About the Book

Jamie Richmond, reporter turned author, is doing research for her next book. Attempting to capture the realism of a police officer’s duties while on patrol, she manages to tag along for a shift with a state police trooper. A few traffic stops and a high speed chase later, Jamie’s ride takes an unexpected turn when she witnesses the trooper being shot.

Although it is not a fatal injury, Jamie becomes obsessed with unraveling the facts behind this violent act. While she is trying to sort out this puzzle, she becomes romantically involved with Malone, another trooper with a few mysteries of his own. Now Jamie’s attention is divided between a blooming romance and solving the crime which is haunting her.

Jamie begins to question the events that took place and exactly who could be behind the shooting. It was a devious mind. But who?

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Excerpt

In the morning I curbed my physical cravings long enough to get dressed and drag Malone out of bed. I wanted to get back to the junkyard before it was busy. Malone didn't talk much on the way there. He wasn't sullen or angry, just tired.

Joe Garibaldi greeted us at the gate as he was locking Brutus away. Only after Malone promised to keep his badge in his pocket did I introduce him.

"Malone's going to help me look for the kind of truck my uncle's got. He's more familiar with it than I am." I gave Garibaldi my best innocent maiden, damsel-in-distress look. Maybe I should bat my lashes more often. "Okay if we walk around, Joe?"

"Just watch your step. Brutus doesn't always crap in the same spots." Garibaldi laughed and went back into the office.

"What are we looking for, Jamie?" Malone asked as he checked the soles of his shoes. Garibaldi's warning had been a little late.

"A spotted pickup truck. C'mon, Malone."

"These were brand new sneakers," he mumbled.

"I'll buy you another pair. Quit stalling."

"Before or after you buy breakfast?"

"After." The offer of food had been the only incentive to successfully pry him out of bed.

We walked through the maze of dead automobiles, going slowly. Some of the stacks were leaning precariously to the side, tempting gravity. Malone steered me toward the middle of the path. Occasionally we heard the rustle of rats scurrying between the iron carcasses. How Garibaldi and his crew ever found anything amid this jumble was beyond me. There wasn't one simple row running between the cars. The paths twisted and swerved into little alleys, utilizing every available space on the lot. Despite having refrained from touching any of the wrecks, I had the uncontrollable urge to wipe my hands on the seat of my jeans.

Near the back of the property, I stopped in midstride. Malone had been studying the cars on the left and not paying attention to me. We collided and he almost knocked me into a fresh mound of dog shit.

"What's the matter?"

"Shot by a dog,” I whispered. “There it is."

On top of a stack of three other pickups was the old Ford. The body was tan, not white, but it was spotted along both rear fenders and the tailgate with black primer.

"A Dalmatian," I whispered in awe.

"Son of a bitch," Malone muttered.

We walked around the stack as best we could, studying the pickup as it rested on the pile. There was no license plate on it, but I was positive this was the same truck. If I lived to be one hundred, I will never forget it. Malone took my hand and led me back to the office. Joe Garibaldi was watching a morning talk show. He barely looked up when we stood before the counter.

"Use your phone for a minute, Joe?" Malone asked.

"Help yourself. Find something you can use?"

"Yeah, I think we did." Malone was strictly business. I was about to say something when he stopped me with a look. So, I played the role of dutiful woman and waited while he made his call. When he was done, he took my arm and led me outside.

"Nowalski is sending down a forensic team. One of the guys on day shift is going to get a warrant. Once we get inside the rig, we can check for evidence. "

"Then what happens?" I asked.

"Depends on what we find. Garibaldi can show us who brought that truck in, and when. That should give us another lead." Malone shook his head slowly. "You came through again, Jamie."

I didn't know if it was admiration or amazement in his eyes. Either one could work in my favor.

About the Author

Mark Love lived for many years in the metropolitan Detroit area, where crime and corruption are always prevalent. A former freelance reporter, Love honed his writing skills covering features and hard news. He is the author of the Jamie Richmond romance mysteries, Devious, Vanishing Act and Fleeing Beauty, and the novella Stealing Haven. His short story, Don’t Mess with the Gods, was written with Elle Nina Castle and included in the Magic & Mischief anthology. Love also writes the Jefferson Chene mystery series, WHY 319? and Your Turn to Die and The Wayward Path. Love resides in west Michigan with his wife, Kim. He enjoys a wide variety of music, books, travel, cooking and the great outdoors.

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