by Kaylea Cross
LETHAL TEMPTATION
Rifle Creek Series
Kaylea Cross
LETHAL TEMPTATION
Copyright © 2020 Kaylea Cross
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Cover Art: Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs
Developmental edits: Deborah Nemeth
Line Edits: Joan Nichols
Digital Formatting: LK Campbell
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
ISBN: 978-1-928044-41-3
ABOUT THE BOOK
She’s got her guard up.
Detective Avery Dahl finally has her life back on track after a painful divorce. She’s not going to risk her heart again, especially to a sexy veteran with heartbreak written all over him. Due to extenuating circumstances at an upcoming family wedding, she reluctantly agrees to bring him as her fake boyfriend—and soon realizes her mistake. Because Mason is as lethal with seduction as he is with a weapon, and keeps pushing her boundaries until her carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. Her instinct is to push him away, but when a mysterious enemy targets her, Avery has a choice to make. Face it alone, or take a risk and let him in.
He’s determined to get past it.
After a horrific accident ended his military career, Mason Gallant has struggled to fit into the civilian world. Now that he and his buddies are opening a business together in Rifle Creek, he’s finally found his footing again. But he never counted on meeting a woman like Avery. He can’t stop thinking about her, so when she needs help, he steps up. Except posing as her boyfriend makes things even worse—because he soon realizes he wants way more than just her body. Now that he’s seen the caring, sensual woman inside the tough cop, he wants to protect her from whoever is threatening her. As the attraction between them heats up, the danger escalates. Mason must prove to her that she can trust him with her heart as well as her life—or risk losing her to the bullet of a stone-cold killer.
DEDICATION
For Beep, my hunky Alberta cousin who fought his demons for as long as he could. You never realized what a beautiful soul you had, but your family knew. You will forever be missed.
xo
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Mason got under Avery’s skin in Lethal Edge, and not in a good way. If he wants to win her over, he’s got his work cut out for him in this one! Hope you enjoy it.
Happy reading,
Kaylea
Table Of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Silent Night, Deadly Night
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COMPLETE BOOKLIST
Chapter One
Avery stopped typing notes on her computer to snatch her phone from her desk when it rang. She stilled when she saw the number of her main police contact in Billings, and took a deep breath before answering.
She’d been waiting for this call. Dreading it for days. “Detective Dahl.”
“Avery, it’s Jim. I have some news for you.”
“Hi, Jim. Go ahead.” She braced herself for the possibility of bad news.
“It’s about Mike Radzat.”
“Yes.” Her stomach tensed, her fingers tightening around the phone.
“The National Appeals Board met this morning, and they’ve made the decision to—”
To overturn the Parole Commission’s decision and grant Radzat parole. So that dangerous, manipulative piece of shit could target more innocent victims.
“—deny his appeal.”
Thank you, God. She leaned back in her chair, slowly relaxing. “That’s great news.” She wanted him to stay in prison for as long as possible. “When will his next parole board hearing be?”
“Likely in another two years.”
Hopefully he’d be denied parole then too. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Of course. Have a good day.”
“You too.” She set her phone down on her desk with a relieved sigh. Until now she hadn’t realized just how anxious she’d been about the situation.
She looked up at a brisk knock on her partially open office door. Her work partner, Tate, stood in the doorway, wearing dress slacks, a charcoal-gray button-down, and a few days of bronze stubble on his jaw. His expression was somber. “We’re being dispatched to a domestic violence call.”
Avery pushed up from her desk and took her service pistol from the drawer, sliding it into the holster on her hip. “Where’s everyone else?” They were detectives, not patrol officers, but the Sheriff’s Department here was small enough that they were often spread thin, so everyone had to pitch in where needed.
“Busy.”
She hurried after him down the hall toward the main doors. These kinds of calls were thankfully rare here in Rifle Creek. It had been a long while since she’d had to respond to something like this, and she hadn’t missed it. She’d always hated them.
One in five officer “line of duty” deaths occurred while responding to domestic violence calls. They were by far the most dangerous kind of call for an officer to respond to, and she was thankful to have Tate with her.
They’d been partners for just over seven months now, and they’d become close right from the start. She trusted and felt safe with him. And not only was he a former Marine Raider with combat experience in addition to his years as a law enforcement officer, he was also in love with Avery’s best friend.
There was no one else she’d rather have watching her back in a situation like this. “Where’s the domestic at?”
“Summit Park. Neighbor called it in.”
New, fairly affluent neighborhood on the ridge above the creek. Just went to show that domestic violence didn’t discriminate—it affected all demographics, and all walks of life.
They exited the building into the bright October morning sunshine and hurried for his gray Ford pickup. “What was that call about when I showed up at your office?” Tate asked. “You looked relieved.”
“Just got word that the inmate I testified against in Billings a few years ago has officially been denied parole.”
“Radzat?” He unlocked the doors for them.
“Yeah.” Serial assaulter, thief and drug dealer. “For once, our justice system got it right.” Even though she’d done everything in her power to keep him behind bars, she’d been worried they might let him out early.
During the parole hearing she’d testified that he shouldn’t be granted parole—ever. Mike Radzat needed to stay behind bars right up until the last day of his sentence. He’d been committing violent crimes since the age of twenty-three, and he’d only been put away for the things he’d been caught for.
; Having worked as a patrol officer in Billings for several years prior to becoming a detective, she had arrested him at least ten times, and each crime had been increasingly violent. No surprise to her that he’d wound up being arrested for aggravated murder soon after, having carved a rival to pieces with a machete.
“How long’s he got left in prison?” Tate asked as he steered out of the parking lot.
“Eighteen years.” She shook her head. “He had every chance in the world to straighten out. He came from a good family and had all kinds of support and opportunities. Instead he threw it all away.”
“At least he’s not getting out anytime soon.”
“That’s the silver lining.”
They were quiet for a few minutes, until Tate turned off the two-lane highway. “So, Mason’s moving in tomorrow night, huh?”
Her good mood took a dip. Oh, God, she didn’t even want to think about Mason. The man unsettled and confused her. And he was about to become her basement suite tenant, because rental suites in Rifle Creek were sparse, and she could use the money. “Yeah. Now give me the rundown on this situation we’re responding to.”
Tate outlined what the caller had told the 911 operator about the domestic violence incident. Sounded like the middle-aged couple had been in one hell of a fight if the neighbor had been concerned enough to call the cops. Husband was a lawyer, wife an interior decorator. The caller didn’t know if the wife had been injured, but had feared enough for her safety to make the call.
As they approached the neighborhood, Avery mentally readied herself for the unknown situation they were about to walk into.
“Ready?” Tate asked as he pulled up to the sprawling, two-story brick house.
“Yep.” She got out and walked with him up to the front door, hand on the butt of her service weapon. The neighborhood was quiet, most of the driveways empty with the residents at work, though she noticed the next-door neighbor peeking at her and Tate through a gap in the curtains as they headed up the front walkway.
Tate rang the doorbell. Electronic, with a camera. When no one answered, he rang it again, and rapped on the door.
“Hang on,” came the irritated reply a few moments later.
“Mr. Zinke,” Tate said when the homeowner finally opened the door.
Avery studied him in silence. Forty-three-year-old male, clean cut, with brown eyes and dark blond hair. Same height as her, right around six feet, with a wiry build. The dress slacks and shirt hinted that he was on his way to work.
Zinke didn’t budge, the door opened only wide enough to frame his face. Avery didn’t see any visible scratches or marks on it. “Yes?” he said, still sounding irritated.
Avery and Tate held up their badges. “Rifle Creek Sheriff’s Department. We got a call about a domestic disturbance at this address,” Avery said in a no-nonsense tone. “We’d like to speak to you and your wife.”
His face tightened as he stared at her. “She’s not here.”
Uh-huh. Then how come both cars were still in the driveway? “Can we come in?”
He eyed them with suspicion. “What for?”
“We want to ask you some questions.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, then he relented and stepped back. “Fine, but make it quick. I need to get into the office for a meeting.”
Tate went in first. Avery followed, using her heightened awareness to get a read on the situation. The wife was nowhere in sight. And the place was spotless, furnished and decorated to perfection, like a show home. “The report said you and your wife were in a heated argument.”
“Who reported it?” Zinke demanded.
“I don’t know. Was there an argument?” she asked.
“Yeah. So?”
Avery already disliked this arrogant sonofabitch. And it didn’t bode well that his wife wasn’t visible. “Where’s your wife right now?”
“Out. And it was nothing.” His cheeks flushed, but not from embarrassment. Oh, no, this asshole was pissed right off at having his behavior witnessed and reported.
“Where’s your wife now?” Tate asked.
“Out,” he snapped, no longer even trying to maintain a civil façade. “Look, whoever reported it was overreacting. I raised my voice, so what? I was mad. It’s over now.”
“Do you have any weapons in the house or on you?” He wasn’t wearing a holster, and there were no visible bulges in his clothing. Avery patted him down to be sure.
His jaw flexed. “In the gun safe in my office.”
“Which is where?” Tate said.
He jerked his chin toward the hallway. “In there.”
“Show us.” They followed him to the office and verified that the firearms were all accounted for.
“I’m going to check this level,” Avery told Tate.
“She’s not here,” Zinke snapped.
Avery ignored him and did her job, looking in each room on the lower floor for weapons or any sign that the wife was here. When she found nothing, she came back to join Tate in the living room.
“Did you assault your wife, Mr. Zinke?” Tate asked.
Zinke’s face turned even redder. “No. Now are we done?”
A muted thud sounded above their heads. All three of them paused. Avery watched Zinke closely. “Is someone else home?” she asked.
“No. Was probably the cat,” he muttered.
Right. “I’m going to look upstairs,” Avery said to Tate, pushing to her feet.
Zinke shot to his, blocking her way. “I didn’t give you permission.”
Avery arched an eyebrow at him, not the least bit intimidated. “Under the circumstances, I don’t need your permission.”
Zinke made a move to block her as she stepped past him, but Tate was there, placing himself between them with a solid hand on Zinke’s chest. “You stay here with me. Sit down.”
Zinke glared, his eyes burning with anger. “You got a warrant?”
“Don’t need one if we suspect someone might be hurt.”
“I’ll be reporting this,” Zinke growled, jaw tight.
“Be my guest,” Avery muttered to herself as she hit the stairs. She kept her hand on the butt of her pistol, attuned to every sound, watching for any sign of movement above her.
The upstairs landing led down two hallways. One to the guest suites, which were empty, and one to what she guessed must be the master.
Her pulse sped up as she walked toward the master bedroom. “Mrs. Zinke? I’m Detective Avery Dahl, Rifle Creek Sherriff’s Department. Are you all right?”
No answer. But then Avery caught the faint sound of something moving inside.
She entered the room. “Mrs. Zinke?”
Silence.
Screw this. Avery drew her weapon and began a more thorough sweep. The master suite was huge, and immaculate. Sweet perfume scented the air. “Mrs. Zinke?”
The bathroom was empty. So was the walk-in closet. What the hell? She’d heard something hit the floor up here not two minutes ago, then movement.
She stopped, spotting a faint smudge of dirt in the carpet. A potted orchid rested on an occasional table above it. The stain in this immaculately kept home was like a red flag. Pointing Avery directly to the built-in cabinets beside it.
She turned toward them and crouched down to pull one of the cabinet doors open, weapon ready.
A tiny gasp answered.
Avery’s heart clenched at the sight revealed in the beam of sunlight streaming through the window behind her. A blond woman was curled up in a ball inside, her face half-hidden in shadow. But the visible part of it was all Avery needed to see.
She holstered her weapon and got down on her knees to peer inside. “Tracy?”
The woman didn’t answer, her face wet with tears, her left eye swelling shut. She was trembling.
Avery extended a hand toward her. “It’s all right now. I’m Detective Avery Dahl. Come out and let me help you.”
The woman’s one-eyed gaze darted frantically around the room.
&
nbsp; “My partner has him downstairs. You’re safe now.”
“N-no,” Tracy whimpered. “Don’t—d-don’t arrest him.”
Avery gestured with her hand. “Just come out and we’ll talk. I need to see that you’re all right.” Because clearly, she wasn’t.
Tracy put a trembling hand in Avery’s. Avery helped her out, and smothered a sharp intake of breath when she saw the woman fully in the light.
Zinke had busted her lip open. Her pink blouse was covered in blood. A welt was forming on her cheek below the swelling eye.
Tracy sniffed and wiped gingerly at her face, her gaze on the floor.
“You’re hurt,” Avery said, keeping her tone gentle even as she wanted to race back downstairs to watch Tate cuff Zinke and tell him what a piece of shit he was for beating his wife.
The woman shook her head. “N-no. I slipped in the sh-shower.”
“Tracy.” The woman looked up at her, the shame and fear there making Avery’s gut tighten. “You and I both know you didn’t slip in the shower.”
Tracy began to cry softly.
Avery gently took her over to sit on the edge of the wide, king-size bed and got on her radio. She called dispatch for an ambulance, ignoring Tracy’s protests. If Zinke had beaten her this badly, she might have fractures or even internal injuries that needed to be checked.
Just as she finished, Zinke’s enraged voice shattered the quiet from downstairs. “Get out of my fucking house!”
Tracy jerked, her entire body going rigid. Avery grasped her hand and gave her a reassuring smile. “Listen to me. I want you to stay right here, okay? I’m going to check on my partner, and then I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
She turned and raced for the door. Zinke was screaming and swearing at Tate as she ran down the stairs. His enraged stare snapped to her the moment she came into view. Avery held it, a rush of triumph hitting her. “I found her and called for an ambulance,” she said to Tate. “Cuff him.”
