CHOICE ONE PUBLISHING CO.
KILLER CAREER
MORGAN MANDEL
DEDICATION
Special thanks to my husband, Paul, my chief publicist and supporter, who always remembers to hand out my business cards even when I don’t. Also, my good friend, Jeanne Rybarczyk, who helped get me started in the crazy, wonderful business of writing.
I can’t forget to thank Helen Ginger, my Editor Extraordinaire, Robert W. Walker, who supplied a great back cover blurb and offered super editorial and title suggestions, Austin S. Camacho for his great blurb, Denise Camacho for her guidance in the publishing process, and Attorney Guy R. Spayth, Jr. for technical assistance.
For critiques along the way, thanks go out to my fellow Chicago-North RWA members, with special mention going to Deb Rittle, Margot Justes, June Sproat, Christina Fixemer, Jennifer Stevenson, Blythe Gifford, and Mary Micheff for being there for me. I couldn’t have done this without you. Also, thanks to Alex Matthews and Shirley Kennett, who offered valuable criticism way back when.
© 2009 Mary A. Gruner as Morgan Mandel
Front and Back Cover Photos licensed through istock.com
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9819916-0-3
First Printing: August, 2009
e-Book ISBN: 978-0-9819916-1-0
Choice One Publishing Co.
PO Box 1993
Arlington Heights, IL 60006-1993
e-mail: [email protected]
website: http://choiceonepublishing.com
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author. All incidents are invented. All rights reserved. Contact publisher or author for written permission to reproduce any parts of this book.
Chapter One
Julie McGuire gazed intently from her table in the filled-to-capacity dining room of the Wyndham Hotel. The Love To Murder Mystery Conference had saved the best for last. New York Times bestselling author, Tyler Jensen, now approached the podium.
His entire bearing commanded attention, from his shoulder length wavy chestnut hair pushed back behind his ears, to his sexy sideburns and piercing hazel eyes. She guessed him to be thirty-five, about five years older than she. Clever, rich, tall, and handsome, Tyler Jensen looked the embodiment of any woman’s fantasy.
“Many of you have killed,” Tyler said, pointing to his audience of two hundred plus.
Julie stared. What did he mean?
“Yes, you’ve slaughtered your creativity. You’ve squashed your dreams in favor of immediate gratification.”
My God, he knew. She ignored the tinkling sound, as a waitress placed a carafe of ice water on the table.
Julie stared, transfixed, at Jensen. His every word spoke to her. She’d taken the easy way out and become a lawyer instead of following her heart’s desire to be an author. The decision ate at her. After six years in the practice, she’d saved enough money to get by. She badly wanted to claim her dream and step forward into the world he described.
All too soon, he’d finished his speech. “Any questions?”
Julie shot up her hand. Jensen’s knowing hazel eyes fastened on her, as if assessing her straight blonde hair and tall, slight frame.
He nodded. “Yes, second table.”
On suddenly stiff legs, she rose. “What makes you write mysteries?”
“I have an urge to voyeuristically experience atrocities. I’ve no idea where the fascination comes from. Perhaps I was a criminal in a former life,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.
Julie swallowed. His answer filled her with a vague uneasiness, but she didn’t know why.
“I hope I’ve satisfactorily answered your question.”
“Yes, uh, thank you.” She straightened her skirt and seated herself.
Even as she sat gathering her thoughts, she felt the pull of his charisma. Every word and gesture hinted at a barely contained power, strong enough to transform the sturdiest dissenter into a willing robot. His rakish looks dared her to ignore her orderly upbringing. Inwardly smiling, Julie guesstimated at how many other women in the massive banquet hall were as enthralled by the man’s knowledgeable gaze. Did their blood pulse as fast as hers?
The only man who’d ever tweaked her interest to such a degree was her partner, “Dangerous Dade.” He was the one who’d convinced her to become a lawyer, saying it was the best way to escape the poverty of their blighted neighborhood. He was her standard for comparing other men.
More than one female client had cited Dade as a good catch. Julie had to admit they were right. It wasn’t only because he was six feet tall, with wide shoulders and a determined air. Dade also had a special knack for putting clients at ease with his genuine interest in their problems, as he competently protected their interests. He was a sweet guy and would make some lucky woman a great husband. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be her. From the start of their partnership, they’d agreed not to mix business with pleasure, a decision she sometimes regretted.
Jensen’s charisma proved strong enough to break through her long-held barriers of comparison. Was it her imagination, or did he glance at her table more than the others? Was the strange feeling inside of her obvious or even more absurd, could it be mutual?
For such a levelheaded attorney, she’d certainly flipped. It had to be technique. Tyler Jensen was an excellent speaker, adept at eye contact.
“How does writing from a criminal’s point-of-view make you feel,” a woman at a table across the room asked.
An excellent query. Julie leaned forward to hear the reply. In his books, Jensen delved at length into the villain’s viewpoint, as if entering the criminal’s mind. The effect was chilling, but compelling.
She held her breath for the answer.
Jensen stared at Julie instead of the questioner, as if sensing her enthrallment. “I am the villain. I completely lose myself. The animal inside of me rules. I get away with anything and everything.” A tight smile curved his sensuous lips. “You know what they say. The forbidden carries allure. Anyway, when my sanity returns, I’m sated. I’ve undergone a complete catharsis. There’s no experience like it.”
Julie sat rooted, feeling another trickle of uneasiness. She shared some of the exact feelings. Despite her best intentions, she was often drawn to tragedy and the world of the bizarre. Did this morbid curiosity of hers signal a latent attraction to the dark side?
“Many of your books foretell and even mirror actual events,” remarked the same woman. “Is that intentional?”
“Anything and everything can spark a story. Read the newspapers. Watch television. Nothing is new. What counts is the way you handle it.”
Julie had read enough of Jensen’s books to know his genius lay not only in his imagination, but also in the artistry with which he wove unsolved murders into his mystery plots, spiking the reader’s trepidation. He switched the settings, but Julie knew he garnered most of his material from happenings in the Chicago area. More often than not the killers remained at large. Once inside a Tyler Jensen masterpiece, Julie often felt compelled to check her locks to make sure they were bolted.
A balding gent at the table next to hers raised his hand. “You go into so much detail, almost as if presenting recipes for murder and mayhem. Do you worry that someone might …ah you know…use your ingredients and commit a real murder?”
Jensen’s eyes turned cold. “My books, though based on reality, are completely fictitious. I won’t be a babysitter for lunatics who can’t decipher reality from fiction. People who look for reasons to kill will find them. They don’t need books or recipes.”
A shiver raced down Julie’s spine.
There were way too many crazies out there. Thank goodness, she didn’t deal with criminal law. That would be asking for trouble.
“But why go out of your way to encourage someone who’s dangling on the precipice?” Julie blurted aloud as she wondered if her own fiction could create a real-life monster.
Jensen stared straight into her eyes.
“Goldilocks, you are an innocent. The big bad bears do evil by choice. Just write what you want. Neither you, I, nor anyone else, will make a whit of difference.”
What a condescending snob. The heat rose to her face. Anger propelled her from her chair. “Get this straight. I’m not a brainless idiot because of my hair color. Also, I’m not a so-called innocent because I happen to have a conscience. It’s better to have one than none at all.”
She flounced back down. A hush fell over the room. She’d dared to talk back to the Great One.
Jensen stood frozen. A fleeting expression crossed his face, as if he were groping with a problem. The silence lengthened.
He shifted and seemed to come to. With a sigh, he flashed an apologetic smile.
“Forgive me. My flippant remark about the lovely color of your hair was out of line. Also, may I congratulate you for owning a conscience. Just don’t overuse it or you’ll never make it as a writer.”
At his jest, a few twitters escaped from the crowd.
Julie nodded her acceptance. At least he’d offered an apology of sorts. She’d not belabor the point.
Also, he’d cleared up a troubling matter. Acknowledging the presence of evil did not create it. Writing provided a safe foray into the forbidden.
Others in the audience queried Jensen. Each question and answer stoked Julie’s energy. Ideas buzzed through her mind, making her wish she were sitting at her computer saving them before they escaped.
Before long, applause broke out to signal the end of the question-and-answer period. Jensen’s appearance had made the conference.
Strangely enough, instead of taking his departure, Jensen conferred with the slight, silver-haired moderator. She shot him a surprised look and nodded before stepping back onto the podium. About to stand up, Julie stopped midway.
The woman smiled widely. “Well, fellow mystery enthusiasts, we’ve just been awarded an outstanding coup. For a nominal fee of one hundred dollars, ten randomly selected entrants will be chosen to participate in a suspense workshop conducted by none other than the wonderful wordsmith, Tyler Jensen, whom you’ve just heard. Sign-up material will be available in the lobby. Good luck to all of you. Oh, and don’t forget, immediately afterwards, Tyler Jensen will autograph his new book, Hopeless.”
A workshop with Jensen! Julie couldn’t believe it. Agreeing to be a guest speaker at a conference was one thing, but stooping to teach a workshop was extremely generous for a star of Jensen’s magnitude. He must have loads of engagements, not to mention tons of money. His advance for Hopeless was rumored at two million.
Should she enroll? Julie didn’t wait to answer her question, but charged down the aisle to the lobby. She’d sacrificed her dreams on the altar of practicality for too long. Her love for the craft had laid dormant, waiting for the right moment to emerge. This was it.
The registration line was already long, but she’d wait. With much to learn, she would not pass up the opportunity of delving beneath the layers. She crept up to the front where she glimpsed Tyler Jensen seated behind a long rectangular table. Beside him, taking down applications on letter-sized paper, sat a sultry brunette, with hair flowing, lips gleaming and breasts straining against a crimson knit sweater.
The woman leaned close to Jensen, brushing her breast against his arm. Was she an employee or something more? Perhaps the mystery writer had a stable of writing groupies. Before Julie could control it, an illicit thrill shot through her.
Ignoring the provocative scene playing out in her mind, Julie stepped closer until she stood before Jensen. He straightened in his chair. His eyes bore into hers. Tiny goose bumps swept up and down her legs. Though she’d shaved them, the absent hairs seemed to stand on end.
“Your telephone number, your credit card,” asked the bored, husky voice of the red-sweatered siren.
The spell broken, Julie recited her phone number then reached into her purse. Her fingers felt clumsy as she plucked the card from her wallet. The plastic dropped face up on the table. Jensen took a quick look.
“Allow me.” He lifted it and handed it to his assistant.
She would not let a school-girlish crush get the better of her. Julie nodded and turned her attention to the siren. The overripe assistant, in well-rounded script, slowly etched the information on the paper.
The woman proffered the credit card, which Julie grabbed and threw into her purse. Beating a hasty retreat, she wended her way past the enrollment line. No doubt, the women here were busily speculating over the relationship between the brunette and Jensen as well.
She shook her head and exited, stepping briskly into the parking lot. Her heels echoed hollowly on the asphalt as she lectured herself on her foolishness. The sooner she came down to earth the better. I will not go off the deep end for any man. Being silly has not gotten me where I am today, she muttered to the empty lot. She looked around to make sure no one had heard her. She really had to get a grip.
She knew the reason for her off balance. She’d greedily inhabited the writing world for an entire day, and it was hard to re-enter the real world. Going home meant doing what she’d come to dislike, yet she couldn’t break away just yet. Through long hours and hard work, she and Dade had built up their workers’ compensation and real estate law practice from nothing to a solid success. She valued his friendship too much to leave him in the lurch. Something would have to be worked out, but right now was not the time to decide. Her eyes swept the parking lot for her car. She spied the midnight blue Audi in the center and headed in its direction. Once inside, she collapsed onto the seat. The conference had been great, but it felt good to be alone with her thoughts.
She turned the key in the ignition, backed up, then braked.
Darn. She’d been so distracted by the workshop she’d forgotten to get those autographed copies of Hopeless. She not only wanted one for herself, but had counted on buying one for Dade’s thirty-second birthday tomorrow. It was too late to figure out something else.
Julie glanced toward the lengthening shadows of the building. She probably had time, but did she care to face Jensen again? At the thought of her butterfingers in letting the card slip from her hand, she grimaced. Hopeless -- a fitting word for her silly fantasies.
She squared her shoulders. He was human, nothing more. She climbed out of the car, clicked the doors shut and tromped back through the parking lot, her toes pinching in protest. Not for anyone but Dade would she endure this.
She returned to the same spot only to discover the line had disbanded. It couldn’t be already over. She had to buy the book.
The sound of excited voices made her turn. She followed the direction of the noise. To the left, down a short hall, stood a group of people. She skirted the fringes of the crowd to find Jensen seated behind another long table with his assistant beside him. She was in luck after all.
Dozens of empty boxes lay at his feet. As Julie stood watching, a gray haired woman in back of her piped, “Get to the end of the line, Missy.”
Julie flashed an apologetic smile and retreated, only to discover an ear-ringed, Mohawk-haired teenager standing in front of her. She smiled inwardly. Jensen attracted all kinds.
When Julie finally made it to the front, she spied with relief a short stack of books still on the table.
The mystery writer looked up, hazel eyes glinting. “Julie, right?”
She nodded, pleased he’d remembered her name. Hopefully, he didn’t remember her clumsiness in handing over the charge card.
“Oh, and could you autograph another, this one to Dade?”
He frowned. His piercing eyes bore into hers. “Husband or boyfriend?�
�
Was that a note of accusation?
“My law partner,” she said, determined not to sound defensive.
Jensen lifted his eyebrows. “That’s all?”
His eyes connected with hers. Unflinching, she stared back.
“What’s his last name?”
“Dade will do.”
Jensen autographed the books then held them out to her.
“Thank you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
Heat rose to her face. In her confusion, she almost swiped the books from the man’s hands. I’m not a teenybopper. What’s the matter with me?
Back at the car, curiosity overcame her. What had he written? She flicked on the overhead light and opened the top book.
“Julie, my dear, are you willing to take a chance? Yours always, Tyler Jensen.”
Her heart skipped. Had he read her mind? Could he tell she was attracted to him? How could he not when her face must have flashed three shades of red.
* * *
By the time Julie stepped through the hallway of her brick ranch home, the small Tiffany lamp set on timer for nine already cast its dim glow on the dark sheen of the console table. She set the books down on the table and slipped off her heels. That was better.
She barely had time to luxuriate in the sensation of the cool tiles beneath her freed toes, as she dashed past the living room where the timed cranberry colored lamp shed its soft light onto the plump flowery cloth chair and sofa.
Books in hand, she searched the pantry for the wrapping paper she’d purchased a few weeks before. She found it hiding beside the wax paper and foil.
Armed with scissors and tape from the odds-and-ends drawer in the kitchen, she quickly wrapped the present on the counter. The browns and greens of the paper looked distinctively masculine. The gold bow added just the right touch. One project completed.
Killer Career Page 1
