Dear Reader.
Imagine that one of the country’s most eligible bachelors has been found brutally murdered in his luxurious penthouse. The crime scene suggests that the victim died in a botched robbery attempt, but the evidence indicates the “innocent” victim was engaged in something downright scandalous—a crime that could most definitely lead to murder! Sound like a delicious premise? We thought so. And so did bestselling authors Jackie Merritt, Justine Davis and Joan Elliott Pickart. In this intriguing anthology, the three romantic tales not only follow the crime investigation to its stunning verdict but also show that love is the ultimate reward for the individuals assigned to the case!
In Jackie Merritt’s “Premeditated Passion,” veteran detective Joshua Benton and medical examiner Maggie Sutter are called in to gather forensic evidence to investigate the crime. Though Josh remembers Maggie as being his best friend’s kid sister, Maggie is determined to show this man who’d once played a starring role in all her adolescent fantasies that he’s met his match!
Detective Colin Waters isn’t happy about being partnered with new hire Darien Wilson in Justine Davis’s “Behind the Badge.” But when Darien turns up evidence that the victim led a double life, Waters finds it virtually impossible to resist her charms.
And finally, in Joan Elliott Pickart’s “Verdict: Marriage,” D.A. Evan Stone gets more than he bargained for when a judge orders him to spend an evening with documentary filmmaker Jennifer Anderson. The two quickly discover that there’s a fine line between love and hate…. And Evan is in for his own shocking surprise when Jennifer shows up to film the trial.
We hope you enjoy these three romantic tales.
Happy reading!
The Editors
Silhouette Books
JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART
is the author of over eighty-five novels. She is a two-time Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist. When she isn’t writing, she has tea parties, reads stories, plays dress up—and the list goes on—with her young daughter, Autumn. Joan also has three grown daughters and three wonderful little grandchildren. Joan and Autumn live in a small town in the high pine country of Arizona.
JUSTINE DAVIS
sold her first book in 1989 and followed that up with the sale of nineteen novels in less than two years. Her first four books were published in 1991, and she has since won the RITA® Award four times. At the 1998 national conference, Justine was inducted into the RWA Hall of Fame, making her one of a very select group. She also had four titles on the Romantic Times “Top 200 of All Time” list. Her books have appeared regularly on bestseller lists, including the USA TODAY list. Justine accomplished much of this while maintaining her full-time job at a city police department until she retired to write full-time. She now lives with her husband and the perfect dog—plus a family of eagles—on Puget Sound in Washington State.
JACKIE MERRITT
is a bestselling author of fifty category romances. She and her husband are living in southern Nevada again, falling back on old habits of loving the long warm or slightly cool winters and trying almost desperately to head north for the months of July and August, when the fiery sun bakes people and cacti alike.
Body of Evidence
JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART
JUSTINE DAVIS
JACKIE MERRITT
CONTENTS
PREMEDITATED PASSION
Jackie Merritt
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
BEHIND THE BADGE
Justine Davis
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
VERDICT: MARRIAGE
Joan Elliott Pickart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
PREMEDITATED PASSION
Jackie Merritt
Dear Reader,
When my Silhouette editors asked me to write about a crime, I became quite excited. I’m a big fan of the forensic science shows on television, which depict the modern-day methods of bringing criminals to justice. With such incredible technology at the fingertips of criminologists and law enforcement in general, the percentage of unsolved crimes has to be dropping.
Of course this book isn’t just about murder, investigation and justice. Romance blossoms among the clues and hard work of the Chicago police department, and I’m sure you will enjoy reading Josh and Maggie’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Chapter 1
Maggie Sutter’s heart seemed to be beating much faster than was healthy. She knew she had to pull herself together, as she needed every one of her five senses and every cell in her brain functioning on the highest plane for her to properly and thoroughly investigate the scene of a homicide. But the idea of talking to Josh Benton, and working closely with him, simply wouldn’t leave her thoughts.
Maggie rode the elevator to the Gardner penthouse on the thirty-fifth floor of one of the luxury residential apartment buildings on Chicago’s Gold Coast. Taking off her heavy jacket during the rise, she concluded that this was not your everyday street crime. The Gardner name was known to anyone who paid attention to the business section of Chicago’s newspapers, or to the society pages. The family had clout and immense wealth. Old money, Maggie was certain, and the kind of lifestyle only others of the same class could grasp. Maggie had never longed for great wealth, and she was much more affected by working this case with Josh Benton than hearing that the victim was a Gardner.
The elevator doors opened with barely a whisper and Maggie stepped through them and into a different world, a huge foyer with marble floors and walls, and a few pieces of elegant furniture that had probably cost more than she made in a year. Two uniformed cops were on elevator duty in the foyer, and one of them checked her ID and compared the photo on it with her face.
“Has anyone checked this area for prints?” she asked him.
“Not yet. The photographer’s been at it for about a half hour. He took some shots in here.”
Maggie’s gaze went over the frame of the elevator. Places of entrance and exit sometimes yielded all sorts of evidence. “Make sure anyone using the elevators keeps their hands in their pockets,” she said. “And the stairs as well,” she added, eyeing a door to the left that had to lead to a stairwell. She walked away from the two men and entered the penthouse apartment.
In the most incredibly beautiful room she’d ever seen—counting magazines and movies—Maggie saw a woman sitting on a plush, ivory-colored sofa and crying into a handful of tissues. Changing direction, Maggie walked over to her and the cop seated next to her.
Maggie arched her eyebrow inquisitively at the officer, and he promptly introduced the woman as Miriam Hobart. He explained, “She’s been a housekeeper in this apartment for ten years. She found Franklin Gardner’s body. Something woke her…a sound…and she got up to try to locate its source.” That information prompted another gush of tears from the woman and some loud sobs.
Maggie thought for a moment then decided not to question the woman. First of all, Miriam Hobart was still in shock—or appeared to be—and in the weeping stage of grief. Second, this was Detective Josh Benton’s case, and he might not appreciate her questioning anyone without a direct order from him. As primary detective on the case, he would orchestrate the investigation.
The elegant living room was immaculate and obviously not the scene of the crime. The sofa was already contam
inated, so Maggie laid her jacket on the far end of it.
“Which room?” she asked.
“The study. Just follow the trail of uniforms,” the officer said.
Maggie did exactly that and wound through large, elegantly decorated rooms until she found the study. The police photographer was still working, and Maggie stayed in the doorway. She could see the victim on the carpet. He was wearing a white terry robe that reminded Maggie of the ones passed out in posh health clubs.
“How much longer will you be in here, Jack?” she asked.
The photographer looked her way. “I’m done. You and whoever else works this case are going to have so many shots of this place…and of the victim…that you’ll despise me.”
“I doubt that.” Jack began gathering his equipment. “Could you hang around for another thirty or so minutes?” she asked him. “I need photographs of the carpet under the body, but it can’t be moved until I do some prelim work.”
“Guess so. I’ll be down in the lobby. Here’s my cell number,” he said, handing her his card. “Just give me a ring and I’ll come back up, but I don’t want to wait in here. After twenty years on the job, I still can’t take the smell of a murder scene.”
“Seen anything of Detective Benton?” she asked, making sure not to sound as though she gave a damn.
“Yeah, he’s around. I saw him last in the master bedroom. Well, like I said, I don’t like murder scenes. Call down when you’re ready for me.”
Maggie nodded and then frowned over Jack’s second reference to a “murder scene,” which this probably was, even though she hadn’t yet found proof of that. Someone thought it was, however. Criminalists were not called out for heart attack victims.
Knowing nothing of Josh’s methods of investigation—maybe he always checked every room of a crime scene domicile before he did anything else—Maggie walked closer to the body and spotted the blood under the head. It wasn’t a huge puddle, which pretty much ruled out an arterial wound. There were also spots of blood on the white robe, about six or seven of them. Mr. Gardner’s legs were bare and a white slipper hung on his right foot while the other slipper resided about a yard from his left foot.
Setting down her bag, Maggie opened it and took out a fresh pair of latex gloves, which she pulled onto her hands. She laid some white paper on the carpet next to Franklin Gardner’s body and used it to kneel on.
The victim’s eyes were open—blank and staring. He appeared lifeless but Maggie checked for a pulse anyway. Finding none, she reached into the bag again for the little recorder she used at crime scenes and attached the microphone so she could record with her hands free. After switching it on, she began speaking. “Victim has been identified by housekeeper Miriam Hobart as Franklin Gardner. No family verification at this point. Victim is male, Caucasian, approximately fifty years of age and appears physically fit. Victim has blue eyes, black hair and darkly tanned skin. No physical exam yet, but there are…” Maggie stopped to count, “seven spots of blood on the front of his robe in the chest area. I’m now going to open the robe.”
She was just beginning to untie the knotted sash that kept the robe closed when she heard Josh Benton’s voice in the doorway.
“So how’s it going?” he asked, and walked over to her and the victim.
Maggie gulped and turned off the recorder. She lifted her face and looked at Detective Benton. “I’m really just getting started.”
Detective Josh Benton’s gray eyes rested on the face of the woman examining the dead body of the man lying on the carpet, dropped to her photo ID and then returned to her face. He could hardly believe his own eyes.
“My God, Maggie Sutter! What are you doing here? Wait, erase that. It’s obvious what you’re doing here, but how come…I mean, how long…how come you never contacted me and let me know you were in the department?”
Maggie felt her face get warm. “We passed each other once in a hallway and you…you didn’t recognize me.”
“Well, hell, why didn’t you yell at me, or trip me, or something?” Josh kept looking at her, seeing small differences between the Maggie Sutter he’d known years ago and the extremely attractive woman she was today.
“I could hardly do that,” Maggie murmured, almost feverish from the thorough inspection she was getting.
“Didn’t your hair used to be redder?”
“It got darker over the years.”
“So, is Tim still living in California?”
His question about Maggie’s older brother startled her. They had a corpse on their hands—a suspected homicide victim—and Benton was choosing this morning to talk about her family? No way, she thought, and ignored the question completely.
“I was just beginning a prelim on the victim,” she repeated flatly. “Shall I continue or do you want to take over?” She would accede to his wishes. He was her superior in the department, if not her boss. And, of course, for this case he would be her boss. It grated that he wasn’t even embarrassed about not recognizing her that day. Obviously he’d been a more sensitive person ten years ago when he and Tim had been best friends.
“Go ahead with what you were doing. I want to take a look around the room. It hasn’t yet been dusted for prints, so everyone needs to be extremely cautious about touching anything without gloves.” He glanced at her hands. “I see you’re up to speed.”
Maggie lowered her eyes and wondered cynically if he even trusted her to investigate a crime scene at all. To be honest, he just barely resembled the earnest young cop he’d been when she’d had that painful crush on him ten years ago. Not in looks. He was still outrageously handsome, maybe even better looking, but that was about it. Back then she had seen him as the most wonderful, the handsomest, greatest guy ever born. She remembered him as being kind and sweet and nice to everyone. Obviously her opinion had been severely distorted by teenage idol worship.
Wearing latex gloves, Josh strolled around the room peering at various objects while keeping an eye on Maggie. He still could hardly believe that she was here, at a crime scene and working on his team. It just seemed so off-the-wall to him. When, exactly, had she become interested in investigative law enforcement?
Maggie opened Gardner’s robe and talked into the miniature microphone near her mouth about the wounds on his chest.
“Seven small…very small puncture wounds. An ice pick perhaps. Do people still use ice picks in their homes, considering the variety of ice-makers on the market? Note. Check the bar.”
Josh heard her and walked over to the elegantly carved wood bar with its six leather-covered stools, went behind it and took a rather admiring inventory of the many bottles of expensive liquor that were displayed on lighted shelves. He located a built-in refrigerator, another one strictly for bottles of wine and also a large automatic ice-maker. He was about to give up on Maggie’s ice pick theory—at least for the moment—when he opened a door and saw a collection of antique ice picks in a glass case. Each one was held in place by a small leather strap, and there were no empty spaces, no empty straps.
Maggie was examining the back of the victim’s head, which bore a serious scalp depression and possible skull split that had to be the cause of the blood on the carpet.
She looked over to Benton who asked dryly, “Was he killed twice?”
Maggie gasped. “What?”
Josh could tell that he’d shocked her. “Maggie, when you’ve done this for twelve years, like I have, that soft heart of yours will be considerably harder.”
“I hope not,” she said passionately. “I’m done with my prelim. Do you want to check the body before I call down to the lobby for the photographer? I’d like some photos of the carpet under the body.”
“Yes, I want a look at him.”
Maggie got to her feet and Josh took her place. He looked at the victim’s hands and fingernails. “Good manicure,” he remarked. Then he checked the man’s feet, legs and groin area. “He has some bruising…rather odd shapes…on his face. Also some signs of strug
gle, defensive bruises, on his forearms and hands. The medical examiner will have to determine cause of death in an autopsy, ’cause from where I sit, it could have been caused by the chest wounds or the crushing blow to his head when he fell and hit that coffee table.”
“What?” Maggie easily found the culprit table and flushed to the roots of her hair. She should have seen the blood on the corner of that table the minute she entered the study. Benton hadn’t missed it and she had. Damn! Was she so discombobulated over working with him that her brain wasn’t functioning with its usual efficiency?
Josh got up. “Call down for Jack and also the fingerprint team. I want everything in this room dusted for prints, especially the bar area. Also, there’s a collection of antique ice picks in a special cabinet behind the bar. I want them individually bagged and tested for evidence. You can handle that at the crime lab. You stay with the body until I say it’s ready for the morgue. I’ve checked out most of the apartment, and I’m going to finish that before leaving.”
Maggie tried to hide the humiliation she felt over missing something so obvious as blood on the sharp corner of that coffee table. She lifted her chin and said, “I would estimate his death to have occurred around four hours ago. Do you agree?”
“Agreed,” Josh stated and strode from the room.
Maggie dug out her cell phone and dialed Jack’s number. “I’m ready for those photos, Jack. And if the lab people are down there to do the prints, ask them to come up with you. Orders from Benton.”
Body of Evidence Page 1
