Praise for Sullivan’s Justice
“Rosenberg’s talent is amply displayed here as she gives us a sweaty-palm story of evil and betrayal—and a sharp-eyed look at the gritty world of Southern Californian law enforcement. It’s guaranteed to keep you turning pages all night long.”
—Jeffery Deaver
“Authentic…the author’s ability to generate narrative drive holds readers. A dark, perilous, and compelling ride.”
—Booklist
“Sullivan’s Justice is a heart-thumping, pulse-pounding thriller filled with vivid, original players and a plot that grabs hold and sweeps the reader along until the last, breathless twist.”
—Judith Kelman
“Superb…plenty of action, the storyline is fast-paced, and readers have a good time wondering who the killer might be. The heroine is a valiant warrior in the fight against crime.”
—The Midwest Book Review
“Confidently plotted…Thriller enthusiasts will relish the intricate plot, accelerating action and novel climax of this gripping ride.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Rosenberg’s personal experience in law enforcement brings a chilling reality to this page turner…Begins with an eerie leave-the-lights on murder and ends with a high-speed chase. In between are breathtaking action and non-stop suspense.”
—Sandra Brown
Praise for the electrifying thrillers of
Nancy Taylor Rosenberg
Sullivan’s Law
“A gutsy heroine, a fast-moving plot, an insider’s look at the justice system—Sullivan’s Law is everything a legal thriller fan could hope for. As always, Nancy Taylor Rosenberg delivers the goods.”
—Nelson DeMille
“Rosenberg uses her firsthand knowledge of law enforcement to create convincing sketches of criminal predators, mental patients and hardworking civil servants in this fast-paced thriller…. Carolyn Sullivan is so human and determined that it’s almost impossible not to race to the end to see what happens to her next.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Rosenberg’s experience as a cop and a probation officer gives her work an additional layer of authenticity…. Rosenberg puts it all together here with another thoroughly believable heroine dealing with corruption, greed, deceit, and danger.”
—Booklist
“Full of menace, romance, and violence.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Engaging, with enough excitement to keep thrill-seekers happy.”
—New York Daily News
Conflict of Interest
“Rosenberg’s legal thrillers make the most of breakneck pacing and high-energy plotting.”
—Booklist
“Rosenberg, author of six best-selling legal thrillers…writes with fast-paced energy.”
—Library Journal
“Frighteningly real.”
—Los Angeles Times
Buried Evidence
“Nancy Taylor Rosenberg is back with a vengeance, and Buried Evidence is the best evidence that she’s at the top of her game!”
—Lisa Scottoline
“Watch your pulse and don’t forget to breathe. Nancy Taylor Rosenberg’s legal thrillers are a guaranteed adrenaline rush!”
—Tess Gerritsen
“The plot presents a compelling moral dilemma, the action is fast-paced and the pages turn easily.”
—Publishers Weekly
Trial by Fire
“Incredibly fast paced and exciting from page one until the end.”
—James Patterson
“A legal thriller with the works.”
—Nelson DeMille
“Draws us not only into a suspenseful plot, but also into issues of American crime and law, justice, and revenge.”
—Cleveland Plain Dealer
California Angel
“There’s no doubt that Rosenberg knows how to spin a yarn.”
—Booklist
“Tantalizing.”
—People
Abuse of Power
“Nancy Taylor Rosenberg writes legal thrillers with strong female heroes who triumph…keeps the tension high.”
—People
“Convincingly demonstrates why a bad cop is even more dangerous than a bad perp.”
—Booklist
First Offense
“Compelling tension…gutsy and full-blooded.”
—Chicago Tribune
“Rosenberg can construct a roller coaster plot with the best of them.”
—Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Buzzes with suspense and intrigue…Rosenberg notches up another page-turner.”
—Publishers Weekly
Interest of Justice
“Intricate, vivid, thrilling…one of the year’s ten best.”
—Los Angeles Times
“A taut thriller, written with authority.”
—New York Times Book Review
“Arresting and fast-paced.”
—San Francisco Chronicle
“Moves at the speed of light and keeps readers frantically turning the pages—a thriller with the undeniable air of authenticity.”
—Orlando Sentinel
Mitigating Circumstances
“A highly entertaining legal thriller…. Unflinching…compulsively readable, intricate suspense…Rosenberg’s overwhelming portrait of the incendiary, universal emotions of vengeance and guilt definitely touch a raw nerve.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A compelling insider’s view of the criminal-justice system and a moving portrait of a woman bent on revenge.”
—Library Journal
“Adrenaline-pumped…No woman has ever had a stronger motive for vengeance than Lily Forrester.”
—New York Times Book Review
“Intricate and satisfying…Rosenberg develops a startling premise skillfully…[her] familiarity with the police and courts gives the story a strong veneer of reality.”
—Los Angeles Times
Also by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg
Mitigating Circumstances
Interest of Justice
First Offense
Trial by Fire
California Angel
Abuse of Power
Buried Evidence
Conflict of Interest
Sullivan’s Law
Sullivan’s Justice
Nancy Taylor Rosenberg
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
To Forrest Blake, without you, this book wouldn’t have been possible.
In tribute to my beautiful mother, Ethel Laverne Taylor,
and my latest grandchild, Elle Laverne Taylor.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37<
br />
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Thursday, December 23—12:30 P.M.
Death was waiting, crouched inside the garage of Suzanne Porter’s beautiful home.
Her shoes slapped against the wet pavement only a few blocks away. The sky had been overcast when she’d left on her daily run. Now it was raining and she was soaked. Because her hair was layered, its thick strands stuck to her face and annoyed her. The only way to tame it was to wear a baseball cap. She didn’t like to wear hats, though, as they gave her headaches.
Trivial things couldn’t upset her today. She loved Ventura when it rained. Crossing to the other side of the street, she glanced through an opening between the houses and caught a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean snaking its way along the shoreline, the whitecaps churning. The surfers must be in heaven, she thought, seeing their heads bobbing in the water as they waited to catch the next wave.
The town had grown around the historic San Buenaventura Mission, founded in 1782. Suzanne was delighted with her husband’s hometown, framed on one side by the sea and the other by the mountains. She felt certain they would spend the rest of their lives here. Her parents were dead and she had become very fond of Ted’s mother and father. In addition, they had a wide circle of friends, some who had known Ted since childhood.
She was filled with anticipation. Several months back, she’d decided on the perfect Christmas gift for her husband. Actually, it was a combined birthday and Christmas gift, but she was too excited to wait two weeks to give it to him. Her husband restored cars as a way to relax from the stress of his job. Once a car was finished, it could take months to find a buyer. He was always eager to start on another project, but he couldn’t, due to lack of space. Three weeks ago, she had secretly sold off some of the stock she’d owned prior to their marriage and hired a contractor to expand their garage so it would hold four cars. She would show him the plans on Christmas Day. Ted would love it.
She had spent the last week preparing for the holiday. This was Suzanne’s year to have the family over and she wanted everything to be just right. Her sister-in-law, Janice, was a gourmet cook. Rather than take a chance, she’d arranged to have the meal catered by La Orange, one of the best restaurants in Ventura. She’d threatened to tell Ted’s mother that he looked at pictures of naked girls on the Internet if Ted told anyone. So what if she was a lousy cook? She could make salads and spaghetti. Most of the time they ate out.
Before she married, Suzanne had been a bond trader on Wall Street. When, at age twenty-eight, she started seeing her hair turn gray, she knew it was time to shop for a husband. Ted had been in New York on a business trip. He brokered for Merrill Lynch.
During the holidays, Suzanne always lost her willpower and would eat everything in sight. The night before, she’d wolfed down half a box of Godiva chocolates. Since she’d turned thirty-five the month before, she knew her indulgence would show up on her thighs. Her daily workout consisted of lifting weights for an hour in her home gym, followed by a two-mile run. That morning, she’d forced herself to step on the dreaded scale. She’d expected three pounds, maybe four tops. How could she have gained eight pounds in two months? All her clothes were a size six. She decided to extend her run.
Crossing the street again, she picked up the pace. By the time she reached her house, she was exhausted. She’d only added one mile. A few years ago, she could run ten miles and hardly break a sweat. She leaned over and clasped her knees, then started up the sidewalk. The rain had eased up, but the weather report had predicted another front would move in by evening. She missed snow. Suzanne had grown up in Connecticut. She remembered the snowball fights in their front yard on Christmas Day, ice-skating on Whitman Lake, and sledding down Black Canyon with her brothers. Sure, the constantly sunny skies were nice, but when the average temperature ranged in the seventies, she sometimes forgot what month it was. And it didn’t seem like Christmas without snow. At least the rain provided some atmosphere. She laughed, thinking she should throw white sheets on the lawn and turn up the air conditioner.
Seeing her neighbor’s nineteen-year-old son pull into the driveway, she walked over to speak to him. Rap music blasted through the windows of his black Mustang. His mother had bought it for him on the condition that he only drove his motorcycle on the weekends. Franny was afraid he was going to get killed.
Suzanne waited until he turned off the car’s ignition, then approached him. “Is Franny home from work yet? I’m planning a surprise birthday party for my husband and I wanted to invite your parents.”
“You have a phone, don’t you?” Eric Rittermier said, getting out of the car and slamming the door. He was a tall, brooding young man with pale skin and dark eyes. He had two diamond stud earrings in his left nostril, a blue knit cap pulled down low over his forehead, and he wore a stained gray sweatshirt with low-slung baggy jeans.
She took several steps backward, watching as he disappeared inside the house. Maybe Ted was right about having children. She could certainly live without trying to parent some arrogant, moody teen. Babies were adorable, but they didn’t remain that way. You never knew if they were going to become criminals or geniuses.
When she retrieved her mail from the box at the curb, several items fell to the ground. The market was in a slump. That’s the way it was in the stock market, feast or famine. Everyone got used to living the high life. They might obsess about their finances, yet they seldom changed their spending habits. If you started cutting back, you felt like a failure. In this profession, confidence was essential.
Reaching her front porch, she bent over and removed her key from underneath the mat. Ted had cautioned her to set the alarm and stop leaving her key where someone could find it. Old habits died hard, though, and she kept forgetting. She’d only been gone a short time. Their former house hadn’t had an alarm. The type of security system they had now made it impossible to open a window without setting off the alarm. Every window and door in the house had to be locked before she could arm the system. She refused to be a prisoner in her own home.
When she unlocked the door, she was greeted by her tan basset hound, Freddy. His excitement was underwhelming but cute as he tried to jump, his legs not strong enough to support his body. He ran toward the door leading into the garage, barking.
“What’s wrong, Freddy?” Suzanne said, clapping her hands. “Let’s go upstairs, boy. Mommy’s smelly. She’s got to get pretty for Daddy.”
She walked over and adjusted one of the animated ornaments on the Christmas tree—a miniature soldier beating a drum. Inhaling the delightful scent of pine, she mentally went through her shopping list, confirming that she didn’t have any last-minute gifts to purchase.
She wished they had a view of the ocean instead of the foothills, but she couldn’t complain. The money they’d saved had gone into improvements, like her luxuriously appointed cherry closet and the two-story library where she spent most afternoons, reading and sipping tea with Freddy curled up at her feet. Even her ulcer had finally healed.
Suzanne removed her shorts and T-shirt and draped them over the laundry basket to dry, then stepped onto the cold bathroom floor. Grabbing a plush blue towel with flowers embroidered on the borders, she tossed it over the shower enclosure before she entered. The warm water cascaded over her body, the heat causing the clear glass to fog. Tonight they were going out to dinner with Ted’s best friend and his new wife. She hadn’t decided what she was going to wear yet, and she wanted to blow-dry her naturally curly hair.
She dried off and opened the shower door. She heard Freddy barking again. Throwing on her robe, she headed downstairs and found him scratching at the door leading to the garage. When she opened it, she heard a noise near Ted’s latest project. Under a car cover was a Jaguar XKE. Did they have mice again?
She shrieked when someone came out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind. A forearm pressed against her throat. Struggling, she threw an
elbow back in an attempt to get away.
“Calm down or I’ll kill you.”
Suzanne craned her head around, seeing a towering figure wearing a black motorcycle helmet with a mirrored eye shield. A gun was pressed against her left cheek. The assailant had her in a choke hold, clasping her left arm firmly through his leather gloves. Her heart pumped like a rabbit.
She prayed it was the boy next door. “Eric?”
The intruder remained silent.
It couldn’t be Eric, she decided. His voice was different. She couldn’t be certain, though, as the person was outfitted with leather clothing.
“Don’t kill me,” she pleaded, tears pouring out of her eyes. “I have almost a hundred dollars in my purse. Take it…take anything you want. I won’t call the police. I swear.”
“You think I’m a thief?” he said, pressing his arm even harder against her throat.
Suzanne gasped for breath. The intruder dropped his arm and spun her around. She felt his eyes wash over her. He was going to kill her. She remembered the family that was killed not long ago. The killer was so brutal, he’d murdered a six-month-old baby. The newspaper said he’d also decapitated his own mother. A stream of warm urine ran down her legs.
Looking down at the puddle on the floor, she saw Freddy whimpering at her feet. The intruder kicked him through the open garage door, then closed and locked it. She remembered a self-defense tactic and locked her fingers on his arm, then dropped her body weight to the ground to break his grip. His arm felt like steel. He looked down at her and laughed.
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