off?

“You’re going in the wrong direction, missy.” Jacques’ oily voice broke the silence of their trek.

Anger surfaced and mixed with Désirée’s fear. She would not march to her own slaughter like an animal. As she turned to face her executioners, she dipped and grasped the knife handle and flung it far afield. Jacques hissed and he dropped the FedEx package before running after the deadly instrument.

The gun in Giselle’s hand wavered as she called out, “Jacques, come back. We’re running out of time.” When Jacques ignored her command, she muttered, “Fool.”

Not to draw attention to herself, Désirée backpedaled over another mound, putting more distance between them.

Giselle glanced back to Désirée and she froze at the madness contorting the French woman’s facial features. The gun pointed at Désirée’s chest. “Stop or die!”

“But Giselle, the Kitteridge’s clock,” Désirée was desperate to distract the crazy woman.

Giselle sidestepped over the two mounds to retrieve the package Jacques had dropped. Lovingly she scooped it up in her arm, cradling the white cardboard as if it were a baby. She glared at Désirée, all the while holding the black snub-nosed piece steady. “My clock.”

“You believe the clock is yours because you stole it from the Kitteridge’s?”

“I retrieved from my father what was rightfully mine.” She continued to stroke the box. “Yes. I stole the clock, just as my father stole it from my mother, taking our family honor. He left her with a broken heart and me growing in her belly. My father betrayed my mother, just as Fred betrayed me.”

Désirée gasped. The woman had completely lost touch with reality. “Are you saying Kitteridge is your father?” A chill went up her spine just like when she was a child afraid of ghosts. Désirée felt compelled to turn and face the cemetery. If there were haints behind her, she hoped they were friendly. With Jacques in the field this was her opportunity to put the headstones between her and a bullet.

She turned and sprinted toward the six-by-six family crypt. Out of the shadow of the mausoleum a huge shape took a manly form. Fear locked Désirée’s knees for an instant. A ghost? No, the woodsy scent came from a real man, the man she was falling in love with. “Danny?”

Shots rang out as Danny pushed Désirée behind him. His body jerked, forcing her back against the cold marble. “Damn.”

Désirée slid from behind Danny and his large body sagged against the crypt. “You’re hurt, aren’t you?”

“We’re not out of danger yet.” He tucked her close to his left side.  “Jordon, you have that thieving Frenchwoman?”

“She’s out of commission,” came the reply. Drew, her new assistant librarian, came around the other corner of the family crypt, a gun pointed directly at the mad woman. “Still peddling the same story, I see.”

She turned. “You shot me.” Her eyes so full of self righteousness and hatred turned questioning and confused. “Jean-Paul?” Still clutching the FedEx package, Giselle now held her arm but no gun. Her eyes glazed, blood seeped between her fingers.

The man Désirée had met earlier today shook his head. “Jean-Paul was my alias just as Elle was yours, Giselle. Or is Giselle a lie too?” He sounded like a man scorned.

“I’m Henrietta Giselle Dumont.” Her spine stiffened with pride. “My mother was Gabriella Dumont.”

“The famous model?” Désirée whispered. There were rumors that the French beauty had committed suicide. Thankfully, she was ignored. Her new assistant librarian and the au pair were totally intent on each other.

Her nostrils flared. “And my father is Henry Kitteridge. So what I told you was true.”

“You told me Roger Fallen was your father.”

“Non, the story I told you was of Kitteridge. You mistook Fallen as the bastard.”

“It doesn’t matter, Elle. Whether this lie or the other was true. I don’t care who your daddy is. You promised to return the Monet to the museum. You didn’t and now you will pay.”

Beside her, Danny’s breathing grew ragged. “You should sit down.”

“Not yet.” His voice was determined.

Jacques came barreling through the field, the moon glinting off the Bowie knife held high. He growled like a wounded bear, charging straight at Désirée.

Danny shoved her away just before the weapon struck sparks off the marble. Désirée dropped into the dirt and tumbled toward the headstones.  She rolled onto her haunches and squatted behind the relative safety of granite slab.

Danny’s body slammed into the crazed, knife-wielding man. Almost twice the size of the young Frenchman, Danny wrestled his attacker. They rolled over and over, fighting for supremacy and the deadly blade.

Drew’s gun was now trained on the men struggling to overcome each other. From his angle, it was too dangerous for him to shoot.

A coldness penetrated Désirée to the marrow. She was not going to find Danny, only to lose him now. As she shivered, she spotted a steel gun lying on the ground.

Danny jerked back, a crimson ribbon showing beneath his cut shirt. His fist pummeled Jacques jaw, but the smaller man sliced the air in an arc, just missing Danny again. The men rolled as Désirée crawled through the dirt and snatched up the small weapon. She’d never held a gun in her life, let alone fired one. Jacques was on top, lifting the knife, and she pulled the trigger.  Jacques reared back, holding his neck as he turned toward her. It gave Danny the leverage he needed. His arm curled under Jacques shoulder and Danny shoved the center of the Frenchman’s back while rolling. Jacques landed face first in the dirt. When he didn’t move, Danny rolled him over. The Bowie knife stuck out of his chest at an odd angle.

Désirée’s limbs tingled as she ran to Danny. She’d shot a man, maybe killed him. A blackness fought to take control as the reality of that sank in, but Danny needed her. Her eyes met his concerned ones. “How bad?” she asked.

“Just my shoulder.” He grimaced while sitting up and pulling his arm close to his body.

“Need help?” Drew called.

“Just call for back-up,” he gritted. “Désirée’s got me.”

She unbuckled his belt and tugged it from the loops.

“As much as I’m looking forward to this, now’s not the time.”

She grinned in embarrassment and wrapped the strap of leather under his arm. “I don’t have anything else to stop the bleeding.” She yanked the belt as tight as she could and replayed his words. Would there be a time for them?

#  #  #

Whew, what an ending. But wait. Will Danny be okay? And are he and Désirée finally going to get together? Tune in tomorrow for the final chapter of The Undercover Librarian.

Leave a comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card today or a $25 Amazon gift card or the Petit Fours and Hot Tamales cookbook on Saturday. Today and tomorrow are your last chances to enter!

By Sally Kilpatrick

She Had to Know How the Story Ended

When Skirt Boy jerked the phone from her hand, Désirée knew she was a dead woman.

He didn’t use the Louisville Slugger in his other hand, but he did grab the rope that tied her wrists together. The hatred in his eyes made her whimper.

“Get up.” He spat the words.

Désirée tried to get to her feet but stumbled and fell. Dazed, she looked over to see that the heel had broken off her right Jimmy Choo.

“I said, get up.” Skirt Boy grabbed the rope that bound her wrists with so much force that he dragged her a couple of feet on her knees. Her stockings tore on the dried plant stalks of the fallow field, and her knees screamed in protest as those same stalks dug into her skin.

“You…you,” was all she could whimper. Had she actually called this boy harmless just a few days earlier?

“Shut up!” He curled his hands into fists. Désirée flinched but the blow didn’t come. Instead he threw her phone to the ground and used his bat like a pestle, grinding the sophisticated electronics into the ground.

Désirée took a deep breath and forced her shaky legs to hold her. She didn’t want to end up like her phone.

She kicked off her useless shoe and was about to take off the other one when inspiration struck.

“That’s better. Now walk.”

He grabbed her arm both to steady her while she wobbled and to keep her from running. He was leading her back to the hovel not far from the library.

Désirée kicked off her other shoe and wondered if Detective Bonner would ever think to look there.

# # #

Danny Bonner ran a hand through his hair. He shouldn’t have left her. The minute he saw Désirée’s name on that book he should have stayed with her twenty-four-seven. Instead, he’d been called into the office to speak with an au pair who had mysteriously disappeared. The Kitteridge family had no idea where she’d gone or why.

He slammed his hand down on the top of his cruiser, glad to feel something even if it was pain. He didn’t have all the clues. He didn’t have Désirées’s ability to “read” books, and he didn’t even have her. He did have two dead bodies, and he was about to have a third if he didn’t do some thinking. And fast.

He slid into the car and slumped against the wheel. Deep, deep in his subconscious he had somehow envisioned that he would have Désirée here to help him crack the case.  Sure, he’d told her to stay out of his business at first, but she had a way of figuring things out—not that he was ready to call it psychic abilities or anything—and all kinds of databases.

Databases. When he’d left she’d been cross-referencing information, compiling lists, and printing them on the computer. Maybe if he went back to the library, he’d find something in the lists she’d been printing.

# # #

“What do you want from me?”

Désirée cowered in one corner of the crudely built lean-to about five-hundred feet from the new library. It stank of body odor, urine and mildew, but those off-putting smells weren’t what truly nauseated her. No, Skirt Boy sat in front of her sharpening and polishing a hunting knife large enough to gut a bison.

“I don’t want anything from you. You just keep poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Just like Ada Rawlings and Fred Carson did. We had a nice thing going, but some people just never know when to butt out.”

We? So Skirt Boy wasn’t working alone.

“I-I can butt out. I promise. If you’ll just let me leave, I won’t say a word.”

He smiled down at the knife he was sharpening, the twist of his lips reflected in the steel.

“No, it’s too late for that,” he said as he lifted the knife to the naked light bulb that was attached to an orange extension cord. Désirée sucked in a breath. He had to be getting the electricity from somewhere. Maybe Bonner would be able to follow the cord….

He leaned forward, the flash of light on the blade blinding her. He held the blade against her neck, and she closed her eyes instinctively. She knew she should struggle, but she was afraid the knife would slice into her neck if she moved.

A trickled of blood slid down her throat with an eerie tickle.

“Jacques! Not yet!”

Gone was Skirt Boy and his knife. Désirée sucked in a deep breath, blinking furiously at the woman just beyond the light bulb.

She knew that voice. Her mind whipped through memories as quickly as Celeste Rogers’ gnarled fingers had once moved through the actual card catalog, flipping the cards fast enough to create a breeze. The voice was so familiar, but something was different, a little off—

“We’re going to have to leave earlier than expected because that idiot police officer has already figured out she’s missing.”

Mais non, Mademoiselle.

“Then why not kill her now?” Skirt Boy obviously wanted to play with his new toy.

“Because she will be too easy to find, and so will we.”

We have come to see zee books.

Giselle.

Désirée blinked twice. She had known Giselle and Skirt Boy were close, but she would have never imagined in a million years that they were partners in crime.

“Why?”

Both of them looked to her from where they stood at the entrance to the lean-to. She really hadn’t meant to ask the question, but as a woman who had to know how the story ended, she wasn’t really surprised the question had escaped her lips.

Giselle took a step forward up just underneath the light bulb where the canvas roof of the lean-to started its sharp decline. “The Kitteridges are an abomination, and their children are brats. Jacques has been stealing antiques and I have been selling them on the black market to make enough money to retire for life. At least we were until your librarian friend tried to blackmail us. We had to take care of her, but then Carson wanted out of the deal.”

The Tick Tock Bandit.

Ada’s sudden ability to afford a deluxe Mediterranean cruise on a small-town librarian’s pay.

The antique clock from the French Riviera that must not have been going to Ada, but rather to Giselle.

Désirée’s mind swam with the possibilities. “But why kill her? And why now?”

Giselle smiled. “We hit the jackpot with one of the Kitteridges’ antique clocks. We only needed a private buyer….and to tie up some loose ends. Like you.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the doorway. Obviously, she didn’t have trouble walking in her designer boots with the four-inch spiked heels. Désirée  felt an irrational stab of jealousy. Then she reminded herself that she would be feeling the stab of something else if she didn’t figure a way out of this mess.

# # #

Bonner found all of Désirée’s lists, still on the computer where she’d left them. He took one look at the summer reading display on the library table closest to the circulation desk and swiped it clear with one arm. He then carefully laid out each of the lists, arranging and rearranging the papers as though he were a general in the war room trying to figure out the best strategy.

It didn’t make sense.

He would have suspected Darren Bennett, but his alibi had been air-tight for both murders. Gertie Johnson and the Happy Hookers were all over the lists Désirée had pulled up, but he had a feeling their weapon of choice would have been a crochet needle. He frowned. Apparently, Giselle had participated in one of the reading groups, as had Ada. Even Giselle’s friend Jacques had shown up for the book club for a couple of months.

And Giselle had been at the station just before Désirée disappeared.

Of course, that unlikely assistant librarian had shown up just before Bonner left, too.

Bonner frowned. What was his name again?

His phone rang before he could remember. “Bonner.”

Something wrapped around his feet, and he cursed right into Gertie Johnson’s ear before he realized the culprit was Désirée’s flea-bitten cat.

“Well, good evening to you, too, Detective Bonner!”

“Sorry, Gertie. Can you tell me anything helpful about what happened tonight?”

“There’s nothing to tell. We did our hooking. That new assistant librarian—such a nice man if you can get past his earring and all that—offered to take SueEllen home, and Désirée offered to lock up. She said something about finishing up her homework before she left.”

She had been working on the lists for him. And, knowing her, she had forgotten to lock the front door while she worked. The new guy could have easily driven SueEllen the two blocks over and then doubled back to get her. The more Bonner thought about it, the less coincidental the new librarian’s appearance seemed.

“Detective Bonner?”

“Sorry. I was just thinking. You’ve been helpful, Gertie. Thanks.”

She said goodbye, and he muttered his. At the moment it all seemed to hinge on this assistant librarian—if that’s who he really was.

# # #

Oh, no. Danny’s going down the wrong path! I knew there was something fishy with that au pair. But will Danny rescue Désirée in time? Tune in tomorrow and find out.

In the meantime…yes, that’s right. Leave a comment for a chance to win.

 

By Sandra Elzie

The Time is at Hand

The moon was still low in the sky, but its near-fullness bathed the new library building with a beam as if from a spotlight.  Without the streetlight that normally added illumination in the front of the property, dark shadows extended out across the lawn and onto the sidewalk.  “What happened to the damn streetlight?”

He was still frowning when he cruised past the front of the dark building.  Detective Bonner took his foot off the gas, allowing his car to gradually slow as he neared the parking lot.

“Damn, I’m too late.”  His fist slammed down hard on the steering wheel, sending a pain shooting up through his wrist to his elbow.  The killer had designated her as the next victim—or at least that’s what the person wanted Désirée and the police to think, but talking to Giselle had made him late getting to the library before the crochet class ended at nine.

His heart thudded.  Her car.   A chill flooded his system to pool at his bladder.  Every muscle in his body tensed.  In the shadows, at the far end of the parking lot, sat her Civic, conveniently parked near the back entrance to the building.  “No.”  The word whispered out on a breath that was ripped from his lungs.

To the beat of his thumping heart, he drove closer to her car, slammed his foot down on the brake and jammed the gear into “Park” before the car came to a complete stop.  The heavy vehicle rocked forward and back, but Detective Bonner didn’t wait as he leapt from behind the wheel.  With his weapon drawn, he approached the vehicle in a crouched position, as his eyes darted left, and then right, before he focused on the vehicle.  His eyes strained to catch any movement—any sign of life as he approached with stealth, but everything was deadly quiet.

He shuddered as that last thought ran through his mind.  Deadly quiet?  No, not his Désirée—please, not her.

“Désirée!”  As he approached the car, he switched the gun to his left hand and grabbed the small penlight he kept clipped to his shirt pocket.  His heart thundered in his chest, while adrenalin propelled him forward to close in on her car.  The gun shook slightly, but he tightened his grip, steadying the weapon as he neared his objective.  A few more feet—not dead, please not dead.  His thoughts drummed out the mantra to the rhythm of his heartbeat as he mentally prepared himself to face whatever he found in her car.

One last step and he flipped on the small beam of light, holding his breath as he stared through the tinted windows.  A quick sweep of the interior showed a candy wrapper and an empty Starbuck’s cup, but not Désirée.

He released his held breath in a whoosh as his shoulders sagged, but almost instantly he realized that if she hadn’t left in her car, then she was probably still in the building and there were no lights on inside.  No time to think about his heart slamming against his ribs as he whirled and darted toward the side door.  He took the three steps in one bounding step, slamming into the side of the building even as his hand was out grabbing for the doorknob.  The lock rattled as he twisted it back and forth, but it was locked.

He sprinted down the steps, across the parking lot, around the side of the building and up the front steps, sliding to a halt as he reached the porch and saw the double doors standing open.

His heart sank, landing with a thud even as it bounced back to lodge in his throat.  What was he going to find when he went inside?  He had been attracted to her, had dreamed about her and now…was she going to be the third victim in his growing file on the Library Murders?

He stepped to the side and flipped out his radio.  “Dispatch, this is Detective Bonner.”

“Yes, Detective.”

“Requesting back-up at the library.  Building unsecured and librarian possibly missing.”

“Rolling back-up.”

He clicked off the radio and took a deep breath, allowing it to slowly release into the cool evening air before he decided there was no way he could wait for help to arrive.  What if she were injured, bleeding, but not dead?  He had to know.

With his eyes now accustomed to the dark, he ducked into the building, crouching low as he made his way inside.  With his gun in one hand, he ran his hand along the wall beside the door, looking for the light switch.  It was with a sense of relief that he flipped the switch and the room was flooded with light.  After allowing his eyes a couple seconds to adjust, he started across the room, his eyes constantly darting around to watch for any movement.

The room smelled of coffee and…cookies?   That seemed strange, but maybe the Hookers had brought refreshments.  He continued to the far end where the body had been found earlier, relieved when he saw nothing out of place. Even as he heard the sirens growing louder as the squad cars turned onto Michigan Avenue, he noticed the books on the floor of one of the aisles.  It wasn’t like Désirée to leave any books lying around.

As he drew closer, he saw the chaos.  He glanced down an aisle where books were strewn on the floor.  As he continued along the rows of books, the scene was repeated until he reached the last aisle, near the side door.  Romance.  At first glance, it appeared that nearly every book had been taken from the shelves and heaved.  Books littered the floor of the aisle and out into the seating area.  A few had landed on the tables and several were on the floor under chairs and tables. No neat stacks, no care of handling.  This scene reeked of anger—unleashed hostility.  It screamed of brutality if this anger was directed at another human.  It pointed to enough anger to kill—and kill again.

His already frantically pounding chest kicked up a notch.  He began to run, glancing down each aisle as police entered the building, announcing their arrival by yelling that they were the police.  When he was satisfied that she wasn’t in the library, he darted back to the front and skidded to a halt near the two officers.

“The door was open when I arrived.  The librarian’s car is outside, but I don’t see her in here.  Recheck everything and everywhere for anything out of place—well, except all the books at the end over there,” he said, pointing, “but don’t move any books.  There might be a clue in all that jumble.”  He took several deep breaths before he finished.  “I’m heading over to her house to see if she’s there.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he raced toward the front door, he slowed enough to toss one last order over his shoulder.  “Call me if you find anything you think might be important.”  Then he refocused and allowed the adrenalin to spur him on.

His cruiser roared to life a fraction of a second before it jetted out into the street, fishtailing slightly before the tires grabbed traction and spun, sending up black smoke as he shot forward.   Sweat had popped out on his forehead and was now running down into his eyes.  Drawing on the training he gained in the military, he shoved the emotions to the back of his mind and focused, even as his fingers swiped across his brow and then slid across the material of his slacks.

He rolled to a stop in front of the small bungalow where she lived.  There were lights on.  He heaved a sigh.  Her car probably wouldn’t start and she’d gotten a ride home.  A nervous chuckle slipped out at the panic he had felt and the additional officers he had called in. “She probably thought the front doors were already locked and didn’t check them,” he reasoned as he turned off the engine and opened the door of the car.

His muscles were bunched, ready to stand when his cell phone rang.  He had learned that a phone rarely rang after nine o’clock at night without there being trouble.

He had a premonition that he didn’t want to answer the phone.  “Yeah.”

“Sir, you said to call if we found anything.”

His stomach sank to his feet.  Was she…no, he didn’t want to hear it…didn’t want to think about it.

“Sir, the books on the table at the end of the last row of books?  They…the titles seem to be giving us a message.”

“What are they?”

“The Time Is At Hand, by Charles T. Russell; Until Death Do Us Part, by Sherrilyn Kenyon; and Valley of Silence by Nora Roberts.  Or else we’re so spooked that we’re reading too much into this, but they’re lined up in the middle of the table.”

“Okay, thanks.”  He clicked the phone closed, ending the call.  “The Time Is At Hand…well, that’s easy enough to understand,” he muttered.  He slid from the car and stood.  When he reached the porch, he rang the doorbell, waiting impatiently and finally ringing it twice more before giving up and admitting that she wasn’t there.  He tried the door, not surprised when he found it locked.

Maybe she was…Without waiting a moment longer, he used the butt of his weapon to break the glass that ran along the side of her front door, then reached in to unlock the deadbolt.

Once inside, he moved cautiously, but without wasted time through the few rooms, noting their pristine condition, but, thankfully, not finding her.  He didn’t need, nor did he want another victim.  “But, where is she?”  He stood in the small living room and pondered what to do next.  “Until Death Do Us Part.”  Marriage? Death?  He shook his head as he headed toward the front door.  It didn’t appear she had returned home from the library, so she was still out there—somewhere.  “Maybe hurt, or afraid.”  He hated feeling helpless.

He reached for his phone and called dispatch.  “Detective Bonner.  Put an APB out on Désirée Devereaux, the librarian, and find out who belongs to the Happy Hookers, or whatever those women call themselves, and call them at home to see when they last saw Miss Devereaux.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And hurry.”  He clicked off his phone.

He had taken only a few steps when the phone rang again.  His emotions warred between irritation that whoever was calling had disturbed his concentration and praying that it would be Désirée telling him where she was and what was going on.  “Yeah.”

“Bonner.”  He recognized the hoarse whisper immediately.

“Where are you? And why are you whispering?”

“He’s coming, but I can’t see.  It’s dark and…and…please help me.  He’s crazy.”

The quietly spoken word was hissed, sending a chill down his spine.  “Where are you?  In a building?”

“No, I got away.”

He could hear her panting between each short sentence, but her words weren’t telling him where to find her.  “Are you on a street?”

“No, I’m in a field…no,” she panted as if she were running, “I’m, I’m…shhhh, I hear him coming—I’ve got to hide—Be quiet.”

He stood, rooted to the sidewalk, unable to move as blood pulsed through his temples, shooting a sharp pain behind his eyes as his head throbbed in cadence.  Hoping to pick up even the slightest background noise that would tell him where to look for her, his ears began to roar, blocking out every sound but her rapid but shallow breathing into the phone that was still connected with her—still a lifeline to the woman that he was finally willing to admit that he was falling in love with.

He held his breath, fearing another question would be overheard and put her in danger.  He was at her mercy, unable to speak, unable to save her.  She had the ball and would put it into play if and when she felt it was safe.  Until then…

“Bonner.”  The hoarse whisper was softer, but more urgent. “I need you.  He’s going to kill me.  I…”

“Désirée…Désirée?”  The line was dead.  He had been cut off.

#  #  #

Will Danny find Désirée before it’s too late? Who has her? Find out more tomorrow.

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By Pam Asberry

The Happy Hookers

As the gravity of the situation began to sink in, Désirée could hardly breathe. First her beloved boss and library branch manager Ada Rawlings was brutally murdered in the mystery section on the eve of a cruise where she hoped to find true love. Now Fred Carson, the FedEx delivery guy Désirée had been lusting after, was hanging from a noose around his neck in the historical fiction section. Could it really be that she was the killer’s next target?

Eyes wide with fear, she turned to look at hunky Detective Danny Bonner. Apparently, he had seen the book lying on the floor behind Fred’s body, as well.

“Désirée: the Bestselling Story of Napoleon’s First Love,” he said, reading the title out loud.

“That’s my name,” she whispered.

Scrawled in red lipstick across the cover was the word…“DIE.”

# # #

Once again, uniforms from the Harrow County Sheriff’s Office crowded into Désirée’s library branch, with Detective Danny Bonner at the lead, of course. They worked all through the night and into the next morning.

The library remained closed while the police completed their investigation of the crime scene and made arrangements to dispatch Fred’s body to the morgue. Meanwhile, Désirée caught snatches of sleep on a couch in what had been Ada Rawling’s office.

Bewildered, unable to escape the vision of Fred’s body and the lipstick message, at last she wandered over to the circulation desk and began cross-referencing every list she could think of. Maybe she could find a correlation that would lead to a suspect. It was a tedious task, but she loved tedious library tasks. Besides, she had never had a motivation like this.

It must have been several hours later when her concentration was broken by an insistent tapping on the glass doors of the library. She looked up to see a slender young man peering inside. She found her keys and opened the door a crack, prepared to send him on his way.

“Excuse me, are you Désirée Devereaux?”

“That’s right. I’m sorry, but the library is closed this afternoon. There has been an—uh—incident. I’m not sure how long it will be until we reopen. Your best bet is to come back tomorrow morning after nine o’clock.” She started to close the door.

“But I’m not here to check out books.” He blocked her passage with his Converse-clad foot. “My name is Drew Jordan. I’m your new assistant librarian. Didn’t you get the e-mail from central?”

Désirée studied him closely. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, topped with a silky black vest. With his spiky dark hair, a couple days’ stubble on his face, and a large diamond earring in his right ear, he looked more like a punk rocker than a librarian. “No, I didn’t. But I might have missed it in all the chaos the past few days. Come on in.” She opened the door and motioned him inside.

“Monday is officially my first day on the job, but I just got into town, so I thought I’d come on over and—criminy, what’s going on here?” Drew asked, as the crew from the coroner’s office wheeled Fred’s body out on a gurney.

“It appears there was another murder here this afternoon.”

“Another murder?”

Désirée quickly filled him in on the events of the past few days.

“They must have put this building smack on top of an Indian burial ground or something.” Drew shook his head. “It sounds like a curse to me.”

Désirée shuddered. “Let’s hope not. Especially since I’m planning to work here for a good, long while.” Assuming I live that long.

“Me, too. But it wouldn’t hurt to do a little research.”

Bonner walked up, snapping his notepad shut and stuffing it in his back pocket. He raised a brow. “And who is this?”

“Detective Bonner, meet Drew Jordan. Apparently, he’s my new assistant librarian.”

“Pleased to meet you, Drew,” Bonner said, nodding at the young man. “I’m afraid you haven’t picked the greatest day to start your new job.”

“Yeah, that’s what my new boss was just telling me.”

“So, Désirée—I mean, Miss Devereaux.” Bonner cleared his throat. “We’re all finished here for the time being. I need to head on over to the Kitteridge’s to investigate the robbery there last week. Are you ready to go?”

She glanced at her new assistant. “Since Drew is here and the library is quiet, I think I’ll just stay here and show him around. I’m not sure I’m up for any more detective work today, anyway.”

He gave her a meaningful look. “Under the circumstances, I think you should revise that plan.”

He was being Detective Bonehead again. With a huff, Désirée took Danny’s arm and pulled him toward the window. “I can’t leave Drew unsupervised in the library.”

“Désirée, you got a death threat last night. I’m not leaving you alone.”

She shivered. “I know, but I have to do my job. I’ll be fine. Drew’s here.”

Danny squinted over her shoulder. “Who is this guy, anyway?”

“Central sent him.”

“You didn’t mention you were expecting an assistant.”

Désirée ground her teeth. She didn’t need to explain her business to Danny Bonner.

“Look, Detective. I appreciate that you want to protect me, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What? Why, I have a mind to—”

Just then, Danny’s cell rang. “Bonner.” His face twisted as he listened. “Yes, sir. But sir, I…” His eyes blazed. “Right away, sir.” He hung up.

“Who was that?” As if she didn’t know.

“The Chief wants me over at the Kitteridge place now. He wants these murders solved pronto.”

“Well then.” Désirée strolled back to where Drew stood and snapped her fingers. “I just remembered, it’s Thursday. I have to be here at six-thirty to unlock the doors for the Happy Hookers.”

Drew gave her that upturned eyebrow again. “And who, may I ask, are the Happy Hookers?”

“They meet in the Quiet Room every Thursday evening. To crochet.”

Danny rolled his eyes.

“For rizzles? I love to crochet,” Drew interrupted. “Do you think they’d mind if I join them?”

Rizzles? This new assistant was going to take some getting used to. “I’m sure they wouldn’t,” Désirée said. “This is a community event. Everyone is welcome.”

“Désirée,” Danny barked, his neck turning a tad red. “In case you’ve forgotten.  This branch is closed. There will be no Happy Hooker’s meeting. I need to get going.”

She turned back to Bonner. “Well, go then. I think we need to carry on with business as usual as much as possible or both Drew and I will be out of job. So I think you’d best do your job, and catch the killer.”

The red on his neck was spreading over the detective’s face. “Since you put it like that,” Danny said, “I’ll be on my way. I hope you two have a good time with the Hookers tonight.”

# # #

Two hours later, Bonner sat at his desk, scratching his head, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. There were two people dead—the second body belonging to the primary suspect. Now there was reason to believe that the murderer had a third victim in mind, and Bonner had a very personal interest in keeping this one alive. And how the heck did the Tick Tock Bandit fit in with all of this?

The sound of his phone ringing shook him out of his musings. “Bonner here.”

“Boss, there’s a lady here to see you. Her name’s Giselle. She says she needs to talk to you about the murder in the library yesterday.”

Bonner’s heart leapt. What if this was the break he needed? “Send her on in.”

A few moments later a young French woman walked in.

“Please, won’t you sit down, Ms…”

“Giselle,” she said in a thick French accent. “I work for Mr. and Mrs. Kitteridge, taking care of their children. ”

“Thank you for coming in, Giselle.” He shook her outstretched hand. “What a coincidence. I was just at the Kitteridges’ this afternoon. How did I miss seeing you?”

“I take the children on an outing every afternoon. Today we went to the park. But I saw your card on the hall table when I got back and thought I should come in and talk to you.”

“Talk about what?”

Giselle shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. “I heard that there was another killing at the library today.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“And I heard some mention of a clock?”

“Yes,” Bonner said, being careful not to reveal anything that the media hadn’t already caught wind of. “Do you know anything about that?”

“Peut-etre.” She cleared her throat. “Do you think it might have been the same clock that was stolen from my employer?”

“Based on the description Mr. Kitteridge gave me, that’s a possibility. Why?”

“I don’t have any – je ne sais quoi – hard evidence. But last week Jacques stopped by the house. I’m almost certain the clock was there when he arrived. But after he left, it was gone.”

“And who is this Jacques?”

She grimaced. “Some people call him Skirt Boy.”

Bonner searched his memory banks. Ah, yes. Désirée had told him about the homeless, skirt-and-T-shirt-wearing young man who lived in the lot adjacent to the old library branch. “Go on.”

“Anyway, I have known Jacques a long time, so I have a hard time believing he would do something like this. Steal from a friend.”

“Maybe he doesn’t think of the Kitteridges as friends.”

“But I am his friend. And he knows how fond I am of them.”

“Just how close are the two of you?”

Giselle stared at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. “He is a friend. Nothing more.”

“Well, this is a very serious accusation.”

Giselle looked up, apparently startled. “What do you mean?”

“We have reason to believe that the Tick Tock—er, the thief—is also responsible for the murder of Fred Carson. And quite possibly Ada Rawlings, as well.”

“Mais non!” Giselle shouted. “Jacques is no killer. Of this I am certain.”

“Perhaps you don’t know this man quite as well as you think you do. I would like to ask him a few questions. Can you show me the way to his shelter?”

“D’accord.”

Bonner escorted the lady out to his squad and they drove in silence the ten miles to the old library branch. He pulled along the curb, and strolled with Giselle across the yard of the vacant lot to a ramshackle shed that stood near some trees. Beyond the structure lay a large field, a farm and the town cemetery.

He knocked on the door. No answer. He looked at Giselle.

She shrugged.

He knocked again. “Jacques? This is Detective Bonner. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Still no answer.

Gritting his teeth, he put his hand on the doorknob and gave it a twist. The door creaked open. A thin stream of light shone through a single window. The place was shabby and dark and dank. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Danny’s felt the punch of disappointment in his gut.

Skirt Boy and all his belongings had vanished.

# # #

At six-thirty on the dot, Désirée left Drew to arrange a plate of cookies in front of the coffee pot while she went to unlock the front door of the library. Gertie Johnson, the dispatcher at the police station, and four other Hookers filed in like a mother duck leading her young.

“And who, pray tell, is that?” Gertie asked, seeing Drew through the glass walls of the Quiet Room.

“That is Drew, the new assistant librarian. Turns out he crochets. What a coincidence, right? He is very excited about joining you tonight.”

“Well, isn’t that unusual?” the older woman sniffed, the corners of her mouth turning down.

“Oh, I dunno,” Betsy Thompson, who always stood next to Gertie in the soprano section of the First Pentecostal Choir, interrupted. “My cousin Al crochets. He made me the prettiest granny square afghan for Christmas last year. Truth be told, he crochets better than I do.”

“Well, I never,” Gertie said. “But he looks like a nice enough young man,” she whispered loudly as they walked into the room.

Drew glanced up, an amused look on his face. “You must be Gertie,” he said, spreading the paper napkins into an elegant swirl.

“Now, how did you know my name?” she stammered, plopping down into the nearest chair and pulling a wad of yarn and a crochet hook out of her purple tote bag.

“Désirée told me that you started this group.”

Gertie’s face flushed as her friends flanked her on either side. “That’s right. And I can’t wait to see what you are working on.”

Drew snapped his fingers. “I just need to run out to my car and grab it. I’ll be right back.” He hustled out of the room.

Gertie turned to Désirée. “My goodness, when it rains it pours, doesn’t it? Two murders and a new assistant librarian? That seems like quite a coincidence to me. Makes me wonder if he might be the murderer.”

Deci, the library cat, started chasing Gertie’s ball of yarn.

“Shoo! Bad kitty,” Gertie scolded.

The cat hissed and slunk away.

Drew reappeared, a large recycled plastic tote bag in his hand. He pulled a large striped afghan out of the bag.

“Isn’t that lovely? See, Gertie, I told you men could crochet,” Betsy said, poking her friend with her elbow.

“Ahem. So I assume the library will be closed for the funeral on Saturday?”

“Of course,” Désirée said, standing by the coffee pot and nibbling on a cookie. “It’s important that people have an opportunity to say goodbye. Besides, Ada was more than my boss.” She didn’t want to cry in front of her new employee, but it was hard not to. “She was also my friend.”

“She was my friend too, dear. That’s why I am so thrilled that our choir director asked me to sing a solo during her service on Saturday.”

“Really?” Betsy said, chaining away. “I’m surprised Mr. Ted didn’t figure out a way for Ada to sing her own solo. She always was a favorite of his, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, well.” She looked at the border Drew was adding around the many-colored stripes of his afghan. “Now what do you call that stitch you are doing?”

# # #

Detective Bonner glanced at his watch, speeding down the two-lane road that went to the library. Rats. The Chief had kept him in his office, grilling him on the progress of the case until his wife called and told him his dinner was getting cold. He glanced at the time. The Happy Hooker meeting at the library had ended ten minutes ago. And he didn’t like the idea of sexy Désirée Devereaux walking out into that dark parking lot all alone when there was a killer on the loose. A killer who might be looking for just such an opportunity to do her harm. So far, every path had led to a dead end. His prime suspect was at the county morgue with noose burns around his neck and Skirt Boy was nowhere to be found.

At last, he pulled the black and white into the library driveway with a squeal, hoping to find Désirée’s car, but it was nowhere to be seen.

He took in his surroundings, his detective instincts in full gear. When he turned toward the library building, an icy chill went down his spine.

# # #

Who’s this Drew Jordan guy? Funny he should show up now… And what about those Hookers? Let us know who you think the killer is. And will Désirée be next?

Remember what you’re supposed to do – leave a comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card today, and the $25 Amazon gift card or the Petit Fours and Hot Tamales cookbook on Saturday!

 

By Tami Brothers

Tick Tock.  When the clock strikes…

Holy Shit! Bonner was out of the booth and next to Désirée before her head hit the floor. At first he thought she’d been pulling his chain when her eyes rolled back into her head.  With the snarky barbs she’d been throwing around, he could see her trying to psych him out with more mumbo jumbo crap.  After some of the comments he’d made, he probably deserved it.

Only when her face turned white as the pasty legs on a corpse did he suspect she hadn’t been kidding around.

Sliding her further out into the aisle of the pizzeria, he tuned out the buzzing around him.  Breathing.  Good.

He grabbed her chin with one hand and lifted her eyelid with the other.  Pupil dilating.  Good sign.

Wrapping his fingers around her thin wrist, he felt for her pulse. Heart not racing.  Good.

Her unpainted lips were pink and healthy.  Very nice.  Don’t go there, Bonner.

The heat from the side of her neck warmed the back of his hand.  Good.

Finally, he released the breath he’d been holding.  She fainted.  With three overly dramatic sisters, he knew what fainting looked like.  The muscles in the back of his neck loosened as he leaned back on his heels.

The woman had scared the hell out of him.  Taking a moment, he willed his heart rate to slow before it slammed right out if his chest.

Confident that Désirée hadn’t keeled over, he focused on waking her. His attention shifted and the decibel of the voices around him increased.  In the few seconds it had taken him to assess her condition, the crowd had swarmed around them.  “Move back.  Give her some room.  She just fainted.”

Murmurs of concern filled the small area.  “Loosen her clothes.”  “Stick something between her teeth so she doesn’t bite her tongue.”  “That’s for seizure patients, you idiot.”  “Lift her legs in the air to help blood circulation.”  “Someone call 9-1-1.”

“Enough.”  The authority in his voice quieted the crowd immediately.

Knowing some of the advice held merit, he began unbuttoning the top buttons on her silky gray blouse.  The irony of the situation was not lost on him.  He’d thought about getting the sexy librarian out of her clothes since that very first day he walked into the library.  When she’d stepped out from behind her desk to show him where the body was located, he’d gotten his first look at those mile-long legs ending in hooker heels.  He’d immediately wanted to know what she was wearing beneath her booty-hugging skirt and clinging blouse.  Her huffy attitude had only fueled his interest.  Too bad she was involved in his case.

With her being the one to find the body and a possible suspect to boot, there was no way he was crossing that line.  He was a professional and as a professional, he could damn well handle loosening a woman’s clothes without ogling the goods.

Still, his blood pressure shot through the roof when he glimpsed the edge of a lacy bra the exact metallic color of his gun barrel.  His earlier deduction that the librarian held more secrets than a teenage girl’s diary was spot on. This new development intrigued him beyond the scope of his normal every day investigation.  Knowing his limitations, he’d purposely avoided Désirée these past few days.  Unfortunately, she had a way of intruding without even realizing the effect she had on him and every red blooded man she came in contact with.  The woman had no sense of preservation.

A low moan vibrated against his knuckles, drawing his attention away from the delicate lingerie.  Reaching up, he grasped her chin.  “Désirée.  Open your eyes.”  Her head shifted to the left and her eyelids fluttered.  “That’s right, Baby.  Come on.  Open up.”

She blinked several times trying to focus.

“Désirée.  Look at me, Baby.”

Her gaze shifted to his face.  After a few more blinks, a smiled curved the corners of her mouth.  The dreamy look she gave him was like a sucker punch to the groin.  If he wondered what she’d look like sleepy and exhausted from a night of incredible sex, which he was positive he could provide, this was the look he imagined.

“You…”  She paused.  Licked her lips, then tried again.  “You’re cute.  Did you know that?”

“Really?” Regardless of his recent pep talk, Bonner was instantly turned on by the sexy purr of her voice.

“What did she say?”  “Shhh.  I can’t hear.”

Shit.  This Désirée intrigued him more than the staid librarian.  Unfortunately, even though he wanted to know what the librarian really thought of him, he was not going there with an audience.  “Come on Désirée.  As much as I find this conversation riveting, you need to snap out of this.  We’ve got an audience.”

# # #

The comment had the desired effect, slowly drawing Désirée out of the fog that engulfed her.  She turned her head so she could see over the detective’s shoulder and instantly wanted to sink back into oblivion.  She knew every single person staring down at her.  With Cheshire grins on half the faces and disapproving frowns on the other half, she was pretty sure the library was going to be one busy place this coming week.

Turning back to Detective Bonner, she tried to dredge up the relentless irritation his sexist mannerism always brought out in her.  Unfortunately, she could only stare at those twin dimples.  Why had she never noticed the way they framed his smile?  And those lips.  Wow.

“Désirée?  You think you can sit up now?  You’re giving the teenage boys over in the arcade area a show.  As sexy as your lingerie is, I’m sure you don’t want half the town knowing what kind of underwear you prefer.”

The barb was enough to bring Désirée out of the fog completely.  Grabbing the front of Bonner’s typical buttoned-up detective-looking shirt, she pulled herself into a sitting position.  Her head swam and she almost dropped back to the ground.  She would have fallen if he had not wrapped his arms around her shoulders to hold her in place.

Grasping his bicep to steady herself, Désirée couldn’t help but be distracted by the detective’s obvious dedication to fitness.  Why had she never noticed his incredible build?  With arms like these, she wondered why the good detective was single.  Or at least she thought he was single.

“Baby, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to embarrass both of us.” And there it was.  The words were whispered in her ear right before he easily lifted her to her feet.

After another wave of dizziness buckled her knees, Bonner took charge and guided her into her seat.  Taking a moment to catch her bearings, she focused on the group of people still lingering. She knew why they were there and what they were thinking.  She could hear the rumors starting.  If only she could tell them about the book.

Oh crap!  The book. Désirée glanced around the table desperately trying to find the book that had sent her into this embarrassing swoon.  “Bonner…”

“Drink first.”

“What?  The book…”

Before she could spit out another word, Bonner held a glass to her lips and was tipping it back just enough to make a mess if she didn’t open her mouth.  Judging from the look in his eyes, she knew the stubborn jerk wasn’t going to back down until he got his way.

“Fine.”  Grasping the cold glass, Désirée took a large gulp of ice cold sweet tea.  Oh man. Heavenly didn’t even describe the sensation, it was that good going down.  She hadn’t realized her hands were shaking until Bonner relinquished control of the cup.  She also hadn’t realized just how close she was to passing out again until the sweet liquid began to work its magic, bringing her blood sugar up to a workable level.

When she’d finished the whole glass, she sat it down on the table and tried to glare.  “Happy now?”

He just smiled and turned towards the crowd.  “Everything is okay, people.  As you can see, Miss Devereaux is back to her prim and proper self.  Please, go back to what you were doing.  We don’t want to interrupt your evenings any more than we already have.”

Only a few people lingered a moment longer before grumbling their displeasure at being dismissed.  When the last person had returned to their table, Bonner slid into the seat across from her.  “Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice sent goose bumps along the skin of her arms.  The sexy timbre was another thing she’d never really noticed before.  When he wasn’t purposely trying to irritate her, he was actually quite charming.  The guy was a virtual roller coaster.  If she wasn’t careful, she might just be taken for a ride.  “I’m fine.  The tea worked wonders.”

“We could still call an ambulance and have them check you out.  Or, I would be happy to do it myself.”

With an exasperated sigh, Désirée propped her elbows on the table.  “Really, I’m fine.  It was just the book.”

“Okay. Wanted to be sure.”

The soft remark defused the irritation Désirée had been trying to build.  His concern was obvious, making her wonder again why she didn’t like this man.

“Good evening, Miss Devereaux.  That was some tumble you took.”

Désirée turned to the intruder and was unable to mask her displeasure.  Pursing her lips, she forced a smile before answering.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett.”

“Please.  It’s Darren.  We’ve been over this a few times already.”

Gritting her teeth, Désirée nodded.  “Thank you, Darren, for your concern.  I’m fine.  Really.  I just…”

“She skipped breakfast this morning.  Blood sugar was low.  She’s doing well, in case you were wondering.”  The sarcasm in Detective Bonner’s comment wasn’t hard to miss.

Darren Bennett frowned at the Detective and his clipped explanation.  Désirée could see that the interruption irritated to the normally composed businessman.  “Be that as it may, I did want to express my concern.  After all, Miss Devereaux is now the face of our new library.  Who exactly are you?”

The muscles in Bonner’s jaw ticked at the condescending tone Darren Bennett used.  Before he could snap back with a comment that might actually irritate the man who had been the bane of her existence during the whole library build, Désirée did her best to diffuse the tension that was palpable between the two men.  “I’m sorry.  Terribly rude of me.  Mr. Bennett, this is Detective Bonner.  Detective Bonner is working the murder case.”

This caused her to pause. Saying the word out loud had a lump forming in the back of her throat.  She sounded so callous.  Taking a calming breath, she turned to Bonner, trying to inflect the seriousness of her staying on speaking terms with this man.  “Mr. Bennett’s father sold Harrow County the land where the library was built.”

“Murder?  I hadn’t realized that Ms. Rawlings’s unfortunate accident had been declared a murder.”

Désirée narrowed her eyes at the glee she heard in Darren Bennett’s voice.  Ever since his father retired and sold the family farm, his children had been doing their best to cause trouble every step of the way.  Judging from the tone in Darren Bennett’s voice, he was excited about this new turn of events.  She could only wonder at how the Bennett children’s lawyer would use this news.

“How is it, Mr. Bennett, that you heard about Ms. Rawlings death?”  More sarcasm laced Bonner’s attempt at polite conversation.  Turning to the surly detective, Désirée frowned.  He ignored her silent plea for peace.  The look in his eyes could only mean that Darren Bennett had just found himself on the detective’s list of suspects.

“On the news, of course.  What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m curious as to how you would know about Ms. Rawlings death and not know we were investigating it as a murder.  Especially since the information has been plastered all over the newspapers and the evening news.”

The two men stared at each other, each looking for any weakness they could find.

“I obviously missed that part.  If you’ll excuse me, I do have to get back to work.  Unlike some businesses,” he turned a pointed gaze towards Désirée, “I can’t close the doors and leave on a whim.”

Before Désirée could respond, he turned and made his way out the front doors. She blinked a few times, trying to grasp everything that just happened.  His parting remark was an obvious reference to her closing the library.  She knew he was trying to rile her, but she also knew he wouldn’t be the only one to think that way.  Even though she was temporarily in charge of the Harrow County branch, the county still had to appoint someone to run the library permanently.  This was a position she could only dream about before.  Now she was inches from obtaining that goal.  With everything she did being scrutinized, she didn’t want to create any more gossip for the county commissioners to weigh against her.

“Let’s eat.”

The sudden change of topic left Désirée slightly dazed as she tried making the switch with her head still a bit cloudy from her earlier trip to the floor.  Before she was able to voice her response, Bonner placed the book next to his plate.  “But Detective, about Mr. Bennett…”

“No buts, Librarian.  I don’t want to pick your pretty butt off the floor again.  After you’ve taken a few bites, then we will discuss the book.”

Désirée wanted to stomp her foot.  She was warring with herself on which topic to address first, wanting to know what had just happened with Mr. Bennett but also needing to tell him about Ada’s killer. Unfortunately, she was getting to know the detective’s stubborn streak.  This meant she wasn’t getting any more information until he was good and ready to give it.

After swallowing the first bite, she did feel better.  From the smirk on his face, she also knew the damn man wasn’t going to let her live it down.  She finished a whole slice to his two before he finally slid the book across the table.  “Okay, Librarian.  Tell me about the book. What did you see that caused that reaction?”

Désirée swallowed hard and wiped her fingers on a napkin.  “That book was last read by Ada’s killer.”

Detective Bonner just raised an eyebrow.  “So, I’m guessing you saw something bad when you ‘read’ this book?”

“I know you handled all three books when you brought them to me.  I also know you took the time to grab each with a plastic bag and then only physically touched them when you handed them to me here.  I also know that was one of your little tests.”

She noted he didn’t bother to deny her accusation.  Shaking her head, she went on.  “With the other two books, I could almost ‘see’ the person who read them last.  But with this book, there was so much anger and rage that I could only see the act itself.”  She paused for a moment.  “Ada didn’t die easily, did she?”

Bonner remained silent and that alone gave her the answer.  Pausing a moment to take a sip of her new glass of sweet tea, she used the time to regroup before pressing on.  “I could feel the blows and her bones breaking.  The news said she died from the injury to her head, but it mentioned nothing about her broken back or pelvis.”  And of course, she wouldn’t have been able to see that from the way Ada had been laying.

“The emotion I felt was pure hatred.  I saw Ada.  She was angry, then scared.  She pleaded with the killer not to hurt her.  Then I felt as if my back was breaking in two.”  The pain in Désirée’s throat stopped her.  She took a deep break, inhaling the spicy sausage and buttery garlic.  The familiar scents calmed her, grounding her to the here and now.  She was not being pursued down the aisles of the library.

“Could you tell anything about the killer?  Something that would help identify him?”     

Désirée shook her head. “All I could see was Ada.”

Her friend never stood a chance.  Who could have been that angry with the head librarian?  Who wanted her not only dead, but wanted to hurt her in the process of killing her?  Who could be this cold?  “So, Detective.  Now that I’ve passed your test and told you everything I know, do you plan to tell me where you obtained this book?”

He leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms over his chest.  “I guess I can give you that much.  I didn’t get it from anyone specifically.  I actually grabbed the book out of a box in our lobby.”

“The lobby of the Sheriff’s office?”

“Yep.  The one and only.”

Désirée was stunned.  “But how…”

“How did it get there?  That part is easy.  Our dispatchers have a book exchange program where everyone brings in their previously read books and grabs a different one from the box.  This particular one was just one of about six of the same book.  No idea what that means.”

The detective may not know, but Désirée did.  The library had several different ongoing book clubs.  As the possibilities played through Désirée’s mind, she couldn’t help but get excited by the possibilities.  “Listen, Detective, I think I might be able to help you.  Because there are six of the same title in that box, it could mean the book was a featured book for one of our reading clubs. It’s a long shot, but we keep a list of all the different clubs, their members and even the book selections.  We post the information on the bulletin board in case someone new might be interested in joining.”

“You think the killer could be some little old lady in a book club?”  He didn’t even try to mask his disbelief and just that fast, he was back to being Detective Bonehead.

“I’m not saying that exactly.  I’m just suggesting a possible avenue to pursue.  What could it hurt to run down to the library with me and look at the list?”

Désirée knew she’d won when the detective jammed his fingers through his hair.  “Fine.  I’ll look at the list.” After glancing down at his watch he muttered a curse.  “Let’s head over there now.  It’s on the way to the Kitteridge house.”

“Why are you going to the Kitteridge house?”

As he slid out of the booth, Detective Bonner muttered, “Nunya.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means none of your business.”  This was delivered with a wink and a smile, so Désirée wasn’t too offended.

“But the Kitteridges are on the Board of Commissioners.”  And Mrs. Kitteridge had a major say in whether or not Désirée would get to keep the head librarian position.  “I’ve been incredibly helpful on this case.  I know I can be of more assistance if you would just let me.”

“I’m sure you could.”

Back to the sarcasm.  Fuming, Désirée refused the hand he extended to help her out of the booth.  After grabbing her purse, Désirée stood.  When she swayed slightly, she noted his touch at her elbow before she regained her balance. Pulling away, she ignored the curious looks from the other patrons as she headed out the door.

Still angry, she pulled open the door of her car only to have it slam shut when Detective Bonner slapped his hand against the side.  “Slow down, Librarian.  I didn’t want to talk about this inside where other people might overhear.”

Désirée frowned, trying to determine if he was saying this to appease her again.  “Really?”

Leaning against the car, he crossed his arms.  “Yes, really.  Don’t get too excited, though.  I’m only telling you this because you’ll find out anyway when it hits the news tonight.”

“What hits the news?”

“The Tick Tock Bandit struck at the Kitteridge house last week.  Took one of their more expensive clocks right off the wall.”

Désirée’s jaw dropped.  “Are you kidding me?  They took just one?  Which one?” Bonner raised an eyebrow at the questions.  Rolling her eyes, Désirée shook her head.  “Don’t look at me like that.  I’ve helped Mr. Kitteridge find some of the research material for his clock collection.”

Bonner laughed.  “Okay, Librarian.  No need to get defensive.”

Désirée had a sudden thought.  “What about the FedEx guy?”

“What about him?”

“Remember, I told you about him coming into the library after Ada died?  He had a clock with him that he was going to give to her as a gift.”

Bonner shrugged.  “So?”

“So?  Don’t you see the connection here?  What if the FedEx guy is both the Tick Tock Bandit AND Ada’s killer?”

“Isn’t that reaching a bit?”

Désirée propped her hands on her hips.  “Are you kidding?  This can’t just be coincidence.”  She turned and started pacing next to the car.  “You know something?  I bet if I did a search on all of the patrons who have researched clocks in the last few months, we might be able to use that as a list of possible suspects.  While we’re at it, I can run you a list of all the people who have shown an interest in Nora Roberts’ books, too.  With those lists and the ones from the book clubs, we can cross reference the names on the various lists and pinpoint some possible suspects.”

“We, Librarian?”

“Yes, we, Detective.  I am the one with this kind of access.  Would you have thought of it if I hadn’t suggested it?”  She couldn’t tell if she had grabbed his interest or not when he remained quiet, but he didn’t give her his normal patronizing look.  It took all Désirée’s will to remain silent while he thought things through.  Finally, he stepped away from the car.

“Okay, Librarian.  Let’s grab those lists.  It can’t hurt anything to take a look.”

With a squeal, Désirée stood up on tip toes and kissed him full on the mouth. The shock of the contact sent her head spinning again, but this time she didn’t want it to end.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t the type of person who participated in public displays of affection.  Stepping back, she kept her eyes averted.  “Sorry about that.  Not sure what got into me.”       Embarrassed by her brazen actions, Désirée once again opened her car door.   “I’ll meet you at the library.”  Without waiting for a reply, she slammed the door shut and started the ignition.  As she drove away, she couldn’t help but take a peak in her rearview mirror.  He’d headed to his own car, so she was unable to see the expression on his face.  But she did get a terrific profile view.  Again, she couldn’t help but wonder why she had never noticed just how hunky the detective was.

She parked in the front parking spot marked for the head librarian and clicked the lock before meeting Detective Bonner by the front doors.  Not ready to address whatever this was that was happening between her and the surly detective, she focused on the task at hand and the fact that she was finally being able to help with the case.  Before she could fit her key into the lock, the glass door flexed inward.  Surprised, she pushed on the door and it swung open.

“Did you forget to lock up before you left?”

“No.  Or at least I don’t think so.”

“Let me call the Sheriff’s Office to see if they’ve had an alarm bump.  Sometimes it will sound a blip when someone turns the system on or off.”

Désirée shook her head.  “No need to do that.  The alarm isn’t hooked up yet.  The alarm company wasn’t able to work on their installation until later in the month.”

“So you’re telling me there hasn’t been an alarm system on the building since before you opened?”

“No.  Is that a problem?”

“Would have been nice to know about for the murder investigation.”

Just that fast, Désirée’s irritation with Detective Bonehead was back.  “I’m sure it would have.  But since you didn’t find it necessary to contact me after I reported the incident, I didn’t realize you didn’t know about the alarm.  Maybe you should consider talking to people instead of trying to shut them out when you’re investigating a crime.”

“I’m a cop.  This is my job.  Not yours.”  Shaking his head, he pushed open the door.

“What are you doing?” Désirée gasped when he pulled a shiny silver gun from the holster on his belt.  “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“Well, since there has already been a murder here in the last month, I’m thinking it might be.  Stay put.”

A tingle ran up her spine.  Of course she’d thought about the fact there had been a murder in the building, but she never thought the murderer would come back.  Okay, so she never thought they would come back during the day.

Her irritation conflicting with her fear, Désirée watched him enter the large lobby and then slowly disappear into the dark inner circle of the library.  Regardless of the many windows they had installed to brighten up the entrance, the architect had placed only a few windows along the top of the outer walls on the inside of the main room.  This allow for limited lighting to filter in, decreasing the chance for damaging books and it also allowed for more shelf space along the walls.

Unfortunately, this also left the inside dark and ominous during both day and night until the switch panel for the rows of fluorescent lights was flipped.  Impatiently, Désirée tapped the toe of her Jimmy Choos.  After about thirty seconds, she couldn’t stand it any longer.  This was her library and Detective Bonehead was probably just over-reacting, as usual.

Determined to prove that she could be of assistance with HIS case, she silently slipped inside.  Obviously, the detective wasn’t too worried.  He hadn’t even called in for back-up. Besides, what if something happened to him and she stood outside waiting while he bled out or the killer took out his anger on the detective.  Although it was a long shot, this thought left a bad taste in her mouth.  She didn’t want to think about that happening.

Slipping off the sleek pumps, Désirée silently tiptoed in the direction Bonner had disappeared.  Holding her breath, she tried to listen for any noise that would tell her where he was or if anyone else was in the building.

As she passed by the front desk, she gently sat her purse on the counter and laid one of the shoes alongside it.  A small noise sounded when the heel adjusted to the flat surface and she froze waiting to hear any kind of reaction.

Silence beat down around her.  She continued, creeping alongside the periodical stacks.  If anyone was inside the building, they would definitely be hiding amongst the stacks.  With her shoe poised like a hammer, she slowly made her way across the room.  One by one, she passed each section.  At first, she didn’t have to strain her eyes too hard in the dark with the soft light filtering in.  The further she moved inward, the darker it became.  It wasn’t until she’d reached the middle of the room that she could make out something out of the ordinary.

Désirée saw the outline of a solid form leaning against the shelves near the historical fiction section.  Looking around, she strained to see if Bonner was anywhere near.  Should she make a noise to catch his attention?  If she did, would that scare whoever was in the aisle away?  What if this was Ada’s killer and the person got away a second time?

Not wanting to take that chance, she raised her shoe and silently tiptoed down the aisle.  If the person made a move, she would smash them in the face.  She looked at her very expensive shoe and cringed.  She should have grabbed a better weapon and one that wasn’t worth more than three months’ salary.  Maybe she’d make enough noise that Bonner would find her before the bad guy had a chance to retaliate.  Yikes.  Not a thought she wanted to have while standing mere feet away from an intruder.

Before she made it half way down the aisle, a hand slipped around her mouth while an arm wrapped around her waist.  Her shoe clattered to the tile floor, the sound echoing in the empty building.  Any scream she might have let loose was cut off by the strong hand.  Her heart raced while she remained frozen.

“I thought I told you to stay outside.”  Although he released his hold on her mouth, her attacker kept a tight grip on her waist.

“What the hell are you doing, Bonner?  The bad guy is right over there.”

“Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart, but that bad guy ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because that guy is dead.”

With this declaration, Bonner releasing her completely and took a step back.  Désirée only had a moment of regret at the loss of body contact before his words sank in fully.  “What do you mean dead?”

“Dead, as in like a doornail.”  Before she could form any kind of comeback, the detective shined a small flashlight on the dark object.

Désirée gasped when she recognizes the figure hanging from a rope wrapped around one of the decorative beams left exposed by the builder.  “Is that…”

“Yes, sweetheart, it is.  It appears your FedEx guy is no longer a suspect.”

Blood pounded in Désirée’s head as she stared at Fred Carson.  His feet dangled three feet from the ground and she could see one of the book return carts tipped over in the middle of the aisle.  Poor Fred.  How could he have done this?  Obviously his jealousy over Ada’s interest in another man had pushed him over the edge.

Désirée stood frozen to the spot, unable to move any closer or further away as she took in every detail.  She couldn’t even look away when Detective Bonner used his cell phone to call in the incident.  Not until he had hung up and was using their only light to search the floor around the cart did she fully understand the detective’s last statement.  “What do you mean, no longer a suspect?”

Not breaking stride, Bonner continued his search.  “Just what I said.  The FedEx guy is no longer a suspect.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Look around you Librarian.  Look at the details.  To the average person, it looks like Mr. Carson killed himself.”

Désirée took a small step forward, her interest peaked.  “Yes, that’s what it looks like.”

“But did he?”

Not sure what Detective Bonner was getting at, she followed the beam of the flashlight as he searched for something.  Small slivers of wood were scattered around under the cart she assumed Fred had utilized in his final act, mixed in with the books that had been waiting to be placed back on the shelves.  Looking closer, she tried to fit the pieces together in her mind and match the shape up with something that was lingering just below her subconscious.  She knew that wood.  When the light beam landed on a decorative black piece of debris, recognition hit.  The clock.  She was looking at the smashed pieces of the clock FedEx guy had shown her the day before.  Why would he damage it this badly?  Then she remembered the anger she’d felt from the book. She also remembered the blows to Ada’s body before her death. Yeah, she could totally see him smashing the object into kindling.

But did this mean he was also the Tick Tock Bandit?

“You see it?”

“The clock?  Of course I see it.  It’s all over the floor.”

“No, Librarian.  Look harder.  See the rope?”

She hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he pointed it out, she could see a piece of rope similar to what was wrapped around Fred’s neck lying on top of the rubble.  “So what am I missing, Detective?”

She followed the beam of the light back to the man hanging near the shelving.

“Look at his wrists.”

The bright light reflected off reddened skin that was barely noticeable against the tanned arms.  “Okay, Detective.  Care to share the meaning?”

“How could our victim here hang himself, then remove the ropes that appear to have been wrapped around his wrists?  And how was he able to toss the rope, while dangling to his death, on top of the mess he caused?”

The puzzle pieces fit themselves together as Bonner talked her through the scene.   Everything made perfect sense.  How could any of this have happened when none of it jived with what the crime scene showed?  Who would have done this?  Better yet, who could have done this?  That beam was a hell of a long way up in the air.

With a weary sigh, Désirée looked away from the man she’d thought to one day have a relationship with. Before she could turn away completely, the beam from Bonner’s flashlight lit up a book directly behind the body.  Taking a step closer, she read the title.

Holy cow! Was this a joke?

For the first time since walking in and finding Ada’s body, Désirée had to wonder if maybe the exact locations where the bodies were found might be the key.  If her new theory was correct, then they had better find the killer soon.  Before he came after his next victim.

# # #

Another murder? Poor Fred. Is Darren Bennett the killer? That would put Désirée in a lot of trouble. Something to ponder over the weekend.

Tune in next week as The Undercover Librarian continues – Monday through Friday (we’ll announce the winners of the $25 Amazon gift card and the Petit Fours and Hot Tamales cookbook Saturday, December 31). For now, leave a comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card. And don’t forget to check the sidebar for the daily winners!

By Sally Kilpatrick

Dangerous Vibes

“So, let me get this straight:  The FedEx guy is Fred Carson, who apparently had been secretly dating Ada Rawlings for two months and wanted to marry her.  But she was going on a singles’ cruise to meet a man she’d met on the Internet and was convinced he was going to propose.”  Danny Bonner stopped to take a breath.

Miss Devereaux’s green eyes never left his.  “Don’t forget the clock.”

The clock.  Of course there was a clock.  And a skull, a dagger, and an Aubusson carpet. He opened his mouth to tell her she was out of her gourd, but the earnest expression of those eyes stopped him.  He couldn’t tell her she was a loon.  Even if she did claim to be able to pick up a book and be able to tell something about the person who’d read it.  Maybe he didn’t work in the big city, but he’d seen enough as a cop to believe in the here and now—what he could see and touch.

Bonner shook himself from his reverie.  “Right.   The clock.  I’m sure you’re into all of the conspiracy theories and know who was on the grassy knoll and if he or she acted alone, but…”

“Actually, it was a ‘she’.”

She really was bat-shit crazy.  “I don’t care if it was an alien.  I don’t do cold cases.  What I’m saying is I don’t think your buddy Fred or the clock had anything to do with the death of Miss Rawlings or the vandalism.  I don’t even think the vandalism had anything to do with Miss Rawlings.  Just some punk kids who thought it’d be fun…”

“But the same person who killed Ada also wrote in those books.”  Miss Devereaux fidgeted with the ruffles on what appeared to be an expensive blouse, but her eyes still radiated that earnest concern.  Bonner was a pretty good judge of character, and he didn’t take her for a liar.  Still, he said nothing.  He wasn’t going to lend credence to her crazy Jedi mind trick of reading books or whatever crazy mess she had been spouting a couple of weeks ago.

“I know because I felt it when I picked up the books.  The same person was here both times.  The same person who wrote in those books took the life. . . .”  She swallowed hard, and he gauged real emotion.

“Miss Devereaux.”  He placed his hand on top of hers.  “I know you believe you can really tell me something useful, but I can’t tell a jury that it’s so because a woman picked up a book and told me so.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously.  “Fine.  I’ll prove it to you.”

# # #

Désirée knew she shouldn’t have closed the library early just to prove to Detective Bonehead that she knew what she was talking about.  That said, if she didn’t get to the bottom of what was going on, the new branch library would be closed indefinitely and she would be back at the Main Branch doing all the things that old biddy Celeste Rogers didn’t want to do.

She rolled her shoulders back into the passenger seat of Bonner’s cruiser.  He’d believe her when she picked up that Stephanie Bond book he’d been reading.  Then she’d be able to tell if he was partial to boxers or briefs and that he’d spent the night eating popcorn while watching Skinemax or whatever other embarrassing thing he might have been doing.

She cut her eyes to study his profile.  He wasn’t what she would have expected from one of Harrow County’s finest.  He was too lean, too angular to be one of the good ol’ boys who were generally well-rounded from one too many Michelobs.  No, his patrician features almost bespoke privilege, but she’d heard rumors that no one in town knew who his daddy was.  Danny Bonner might not look the part, but he’d grown up in a mobile home on the wrong side of the tracks, the only son of a single mother.  He’d been a couple of years ahead of her in high school.

“Stare any harder and you might make me blush.”

Désirée looked away, the one to actually blush.  He probably thought she had some kind of crush on him, but she really only wanted to know why he so doggedly refused to believe her.  Wasn’t she a believable person?  She honestly couldn’t think of a lie she’d ever told—unless you wanted to count how she’d straightened her hair and tried to hide her freckles with make-up to impress Fred.

And we all saw how that turned out.

Disgusted with herself for going to so much trouble for someone who clearly had no intentions of giving her the time of day, then ogling the boneheaded lawman who thought she was a nut job, Désirée studied the passing businesses.  There went the Cut and Curl and the Post Office.  The grocery store and the McDonald’s went by in a blur.  Then, blessedly, they turned into the parking lot of the Public Safety Building.

Bonner killed the motor, but neither of them moved for the moment.  “So, you’re sure you want to do this?”

“Of course,” she sniffed.  “It will be no trouble at all, and it’ll take just a minute.”  She threw open the cruiser door and heaved herself out.  If he didn’t want to move, that was his problem.  She had other things to do with her day.  Like try to figure out what all those symbols in the books meant.

Bonner watched her wobble up the handicap ramp to the entrance.  Still wearing the ridiculous shoes.  He shook his head.  Why did women feel like they had to wear such things to get a man’s attention?  He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find the look appealing, but, in his opinion, women should wear high heels only as far as the bedroom.  The man got to see the full effect, the woman got to take off the shoes before irrevocable damage was done to her feet, and a good time could be had by all.

He had a flash of Désirée Devereaux standing in his bedroom doorway wearing those Jimmy Choos and little else.  He shook his head to rid it of the notion.  He really needed to get out more if he was having such thoughts about a librarian.

“Are you coming or not?”

“Right behind you,” he snapped.  “What’s your rush?”

“I’d like to get back to the library and open up for story time.”  Désirée stood with hands on hips with a stern expression.  He felt for the first little brat that dared fidget during her circle time.

“Now just exactly how are you going to prove to me that you can figure things out by handling books?” he said in a low voice as soon as they passed the reception desk.

“Still have the Bond book?”

“Yeah, it’s on my desk.  But it needs to go back down to evidence.”

She rewarded him with a wide smile.  “You can feel free to take it to evidence just as soon as I look it over one more time.”

Elevator doors opened with a ding, and he gestured that she should go first.  No one else followed them.  She cleared her throat, and he rocked back and forth on his heels once.  She smelled like vanilla and brown sugar.

And he’d forgotten to eat lunch.

Blessedly, the elevator announced their destination with a ding.  Bonner jumped out of the elevator, almost welcoming the manly smells of the detectives’ area:  sweat, cigarettes, and a hint of liquid paper.  He coughed as he inhaled a little too eagerly, and the librarian narrowed her eyes.  Neither of the two detectives on the floor bothered to look up.

“Allergies.”  He sniffed to add credibility to the story and led her to his utilitarian steel desk, one of the last in two rows.  The paperback in question sat on top, its fluorescent colors contrasting sharply with the earth tones of papers, file folders, and the like.  Désirée’s fingers hesitated only a moment before she took the book gently, reverently.

“Rooting for Jack, are you?”

“Good guess since I’m a cop.”  He shrugged to show he was less than impressed.

She closed her eyes.  If she went into a trancelike state, he was hauling her down to the drunk tank.  Hell, he could put a kerchief over her head, hand her some hoop earrings, and start a side business of telling book fortunes.  The department could definitely use the money for a new black and white.

Her eyes snapped open and held his.  “Last night, you wavered between frozen pizza and Chinese, deciding on the Chinese.  You also gave in to two beers instead of one.  I was personally wondering if you preferred boxers or briefs, but,” and her she pursed her lips.  “It would appear you prefer commando—at least in the evening.”

Bonner felt heat rising from his collar, up to his ears, and across his cheekbones.  “How did you find that out?”

She waved the book in front of his face before gently laying it on the desk and pivoting on one heel.  She lost her balance for just a second, but that wobble did nothing to lessen the effect of the gesture.  When she reached the elevator, she turned to yell over the entire office, “Don’t mind me—I think I’ll walk over to Maisy’s for lunch, then grab a taxi.  Oh, and I think it’s kinda sweet you shed a tear or two at the end.”

The elevator doors opened, and at least two heads turned to look at him and snicker.  Bonner put the book in his top right drawer and ignored his fellow detectives.  His heart beat ninety to nothing.  There was no way she could have known any of that unless she’d been stalking him.  And Désirée Devereaux didn’t look like a stalker.  Like someone who might be stalked, maybe, but definitely not a stalker.

He walked the three steps to Rogers.  “Rogers, read any good books lately?”

# # #

The last person Désirée expected to see was Detective Bonner.  He leaned against his navy Taurus with three paperbacks clutched under his arm.

“Detective Bonner, what a pleasant surprise.  Here to make a donation to the library?”

“Not exactly,” he said.  “I was wondering if I could trade you some dinner for a demonstration of your hocus pocus on these books.”  He held them out, an assortment of genres:  mystery, romance, self-help.”

Désirée couldn’t help herself.  “Is this a date, Detective?”

“No, it’s not a date.  I need a place to discuss these books and a restaurant seems just as good as this parking lot.  Better, even, because I’m starving.”

She shrugged.  Where did she need to be?  At home with the cat?  While affectionate, Deci had made it perfectly clear that she could handle herself and that she sought affection on her terms.  Come to think of it, that need for affection could possibly manifest itself in shredded curtains, but Désirée would risk it if it meant she didn’t have to cook.  “Where to?”

“Pizza joint?”

She nodded and rounded his sedan to her pragmatic little Civic on the other side.  Her makeover hadn’t extended to the older model—champagne so it didn’t show dirt—because a) she didn’t have the money and b) she hadn’t planned on letting FedEx man see her car.  As it turned out, she needed not worry.  She did, for at least a moment, wish she had a more exotic car, something to shock Detective Bonner into seeing her as something other than a staid librarian.

What do you care what he thinks?

She blushed at the thought of her accurate assessment of his underwear choices and of how she’d called him out in front of some of the other guys.  Who was that woman of a few hours before?  Désirée Devereaux certainly didn’t know her.  She’d blame it on the hair and nails, but she thought the impulse to shock him went much further.  He hadn’t believed in her abilities.  That had rankled far more than it should have.

She guided her trusty Civic into the parking lot behind his car.  Pizza sounded good, and a beer didn’t sound bad, either.  But she was NOT going to have a drink with Detective Bonehead.  Besides being a notoriously cheap date, she needed no help embarrassing herself in front of him.  Besides, he’d probably be obligated to put her in jail for nothing more than a good buzz.

He held the door for her and she followed him into Gino’s.  The hostess, an almost transparently thin teenager, led them to a vinyl booth.  They faced each other.

“So?”

“So.”

He cleared his throat.  “What do you eat on your pizza?”

“Pepperoni and sausage.”  When she ate pizza, which was almost never.  She supposed she’d chalk this up to a special occasion—especially if he was paying.

He cocked his head to one side.  “Huh.  That’s my favorite, too.  Guess I better hold off on the beer, though.”

“Cause you’re on duty?”

“Nope.  Wouldn’t want you to think I’m a sot since you already know how many I had last night.  Thank goodness you didn’t pick up whatever book I was reading after the Georgia-Florida game last fall.”

Désirée blushed.  Now wasn’t the time to lose courage.  Bonner ordered a pie for the two of them to split, and she put in her order for a soda.  He waited only two beats before passing her the first book.

She picked it up, turned it over.  She started to open the cover and gaze inside, but he would claim she was fishing for information.  She concentrated.  “Owned by a woman, recently divorced.  She has a Persian cat and is only pretending to read this book to make her mom happy.”

“Not bad,” Bonner murmured.  “Can you tell me who owns it?”

Désirée sighed.  “It doesn’t work that way.  If I know who handled the book last, everything comes to me stronger.  If I don’t know the person, a lot of what I get comes in snippets or images.  In the case of the murderer, that person is really guarded and the act was very violent, so I see flashes of the crime, but not a lot about the person who committed it.”

He nodded his head as though he might actually be starting to believe her.  “How about this one?”

She took the New York Times Bestselling mystery.  “A man, a friend of yours?  Fancies himself a real Alex Cross.  Loves to eat food laden with garlic because it reminds him of his Italian grandmother.”

“Unbelievable!  How do you do this?  And you want to be a librarian?  I think it would drive me crazy to pick up all of these little vibes from books.”

The waitress slid the pizza between them.  Bonner started to hold out the last book, then put it on the table, then held it out again.  “What the hell.  How about getting the last one out of the way before we eat?”

Désirée took the book, a dog-eared copy of Blue Smoke by Nora Roberts, and immediately recoiled.  The pizzeria disappeared in a swirl, and she could only see Ada’s face.  Ada pleading.  And she felt the anger, a violence so strong it threatened to break her in half even though it wasn’t her own.  She shivered, and the pizzeria swirled back in front of her.  Just as she focused on the pizza that had her mouth watering, an anchor back to the world where she wanted to be, the room started spinning.

And Désirée Devereaux slumped unconscious to the grubby, sticky pizza parlor floor.

# # #

Oh my gosh! Who read that book? And things are heating up with Detective Bonner, aren’t they? Tell us what you think for a chance to win a gift card ($5-Amazon). And tune in tomorrow for more…