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Hot Case (Silhouette Bombshell Series, #24)

Hot Case (Silhouette Bombshell Series, #24)

5.0 1
by Patricia Rosemoor


Detective Shelley Caldwell believed LaTonya Sanford had been murdered--if only she had a body to prove it. But one minute the victim was lying in an alley, the next she was gone. Was the ace detective of the Violent Crimes Unit seeing things? Shelley was ready to turn in her badge, until another body was discovered--and lost.



Detective Shelley Caldwell believed LaTonya Sanford had been murdered--if only she had a body to prove it. But one minute the victim was lying in an alley, the next she was gone. Was the ace detective of the Violent Crimes Unit seeing things? Shelley was ready to turn in her badge, until another body was discovered--and lost. This time, the only witness was Shelley's eccentric twin sister. Donning her twin's identity, Shelley entered her sister's exotic world and encountered things no rational detective would believe possible--and a man no earthly woman could resist. But could she trust her instincts and find the killer before she became the next victim?

Product Details

Publication date:
Bombshell , #24
Product dimensions:
4.24(w) x 6.64(h) x 0.83(d)

Read an Excerpt

Hot Case

By Patricia Rosemoor

Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.

Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-373-51338-0

Chapter One

Feathers of fog curled around the hood of my Camaro as I crossed the Chicago River on my way home. It was one of those weird spring nights when the downtown area looked ghostly, half-lit skyscrapers rising out of the mists like skeletons.

I was totally exhausted after a long workday and what had felt like a longer family get-together with my mom and sister. Stifling a yawn, I tried to ignore my cell phone when it trilled and politely informed me, "You have an incoming call.... You have an incoming call.... You have an incoming ..."

I had a real love-hate relationship with technology.

I checked the caller ID and sighed wearily as I flipped open my phone. "It's after midnight. This had better be good, Junior." Junior Diaz was one of my most reliable informants and the only reason I'd bothered answering.

"Where you at?"

Nice opening. As if this was a social call or something. "I'm on my way home. What's up?"

"You gotta see for yourself, Detective."

"See what?"

"The body. This girl ... she ain't got no blood left. It's all been drained outta her."

"And you know this how?"

"I saw ..."

A muffled sound on the other end sounded like Junior heaving his guts.

"Where are you?"

It turned out he was maybe a half mile from mypresent location, west and north of the Loop.

"And don't you call for no backup," Junior gasped. "My deal's with you, no one else."

"I'll be right there. Alone," I promised. "Don't go anywhere."

In a little more than two minutes, I made the intersection in an area anchored to the expressway. Not really a neighborhood, just a couple of blocks of red bungalows and two-flats with little to recommend them. I turned down a side street, went a quarter of a block and turned again. Then I slammed on the brakes.

My headlights cut into the fog-shrouded alley. I flicked on the brights but still didn't see anything.

No Junior Diaz.

What was his game? I'd told him not to move.

Was he simply lying low until he was sure I was alone? I grabbed my cell and speed-dialed him.

"Hey," his recorded voice grunted. "Gimme reason to call you back."

Part of me really, really wanted to go home and forget he'd called at all. But another part of me - the cop who wouldn't let go of a lead - made me look hard enough to pierce the darkness and the blanket of fog.

Something lay in the middle of the alley. Junior or this girl supposedly with no blood?

Only one way to find out.

Cursing under my breath, I removed my weapon from its holster under my navy blazer, grabbed the combination lantern-flashlight from the floor in back and cautiously opened the door. This wasn't a particularly bad area, and I wasn't afraid, but it never paid to let down my guard.

"Junior?" I called out, turning and swinging the light around to make certain there were no nasty surprises waiting for me. "You there?"

No answer. My stomach knotting, I moved toward the lump in the middle of the alley. As if the fog decided to cooperate, it rolled off the body and framed it, giving me a picture I would never forget.

She was sprawled across the alley pavement, her skirt up around her waist, panties shredded, legs spread and bruised - she'd obviously been sexually assaulted. I moved closer, my eye caught by an intricate design high on her outer thigh - a winged gargoyle. A tattoo. Even in the dim light I could see how young she was. A teenager. Just a kid. Her jaw looked as if it had been dislocated, one of her eyes rolled partly out of its socket and an ear was half ripped off.

She'd fought her attacker like hell, I thought. She'd fought and lost.

Her caramel skin was ash-pale, and I knew a person's skin color came from the oxygen in the blood. Her body hadn't been oxygenated in a while. Even so, I set the lantern down next to her and felt for a pulse. Her flesh was icy against my fingertips. Nothing moved inside of her.

I looked for wounds and on the inside of her arm found a nasty slash that severed the median cubital vein - the primary site used to draw blood by medical personnel. Her arm was smeared with red and the gashed flesh lay open. If she were still alive, it would have been a gusher, but it wasn't bleeding because her heart wasn't beating and maintaining blood pressure. No other wounds that I could see. Only that gash, meaning she must have died of blood loss.

The problem was ... where had all the blood gone?

I flashed the light around through the fog, but there were only a few splotches on the ground near her arm. The short hairs at the back of my neck rose, and I tried to tell myself that this wasn't the primary site. That she had been killed elsewhere and dumped here. Only it didn't look that way.

Junior had said he'd seen her being drained of blood....

Where the hell was he?

I looked all around me again, but the only thing I spotted was a book bag tumbled on its side as if it had been tossed in the struggle. Fog rolled over it and swallowed it whole.

I heard a muffled noise, maybe a garbage can hitting a garage door.

"Junior, are you here?"

No response. No nothing.

Continuing to call out for him would be futile, so as the fog drifted over the body once more, I checked for my cell phone but couldn't find it. I raced back to my car where I'd left it. Since I was off duty, I didn't have a radio to call in to dispatch, so I dialed 911.

"This is Detective Shelley Caldwell, Area 4 Violent Crimes Unit," I said, squeezing my ears against a sudden weird, high-pitched noise. What the hell was wrong with the damn cell phone? I'd never heard anything like this before. I raised my voice as I settled back into the seat. The fog was too thick to see anything anyway. "Call Dispatch. I have a body ..."

Or I'd had a body.

By the time they arrived on scene a few minutes later - uniforms followed by a case supervisor and CSI - the fog had lifted, leaving me with a few bloodstains, a book bag and nothing else.

The dead girl's body had vanished.


Excerpted from Hot Case by Patricia Rosemoor Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Having finished her work in her third-grade class, Patricia started reading the book she'd just taken out of the library — Double Date. Noting this was a "Senior" book (meaning for seventh- and eighth-graders), a very suspicious Sister Mary Ursula confiscated it. The nun returned the book the next morning with the suggestion that Patricia confine her reading to history. An independent thinker even then, Patricia continued reading young-adult romances.

At 12, baby-sitting for one of her mother's friends, Patricia picked up a women's magazine and found the first installment of Mistress of Mellyn by Victoria Holt. Enthralled, she asked to borrow the rest of the magazines so she could finish the serialized novel. She was instantly hooked on gothics, the precursor to the romantic suspense that she herself writes today.

Writing was always a part of her life. At 15, she took a part-time job with a local newspaper answering phones and taking ads. She convinced the owner to let her rewrite the wedding announcements. Her talent with words duly noted, the owner hired her as the youngest stringer ever to work for the paper.

At 16, she was reporting on the city council meetings in her suburb and creating controversy that kept the editor's phone ringing. That summer, she took over the sports section when the sports editor went on vacation.

Unable to afford the journalism program at Northwestern University, Patricia settled on being a commuter student at the University of Illinois and earning a degree in American literature. There, she also discovered that she was seduced by images as well as words. After obtaining a master's degreeintelevision production, she worked in educational media.

But that love of fiction never died. During the big surge of romances hitting the shelves in the late '70s, she realized she wanted to write romances herself. She tried, gave up...and a few years later tried again. She gave herself a deadline — one year to get published or forget it.

This happened to be the first year of her marriage, and she was still working a full-time job. Luckily, she'd married "the most supportive man in the world." And even more luckily, she sold a young-adult romance at the 13th hour. Actually, in the 11th month of that year she'd given herself.

How did it happen? She won the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart for Best Young Adult Manuscript. Of course she wasn't at the conference to learn of this. A friend called the next day. And mysteriously, a few weeks later, she received a Golden Heart in the mail with no letter, no official notification of her win. But that seemed to be the norm for her writing career at that point. The same friend who had called her also said the editor who'd read her manuscript for the contest was saying that she was "her" author and "her" new book.

So Patricia waited...and waited for a phone call from the editor. Three weeks later, the editor called and asked if she had ever made an offer. Patricia said no. The editor said she hoped Patricia would accept her offer, because the book was already in production.

Patricia's writing career was on its way. Many books and years later, she's still at it.

Research is an integral part of Patricia's writing process. Recently she and her husband spent some time on a working cattle ranch in New Mexico to get the authentic details that she feels brings a story to life. Travel for research is the best part of the deal as far as she is concerned, especially if it involves animals. For some of her books, she swam with dolphins, photographed wild mustangs, and howled with wolves.

Her advice to new writers: "Find the passion in your story that goes beyond the romance." Patricia shares her own passion for writing with her office mates, Peach, Phantom and Dreamer (her cats), and encourages her students to find theirs at Columbia College in Chicago, where she teaches a couple of credit courses each year, including Writing the Suspense Thriller and Writing Popular Fiction.

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Hot Case (Silhouette Bombshell Series, #24) 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
harstan More than 1 year ago
Following a tip Chicago Violent Crimes Unit Detective Shelley Caldwell finds the murdered body of LaTonya Sanford drained of blood. She calls it in, but a fog engulfs the corpse; when it clears there is neither body nor any blood at the scene.............. Shelley has been transferred to the police academy where she instructs new recruits as no one believed that she saw a body vanish into the air, but is considering quitting the force though that would hurt her mom, a district commander. However, when her twin sister Silke desperately calls Shelley insisting she found a corpse of a friend, she rushes tot he scene. Once again the body vanished. This time she knows she did not see things that were not there. Shelley gores undercover posing as Silke to gain entrance to the exotic e Goth club Heart of Darkness for there she feels is a link to some weird supernatural happening, but sinking her teeth into the case without backup or sanctioning could prove deadly............. Readers will enjoy this supernatural police procedural with a shade of romance. The story line grips the reader from the moment that Shelley ¿loses¿ her corpse and her informer is also missing. The tale never lets up until the climax as Shelley digs deep into a weird world that she knows should not exist. Besides a fantastic lead protagonist, the key to Patricia Rosemoor¿s super tale is that the paranormal feels bona fide due to the inquiries of the lead cop on the trail of a HOT CASE................ Harriet Klausner