Tropic of Trouble
Wynter Daniels
When Kelsey Ackerman’s assistant at her used bookstore is murdered, the police label it a botched robbery by a desperate drug addict. But Kelsey suspects the perpetrator was looking for a rare Shakespeare volume that someone unknowingly donated. Now a killer’s sights are set on Kelsey.
Jail guard Jason Jones only wants to protect her, but after suffering a controlling father and an abusive ex-husband, Kelsey wants nothing to do with the confident, hot sergeant. Until the danger becomes crystal clear, and the only man who can save her is the very man she can’t resist.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Tropic of Trouble
ISBN 9781419929724
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Tropic of Trouble Copyright © 2010 Wynter Daniels
Edited by Shannon Combs
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication November 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Tropic of Trouble
Wynter Daniels
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the lieutenant who rules my heart, Dana T. Edmondson
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Agatha Christie: Agatha Christie Limited Corporation
Barbie: Mattel, Inc.
Cadillac: General Motors Corporation
Dumpster: Dempster Brothers, Inc.
G.I. Joe: Hasbro, Inc.
Glock: Glock, Inc.
Jeep: DaimlerChrysler Corporation
Wonder Woman: DC Comics, Inc.
Chapter One
Something was very wrong. Margaret should have answered the phone. Maybe she’d forgotten to wear her hearing aid again. Sure, that must be the problem. She hadn’t heard the ringer. Not as if that had never happened before.
Then why did that knot in Kelsey Ackerman’s stomach persist? Why had she listened when Margaret insisted she could work the store alone? What if her employee had slipped and hurt herself? If Margaret had fallen, she might not be able to pick herself up.
Did I wipe up the water I spilled near the coffeemaker this afternoon?
Probably not. She’d had her nose so buried in a mystery novel that she couldn’t remember completing a single task today other than discovering the identity of Lady Markham’s killer on page three hundred fifteen.
Her stomach roiled as she negotiated the congested South Beach streets leading to Gentle Reader, her used bookstore. A couple raindrops splattered on the windshield and the sky darkened. Good thing she only had another block to go.
Horns blasted when she zipped into the only available parking spot on the street. Snatching her purse from the seat, she hurried out of her car and sucked in a breath of stifling Miami air—ninety-nine percent humidity mixed with exhaust fumes.
Coughing, she raced across the street, cars whizzing past her at breakneck speeds. A droplet of water landed on her glasses, obscuring the right lens.
The light over the door to her shop wasn’t lit, but the sun had only set a little while ago.
Unease prickled her skin. She yanked open the door and the chime sounded. Inside, darkness shrouded the room. The overhead fluorescents should’ve been on. The musty smell of old books filled the air, normally comforting, but not now. She flipped the switch on the wall. And again. Nothing. Trepidation settled over her like an itchy cape.
“Margaret?” Her voice cracked. She stepped deeper into the shop, past a rack of well-worn romance novels. Pulse pounding, she dropped her purse and keys on top of a stack of books. “Are you here?”
She removed her glasses and dried them on her shirt. A flurry of movement drew her attention to the back of the store. A dark, hooded figure charged through the curtain that separated the storeroom from the sales floor. He crashed past her, knocking her glasses right out of her hands. Panicked, she froze and the black and beige blur disappeared out the door.
Oh God. What has the intruder done?
Desperate to see clearly, she crouched, patted the smooth parquet floor until she touched her glasses. With trembling hands, she slipped them on and tried to scare up a sense of calm.
Where is Margaret? Please be okay.
Her brain grappled with incongruous puzzle pieces. What had that man done to Margaret? Should she go after him? Try to get a better look at him? Lock the door? No, no time. Margaret could be hurt and need her help.
Why did I leave her alone?
“Margaret?” She tried to swallow, but her mouth had grown so parched.
Sweat trickled down the side of her face. She grabbed a hardcover edition to use as a weapon. Blood pounded in her ears. She didn’t want to see whatever waited in the storeroom, knew it would be terrifying, but she had to continue. Margaret could be in trouble. Tears threatened, but she forced them back. No time to be a wimp.
She took a step. And another.
Please, let Margaret be okay.
Maybe she’d gone out. She could be in the bathroom, but Kelsey knew she wasn’t. She didn’t hear the noisy exhaust fan running. But with power out, nothing electric would run.
Icy fingers of fear crawled up her neck as she approached the doorway. Her head throbbed with trepidation. A boom of thunder made her jump. The flash of lightning only illuminated the room for an instant, a cruel tease.
She eased back the curtain and her heart pounded as if it would crash right through her ribs. The small storage room was pitch black and way too quiet. She could barely breathe. A metallic scent hung heavy in the air. Alarm sent chills up her spine.
She reached for the chain dangling from the overhead fixture, but when she pulled nothing happened.
The electricity is out. Of course nothing happened. Think!
Another step and her foot slid out from under her. She stumbled backward, but caught herself by grabbing on to the doorframe.
The book dropped out of her hand and hit the floor with a thud and a…splash?
What the hell?
Trembling with fear, she bent to retrieve it. Panic drummed harder and faster. Patting the concrete floor, she touched something wet, warm and slimy.
No! I can’t do this.
Thunder crashed again. Stars swam before her eyes. She skittered back, clutched at the curtain. The metal rod gave way and fell on top of her. She swatted it away, sent it crashing to the floor beside her with a clang. Grappling to escape, she managed to stand and run from the room.
She needed light. Desperatel
y. But the approaching storm and the onset of night had snatched the last of the daylight. Her key ring had a small flashlight attached. Heart kabooming, she searched for her purse, but couldn’t find it in the dark.
Her brain screamed a warning. Get out!
What if the intruder had an accomplice? Waiting. But her friend could be back there, hurt. She swallowed down her terror and tried to summon every ounce of courage.
I have to help her.
She felt her way to the counter, reached for the phone, but it was dead, of course. Why hadn’t she thought to have a corded model in case of emergencies? She patted the cluttered desk surface. Her fingers closed around a cylindrical plastic tube.
Yes! A lighter. With a shaking hand, she flicked the wheel and mercifully, a tiny flame appeared, illuminating the immediate area in a yellow haze. She glanced to the spot where she’d left her purse. Gone. And the cash drawer sat open and empty.
Please let Margaret be okay.
Her gaze fell to the papers on the desk, covered in crimson-brown splotches. Gasping, she looked at her hand, stained dark red.
Blood!
Bile rose in her throat. She moved slowly toward the storeroom, terror clamping her chest tighter with each step. She hesitated in the doorway, unable to go any farther. The flame flickered in her shaking hand.
Courage.
A dark, crumpled form lay in a heap on the floor by the backdoor. She identified Margaret’s shoe near a cardboard box.
She barely recognized the strangled cry that escaped her lips. A black pool of liquid covered part of the floor.
Margaret’s blood.
Tears stung her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Her mind grappled for another explanation. She desperately wanted to run, but she couldn’t just leave her. She could still be alive.
There’s too much blood. She’d dead.
Biting down hard on her lip, she inched closer to the still form. Hands fisted, she eased around the viscous puddle and sank to her knees.
Margaret’s foot, covered in her signature beige support stockings, stuck out from under her black skirt. Kelsey stretched her trembling hand to the elderly woman’s ankle and tried to discern a pulse.
Nausea swirled in her gut. She clutched her chest, holding back a gag.
I must do this.
She touched her friend’s skin, still slightly warm, but not enough. The scene felt surreal. How could this be happening? She prayed Margaret hadn’t suffered.
Oh God. Margaret was dead.
Could it be my fault?
If only she’d scheduled her in the morning, rather than the evening. Choking down a sob, she backed away from the body and took off for the front door. She emerged from the building into the night and sucked in a breath, heavy with rain. Lightning flashed in the distance. Strains of Latin music filled the air from a nearby nightclub.
A middle-aged couple came out of the restaurant next door and opened a big black umbrella.
“Please, help me.” She stumbled toward them. “Call 9-1-1. Someone’s been murdered.” Her field of vision was suddenly ringed in black and shrinking. She dropped to her knees on the rain-splattered sidewalk then everything went dark.
* * * * *
“What’s wrong?” Jason Jones eased his truck on to the shoulder when he heard the shrill tone of his sister’s voice over the phone. “My friend Kelsey’s assistant was murdered at her store,” Jenna repeated. “Can you believe it? Have you ever heard anything so awful? Kelsey just phoned. She couldn’t stop crying, Jason. Poor thing. I’m on my way to South Beach now.”
He glanced in his rearview mirror, pulled back on to the road and made a U-turn. “I’ll meet you there.” He knew exactly how to get to Gentle Reader since he’d helped Jenna drop several crates of old books off just days ago.
Kelsey must be a wreck. Who wouldn’t be after finding the body of a friend? Maybe he could do something to help. He’d made lots of friends at the police department in the dozen years he’d worked at the jail.
She might not want him there, though. She’d seemed cool and aloof when Jenna had introduced them. But the moment he met her he’d been mesmerized by the soulful blue eyes she tried to hide behind her glasses. And those long blonde curls she’d tamed into a ponytail.
He’d never found that bookish type particularly appealing before, but for some reason he was drawn to her. Had to be those luscious, pouty lips, or the way her ass swayed when she walked. Could have been her perky breasts, not too big or too small. But they sat firm and high. And her nipples had poked against her blouse when she’d caught him staring.
The vulnerability in her eyes had cut straight through him, drawn him in. Yeah, that must be why he couldn’t keep her off his mind.
Or maybe that she seemed totally unaware of her sex appeal. When he asked his sister if Kelsey had a boyfriend, Jenna told him she didn’t but not to bother asking her out. She’d sworn off men after an ugly divorce. If he knew what was good for him, he’d take his sister’s advice. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d thought about little else but the sexy blonde since he’d met her. Her face was the one he’d conjured while he lay alone in bed last night, stroking his hard-on.
He needed a woman. He’d avoided entanglements for nearly a year. But could he ever trust in a relationship again? He pushed the thought from his head.
As he drove, he called the jail and asked for the D-building control room. Ellis Washington, his best corporal answered.
“Just the man I need to talk to.” He turned on to Collins Avenue.
“Hey, Sarge. What’s up?” Ellis asked.
“I’m going to be late. I’ll call you when I have a better idea of when I’ll be there.”
“No problem, boss. Everything’s under control.” Jason smiled. “Always is when you’re around, Ellis.”
He parked near Jenna’s Jeep then used his badge to get the two of them inside the store past the cop standing guard at the front door. Place looked the same as it had a few days earlier, except for the uniformed and plainclothes officers scurrying around like rabbits in a carrot patch.
He noticed Kelsey right away, seated on a desk chair, shaking despite the blanket wrapped around her. A lanky, dark-haired man in street clothes stood over her, facing away from Jason. When the man shifted a little, Jason drew a relieved breath. His old friend, police captain Mike Callahan gave him a quick glance and a wave.
“I have one more question, Miss Ackerman,” Mike said.
Kelsey nodded, pitiful with tear-streaked cheeks and a slight bruise on the left side of her face. Several blonde strands had escaped her ponytail and curled around her heart-shaped face.
Mike held up a bloodstained book wrapped in a plastic bag. “What can you tell me about this?”
Jason squinted to read the title on the spine, Agatha Christie’s Appointment With Death. Two techs from the medical examiner’s office wheeled the body past, punctuating the irony.
Kelsey’s sob tore straight through him.
“I grabbed the first thing I found when I came inside.” She dabbed a tissue to her red-rimmed eyes.
Mike patted her shoulder. “Thanks.” When he faced Jenna, his cool façade cracked. His lips flattened to a thin line and his gaze seemed to reach out to her. “Jenna.”
“Hello, Mike.” Jenna hurried to her friend’s side and hugged her. “Oh, Kelsey, are you all right? I’m so sorry about Margaret. She seemed like such a sweet old lady.”
Resting her head on Jenna’s shoulder, Kelsey sniffled. “Thanks. She was.”
“I’m sorry, Kelsey.” Jason touched her hand, but she quickly jerked away as if he’d burned her. “Is there anything we can do?”
She didn’t answer.
“How are you, buddy?” Mike slapped Jason’s back, pulled him aside. “You guys know Kelsey, huh?”
“She and Jenna have been friends a couple years, take yoga classes together or something. I met her when we brought her some books a few days ago.” Jason lowered his voic
e. “What the hell happened here?”
“Looks like a robbery gone bad. We think the perp got scared, whacked the clerk with a blunt object. Cracked her skull wide open.” He shrugged, set his hands on his waist. “But we’ll have to wait for the ME’s report to be sure.”
Jason glanced around the store. Racks of used books were neatly arranged. A display of scented candles sat in front of the tall counter. “Why this place? South Beach is full of pawnshops, jewelry stores. This a used book store, for God’s sake. Not exactly the sort of business you’d expect to have much cash around.”
Mike bristled. “How should I know why he picked this place? He’s probably a crackhead looking for an easy score. I don’t know. We’ve just started the investigation, but there’s no spouse, no family to speak of, nothing to suggest anything but a random robbery.”
“Doesn’t fit.” He didn’t want to step on his friend’s toes, but something didn’t seem right. “What else do you know about the victim?”
Mike squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “Look, a crime investigation out here is a little different from an investigation inside the jail. Do I tell you how to do your job?”
Jason raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to second-guess you.” He and Mike went back a long way. They’d attended the academy together and he truly liked the guy, but if Kelsey could be in danger, she ought to know.
Mike shoved past him and returned to the women. “Miss Ackerman, would you mind taking another look around to make sure nothing else was stolen.”
She nodded, shrugged off the blanket from around her shoulders and set it on top of a low bookrack. Slowly, carefully, she strode through the store, looked all around and ended at the counter. “I don’t think anything’s missing except my purse and the money from the register.” Her gaze landed on the stack of boxes Jason had carried in earlier in the week and her eyebrows snapped together. “Hmm.”
Tropic of Trouble Page 1
