Stella, Get Your Gun (Silhouette Bombshell #13) [NOOK Book]

Overview

She's just been shot at, arrested and thrown in jailBut trust former police officer Stella Valocchi--compared to last week, things are looking up.

Last week she: a) caught her cop boyfriend in bed with her best friend, b) kidnapped the boyfriend's dog and c) ran for home, only to find the man who once left her at the altar presiding over her favorite uncle's funeral.

This week Stella's hunting her uncle's killer. Being arrested on bogus charges...

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Stella, Get Your Gun (Silhouette Bombshell #13)

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Overview

She's just been shot at, arrested and thrown in jailBut trust former police officer Stella Valocchi--compared to last week, things are looking up.

Last week she: a) caught her cop boyfriend in bed with her best friend, b) kidnapped the boyfriend's dog and c) ran for home, only to find the man who once left her at the altar presiding over her favorite uncle's funeral.

This week Stella's hunting her uncle's killer. Being arrested on bogus charges just means she's on target. But to stay there she's got to confront the past--and her former fiancé--and stick to her guns in the face of shocking family secrets....

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781426857683
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 3/15/2010
  • Series: Silhouette Bombshell Series , #13
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 304
  • Sales rank: 467,264
  • File size: 314 KB

Meet the Author

Nancy Bartholomew began writing out of absolute desperation. Stuck in a cookie-cutter suburban subdivision with only toddlers and Thomas the Tank Engine to talk to, she began writing, filling her books with mayhem and mirth and catapulting herself into the middle of more trouble, mirth and mayhem than any soccer mom could handle.

Soon, feisty heroines, hunky heroes and assorted wacky relatives, friends and dogs began populating Nancy's imaginary worlds and finding their way onto publishers' desks. Nancy stole early morning quiet hours to write before the kids and work could interrupt. She baked chocolate chip cookies in the afternoons, invited a crowd of kids over to play and wrote at the kitchen table while the chaos swirled around her.

Now the boys are getting older and Nancy writes to avoid dealing with the reality of adolescence...you know... teenaged drivers, eye rolling, phrases like "Whatever!" and "I'll do it in a minute!"

She lives in North Carolina with her two boys, a large mutt named Bailey, a miniature schnauzer named Maggie who rules the roost, and a very confused bunny rabbit who seems to think she's a squirrel. If Nancy had spare time, her cottage garden wouldn't look like the horticultural equivalent of Girls Gone Wild, her funky, retro house would be halfway clean, and her paperwork would be all caught up. However, we all need something to aspire to, and a clean house is apparently not on her list of Lifetime Goals.

You can read more about Nancy's life, and maybe even see a picture or two, at nancybartholomew.com

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Read an Excerpt

Stella, Get Your Gun


By Nancy Bartholomew

Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.

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

ISBN: 0-373-51327-5


Chapter One

In retrospect, perhaps kidnapping Lloyd was a bad idea, not that I regret it. I most certainly do not regret kidnapping Lloyd. It improved both our lives, and I can say that in all honesty, even if my law-enforcement career and reputation have gone straight to the dogs. Before Lloyd, my life was in the toilet, so anything short of the sewer is an improvement. I know what you're thinking - how can a woman feel her life is on the upswing when she's just been shot at, arrested and thrown in jail? Trust me, compared to last week, life is most definitely looking up.

Last week I was just a junior patrol officer looking to make detective. All I wanted was my shot at the big time, and thanks to "Needle Nose" Robanski, I thought I was about to realize this lifelong ambition.

Needle Nose was on a one-man crime spree somewhere in Garden Beach, Florida. He had a nasty knack for way-laying exotic dancers, beating them beyond recognition and then finishing the job with a filet knife. I figured I was going to be the one to catch him. I guess I just didn't realize it would take more than a bottle of blond hair dye, stiletto heels and a fake leather loincloth to do the job. Undercover police work takes conviction. You have to sell yourself in your perp's world. You have to be one of them and not just pass as a cheap imitation. So I was out there, selling myself, the night old Needle Nose made his appearance.

The manager of the Solitaire Gentleman's Club, Alfonso Lewis, wasn't too pleased with my performance. He kept calling my sergeant and complaining I was bad for business, that I had no "customer service orientation." I ask you, did you ever try to conceal a microphone in a padded bra the size of a postage stamp? Do you know what it feels like to have a hard plastic button nibbling away at your right boob while you're simultaneously bending down to deliver a drink and trying to keep some jerk's hand from slipping between your legs?

It was a challenge, but I handled it because I was a professional, and because I wanted Needle Nose Robanski almost as much as I wanted the promotion that catching him would ensure.

My partner, Lou Ann Ross, called in sick that night, so the sergeant sent a rookie to man the surveillance van in the parking lot. He didn't send just any rookie, either; he sent Leon. Leon was twenty-one, maybe five foot six and weighed in at just under 130 pounds. He'd been with a training coach for three solid rotations before someone finally stuck him on our squad and warned us not to give him anything too important to do. Leon was a hair away from unemployment, and I was his last shot at redemption.

When I saw him pull up, I could only assume that catching Needle Nose must not have been too important to the Garden Beach Police Department. Covering my ass must've ranked up there with mundane chores like dispensing parking tickets. Maybe sending Leon was the depart-ment's way of saying that our undercover operation wasn't paying off. Needle Nose Robanski wasn't taking the bait and had probably left town.

Still, when I stepped out onto the loading dock of the club a little after 1:00 a.m., I assumed Leon had me covered. I needed a break. I'd just come close to committing a vicious assault of my own, and had Alfonso not been tailing me like a bird dog, I might've gotten away with more than just teaching my nasty little customer a few things about respect and anatomy.

I slipped out the back door, shutting it firmly behind me, and paused to catch my breath. "Leon," I said softly, believing he was secure in his listening post across the lot, "I'm taking a break. I'm gonna sit in my car and eat a sandwich."

I stood there for another moment or two, scanning the lot, and then headed down the steps. It was a beautiful fall night, with a clear sky and bright stars. Living on the Florida Panhandle was heaven to a displaced Yankee. I let myself relax a little. I got careless and that was all it took. Needle Nose caught me off guard just as I inserted the key into the driver's side door. He slammed me into the hard metal of my car and clamped his thick hand over my mouth.

"Don't fucking move or I'll cut you," he said. To make sure I took him seriously, he jabbed the tip of his knife into my side, the cold metal nicking my bare skin and drawing a thin trickle of blood.

A surge of adrenaline hit me, dead center in my chest, sucking my heart up into my throat. This was it, the real thing, the moment I'd trained for - a face-to-face encounter with a bad guy. Needle Nose was huge compared to me. He must've outweighed me by seventy pounds and had a good eight inches on my five feet four inches. To make matters worse, he had bad breath and a weapon. I would've given anything for my Glock.

I waited for Leon, hoping he'd left the tape running in the camera and on the recorder. I listened hard for the sound of the van door opening but heard nothing. Needle Nose pulled me back against his chest, one arm wrapped around my neck while his other hand held the knife against my exposed skin. He twisted away from the vehicle and began moving toward the Dumpster, half pushing and half dragging me with him.

I knew what would come next; I'd read all the reports. It was always the same M.O. He would take me behind the trash bin, slit my clothes off, rape me, beat me and then cut me beyond all recognition. Good thing I had the full support of the Garden Beach Police Department behind me; otherwise, I might've been in trouble.

When Needle Nose rounded the trash bin, I decided not to count on backup. It was time to make my move. Unfortunately, he made his move first. He slipped his knife up behind my bra strap and sliced it cleanly before I could react or even really process what he'd done. It was too late to stop and regroup; I was already taking action, faking a stumble to the left. His knife hand flew out to the side as he cut the strap. He was forced to try to grab me with his left hand.

I used his own momentum to duck back under him, grabbing his wrist as I went, twisting and jerking his arm up as hard as I could. I was rewarded with the sound of ripping tendons and ligaments, followed by a sharp scream of pain as Needle Nose fell forward and I landed on top of him.

I hung on to his thick wrist as he bucked like a bronco. I was riding him and trying to drive the heel of my stiletto into his knife hand when Leon finally materialized.

"Stop!" he cried in his squeaky adolescent voice. "Garden Beach Police! Stop or I'll shoot!"

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Stella, Get Your Gun by Nancy Bartholomew 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.

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Sort by: Showing 1 Customer Reviews
  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    Teriffic romantic thriller

    In Garden Beach, Florida, patrol officer Stella Valocchi completes her undercover assignment of capturing a serial killer successfully in spite of her partner Lou Ann being replaced by a pathetic rookie. She goes to see her boyfriend Pete the cop only to see he and Lou Ann playing bad girl games on the sheets. Angrily she leaves with Pete¿s dog, but realizes she has no future here as her former best friend and partner and her former lover will cover their respective behinds with nasty rumors about her.................... Stella drives to her hometown to spend time with her beloved Uncle Benny and their zany family. However, upon arriving in Glenn Ford, Pennsylvania she learns that Benny committed suicide. Leading the services at Benny¿s funeral is Minister Jake Carpenter, who once jilted Stella at the altar. Unable to accept the fact that Benny killed himself, Stella investigates the death only to have unwanted help from her family and Jake who she still loves...................... Stella is a fabulous protagonist looking to regain her groove following the Florida betrayal and the death of her uncle in which she is the only one who thinks murder occurs. Her relatives are the wild bunch who adds amusing and often frantic lunacy to the fast-paced plot. Fans of a madcap romantic suspense will want to read the amusing yet tense STELLA, GET YOUR GUN, which she would like to use on jilting Jake......................... Harriet Klausner

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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