Divorced, Desperate and Dead

by Christie Craig

  Cover

  Rave Reviews for Christie Craig!

  Divorced, Desperate and Delicious

  “This is an entertaining fast-moving mystery and romance peopled with interesting, likable characters, as well as warm cuddly animals. The main romance, as well as the secondary ones, are delightful, and the suspense is well done. This is an all-around enticing and fun story to read.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Christie Craig delivers humor, heat, and suspense in addictive doses. She’s the newest addition to my list of have-to-read authors . . . Funny, hot, and suspenseful. Christie Craig’s writing has it all. Warning: definitely addictive.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Nina Bangs

  “Readers who enjoy Jenny Crusie and Janet Evanovich will fall head over heels for Divorced, Desperate and Delicious, a witty romantic adventure by debut author Christie Craig . . . A page-turner filled with humorous wit, sexy romance and just enough danger to keep you up long past midnight.”

  —RITA Award-winning author Dianna Love Snell

  “Suspense and romance that keeps you on the edge of your seat . . . until you fall off laughing . . . Christie Craig writes a book you can’t put down.”

  —RITA finalist Gemma Halliday

  Divorced, Desperate and Deceived

  “The fun—and action—never stops in the enchanting Divorced, Desperate and Deceived. Christie Craig’s prose practically sparkles with liveliness and charm in the exciting conclusion to her stunning Divorced, Desperate and Delicious Club trilogy.”

  —Joyfully Reviewed

  Divorced, Desperate and Dating

  “I was simply delighted by this breezy, snappy, goodtime story . . . This book is sure to brighten your day.”

  —Beyond Her Book Blog, Publishers Weekly

  Gotcha!

  “The mystery and romance plots fit seamlessly into a witty and fast-paced novel that’s easy to read and satisfying to the heart.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  Weddings Can Be Murder

  “A story that twines emotions and feelings with sizzle and steam, all wrapped around bits of humor . . . Weddings Can Be Murder combines passionate and intense characters with a plot that’s well balanced and fast moving. It’s edgy and fun.”

  —Once Upon a Romance

  Dream Come True

  “You should do that more often,” he said.

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “Laugh.”

  She suddenly became aware of having a man in her bed. Imaginary or not, it felt awkward. No, not awkward. Just different. Nice different, a little voice inside her said. It felt . . . less lonely.

  He reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

  How long had it been since someone had touched her?

  Crazy how you could miss something as simple as a brush of fingers across your skin.

  He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. His tongue slipped slowly across her lips. His hand came to rest on the curve of her waist. It felt warm, and before she realized what she’d done, she had scooted closer, deepening the kiss.

  He pulled back just a bit. “Now this is more like how a dream should go.”

  Title Page

  Divorced, Desperate and Dead

  Christie Craig

  Copyright

  Divorced, Desperate and Dead

  Christie Craig

  Copyright © 2014 by Christie Craig

  Material excerpted from Divorced, Desperate and Dangerous copyright © 2014 by Christie Craig

  Material excerpted from Divorced, Desperate and Daring copyright © 2015 by Christie Craig

  Cover design and illustration by Janet Holmes

  Published by BookEnds at Smashwords

  ISBN: 978-0-991020-62-1

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Dedication

  To my support team: Hubby, who tolerates my writing schedule and brings me coffee. My agent, Kim Lionetti, who owns the sharpest word-cutting scissors I know. My copy editor, Shawnna Perigo, who helps me make sense. To my critique buddies: Susan C. Muller, Jody Payne, and my hometown buddy, Judy Hodes. You guys totally rock.

  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

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Books by Christie Craig

  Excerpt from Divorced, Desperate and Dangerous

  Excerpt from Divorced, Desperate and Daring

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “Don’t move or I’ll shoot. I swear I’ll do it.”

  Detective Cary Stevens had just stepped out onto his sister’s patio when the threat rang low but clear. He could hear his two older sisters, Kelly and Beth, chatting at the poolside, enjoying their Saturday afternoon, oblivious to what was going on.

  He turned around and faced the owner of the small voice. She aimed the gun right at his chest. And the dang thing was loaded, he could tell from the drops of water spilling out of the tip. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  “I will if you don’t give me what I want. And don’t tell me you don’t have any, because you always do. So reach into your pocket and pull it out.”

  He tucked two fingers into the front pocket of his jeans and brought out the wrapped piece of bubble gum that he’d put in there just for her. Then because he didn’t completely trust his niece, he snatched the water gun. “Your mom is going to make me pay for your next dentist appointment,” he said.

  “That’s your problem,” his eleven-year-old niece, Bella, said and grinned.

  “Peewee,
” his older sister called from the lounge beside the pool.

  “Yeah,” Cary answered reluctantly. But holy hell, he’d give anything if his family would stop calling him that. Supposedly, they’d named him that the day his mom brought him home from the hospital. He’d been premature, and according to them, the name fit. But now, at six feet, three inches and two hundred pounds, he should have outgrown the nickname.

  And he had. No one dared to call him that, but his sisters.

  “What are you doing? If you’re giving my kid gum again, I’m going to kick your butt.”

  Bella laughed. “You know she won’t really do that, don’t you?”

  Cary smiled at his niece and walked over to his sisters. “She held me up at gunpoint. I had to give it to her.” He set the gun down on the bottom of his sister’s lounge chair.

  “Bullshit,” Kelly muttered.

  “Hey, you grounded me for saying that last week,” Bella called from the other side of the pool.

  Kelly frowned. “You’re early. But that’s fine. Where’s your swimsuit?”

  “I didn’t bring it,” he said, knowing both his sisters were going to get mad. But they would just have to get over it. Thanks to his brother-in-law, to whom he now owed a beer, he knew what they were up to. No way in hell was he going to let them fix him up with one of their friends. No doubt the girl was beautiful, smart, and witty—all traits he liked. But he was a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy, and he doubted any of their friends were love and leave kind of girls.

  Thankfully, due to the call he’d gotten thirty minutes ago from a snitch who had info on the Jones case, he didn’t even have to lie. Good thing, because he sucked at lying to his sisters.

  “I told you it’s a pool party,” Beth said.

  “I know, but I can’t stay. I have to meet someone. I just wanted to stop by a minute and apologize for missing it.”

  “No,” Kelly said. “You can’t leave. I’m grilling hamburgers. And . . . I want you to meet someone. She even went out and bought a new swimsuit.”

  “Darn,” he said, only mildly regretting that he was going to miss the new swimsuit. “Sorry. But seriously, I have to be somewhere.”

  “Is it a date?” Beth asked. “You going out with someone?”

  “No. It’s work,” he answered honestly.

  “You’ve been divorced over two years,” Kelly said, sounding more and more like their mom. “It’s time you start dating.”

  “I date.”

  “No.” Kelly looked to see where her daughter was. When she was sure the girl wasn’t in earshot, she said, “You have sex. That’s not dating.”

  He frowned. “I thought that counted.” All of a sudden, he felt something tug at his jean leg. He looked down, expecting to see his sister’s toy poodle, Bucko, who for some ungodly reason, thought his leg was a pissing post. But no, this thing was . . . was . . .

  “What the hell is that?” he asked, as the thing stood on its back legs.

  “That’s Pooch, my new foster dog,” Kelly said and studied the animal trying to climb up his leg. “Wow, he must like you.”

  After his sister’s second miscarriage, she’d started fostering dogs, and she tried to push each and every one on him. She knew damn well he wasn’t going to take in a dog, but it was her way of guilting him into making a donation to the Canine Foster program. It worked each and every time, too.

  “That’s a dog?” he asked. He’d figured his donations had amounted to the cost of feeding each of the dogs for six months. He was going to get off cheap this time. It couldn’t have a stomach any bigger than a tablespoon.

  “Yes it’s a dog. Don’t make fun of him. He has a Napoleon complex.”

  “He?” Cary asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe his complex has to do with the pink ribbons.”

  “Dogs are color blind. And he was like that when I got him. His name is Pooch,” his sister offered and studied the animal. “This is odd. He doesn’t like anybody.”

  The thing kept trying to climb up his leg, so Cary reached down, and with one hand scooped it up and held it a foot from his face.

  “Be careful,” Kelly said.

  “Of what?” he asked. “I’ve seen mosquitoes that scared me more.” The animal had black eyes. He brought the thing closer and a pink tongue came out and lapped him on his nose.

  “Oh, my God. He really does like you,” Kelly said. “You should adopt him.”

  “No.” He studied the animal closer. “You sure it’s a dog?”

  It growled, almost as if insulted by Cary’s comment.

  “Yes. And he might be small but he has the attitude of a pit bull. He bit Bucko.”

  “Bucko probably pissed on him.”

  “Are you going to let him get away with this?” Beth jumped in. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s using Pooch to change the subject.”

  “What subject?” He pretended to be innocent and set the creature down.

  Kelly groaned. “You’re right,” she said to Beth, and then glared at him. “Don’t you want someone real? Someone you can actually have a conversation with? Someone you could share more than a few bodily fluids with?”

  “I have conversations,” he said, but damn it if he hadn’t thought that same thing three nights ago when Paula, the flight attendant, jumped out of bed five minutes after she’d been screaming out his name, and took off because she had a plane to catch.

  “I mean more than heavy panting.”

  Cary grinned, ignoring that his sisters’ comments resonated a little too much. “I kind of like heavy panting.” And he did, but . . .

  The animal started yanking at his jeans again.

  “You won’t even have a relationship with an animal,” Beth said. “Why are we wasting our breath?”

  “Because we love him,” Kelly said, glaring up at him from her lounge chair. “Because underneath all of that playboy attitude is a decent guy who deserves to be happy—with a dog. Not all women are like Korine. You have to give love another shot.”

  Cary frowned. “No, I don’t. And I’m . . . fine.” He was going to say ‘happy,’ but it wouldn’t slip off his tongue.

  Then, because he refused to have this conversation with his two sisters—especially when it involved his ex-wife—he grabbed his phone and looked at the time. It was almost five. “I have to go. See ya.” He turned to leave and almost tripped over the pint-sized dog at his feet. He picked him up and passed him to Beth. “Hold this before I accidentally step on him and make it into a smear on the patio.”

  “Oh, hell,” Kelly seethed and snagged her daughter’s water gun.

  Cary took off, but right before he made the door, he felt the spray of water on his back. He stopped and turned. “I’ll get you for that.” The spray got him right in the face this time. As he stopped to wipe the water from his face, he saw Bucko at his feet lifting a leg.

  “Damn it,” he muttered.

  Five minutes later, he drove windows-down, to dry his shirt and pissed-on jeans, toward Mason Road and the abandoned warehouse. He’d met Tommy Fincher, a snitch, here before, but for some reason today, Cary got a bad feeling. He slowed down and looked left to right. If the guy wasn’t exaggerating, he had info on who’d killed Marc Jones, a sixteen-year-old kid, who, after resisting joining the local gang, had taken a bullet in the head.

  Cary could still hear the kid’s mother sobbing when he’d knocked on her door with the news last week. She’d already lost Marc’s brother to a gang. And now, if she was right in her suspicions, and he thought she was, Marc had been killed because he refused to get involved. How unfair was that?

  While he couldn’t do anything to help Marc, or take away his mother’s grief, he could find the idiot who’d killed him to give the family a little peace.

  Cary suspected it was gang related, but couldn’t prove they had been involved—not yet. But damn if he’d stop trying.

  The hair on the back of Cary’s neck prickled. He slowed his ca
r down, debating if he should call anyone for backup, like his partner, Danny, at Glencoe Police.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Tommy, the snitch, but he had a big problem with a lot of the guy’s friends.

  He turned down another row of warehouses and spotted a couple of teens skateboarding. They shouldn’t be here. Too many bad people hung out here. And on the way out, he’d tell them to take their boards elsewhere.

  The next row, he saw Tommy’s old Honda parked at the side of building fifty-six. He stopped thinking about danger to himself and thought of Marc’s mother. The woman deserved peace of mind.

  He stopped his SUV and looked around. Only when he didn’t see anyone did he get out of his car. The big metal door to the building stood ajar. He unhooked his holster, so he’d have fast access to his gun. He’d started for the door when he noticed a spray of red on the passenger side window of Tommy’s car.

  “Shit,” he seethed, knowing what it was before he glanced down to the see Tommy, a fifty-year-old full-time alcoholic and part-time drug addict, slumped over the wheel of his car, part of his head missing.

  Cary’s gut knotted. He drew his gun, and reached for his phone to call it in. Before he got the words out, he heard the roar of an engine. He looked up and saw the black pickup coming right at him. The vehicle had no front license plate, and the driver wore a black ski mask.

  Cary dove over Tommy’s car. The pickup missed him, but the bullet didn’t.

  • • •