Hunting a murderer is hot work, in more ways than one.
Lindsey Califaro, second-in-command at Elite Marketing, is suspicious when her boss, Craig Wainwright, is killed in a car accident. She’s had a funny feeling about things around the agency for a while and now her spidey senses are going haywire. Something is wrong and she’s determined to find out what.
John Martino, highly sought-after forensic accountant, is sent by Arroyo to dig into Elite’s books and see if there is an answer there. He expects problems, but what he doesn’t expect is to find a super-smart, hot female who pushes all his buttons and sends his sex drive into overload.
Investigating Elite’s finances and Craig’s private life, the two uncover a sordid trail of sex trafficking and drugs so extensive it shocks them. As they draw closer to the real head of the operation, the heat between them rises and their feelings for each other explode.
As they work to blow open the criminal enterprise, John must do everything he can to protect Lindsey from a master criminal. But will his best be enough?
About the Author
A multi-published, award winning, Amazon and USA Today best-selling author, Desiree Holt has produced more than 200 titles and won many awards. She has received an EPIC E-Book Award, the Holt Medallion and many others including Author After Dark’s Author of the Year. She has been featured on CBS Sunday Morning and in The Village Voice, The Daily Beast, USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The London Daily Mail. She lives in Florida with her cats who insist they help her write her books, and is addicted to football.
With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.
Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.
"Liz Crowe writes intense true-to-life stories that make you feel. Whether it's anxiety, love, fear, hate, bliss, or loss woven into her plot lines, you will feel it deep down to your very soul." ~ Audrey Carlan, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author
"Liz Crowe is one of those rare authors who knows how to take the emotions of her characters and make them real for her readers, binding you to the story.” ~ International Best Selling Author Desiree Holt
Read an Excerpt
Copyright © Desiree Holt 2018. All Rights Reserved, Totally Entwined Group Limited, T/A Totally Bound Publishing.
The night was hot and muggy, typical of Florida any time of the year but especially in the summer. The force of it hit Craig Wainwright as he emerged from the air-conditioned office building into the sticky heat that surrounded him. He was glad that years ago he’d learned to dress for comfort, favoring lightweight slacks and soft-collar shirts with the Elite Marketing logo on them as opposed to more formal ties and button-down shirts.
He’d hoped that because he worked late, the oppressive heat of the day would have faded, but no such luck. Just something else to add to his itchy mood, one that had plagued him for more than a week. He had some decisions to make, very unpleasant ones that he wasn’t looking forward to. He definitely didn’t want to have the talk he planned with Lindsey, but it couldn’t be helped.
Making Lindsey Califaro executive vice-president of Elite was one of the smartest things he’d ever done. It allowed him to pursue side projects without worrying about the agency’s operation. But he hadn’t been fair to her and the day of reckoning was coming far too soon. The headache he’d been fighting all evening was a sign that he couldn’t put a lot of this off any longer. He had called her tonight and asked her to meet him early for coffee at the office. Maybe he’d stop and pick up some of those French breakfast rolls she loved so much. Something to put her in a good mood.
How the hell did I get myself into this fix, anyway?
He was glad his car had the ability to start remotely, letting the air conditioning kick in and cool off before he had to climb into it. Hitting the button on his key fob unlocked the door and he slid in behind the steering wheel. Modern science was wonderful, providing every possible creature comfort imaginable. And Craig was all about comfort.
As he pulled out of the parking garage and headed toward Las Olas Boulevard and home, his thoughts shifted in another direction. The pressure from the other Elite activities was getting to him. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. It forced him into a crazy schedule and the pressure of dealing with it was affecting him physically. In the past few weeks, he’d developed a tendency toward blinding headaches. A checkup with his doctor had revealed just what he thought—they were caused by tension. Now he had a small bottle of little blue pills that could attack the pain the moment he took them. He’d popped one during his last half-hour at work, just to take the edge off.
Too bad they aren’t the other little blue pills.
He smiled at the thought. Maybe he’d get a prescription for those, too. Not that he needed them all that much. He was positive that his problems in the bedroom had the same cause as his headaches. What he should do was take two weeks off and spend them with Natalia, his wife, straightening out their lives. He had never dreamed the situation would escalate the way it had. He wanted to go back to the way things had been before, even if it meant shrinking his income. He had accumulated more than enough to spare.
Yeah. Fat chance.
He sighed and turned on the radio, searching for one of his programmed stations. Ah. There. Soft instrumental music. That would help him relax. He was as tight as a drum and he wanted to ease up before he got home. Maybe he’d take a little detour. The major thoroughfares saw little traffic this time of night. Yes, that’s it. He’d take a drive on I-95. Maybe he could put off the inevitable a little while longer.
Changing direction, he entered the highway, turned up the radio a little and rolled down the windows. A soft breeze blew through the car. Maybe it would soothe him even more. The pill hadn’t done as much as usual. In fact, his headache seemed to be getting worse. The familiar band tightened around his skull, shooting pain into his eyes. And now a sharp stab in his chest had been added.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.
Maybe he should pull over on the verge. There wasn’t much traffic this time of night. He could sit there for just a few minutes until the worst of the pain subsided. He turned on his signal and began to ease toward the right. As he did so, a car behind him was suddenly on his bumper, bright lights flooding his car and exacerbating his pain.
What the hell?