All Eyes on Me
A Miranda and Parker Mystery
Book 1
by
Linsey Lanier
Copyright © 2014 Linsey Lanier
All rights reserved. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to your online distributor and purchase your own copy.
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Felicity Books
ISBN: 978-0-9892069-6-9
NOTE: This series is a continuation of the Miranda’s Rights Mysteries. It occurs eight months after the last book, Thin Ice.
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All Eyes on Me
Nobody deserves to die that way.
In the Las Vegas desert a once famous pop singer lies dead, the only clue to her murder a bizarre disfigurement.
To avoid the hassle of a media frenzy, the local police sergeant decides to call in his old mentor Wade Parker to consult on the case.
After nearly dying eight months ago, Miranda Steele can't wait to get back to real detective work. If she can't solve this case, not only will she fail her destiny, another psycho killer might get away with murder. But Parker harbors secret reservations about their new venture together.
Especially when he suspects there might be more to this murder than meets the...eye.
All Eyes on Me is the first book in the Miranda and Parker Mystery series, and continues the popular Miranda Steele stories from bestselling author Linsey Lanier (the Miranda's Rights Mystery series). If you like intriguing mysteries and thrillers, you'll want to come along on Miranda's new adventures.
Fulfilling your destiny...one killer at a time.
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THE MIRANDA’S RIGHTS MYSTERY SERIES
Someone Else’s Daughter – Book I
Delicious Torment – Book II
Forever Mine – Book III
Fire Dancer – Book IV
Thin Ice – Book V
THE MIRANDA AND PARKER MYSTERY SERIES
All Eyes on Me
Heart Wounds
Clowns and Cowboys
The Watcher
Zero Dark Chocolate
Trial by Fire
Smoke Screen
OTHER SUSPENSE BOOKS BY LINSEY LANIER:
Chicago Cop (A cop family thriller)
Steal My Heart (A Romantic Suspense)
HUMOROUS BOOKS BY LINSEY LANIER
You Want Me to Kill Who? (A Dandy Frost—Ninja Assassin Story) #1
You Want Me to Go Where? (A Dandy Frost—Ninja Assassin Story) #2
The Clever Detective Boxed Set 2 (A Fairy Tale Romance): Stories 1-5
THE PRASALA ROMANCES
The Crown Prince’s Heart
The King’s Love Song
The Count’s Baby
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
More Books by Linsey Lanier
Excerpts
Chapter One
“Even the best things are not equal to their fame.” Henry David Thoreau
Sergeant Sid O’Toole of Homicide, sat at the bar in the dark casino off Flamingo and nursed a cheap beer while he inhaled the smoky air and stared blankly at one of the big screens overhead.
The low lights, the salsa music, the wall of TVs, the never-ending dinging and ringing of the slot machines drifting in from the floor, all contributed to the 24-7 party that was Las Vegas.
His town, you could say. But he wasn’t around for the party. He took care of the grimy underbelly tourists never saw. Criminals and corpses. And as usual after a too long shift with too much paperwork, he’d just about had his belly full of it.
He took a swig of beer and curled a lip at the bartender. “Five bucks for this piss water?”
The guy just shrugged at him. “I don’t set the prices.”
“Yeah, yeah.” O’Toole dug in his pocket for his last fiver. “Like they say, the more bread you have, the less shit you have to drink.” He slapped it down on the bar, picked up the bottle and wandered over to a small table for some privacy.
What was he doing, spending the last five dollars in his pocket on crappy beer? He could have bought a six-pack and gone home. But he didn’t want to go home. Not just yet. The place was too empty.
He settled into a chair, eyed the sparse crowd of three a.m. gamblers. A redhead with a flirtatious smile sat on the other side of the room sipping a daiquiri. She wasn’t looking his way but she reminded him of Ginger.
She always said he was tight when he complained about the price of this or that. Maybe he was, but he’d been trying to save for their future. Only she didn’t see much of a future with him. She’d wanted more. More than a homicide cop who’d been passed over for promotion three times in the last five years could give her. Who could blame him if he cut a few corners now, fudged his time, goofed off a little? What the Lieutenant didn’t see, the Lieutenant didn’t need to know.
He’d thought Ginger had been happy with her dancing job at the Last Chance. He thought she’d quit her job someday and they’d have a kid or two. He’d always wanted a kid. But no. None of that was enough for her. She wanted more than being a showgirl. She wanted to be a star. Saying she wasn’t getting any younger she took off for LA six months ago.
Just like that. Just the way his mother had left him when he was six.
He took another pull of his beer and looked up at one of the big screens. Ah, now there was a sight. Waves and waves of long blond hair and deep blue chiffon. A commercial for the show at the Dame Destinado. That was right. Ambrosia Dawn was in town.
A note of one of her old songs floated to his ears. “All Eyes on Me.” He loved that song. It had been number one about fifteen years ago. What a voice. She had a way of making you feel she was singing just to you.
He wat
ched her image. Those legs. Long and shapely. He’d always had a thing for legs. Ginger had great legs.
He looked down at his empty bottle. He didn’t want to face his empty house yet. Why not have another? He’d have to hit the ATM. Or use his credit card, which he didn’t like to do. Before he could decide, his cell rang.
He set the bottle down with a slap. Only one reason he’d get a phone call at this time of night.
“O’Toole,” he said as he answered, trying not to sound as irritated as he was, and listened to the dispatcher describe yet another incident. This time it was a body along I-15.
Aw, Jeez. Why tonight? Why him?
But he had no choice if he wanted to keep paying his bills.
He hung up and let out a long groan as he got to his feet and headed out to the desert.
###
It took Sid less than fifteen minutes to reach the spot on I-15 the dispatcher had given him. He pulled up behind one of the three squad cars already parked alongside the road and got out. Using their flashing lights to navigate, he made his way over the dark patch of desert trying not to trip over the Mojave sage and Creosote bush.
Too many feet on the ground, he thought. They’d never get footprints. Then he spotted his detective, Kim Ralston, standing over the body. How’d she get here so fast?
“What do we have?” he asked as he reached her.
“Female Caucasian, sir.” Her tone was as dry as the sand they stood on.
He eyed her makeup-less features, the dirty blond hair she kept pulled back in a ponytail, her plain shirt and slacks, and wondered for the hundredth time how anyone so young and innocent looking had made it on the force.
“ID?”
“Just about to attempt that, sir.”
He looked down at the amorphous lump on the ground. It was wrapped in a large sheet of plastic. The kind used during building projects. Not much of a clue. There was always construction going on in this town.
He slipped on a pair of gloves while he waited for the CSIs to finish snapping photos of the body the way they’d found it. Ralston already had her gloves on, of course.
“Ready, sir,” one of the uniforms told him.
O’Toole bent down, carefully turned over the body and began peeling away the plastic near the legs. Ralston took the head.
A CSI took more shots as the body was revealed. At first look, O’Toole didn’t see any defense wounds.
“No blood,” Ralston commented.
She was right. That was kind of odd. O’Toole stared out at the highway beyond. The lights of the Last Chance casino, the final one on the way out of town, flashed in the far distance. Not much traffic on this road this time of night. But to dump a body here, the killer either had to be butt dumb or want it to be found pretty fast.
The vic’s bare, shapely legs stuck out from under a terrycloth robe. Not much under the robe. The head was wrapped in a towel, turban-like. Looked like she’d been getting ready for bed.
He tugged at the turban, trying to identify hair color and the head turned enough to reveal the side of the face.
He dropped the cloth again. “Aw, hell.”
“What is it, sir?”
O’Toole couldn’t answer. His mind was reeling. Hadn’t he seen that gorgeous face, that form, those legs just a half hour ago? But that was a TV spot, probably recorded weeks ago.
He stared down at the unmistakable features. “This is Ambrosia Dawn.”
“The singer?” A uniform bent down to get a better view of the face.
Ralston peered at it. “Are you sure?”
“Course, I’m sure. She’s got a unique look.” Or had one.
“It’s Ambrosia Dawn, all right,” the uniform agreed.
“Aw, hell,” O’Toole repeated as his mind went in another direction. Once the news ferrets got wind of this, he’d have the whole department breathing down his neck every step of the way on this investigation. The last thing he needed.
And then his mind veered off in another direction as he remembered the email he’d received a week or so ago.
His old mentor Wade Parker was looking for consulting work. Usual cases, cold cases, wherever extra manpower might be needed. What was the matter? O’Toole had thought. Not enough rich clients in Atlanta?
There was enough money in the budget to spring for the fee. Which wasn’t cheap. He could get the expense approved for a high profile case like this.
But first there was the matter of notifying the deceased’s family. He sure didn’t want to deal with the distraught relatives of a star.
“Ralston, you’ll pay the visit to the family.”
“Me, sir?” She was still near him, kneeling over the body.
“You have a problem with that?”
“No, sir. It’s just that…wait. What’s this? The murder weapon?” She pulled something shiny out from under the dead singer’s shoulder. It was about six inches long and had a rounded end, caked with a grimy substance.
“What the hell is that?”
“I think it’s a…melon baller,” Ralston said with a startled gasp. “Wait.” She gave the body another push.
It rolled over, revealing the entire face. There was no doubt the dead woman was Ambrosia Dawn.
And one of her eyes was missing.
O’Toole wanted to gag. “Did the birds get to her? I didn’t see a hole in the plastic.”
“I think someone used this on her. Let’s hope after she was dead. See?” His detective held the melon baller near his face.
“Aw, jeez, Ralston. Don’t show me that.”
“It’s evidence, sir.”
“Jiminy Cricket on a turd pile.” O’Toole brushed off his pants and paced over the sand, away from the body and the disgusting melon baller. Why would somebody scoop out Ambrosia Dawn’s eye with a melon baller? For a souvenir? Was it a crazed fan who’d been stalking her? Someone keeping the eye for a ransom? A serial killer? Serial killer. He wanted to get as far away from that as possible.
Again he thought of that email from Wade Parker. For years Parker had been known as the best of the best in the southeast. The reputation of his Agency had only grown more sterling during that time. He was probably looking to enhance it even more. Adventure, the email had said. Something out of the norm.
If this case didn’t fit the bill, he didn’t know what did. He’d get the budget request through and call Parker in the morning.
In the meantime, he turned to his rookie. “Ralston, are you going to let the family know tonight or are you going to wait a week or two?”
The young woman got to her feet, suppressing a glare. “Right away, sir.”
Chapter Two
Miranda Steele stepped into her boss’s brightly lit, muted blue-and-gray corner office in the Imperial Building in downtown Atlanta and exhaled her anxiety. “You wanted to see me?”
Parker glanced up at her from the computer screen he was studying. “Yes. Have a seat.” He indicated the plush blue chair in front of his elegant glass desk.
Miranda settled herself into the seat without too much pain.
After six months of physical therapy and another five weeks of easing into workouts in the company gym, she was almost as good as new.
Parker continued to peer at the screen. She couldn’t be in trouble. She hadn’t done anything. Or at least she was pretty sure she hadn’t. She hadn’t jumped anyone while serving subpoenas. She hadn’t cussed out any clients. Okay, she’d taken a few long lunches with her buddies Becker and Holloway lately, but Parker usually didn’t mind that.
Waiting for him to start the scolding—or whatever he planned to do to her—she took in his good looks, his distinguished salt-and-pepper hair, his pricey suit, his delicious features. He was Old Southern wealth. Well-bred, classy, well-heeled, successful, and the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes one.
After almost a year, it still took her breath that she was married to him.
At last, he finished whatever he’d been doing and turned to her
with an expression in his gray eyes she couldn’t read. “Do you remember my proposal?” he said in his sensual, mint julep voice.
Her breath caught. “You mean the one about us going out as investigative consultants?”
“That’s the one.”
How could she forget it? Parker hadn’t mentioned it since they got back to Atlanta, but she’d been counting the days until she’d recovered enough to get started. “What about it?”
Parker sat back in his chair and studied his wife. Her wild, dark hair. Her lean, muscular body he knew so well. Her crisp white shirt and black slacks that expressed her Spartan tastes. He loved her more than his own life. And he wanted more than anything to share the thrill of his profession with her in this new way. To feel the excitement that came with new cases and new challenges with Miranda at his side.
But she was just fully recovering from her injuries last fall. A shot to the shoulder near the heart and a deep gash in the back of her head. She’d been unconscious over three days. He thought he’d lost her. If something were to happen on one of these new cases? If he lost her because of this new plan of his? He’d never forgive himself.
But he’d also never forgive himself if he didn’t give Miranda the chance to be all she could be. She was a fine detective and he knew she’d been looking forward to this venture.
Besides, the case from the first client promised to be fairly innocuous. More publicity than danger. And he wanted to see his wife’s reaction to it. “I put out some feelers last week just to see what sort of response I could get.”
Miranda gripped the arms of her chair. “Did you get anything?”
“Only one.”
She watched him inhale, as if he were struggling with something.
“I got a call from a former Agency employee this morning.”
Her blood began to pump with excitement. She thought of the dream she’d had in the hospital all those months ago. A hazy vision of some sort of bright spirit telling her she had a gift and a destiny. All she knew was that she never felt more alive than when she was on a case.
All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1) Page 1
