by Debra Webb
She leaned against him. “Then…”
“Then,” he echoed as he grabbed her up and twisted around until her back was against the door. “I’d do what I’ve been dying to do all week.”
Her body melted against the hard planes of his. “And what’s that?”
He pressed into her, filling her slowly and completely. “Make love to you.” He kissed her nose. “Again.” He kissed her chin. “And again.”
Her hips moved against his, pressing him deeper. She moaned with pleasure. “Good answer.”
Her phone chirped, signaling she’d received a text, but she didn’t care. All she wanted right now was all of Dan.
It was so good to be home.
A high school graduation party ends in a death.
More than a decade later, an invitation to a special class reunion is sent.
And so begins a series of murders that will test Deputy Chief Jess Harris as a chilling game of retribution is set in motion …
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Revenge
Revenge… its delight is murder, and its end is despair.
—Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
9911 Conroy Road, August 9, 10:45 p.m.
The room went as black as a tomb.
“Oh, shoot.” Jess Harris heaved a beleaguered sigh. She tossed the now useless hair dryer onto the bed. This was the second night in a row the power had gone out on her. “One of the perks of living in a historic—aka old—home,” she muttered.
Reaching forward into the darkness to prevent any collisions, she shuffled across the room. She hadn’t been here a week, and small as the place was, she still didn’t know it by heart. In her defense, she was hardly ever home. A cop’s life was rarely calm or routine.
Where the hell had she left that flashlight her landlord had given her? By the kitchen sink? On the table? Wait… she squinted—tried her best to see as her eyes focused to the darkness—maybe she’d stuck it out of the way on top of the fridge. One of these days she had to get organized.
Deciding the vintage appliance was the most likely place she felt her way there and ran her hand as far back and over the top as she could reach. A smile of triumph slid across her lips as her fingers closed around the plastic flashlight.
She nudged the switch with her thumb and a beam of light cut through the blackness. Some of the tension bunching her shoulders ebbed. “Hallelujah.”
Now what?
At this hour chances were Mr. Louis, her landlord, was in bed. It wasn’t as if she really needed the lights back on since she’d planned to hit the sack herself as soon as her hair was dry. Jess ran a hand through the still-damp ringlets. But, she did have food in the fridge that needed to be kept cold. Besides, this was the second time that breaker had gotten thrown by her hair dryer. According to Mr. Louis that wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d promised to call an electrician today. She’d gotten home late so there’d been no opportunity to ask him if the problem was fixed.
“Obviously not,” she muttered as she tapped her thigh with the flashlight sending its beam back and forth over the wood floor. “Well, hell.” No use standing around here putting off the inevitable.
There was just no way around it. She’d have to go down to the garage and take care of the breaker herself. Resetting the damned thing wasn’t a big deal. Not really. After getting Dan out the door last night, she’d hurried through a shower and switched on her hair dryer and poof the lights had gone out—just like tonight. Thankfully her landlord had still been puttering around in his kitchen then so she’d knocked on his door.
He’d explained that her apartment and the garage were on a subpanel, which also clarified why there was no service disruption in the main house when her lights went out. Inside the garage last night, she’d carefully watched him reset the breaker and even remembered which one it was. Fourth from the top.
“Easy as pie.” Jess shoved her cell phone into the pocket of her worn-comfortable robe and strode to the door. She could do this without bothering her elderly landlord.
On the deck outside her door, she verified that Mr. Louis’s house was indeed dark before descending the stairs. She hoped the side door of the garage wasn’t locked. That could be a problem. Damn it. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. People generally locked all doors at night. Then she’d have no choice but to bang on his door.
“Don’t borrow trouble, Jess.”
At the garage’s side door the knob turned without resistance and she was in. Thank the Lord. She roved the flashlight’s beam over the cavernous space to get her bearings. Smelled like wood shavings and vaguely of oil. Last night she hadn’t really noticed. She’d been too focused on how to get the power back on in her place. This go-around her curiosity got the better of her.
There was just one vehicle in the garage, a classic, black Cadillac Eldorado. That she had spotted last night. The car fit the man, she decided. The thought of Mr. Louis and his horn-rimmed glasses behind the wheel of that big, formidable-looking automobile reminded her of a character straight out of The Sopranos. Like the money man or the bookie.
The exposed stone walls were lined with shelves on three sides, all were neatly organized with cans of paint and tools. The brush lying across the top of a can of white paint had her remembering and wondering about her landlord’s sudden decision to freshen the door to her apartment the other evening. She should ask him about that. Not that it really mattered to the homicide case she had just closed at this point but he needed to understand that in her line of work sometimes trouble followed her home. And if some jerk decided to leave her a personal message it was essential that she see it—all of it, no matter how unpleasant—before it was whitewashed.
The sooner she made that point clear to him the better. Maybe tomorrow when she spoke to him about the electrician.
Jess padded across the rough concrete floor and settled the light on the gray metal door of the breaker box. She opened it and sure enough breaker number four from the top had jumped into the off position. Might not technically be considered off but it was off as far as Jess was concerned.
“So you don’t like my hair dryer, is that it?” She reached up and snapped the breaker into the on position. She watched for a moment to ensure it wasn’t going to repeat its unruly behavior. When the breaker remained in the proper position she closed the door to the box and turned to go. She stubbed the toes of her left foot and cringed.
“Damn, damn, damn!” She hopped on one foot while she stretched the injured toes. Aiming her flashlight at the offending object, she glared at the large wooden box. Looked like a homemade toolbox. Something else she hadn’t noticed last night. Tucked against the wall it really wasn’t in the way. She just hadn’t been paying attention to what she was doing. She would definitely pay attention next time. Her aching toes curled in agony.
Something on the floor had her looking twice at the space just left of the box. The floor was a little uneven and not smooth at all. Looked as if it had been poured in sections in different decades. But the small round object that had snagged her attention glittered in the light… silver. Jess leaned down and picked it up. A ring. Not just a ring… a wedding band.
She couldn’t read the inscription since her glasses were upstairs. The ring made her think of the one she had stopped wearing recently, only this one was larger, a man’s maybe, and hers had been gold—
The garage filled with flickering lights.
Her breath stalled somewhere in the vicinity of her throat and she squinted at the flood of harsh fluorescent glare.
“Is there a problem, Chief Harris?”
Mr. Louis waited at the door she’d entered and left standing wide open maybe two minutes ago.
Uh oh. Busted. So much for not pestering the man. It was a wonder he hadn’t barged in toting a twenty-gauge. Jess shoved her hand, along with the ring, into her robe pocket. “Just that breaker again.” She smiled, knowing damned well she must look as guilty as sin. “I
should’ve known better than to use my hair dryer until I checked with you. I hope I didn’t disturb you.” She gestured to the breaker box. “I thought I could take care of it myself this time. It’s so late and all.” She clicked off the flashlight and tried to analyze his face. He didn’t exactly look annoyed. Maybe frustrated or unsettled.
“The electrician will be here in the morning.” His lips shifted into a smile, banishing the hard-to-read expression he’d been wearing. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“No trouble.” Truth was she felt like a nosy Nellie. This man had kindly offered his garage apartment when she had no other place to go—besides her sister’s and that was just not doable for a whole cast of reasons—and here she was treating her gracious landlord as if he were a suspect. Dan’s paranoia about her renting from a stranger was evidently rubbing off on her. No, that wasn’t fair. She couldn’t really blame it on Dan. She’d always overanalyzed people and situations. She walked straight up to her landlord and held out the ring. “I found this on the floor.”
He accepted the band, turned it over in the light. “Oh, thank you. I’d wondered where it had gotten off to.”
She wasn’t about to ask the questions pinging at her and have him recognizing that she really was nosy in addition to a pain in the butt with her comings and goings at all hours of the night and day. A certain level of nosiness came naturally after twenty years in the business of criminal investigation but he might not understand or appreciate that undeniable and sometimes bothersome fact.
Before she could apologize again for the trouble he said, “You have company.”
Her cheeks flushed. Surely Dan hadn’t come back. He’d taken her to dinner earlier this evening and they’d discussed the ongoing investigation into the bomb that had been planted in the police vehicle she’d used last week. Knowing him he’d returned with one more reason she should be wearing full body armor at all times and that she should never be spotted in public without at least two armed bodyguards.
The man took overprotective to a whole new level.
Not to mention, it was Monday and they were having enough difficulty already leaving their personal relationship with the weekend. That was the deal they had made when she had accepted this position. During the workweek he was the chief of police and she was one of his deputies. No exceptions.
She’d been back a month and that rule had gotten broken with tonight’s dinner and dessert which had included getting naked afterward and it was Monday, for Christ’s sake.
God, she had to get this mess that was her personal life in some sort of order.
Starting right now, she promised herself silently. If Dan was at her door to check on her yet again, she was going to give him hell. Until there was reason to believe otherwise, she felt confident the threats aimed at her last week had been buried along with the cop they’d discovered had been involved with the murder of his partner’s wife.
One way or another she was going to get the message through to Dan that she could take care of herself.
“Sorry again,” she said to Louis. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting all this middle of the night activity when you offered to rent the apartment to me.”
“Your presence keeps life interesting, Chief Harris.” With that he stepped aside for her to exit the garage.
“You should call me Jess,” she suggested. It was silly for them to be so formal considering she was living on his property.
He ducked his head in one of those shy nods she’d come to associate with the older gentleman. “Of course, and you should call me George.”
“Well, George, thank you and good night.” Jess gave him a nod as she walked past him.
“Good night, Jess,” he called after her.
She almost paused and turned around at the way he said her name. Familiar almost, like they’d known each other for a long time. Instead she left the garage and checked the driveway. He was right about her having company, but thank God it wasn’t Dan.
A white sedan she didn’t recognize sat in the drive behind her Audi. The slightest inkling of trepidation trickled through her veins as she rounded the rear corner of the garage and peered up at the top of the stairs leading to her apartment. The light outside her door illuminated a woman who knocked firmly, most likely not for the first time. She wore khaki slacks and a matching blouse. Her gray hair was tucked into a neat bun. Her bearing looked vaguely familiar. As Jess watched, the woman reached up and knocked again.
“Hello,” Jess called as she started up the stairs.
Her visitor turned toward the sound of her voice, and recognition jarred Jess.
“Ms. Frances?” Of all people…“Is that really you?”
Frances Wallace had been Jess’s ninth-grade English teacher. She was unquestionably the only reason Jess hadn’t quit school the day she turned sixteen. What in the world was she doing here? Jess hadn’t seen her in ages. She hated to admit it but she hadn’t even been sure the woman was still alive.
Yet, here she was.
“The one and only,” Frances confessed. “I’ve been following the news about you since you returned to Birmingham,” Frances announced as Jess climbed the final step. She looked Jess up and down, then gave a nod of approval despite her unkempt appearance. “You always did do things with panache, young lady.”
It had also been ages since anyone had called Jess a young lady. She liked the sound of that. “I had an excellent teacher.”
Frances Wallace was a genuine character. No one got anything over on her and she did everything—including her teaching—exactly the way she wanted, the rules be damned. Everyone loved her—even the ones who didn’t want to, when she ignored their edicts.
For one long moment Jess got so caught up in the memories she lost all sense of decorum. “Come in, Ms. Frances. Please.”
She opened the door and ushered her former teacher inside. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the new-old sofa she’d discovered at a thrift store on Saturday. “Would you like coffee?” She should have had wine to offer, but she and Dan had finished it off before getting naked. A flush of embarrassment went through her at the idea of even thinking about that in front of Ms. Frances.
Her former teacher took a moment to survey the apartment. Jess felt that same flush rise in her cheeks as her gaze lit on the tousled sheets of the bed.
“I’m still getting organized—”
Frances turned to Jess then, and the unabashed fear on her face stole the rest of what Jess was about to say.
Without a word of explanation Frances drew her into a fierce hug. “I need your help, Jess,” she whispered with the same ferocity as her embrace. “I think I’m about to be charged with murder.”
Also by Debra Webb
The Faces of Evil Series
Power
Impulse
Obsession
Praise for the Novels of Debra Webb
“Impulse solidly establishes the Faces of Evil as the ‘must read’ thriller series of the year! The characters you loved in Obsession are back in a chilling story that could only come from the inventive mind of Debra Webb.”
—Peggy Webb, author of The Tender Mercy of Roses (as Anna Michaels)
“Compelling main characters and chilling villains elevate Debra Webb’s Faces of Evil series into the realm of high-intensity thrillers that readers won’t be able to resist.”
—CJ Lyons, New York Times bestselling author
“Just when you think Debra Webb can’t get any better, she does. Obsession is her best work yet. This gritty, edge-of-your-seat, white-knuckle thriller is peopled with tough, credible characters and a brilliant plot that will keep you guessing until the very end. Move over Jack Reacher—Jess Harris is comin’ to town.”
—Cindy Gerard, New York Times bestselling author
“Debra Webb has done it again with Obsession—which may well be her best book yet—a top-notch thriller that will keep you riveted to the page and wanting more. Webb is a writer’s writer,
who delivers the kinds of books we all wish we had written.”
—Robert Browne, author of Trial Junkies
“Obsession is certain to please Debra Webb’s existing fans and gain her a legion of new ones. An engaging, edgy thriller that’s a one-sit read—with the lights on!”
—Vicki Hinze, author of Beyond the Misty Shore
“Breathtaking romantic suspense that grabs the reader from the beginning and doesn’t let up. Riveting.”
—Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author
“Webb keeps the suspense teasingly taut, dropping clues and red herrings one after another on her way to a chilling conclusion.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Bestselling author Debra Webb intrigues and tantalizes her readers from the first word.”
—SingleTitles.com
“Masterful edge-of-your seat suspense.”
—ARomanceReview.com
“Romantic suspense at its best!”
—Erica Spindler, New York Times bestselling author
“Fast-paced, action-packed suspense, the way romantic suspense is supposed to be. Webb crafts a tight plot, a kick-butt heroine, a sexy hero with a past and a mystery as dark as the black water at night.”
—RT Book Reviews
THE DISH
Where Authors Give You the Inside Scoop
From the desk of Debra Webb
