by Style, Linda
L.A.P.D.
Special Investigations Series:
THE DECEIVED – Book One
THE TAKEN – Book Two
THE SILENT – Book Three
Giving up is not an option…
by
LINDA STYLE
PRAISE FOR LINDA’S NOVELS
Winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award
Winner of the Orange Rose Award
Holt Medallion Award of Merit
USA TODAY Best Romance of 2012 List
“Linda Style writes an intriguing, fast-moving, intelligent story. I’ll be on the lookout for more.”
—Linda Lael Miller
“A riveting story with fresh plot appeal.” —Romantic Times
“Absolutely spellbinding. A great plot…extraordinary in every way.” —Coffee Time Romance
“A tale of striking intensity…a compelling romance. Style has a gift for creating intriguing settings and characterizations …escape to a world of danger, intrigue and passion. A compelling romance.”
—Cindy Penn, Midwest Book Review
“An exhilarating romantic suspense that keeps readers wondering until the end. Action-packed…a strong intrigue.” —Harriet Klausner, The Best Reviews
“…Style writes with style… Style writes highly original stories that include characters with great depth. An exciting, heart-stopping reading experience you won’t want to miss. It proves once again, Ms. Style writes with style.” —Suzanne Tucker, Old Book Barn Gazzette
“A riveting read that will leave readers glued to the pages. Ms. Style has a flair for suspense. A series you won’t want to miss. —Romance Designs
“Tense, suspenseful and full of surprises. The pages seem to turn by themselves. When a story engages my mind as well as my emotions, I know I’m hooked.” —The Romance Reader
“Great Story! So intense, with strong feelings of love and betrayal. Mystery and danger…another couldn’t put it down story you’ll really love.” —Rendezvous Magazine
“Brilliantly creative, an engrossing read of romance and suspense…strong characters and a beguiling plot.” —Donna Zapf, Cataromance
DEDICATION
To the courageous, dedicated officers of the law who
make this world a safer place.
As always to my family (and extended family) whose love and support
keep me on this amazing journey!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My heartfelt thanks to Paul Bishop, crime novel writer and thirty-five year veteran detective with the Los Angeles Police Department and the West Los Angeles Sex Crimes and Major Assault Crimes unit, and twice honored as Detective of the Year,
for sharing your invaluable knowledge.
And to the City of Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce
A special thank you to Virginia Vail, for lending her Spanish expertise.
***
All characters in the following books have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Since these stories are works of fiction, I have taken liberties in some areas.
Any errors are mine.
CONTENTS
THE DECEIVED, BOOK 1
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
THE TAKEN, BOOK 2
CHAPTER ONE
THE SILENT, Book 3
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
OTHER BOOKS FROM LINDA
COPYRIGHT PAGE
LAPD Special Investigations series: Book 1
THE DECEIVED
He’s desperate to find a killer…
When Detective Adam Ramsey receives a new lead he’s certain the man behind his partner’s murder is widow Jillian Sullivan’s maybe-not-so-dead husband. Vowing to bring the man to justice, he calls on the attractive widow and shows her a recent photograph of a man who looks exactly like her late husband.
She’s desperate to prove him wrong…
Jillian refuses to believe the only man who ever earned her trust could have deceived her and her daughter so thoroughly. She wants answers…even if she has to track down the imposter to get them.
When Adam meets Jillian on a plane bound for Mirador, a tiny village in the Costa Rican jungle, he must keep her from tipping off his target. They form an uneasy alliance to find the truth, but when passion ignites in the steamy jungle, facing down wild animals, kidnappers, and drug lords gets even more dangerous.
“Danger…Intrigue…and Passion. A compelling read!” –the Midwest Book Review
L.A.P.D. Special Investigations: Book One
Giving up is not an option…
PROLOGUE
Los Angeles Police Department
DETECTIVE ADAM RAMSEY slammed a fist on the metal table next to him. “I want the case, Jeff.”
Captain Jeff Carlyle stood sentinel by the door, thick legs apart, arms crossed over his barrel chest, his eyes on the woman being questioned on the other side of the one-way glass. “You’re too close to it, Ramsey. Besides, the feds are on it. It’s out of our hands.”
“Screw the feds. I was Bryce’s partner, for God’s sake. Seven years we were partners. I’m the one he called for help. You can’t shut me out, dammit.” He banged the table again, making it bounce.
Adam’s chest constricted. Anger raged through him, overriding the pain.
He’d been on vacation with his about-to-be ex-wife when his partner, his best friend, had called him for help. He hadn’t known about Bryce’s call until two days later, when he returned to his apartment—alone—and listened to his phone messages.
For God’s sake, Adam! Pick up. I need you now, man! His former partner’s voice shook with desperation. Fear.
He hadn’t been there. If he had… Guilt swept through him. If he had, his partner wouldn’t be dead.
Chest heaving, Adam leaned forward, both hands on the table, head bowed. “I didn’t even get to see him, Jeff.”
“I know.” The captain crossed to Adam and placed a hand on his shoulder. “None of us did. His parents wanted the closed casket. It was best.” He stared at the woman on the other side of the glass. “The transfer is a good thing.”
Adam’s head snapped up, anger spiking again. He shrugged off Carlyle’s hand and squared his shoulders. “That’s bogus. I didn’t ask for a transfer. Why me? Why now?”
“You’re the best man for the job, that’s why.”
“I’m the best man for this job. I knew Bryce better than anyone. He doesn’t make mistakes. Not this kind.”
The captain turned away, as if looking at Adam was too difficult. They’d come up the ranks together and shared a long friendship. After an extended silence, Carlyle said, “Bryce did make a mistake. A fatal one. He got made—his cover blown. The suits are on it. That’s all I can tell you. Leave it alone, take the transfer and do good things.”
“I want to listen to the tape again.”
“The feds have it. You know that.”
Adam swung around, shoved a hand through his hair. “I keep thinking there’s something that might give me a clue.” He laughed wryly. “The last thing he said to me was that he knew he could count on me.”
Adam looked at the woman behind the glass, seeing her, but not really seeing her. She was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks because her husband had been
killed when his truck ran off the highway.
He knew exactly how she felt.
But he was a law enforcement officer. Cops were strong. They didn’t cry.
CHAPTER ONE
Four years later
THE BLACK SEDAN WITH dark-tinted windows cruised to a stop across the street from Jillian Sullivan’s suburban Chicago home.
Holding open the front door with her backside, Jillian watched the car as she waited for her daughter. When Chloe didn’t come, she reached for her daughter’s rolled-up sleeping bag and suitcase. “I’m taking your things over to Dana and Logan’s, so hustle,” she called to Chloe, then let the door slam behind her.
Summer wrapped around her, Midwest moist and steamy hot. As she lugged Chloe’s gear across the wide expanse of lawn toward her neighbor’s van in the driveway next door, her gaze drifted again to the black sedan.
The windows were so dark she couldn’t tell if the person behind the wheel was a man or a woman, and he, or she, hadn’t made a move to get out. Odd.
“See that car?” Jillian said to Dana as she dropped Chloe’s things on the driveway. “It’s been there for at least five minutes and the driver hasn’t budged.”
Her best friend glanced over, then chucked a duffel bag into the van. “Well, I doubt he’s casing the house while we’re still here.” Grinning, she elbowed Jillian. “Hey. Maybe it’s the hunk you had your eye on at the market this morning. The Viking.”
Jillian slapped her forehead. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” Why, oh why, had she even mentioned noticing the guy? All that did was give Dana another excuse to needle her about dating again. Though her friend hardly needed an excuse.
“Hey, you’re ready. And after four years, it’s about time.”
“Not ready enough to be picking up men at the market, that’s for sure. And I said as tall as a Viking.” Despite what her friends seemed to think, she was just fine with her life as it was. With three hair salons to run and an eleven-going-on-twenty-year-old daughter to raise, she had little time for anything else.
She’d told Dana about him only because he’d been the first man who’d captured her attention in a long time—and it wasn’t because he had a great haircut.
Jillian glanced at the car again. “Maybe the driver’s sick or something.”
“Or waiting for the Hansens to return from golfing?” Dana crossed her arms. “Look, Jillian. Are you worried about Chloe getting homesick on this trip with us?”
“No, but two weeks is a long time. She’s never been away for more than a few days before.”
“A long time for Chloe? Or for you?” Dana’s knowing smile broadened.
“And after that, vacation will be over and she’ll be back in school.”
“So indulge yourself for a change. Do something wild and totally irresponsible with the two weeks.”
“I already did when I let my friends talk me into taking off so much time from work. It’ll be tough to top that.”
Dana shoved back her blunt-cut brown hair and looked at Jillian in exasperation. “Everyone should have such problems. Be happy you’re in the position to do it.” She reached for Chloe’s suitcase and wedged it between two others. “The girls will have a great time. And I’m hoping they’ll be a big help in keeping the little guy company.”
“Hah. Dream on.” As cute as Dana’s two-year-old son Zachary was, it wasn’t likely the two preteen girls would spend much time baby-sitting. Chloe and Dana’s daughter, Hallie, had been practically attached at the hip ever since Jillian and Chloe moved from Los Angeles to the Beverly suburb four years ago to be near her motherin-law, the only family they had left after Rob died.
“I know. It’s more likely they’ll spend their time squealing over music by some boy band. But one can always hope.”
“Well, if Chloe is any problem at all, just call and I’ll—”
“Chloe will be fine.” Dana gave Jillian a reassuring hug. “Now, I’ve got to get a few more things from inside and then we’re off. Is that everything? Is Chloe ready?”
“I’ll check.” While Dana headed into her garage, Jillian glanced at the black car once more before she sprinted across the leggy grass and up the front steps of her old Tudor home and went inside to see what was taking Chloe so freaking long.
“Mo-om, I can’t find my iPad,” her daughter wailed from her room.
“Chloe, forget it and get your bootie down here right now, or the Wakefields are gonna leave without you.”
Seconds later Jillian’s look-alike daughter came barreling down the stairs, her waist-length strawberry-blond curls flying. All skinny arms and legs, she was already only a few inches shy of Jillian’s five-nine. Chloe hated being so tall just as Jillian had hated it when she’d first sprouted up but not out.
The doorbell buzzed. “I bet it’s Hallie,” Chloe chirped, making a mad dash to the living-room window. She lifted a corner of the blinds and peeked out. “Nah. It’s just a salesman.”
“I don’t care if it’s the president. Now hustle. You were supposed to be ready fifteen minutes ago. Geez, Chloe, you can’t keep people waiting all the time. One of these days they’ll get tired of it and leave you behind.”
Chloe scowled and struck her defiant pose, legs apart, hands on boyish hips. “You do it all the time.”
“Oh, no, you don’t, Miss Sassy Mouth. We’re not playing the reversal thing again.” Jillian leveled her gaze at her look-alike daughter. “I’m not the one keeping my best friend waiting. And…I’m the mom and you’re the kid. My habits are not up for discussion.”
“Never are,” Chloe muttered, then yanked open the closet door in the foyer, hunkered down next to the ever-growing pile of junk, and tossed out one item after another, clothes, boots, soccer ball.
“You might need that backpack if you go hiking.”
“I’m not going at all if I can’t find it.”
Jillian closed her eyes and counted to ten. She couldn’t let their squabbles get to her. Not today. Not when her little girl was leaving for two weeks.
“Look, get the rest of—”
Two loud knocks rattled the front door. Damn. The salesman… and apparently he couldn’t read the No Solicitors sign.
Nerves taut, she turned to her daughter again, drew on her practiced calm and said evenly, “Chloe, get the rest of your things. You’re going right now whether you’ve got everything or not.”
Chloe stalked off in a huff while Jillian, adrenaline still pumping, swung open the door.
“Whatever you’re selli—”
Facing a wide expanse of masculine chest, Jillian’s gaze traveled upward. It was the guy from the market.
She pulled back, her thoughts jumbled as she took in his clothes—black sports jacket over a rumpled Los Angeles Lakers T-shirt and faded jeans. Running shoes. “You’re not a salesman,” she said.
Her mind flashed to that morning when, standing side by side at the organic-vegetable bin, they’d reached for the same eggplant. Their fingers had touched, skin grazing skin, her breath caught and their eyes had met and held. In that moment she’d felt a rush of awareness—the first in four years.
Now his assessing gray eyes did a slow-motion sweep from her tangled hair to her bare feet and silver toe rings. Her blood warmed along the path of his gaze.
“You’re right. I’m not a salesman.”
What the hell… The first guy I’ve even looked at in years and he thinks I’m coming on to him and follows me home. Gripping the knob, she slipped outside and pulled the door halfway shut behind her so Chloe couldn’t hear them.
“If I gave you the wrong impression at the market—” she said, “—I’m really sorry. I was in a hurry and sometimes when I’m in a hurry I get preoccupied, and when I’m thinking of other things it might look like something that might’ve given you the wrong impression… I mean—” She stopped for a breath.
The ghost of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “Mrs. Sullivan…” His expression quick
ly sobered.
She blinked. He knows my name? My name. Los Angeles T-shirt. And he was following her. Yeah. She got it.
He flashed a police shield. “Mrs. Sullivan, I’m Detective Adam Ramsey.”
She felt a fleeting twinge of disappointment that the attraction she’d experienced when she first saw him had been only on her part. Stupid. Totally stupid.
“LAPD,” he added.
“Were you following me earlier?” She squared her shoulders. “Or did you just happen to be buying groceries in the same place I was?”
He smiled, stuffed his badge into a pocket, then glanced past her into the house. “I’d like to talk with you. May I come in?”
She didn’t step aside. “Have you found my husband’s murderer?”
“No.”
That was it? No explanation or apology? The LAPD had put her through living hell during their investigation of her husband’s murder. When they’d come up with nothing to solve the case, they’d focused on her, as if she was the criminal. As far as she was concerned, they’d botched the job and the killer had literally gotten away with murder.
“I suppose that four years after the fact it’s a bit much to expect that someone somewhere has done his job.”
“Sorry, I can’t comment on the previous investigation,” the detective said, “but I would like to talk with you about the case.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see if Chloe was coming. “I’m sorry. As you can see, I’m busy with my daughter.” If she’d learned nothing else during the police interrogation four years ago, she’d learned she didn’t have to talk to the police at their will. Not unless they arrested her.
He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll come back in an hour.”
“Mo-om. I still can’t find my iPad, and I promised Hallie I’d bring it.”
The door yanked open from behind and Jillian turned. Chloe stood there scowling, as if the missing notebook was Jillian’s fault. But when Chloe’s gaze swung to the cop, her blue eyes lit up.
“Well, then,” Jillian said to Chloe, “I guess Hallie will just have to be disappointed, because you didn’t bother keeping track of it.”
