A quirky artist must unravel her parent's secret past before the mob erases her future. But will the protection of a handsome homicide detective be her only hope of surviving the Big Easy?
Nell Whitby is starting over in New Orleans, getting a publisher for her children’s book, sketching tourists in the French Quarter, and leaving the tragic death of her parents behind. When a handsome detective asks her for a date, her fresh start seems perfect…until a dangerous family secret bubbles up from the past and puts her life in jeopardy.
The oldest of thirteen children, detective Alex Baker has two goals in life: solve murders and avoid anyone under the age of ten. That is, until the day the quirky children's book author foils a carjacking, becomes a target for the mob, and makes his libido sit up and reconsider the whole no-kids thing. If he doesn’t protect her, she’ll be the next body to turn up in his homicide investigation.
As bullets start to fly, Nell can’t resist her sexy bodyguard or ignore her past, and Alex must protect the irresistible kid-magnet from whoever has them both in the crosshairs.
“Jones’ writing style is unique: a strong dose of noir balanced with humor and witty dialogue. The plot moves at a fast pace as does the chemistry between Alex and Nell. The characters are well-developed and likable, the relationship between Alex and his 12 siblings fun, and the New Orleans ambience conveyed so realistically the reader will feel as if they have been plopped down right in the middle of the Big Easy.” Midwest Book Review
The excerpt:
He’d passed his house, wondering if he was going to be doomed to drive around until one of the college students across the street had to go to class, but as he passed a cross street, he’d spotted half a space just around the corner. It was by a hydrant, but the parking Nazis weren’t out this early, and he could get his dad to move his truck later. He pulled in, got most of his truck off the street, if he didn’t mind blocking the sidewalk. He didn’t. The dividing line between street and sidewalk was more imagined than real anyway. He’d shut off the engine and thrust open the door, anxious to get unconscious as soon as possible. Should have known better. Should have kept an eye on his surroundings. Which was why the stinking little piece of crap got the drop on him, down shifting his night from bad to worse.
“Get out real slow with your hands where I can see ‘em, mother—” The pressure of the gun against his neck eased some, as if the perp couldn’t point and talk at the same time.
Alex rolled his eyes at the spate of unoriginal swearing. The education system was so screwed up, it was depressing. Kids couldn’t even swear good and had nothing better to do than try to jack a detective who’d spent the night knee deep in bodies.
“Keep your cool,” Alex said, more for himself than the kid, as his temper tried to slip tired’s leash. Making sure both hands were visible, he slid out and turned around. The kid was as small as he sounded and looked like he was on the downside of a high. Probably looking to trade Alex’s wheels for a trip back up. Man, the guys’d really roast him if he got jacked by a kid too young to shave.
“Shut up and give me your wallet and keys!” The kid practically foamed at the mouth as another round of filth poured out.
At his age, Alex hadn’t known half that many cuss words. And when he got caught saying the ones he knew, his head had been down in the sink eating soap. If he shoved a bar down the kid’s throat? Probably be called police brutality and get him a sit down with IAD.
“Life’s not fair,” his dad would say about now. “But it’s always interesting, bubba.”
And about to get more so, Alex realized. The swearing, while tiresome, had drowned out the unlikely figure on a bicycle bearing down on them both. She was hunched over the handles, an intent scowl on a face that was ordinary, but not in a bad way. Her feet pumped hard on the pedals, as she steered around the numerous potholes and bumps that pockmarked the street. Her eyes were narrow slits and her hair stuck out around her head like a ragged, brown halo.
Alex sure hoped she didn’t plan to ram the little crap while he had a gun pointed at him—oh yeah, she meant to. As if the kid sensed her incoming, he started to turn.
“Here, catch.” Alex tossed his keys high in the air. No surprise the kid followed the shiny object. Or that he stepped back to catch them. The front wheel of the bike caught the kid in the butt and sent him running forward, right into Alex’s waiting fist. He crumpled into an untidy heap, though a final hand twitch fired the gun. Alex’s driver’s side window exploded into flying shards of glass.
And took his insurance rates with it.
Alex mentally deployed a few swear words. Didn’t have time to say them as the bike and its rider skidded sideways. No way she’d regain control. Alex jumped forward, tried to catch her. Instead, he got tangled in the bike. Gravity weighed in but not on his side. Damn, he didn’t remember the pavement being that hard. The front wheel spun against the side of his face through two rotations before he untangled a hand and stopped it. He turned his head and found himself nearly nose to nose with the rider. It was a nice nose. Short but straight and set neatly between her eyes. They were nice, too. He’d spent the night fielding angry looks. Didn’t mind the nice change of gaze. They were a warm brown and…he tipped his head, trying to find the right description, and settled for nice. They were nice. She smelled better than all of his perps. That wasn’t surprise. He noticed her lips were pursed, which sent his thoughts down a kissing side path. If he hadn’t been so tired, he wouldn’t have thought about kissing her, of course—
As if on cue, she licked her lips, kick-starting something deep in his gut. Maybe he’d spent too long on the bench after his divorce. He blinked, a bit hazily, and realized she was engaged in a counter scrutiny. Her curious, oddly innocent gaze intersected his and she blinked, lashes thick as a hair brush sliding down, then up again. Despite the intrusion of the bike they were as intimately entangled as lovers. Shouldn’t have thought that. His breathing stuttered.
“Are you all right?” Voice matched the eyes.
“I’m fine.” His voice was on the husky side, but she wouldn’t know that. His gaze drifted to her mouth again. Wasn’t a kiss a time honored thank you for a rescue? Did sharing her crash count as a rescue? His conscience kicked. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes widened. The mouth curved up. “Yes, thank you. Though…”
Apparently oblivious to his snarled thoughts, she untangled her legs from her bike and from him, wincing a bit in the process, and scrambled up.
He lifted the bike to the side. His nerve endings started sending an inventory of which parts hurt and how much. Gravity, as if sensing his desire to escape, tightened its grip. When he turned forty earlier this year, he’d decided it was time to quit slamming his body against the ground, hard objects and other people. It was getting embarrassing how long it took him to get up. Didn’t remember it hurting that much when he was younger. That’s why he’d applied for a transfer to Homicide. Life had a way of bringing you full circle—not to mention reemphasizing its most painful lessons. Lessons like, you can run but you can’t hide. And quit banging yourself against the ground, idiot brain.
He ignored the hand she held out to him and fought gravity until he got both legs under him. He crouched and flipped the kid, cuffed him, then checked his pulse. He’d live to carjack again. Might even live long enough to be old enough to drive what he stole. He secured the perp’s weapon and then went to right the bike. He gave it a roll forward—seemed to be all right. Not too bent out of shape. Something ironic in that thought, but he was too tired to figure it out. He deployed the stand, wondered what she was doing out so early, turned to ask, and found her staring at the handcuffs. Then she looked at him, her eyes a bit wide.
Some color scored his cheeks. “I’m a cop.”
“Oh. Right.” Her grin was a bit sheepish as she held up his keys.
Alex’s lips twitched, too tired to manage a grin. “Nice catch.”
“I’ve always had good eye-hand coordination. I kick butt at Mario Kart.”
Maybe that’s where she got the idea to ram the little piece of crap. He opened his mouth to tell her she should confine her ramming to games but stopped. Sounded too much like something his old man would say. She grinned, as if she knew, then turned to check her bike herself.
He was a guy, so he studied the rear view. A bit of skin showed where her top and calf-length pants didn’t quite meet. Her pants fit fine over a nicely formed caboose—she kicked her bike stand and swung a leg over. The scuffed cowboy boots were a surprise, but not as much as the realization she was going to just ride away.
“You can’t leave,” he protested. “You’re a witness. I’ll need a statement—”
“I have to go to work.” She dug in a pocket, extracted a battered card and held it out.
Alex accepted it, but that didn’t stop him from trying again as she lifted a foot to a pedal with clear intent to push off. “I can call your employer and explain—”
Her smile silenced him. The grin had been engaging, but the smile—had he thought her ordinary? He blinked. Tried to remember what he’d meant to say, but before he could she said, “You can’t call the muse. It calls you.”
Buy Relatively Risky: The Big Uneasy 1