by Linda Ladd
Novak stared at the Luger: chrome, German-made, 9mm, shiny bright with a carved ivory handle that she gripped tightly in her right hand. His .45 was in her left hand. The handcuff now dangled from her little finger. She was still barefoot. Her coat was slightly open in front. She was naked underneath. It looked as if she had been wounded. Blood was dripping down her leg and pooling on his carpet. The hat was gone, and there was a lot of blood soaking into some long and tangled wheat-colored blond hair. She was filthy, and she was trembling all over. Her heavy black eye makeup was smeared down on her cheeks, and her face was bruised worse than he’d thought. She looked in bad shape. She needed medical attention. Her gun hand was shaking back and forth like crazy.
“You need a doctor,” he told her softly, not moving a muscle.
She swayed slightly. Her weapon did, too. Her finger was not alongside the trigger the way it should be; it was on the trigger and ready to tug it back if he looked at her wrong. Not good, that. Novak kept his eyes latched on the weapon and then moved his gaze up to her swollen eye. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret. Nobody needs to get hurt here.”
“Then do what I say. Please, I’m tired, I’m just so tired.”
Weak but determined, she meant it, all right. She looked tiny standing next to him. Novak stood six feet six inches; he towered over her. At around two hundred forty pounds, he was easily double her weight. Even if she hadn’t suffered from abuse and exhaustion, she couldn’t best him in a fight, not without some major ninja skills. They stared wordlessly at each other. Tension was building, slowly and steadily.
Then, without any warning, the hall door across from them burst wide open and slammed against the wall behind it. Both Novak and the girl went down into defensive crouches. One of the men chasing her earlier stood in the threshold holding a Glock 9mm with both hands. The intruder and the injured woman with Novak opened fire simultaneously. Novak lunged forward and tackled the woman around the waist and took her down to the ground behind the couch. He grabbed his Kimber out of her hand. She was hit in the arm and bleeding profusely, but the man at the doorway was dead, hit center mass with a double tap, right through his heart.
Novak didn’t have time to think before the dead guy’s partner showed up in the dining room archway and let loose with a barrage of fire. Novak rolled to the end of the couch and came up firing. He hit the guy in the head and throat, knocking him back into the dining room where he went down, choking on his own blood. Novak stayed low, behind the couch, and waited for number three. Nobody else showed. After a few moments, he took a knee beside the girl. She was on her back, moaning and already half-conscious. Her upper arm near the shoulder was a bloody mess.
Novak pulled a throw off his couch and wrapped it around her arm as tight as he could knot it, hoping to slow the bleeding until the paramedics showed up. The woman had already lapsed into unconsciousness. He got up and checked out his apartment for more gunmen but found no one. Both assailants were dead. Then he walked out onto the balcony and picked up his headset. The crowd below still moved blithely along, unaware of what had just gone down in his apartment. Either they hadn’t heard the gunfire or thought it was fireworks.
“This is Will Novak. Requesting ambulance and homicide detectives. Home invasion. Two dead, one wounded. Come down the back alley between Bourbon and Royal. I’ll be there to wave you in.”
“Got it. What the hell’s goin’ on, Novak?”
Novak dropped the headset without answering. A siren shrieked on from somewhere down around Canal Street. He hurried back inside and searched through the pockets of the two dead men. He found wallets, keys, and cell phones. He stuffed all of them into his coat pockets. He left everything else in the apartment untouched. The evidence would clearly show that two men had burst inside and attacked them. It was all right there with enough forensic evidence to satisfy any practiced detective. He checked the girl’s arm, realized the bleeding had not slowed down much, and tightened the tourniquet. Then he ran downstairs to the back alley and waited for the shrill sirens to find him.
About the Author
Linda Ladd is the best-selling author of over a dozen novels, including the Claire Morgan thrillers. She makes her home in Missouri, where she lives with her husband and old beagle named Banjo. She loves traveling and spending time with her two adult children,two grandsons, and granddaughter. In addition to writing, Linda enjoys target shooting and is a good markswoman with a Glock 19 similar to her fictional detectives. She loves to read good books, play tennis and board games, and watch fast-paced action movies. She is currently at work on her next novel. Learn more at www.lindaladd.com.
SAY YOU’RE DREAMING
When a scream wakes Will Novak in the middle of the night, at first he puts it down to the nightmares. He’s alone on a sailboat in the Caribbean, miles from land. And his demons never leave him.
SAY YOUR PRAYERS
The screams are real, though, coming from another boat just a rifle’s night scope away. It only takes seconds for Novak to witness one murder and stop another. But with the killer on the run and a beautiful stranger dripping on his deck, Novak has gotten himself into a new kind of deep water.
BUT DON’T SAY YOUR NAME
The young woman he saved says she doesn’t know who she is. But someone does, and they’re burning fuel and cash to chase Novak and his new acquaintance from one island to the next, across dangerous seas and right into the wilds of the Yucatan jungle. If either of them is going to live, Novak is going to need answers, fast—and he’s guessing he won’t like what he finds out. . . .
BAD MEMORIES
Not many people know their way through the bayous well enough to find Will Novak’s crumbling mansion outside New Orleans. Not that Novak wants to talk to anyone. He keeps his guns close and his guard always up.
BAD SISTER
Mariah Murray is one selfish, reckless, manipulative woman, the kind Novak would never want to get tangled up with. But he can’t say no to his dead wife’s sister.
BAD VIBES
When Mariah tells him she wants to rescue a childhood friend, another Aussie girl gone conveniently missing in north Georgia, Novak can’t turn her down. She’s hiding something. But the pretty little town she’s targeted screams trouble, too. Novak knows there’s a trap waiting. But until he springs it, there’s no telling who to trust. . . .
