by Lotta Smith
“Don’t be cruel to your husband, luv,” he said in his signature, soft, convincing tone. “It’s suddenly occurred to me that you are the one I need. You’re the one and only who can help me out of this hellhole.”
“No, that’s so wrong,” I declared. “I will not help you out of whatever place you are. No one can help you. After all, you have lied to, deceived, and defrauded every single person with a pulse, including but not limited to yours truly. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that I know you’re happily remarried to a lawyer? How naïve do you think I am? You need someone to talk to, then call your lawyer wife, not me. Understood?”
“Oh, Kelly, I was not thinking clearly when I left you. So, please take me back,” he begged.
“In your dreams,” I told him. “I’ve moved on, just like you suggested. After all, we’re not married anymore. You made that clear years ago.”
Carrying the phone away from my face, I giggled in my best sultry voice. “No, darling… it’s just some loser playing a random prank. Ooh… of course, I love you too…” I made a kissy noise just to annoy the hell out of the lying, cheating bastard who was going to spend a century in prison to rot.
Then I stopped breathing.
My lips were locked with Archangel’s lips.
Michael Archangel was kissing me.
Not just a soft, gentle smooch on the cheek, but a hot and wet, real, deep kiss. With lots of tongues. A ‘just shuddup and kiss me’ kiss. His lips were soft and slightly feverish, and he was holding me tight…Omigod, he was a good kisser.
Many things flashed in my mind and then went through. For the first time in my life, I knew what it meant to have a little slice of heaven. Tightly, I held onto him and kissed him back.
CRASH! A sound echoed in the room. But I didn’t care. I was busy. Suppose some major natural disaster or nuclear missile attack was taking place, I would have just let it go and went on with my current task.
Time passed in slow motion.
“Sorry,” Archangel whispered when our lips finally detached. He was breathing fast. “I thought a little sound effect would come handy to put emphasis on your statement.” He loosened his embrace on me.
“Stop apologizing, or I’ll start crying again,” I told him. I was breathless, lightheaded, and panting. “I liked it. No, I loved it, seriously.” I didn’t tell him I would have jumped his bones if he wasn’t injured and running a fever.
“That’s not what I meant. I was saying sorry about your phone.” He pointed to the floor on my side. “I’m afraid it’s broken. It sounded worse than the moment my ankle got snapped.”
“My phone?” I took a glance at the floor. The old cellphone from the Stone Age that I had been clinging to all those years was shattered into bits and pieces on the hardwood. A total demolition.
I glanced at the dismembered phone and then at Michael Archangel by my side, hoisting his upper body on one arm, looking into my face with his deep blues.
“Good,” I said. “I was planning to replace it anyway, with a new phone number and everything.” Then I cuddled onto him. It seemed as if the destruction of the ancient phone symbolized the beginning of a new phase of my life. “I’m moving on.”
“Kelly, aren’t you going to clean up the mess?” Archangel asked. He tended to get a little control-freakish sometimes.
“Try switching off the light,” I suggested. “If it doesn’t work, then close your eyes.”
“Hey, come on, killing the light and shutting my eyes won’t work. I’ll still know I’ve got a mess on my floor.”
“All right.” I gave a resigned sigh, got out of bed, and cleaned the mess, tossing the pieces into the dustbin. I knew it was easier than persuading him. “Happy?”
“You could use more thoroughness, but tonight, I’ll pretend I don’t feel the mess.”
“Thank you very much,” I said, snuggling back into the bed. “Considering you twisted my arm to clean the floor, that’s very generous of you.”
“At least you didn’t twist an ankle. Lucky you,” he retorted, but I sensed an ear-to-ear grin in his voice. Also, he gave a quick peck to my ear.
I smiled.
That was the night my phone died.
Also by Lotta Smith
Ghostly Murder—PI Assistant Extraordinaire Mystery Book 1 http://amzn.to/204aWJ4
Coming Soon: Deadly Vision—PI Assistant Extraordinaire Mystery Book 3
Sneak Peek: DEADLY VISION
Here’s a sneak peek of ‘Deadly Vision,’ PI Assistant Extraordinary Mystery Book 3—available at Amazon!
A murder of a sweetie pie…A newbie, pathetic agent…and the reluctant mentor…
Kelly Kinki is back in action!
Voted #7 of DC’s Most Eligible Bachelors, now Michael Archangel—her boss—is officially the hottest PI in the neighborhood, and one of the most talented. Sought by clients and police alike for his wit and brain power, this is an American Sherlock with style – and a unique past.
The co1llege girl was last seen at Tricky Sundae, a local ice cream shop, and then she turns up dead. This time, the case seems so normal, at first. The victim, a universally-loved college student, has been strangled. Well, maybe not so “universally” loved, since she’s dead—and that’s the weird part. Not a single person has anything bad to say about her.
When the FBI summons Archangel to help investigate this case, he is not thrilled. This PI solves crimes both big and small – except this time, FBI is asking him to find the killer while helping to ‘shape’ a newbie, arrogant, and pathetically dense ‘agent’ into actual agent material. Who will get to the killer first, and will they catch the killer before they start killing each other?
CHAPTER 1
There’s a first time for everything.
I was engaged in a tight lip-lock with Michael Archangel, a Virginia-based private investigator and my employer.
There should have been a sequence of events that led to the incident, but I couldn’t recall anything at all. And for full disclosure, I was way too preoccupied with the current action to care about how I ended up in a hot kiss with him.
Just like in cartoons, the angel part of me was sitting on my right shoulder, screaming things like “Hello! What’s happened to your professionalism? Don’t you have anything like work ethics?” And the devil part of me was hooting, jumping, and cheering me from on my other shoulder. “Go, Kelly, go! Think about it, you’re not getting any younger!” She was a really naughty devil.
As a professional woman with work ethics and dignity, I didn’t listen to the devil and started listening to the angel, and…no, that’s a lie. I didn’t listen to the angel. Call me an unethical slut, but I was falling for the devil’s words.
For a brief moment, our lips parted. I opened my eyes. His baby blues were staring at me so intensely, they seemed a shade or two darker than usual.
He cupped my face in his hands.
“Are you ready?” he whispered. His voice sounded oh-so-sweet on my ears. Then he brushed away my hair and planted a light peck on my forehead.
I mumbled something that meant nothing and everything. Then I realized he was shirtless and I was only one slutty Agent Provocateur bra and a thong away from…gulp! the bedroom.
Breathing hard and admiring his Greek god-like physique, I struggled with his belt buckle, which didn’t unbuckle easily. I shivered as Archangel unhooked my bra with just a snap of his fingers.
I closed my eyes. He was reaching south, and then…
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Don’t Miss: GHOSTLY MURDER
Ghostly Murder—PI Assistant Extraordinaire Book 1 is available from http://amzn.to/1T4DKC3 (US), http://amzn.to/1TrxsLS (UK) and much more!
Here’s the synopsis of the story…
A murder in a locked room…
The faceless ghost…
Throw in a cross-dressing detective plus his assistant extraordinaire in this new mystery series!
For Kelly Kinki, working as Archangel
’s personal assistant was always an adventure, one that keeps her on her toes. As the resident consulting detective for the busy Washington D.C. Police Department and the FBI, Archangel took the confusing or unsolvable situations and spun a Sherlock hue over them, finding answers amongst the clues and closing cases even the most skilled law enforcement agents found confounding. Working as both his assistant and sounding board, Kelly has an intimate knowledge of the inner workings of Archangel’s deduction, and of his fabulous closet. Not only is he a detective savant, he is also a towering specimen of a man with an appetite for women’s high fashion that could put a runway model to shame – a fact that leaves his less-fashionable assistant flummoxed, and slightly jealous.
This one’s a case for the record books—a high-profile victim murdered in a sealed tennis court that was locked from the inside. This kind of strange is right up Archangel’s alley, and Kelly is certain his eccentricities will only bring him closer to the killer… but that means she will have to get close, too. Unlike her employer, she doesn’t run so well in heels…
It’s a classic ‘who-done-it’ with a not so classic answer.
CHAPTER 1
There’s a first time for everything.
I was walking in the forest all by myself. It was a sunny day in late March, but in the shadows of tall trees, it was dark, cold, and creepy. Also, having a group of crows—a.k.a. a murder of crows—squawking over my head did nothing to calm my nerves.
Don’t get me wrong. I was not an adventurer wannabe or a plant hunter wandering about some exotic forest in the middle of nowhere with a totally unpronounceable name, such as Tweebuffelsmeteenskootmorsdoodgeskietfontein in Africa. On the contrary, I was one of those so-called city workers. My job title was the personal assistant to a certain private investigator based in McLean, Virginia.
I was in Arlington, the ‘good’ suburb of Washington DC. Though there was a metro station in walking distance, this part of the town was very quiet, giving it the feel of a godforsaken land. I wasn’t exaggerating. Maybe the fact that a man’s dead body was found nearby had something to do with my perception. In addition, considering he was stabbed to death, this neighborhood might not be such a good area. Oh, did I mention there was some wacko serial rapist still running loose in the neighborhood? As a woman with no expertise in martial arts, I had a gazillion reasons to be spooked.
Walking in the forest wasn’t something I was doing by choice. Michael Archangel, my eccentric employer with a diva personality, made me do so. My mission was to look for either pantyhose, a ski mask, or big granny panties. Any of those items were supposed to help my employer with his most recent case, but I couldn’t figure out why or how. Anyway, I had never dreamed about going treasure-hunting for potentially used undergarments in the urban forest at the age of twenty-nine.
When I was a kid, I wanted to be an alchemist or a doctor. But the reality wasn’t rosy enough to realize either of my childhood dreams. First of all, there was no alchemist school. In addition, my test score wasn’t good enough for premed programs. So my mom and fifth—or was it sixth?—faux-dad sent me to a finishing school in Switzerland where I mastered the art of eating an orange using a knife and a fork. After that, I became a housewife in London, obtained a bachelor’s degree in art, and then I got a divorce. People in Europe, especially rich people in London, still called me ‘the bitch who used to be married to that swindler’ a.k.a. the man who had committed the largest investment scam in the history of Great Britain.
Here’s my point: Education is so overrated.
My name is Kelly Kinki. Yes, it’s my real name as written on my birth certificate. No, my surname is not a joke. And no, I’m not into kinky sex. Kinky or otherwise, it had been a while since I had sex.
As I thought about sex, I realized how much I hated walking through the creepy woods. I could think of much better things to do—such as tackling crossword puzzles or building a robot vacuum cleaner from scratch—but sometimes, you had to do what you had to do.
All of the sudden, one of the crows let out an especially menacing squawk as something started chirping and vibrating at the same time, startling me.
“Holy crap!”
A second later, I realized it was coming from my purse and reached for my phone.
“Hello? What can I do for you, Mr. Archangel?” I said to the person on the other end, who happened to be the one responsible for my current situation.
There was no response.
“Hello? Mr. Archangel?”
Still nothing.
From the other end, I could hear muffled voices. I recalled a bunch of retired gentlemen, who resided in the neighborhood, gathering at the crime scene. When I left there, they were busy gossiping. In my mind’s eyes, I could almost see and hear them cracking jokes and laughing their as—I mean, laughing their pants off. A moment later, I finally got a whispered response from Archangel.
“Password.”
“What? Password? What are you talking about?” I said, puzzled.
“You need to provide the password of Michael Archangel Investigations.”
“Excuse me? I’ve got your name on my caller ID. And it’s my voice. You can recognize me from my voice, can’t you?”
“No. You sound different,” he said. “Actually, you sound pretty much annoyed.”
“Come on, so I’m pretty much annoyed right now, but still, it’s me. Besides that, you’re the one who’s calling my phone, so you should know—” I was tempted to go on with my rant, but I realized it was easier to just tell the password.
“All right! I’ll tell the password.” Then I stopped short. What was the password? I knitted my eyebrows. It was something about artists. Oh yeah—Matisse, Bonnard, and Rothko—that was it.
“Matisse, Bonnard,” I said my part and waited for him to say “Rothko” but—
“Okay, let’s get to the point.”
“Hey!” I protested. “You’re supposed to finish the password before getting to the point. I said ‘Matisse, Bonnard’ and you’re supposed to say ‘Rothko.’ Without your finishing, the password isn’t complete!”
“What are you babbling, Kelly? It’s me, Michael Archangel. You should be able to recognize me from my voice. Otherwise, you must be affected with an early-onset of Alzheimer’s.”
All right, he had a point. The password was pretty much worthless since I knew I was talking to Archangel. His voice was deep, husky, and somewhat seductive, per usual. In addition, I knew no one else as fuc—I mean, freaking annoying as him.
“So, what’s up, Mr. Archangel? Any progress?”
“Yeah. The cops found the item I was looking for. I knew it was somewhere in the ground. Anyway, you can come back to the tennis court.”
“What? So you sent me to this creepy forest fully knowing I wouldn’t be the one to find the granny panties?”
“Actually, the discovered item turned out to be a ghost mask.”
“That’s not the point. You sent me, of all people, to go into this deep, spooky, and potentially dangerous forest for a wild goose chase of a ghost mask you didn’t even bother to mention in the first place. On top of it all, I’m talking about these woods located near the site where a twenty-four-year-old female office worker was nearly raped last night for Pete’s sake!” I spat.
I knew about her because, this morning, local news was all about this serial rapist in Arlington. In the past month, at least five women had been brutally raped. I was more than concerned about my own safety.
“Good thing you’re much older than twenty-four years old,” was Archangel’s reply.
“Excuse me? That’s not the point.” I continued. “This rapist has not yet been ID’d, much less arrested. Has it ever come to your mind that the rapist is still hiding in the darkness of these woods, determined to assault another young, innocent, and defenseless woman, such as your assistant? Imagine it. I might become his next prey. Aren’t you worried about me?”
Without responding to my bullets of questions, h
e said, “Come back to the tennis court pronto. If you don’t come back before I finish wrapping up the case, I’ll leave without you.”
And the line went dead.
Words like manners and protocol must be missing from my employer’s dictionary.
Man, I really, really hated this job.
*
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About the author
Lotta Smith is the author of PI Assistant Extraordinaire Mysteries. She loves everything comedy, from novels, TVs, to movies. When she’s not writing or reading, she spends her time looking through travel brochures.
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