Cold Snap (49 page)
Traveling first-class had advantages, including prompt disembarking. Max strode off the plane at San Francisco International Airport, her long legs putting distance between her and the other passengers. Her two-inch heels made her an even six feet, but her confident stride and stunning looks caused heads to turn. She ignored the attention. Her cell phone vibrated and she ignored that, too.
Her full-time assistant and as-needed bodyguard, former army ranger David Kane, easily kept up with her. He turned heads as well, mostly from fear. When he wasn’t smiling, he looked like he’d kill you with no remorse or pleasure. He didn’t smile often. But as Max had learned, looks were a form of lying. David’s steel core protected him as much as her pursuit of truth protected Max.
“I don’t need you,” she told him. “We settled this yesterday, or were you placating me?”
“All I suggested was that I drive you to Atherton before I head to Marin.”
“It’s foolish for you to drive an hour out of your way. I’m not incapable of driving myself.” She ignored David’s subtle smirk. “And I need a car. This isn’t New York where I can walk everywhere or grab a taxi. Go. Emma is waiting.”
“If you’re sure.”
She glared at him. “She’s your daughter.”
“She comes with her mother.”
“I’m not the one who screwed Brittney in a failed attempt to prove I wasn’t gay,” Max said, “and I will not let you use me as an excuse to avoid the selfish bitch.” Tough love. David adored his twelve-year-old daughter, but her mother made their relationship difficult. Brittney wouldn’t let David spend a minute more with Emma than the court mandated, and the flight delay had already cost him two hours.
They wove through the crowd at baggage claim without slowing down, and stopped at the carousel where their luggage would be delivered.
“Emma wants to see you,” David said.
“The funeral is tomorrow. You’ll be on a plane to Hawaii Sunday morning. Enjoy your vacation—when you get back, if I’m still here, we can meet up in the city for lunch and I’ll take Emma shopping.”
David grunted. “She doesn’t need more clothes.”
“A girl can never have too many shoes.” Max doubted she’d have kids of her own, and she enjoyed playing aunt to David’s daughter when Emma visited him in New York.
Max parked herself near the carousel opening because she didn’t want to be here any longer than she had to. Airports were part of her life, but she grew tired of the waiting part. Before leaving Miami, she’d shipped one of her suitcases back home to New York; the second, smaller bag of essentials she’d brought with her to California. She didn’t plan to stay in town long.
“Ms. Revere?” an elderly voice behind her asked.
Max turned and looked down at an older couple. The man, at least eighty and maybe five foot four in lifts, stood with his wife, who barely topped five feet. They both had white hair and blue eyes and would have looked like cherubs if their faces weren’t so deeply wrinkled.
Max smiled politely. “Yes, I’m Maxine Revere.” She expected them to ask for autographs or question what investigation brought her to California. The true-crime show she hosted every month on cable television had been moving up in the ratings. When she only wrote newspaper articles and books, few people outside of the business knew what she looked like. Now that she was on camera, people approached her regularly.
There were pros and cons to being recognized. She was on a tight time schedule today, but the couple looked sweet.
“I told you, Henry,” the woman said to her husband. “I’m Penny Hoffman.” Mrs. Hoffman extended her hand nervously. It was cold, dry, and fragile, like the woman in front of her. “This is my husband, Henry. I knew it was you.” She gripped her purse tightly with both hands, the straps worn and frayed. “Do you believe in divine providence?”
Touchy subject. Max answered, “Sometimes.”
David was standing to the side, watching the situation. He was always on alert, even when it was wholly unnecessary. Ever since the incident in Chicago last year when Max had been attacked in a parking garage by someone who hadn’t wanted to hear the truth on her show, David was suspicious of everyone.
Even little old ladies.
“We just flew in from Phoenix,” Henry said.
“For our granddaughter’s wedding,” Penny added. “Last year, we were here for a funeral.”
“My condolences,” Max said.
Penny blinked back a sheen of tears and smiled awkwardly. “Our other grandchild. Jessica’s brother, Jason.”
“Penny,” Henry said, taking his wife’s hand, “Ms. Revere doesn’t want to hear about this now.”
Penny continued. “The police say they have no leads.”
The way she said no leads had Max’s instincts twitching. The police might have no leads they shared with the family, but there was always a lead—and it was obvious by her tone that Penny had her own theories.
In Max’s experience, murder was almost always personal. There were stranger murders and serial killers, but they were few and far between.
Most victims were killed by those they trusted most. A friend. A spouse. A parent. A child.
David cleared his throat. He grabbed Max’s red case from the conveyor belt. He’d already retrieved his smaller khaki bag. He wouldn’t have checked it at all, except he’d packed a gun.
“They need to go,” Henry told Penny. “It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Revere. Very nice. You’re even prettier in person.”
“Thank you,” Max said. “If you’d like to write me a letter about your grandson’s case, here’s my office address and e-mail.” She pulled a card from her pocket.
She received hundreds of letters and e-mails a week from families wanting her to do any number of things, from proving a loved one innocent to a killer guilty. Most dealt with cold cases and contained few leads. She didn’t have time to investigate all the unsolved murders she heard about, and she couldn’t always solve the ones she investigated.
But she always gave the families whatever truth she found. For better or worse.
She took a pen out of her pocket and wrote on the back. “Here’s my personal e-mail.”
Henry took the card, but Penny looked upset. “I have written. Twice.”
By the sound of her voice, she hadn’t received a response. A sliver of anger ran up Max’s spine. Her newest assistant was going to have some explaining to do if she wanted to keep her job. All e-mails and letters must be responded to within a week. Max had drafted four form letters that fit most situations, and what didn’t fit she was supposed to review.
Henry said, “We thought you might be interested in the case since Jason was killed at Atherton Prep.”
Max was speechless—a rarity. She’d graduated from Atherton College Prep thirteen years ago, but no one had told her about this murder.
The second in the history of the campus.
“When?” she managed to ask.
“The Saturday after Thanksgiving.”
Nearly five months ago.
“I’ll be in town all weekend,” Max said. “I’d like to hear your story. I can’t promise I’ll investigate, but I will listen.”
Titles by Allison Brennan
Stolen
Stalked
Silenced
If I Should Die
Kiss Me, Kill Me
Love Me to Death
Carnal Sin
Original Sin
Cutting Edge
Fatal Secrets
Sudden Death
Playing Dead
Tempting Evil
Killing Fear
Fear No Evil
See No Evil
Speak No Evil
The Kill
The Hunt
The Prey
Praise for
New York Times
bestselling author
Allison Brennan
Stolen
“The evolution of Lucy and Sean’s relationship has been a critical piece of what makes these novels so compelling. Brennan is a true master at providing byzantine plotlines that keep readers guessing as the danger amplifies.”
—RT Book Reviews
(4½ stars, Top Pick)
“All the excitement and suspense I have come to expect from Allison Brennan.”
—Fresh Fiction
Stalked
“Once again Brennan weaves a complex tale of murder, vengeance, and treachery filled with knife-edged tension and clever twists. The Lucy Kincaid/Sean Rogan novels just keep getting better!”
—RT Book Reviews
(4½ stars, Top Pick)
“The novels featuring Lucy Kincaid and her cohorts are marked with deep characterizations and details of the workings of investigations by private eyes, the police, and the FBI … Catch the latest in this series as Lucy continues to evolve in strength and wisdom.”
—Romance Reviews Today
Silenced
“Brennan throws a lot of story lines into the air and juggles them like a master. The mystery proves to be both compelling and complex … [A] chilling and twisty romantic suspense gem.”
—Associated Press
“The evolution of Lucy Kincaid from former victim to instinctive and talented agent continues in Brennan’s new heart-stopping thriller … From first to last, this story grabs hold and never lets go.”
—RT Book Reviews
(Top Pick)
“An excellent addition to the Lucy Kincaid series. Lucy and Sean continue to develop as complex, imperfect characters with a passion for justice … The suspense was can’t-put-it-down exciting.”
—Fresh Fiction
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
COLD SNAP
Copyright © 2013 by Allison Brennan.
“Reckless” copyright © 2013 by Allison Brennan.
Excerpt from
Notorious
copyright © 2014 by Allison Brennan.
Cover design for “Reckless” by Ervin Serrano
Cover photographs for “Reckless” by
shutterstock.com
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN: 9781466832985
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / November 2013
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALLISON BRENNAN
is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of twenty-one novels and many short stories. A former consultant in the California State Legislature, she lives in Northern California with her husband Dan and their five children.
Visit:
www.allisonbrennan.com