The Rogue Reviewer (Primrose, Minnesota Book 3)

by Mia Dymond

  “I don’t want to be a victim, Mace. I want him to know I’m stronger than he thinks.”

  He gave her a two second pause and then released a one hundred percent truthful statement. “Once I catch him, I’ll be sure to let him know how close he came to experiencing the wrath of Dara Hamilton.” Once she got ahold of him, the poor sap would beg for law enforcement intervention.

  “I won’t interfere on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll tell me if you find out who sent them.”

  He squeezed her hand and then stood, pulling her to stand in front of him. “Fair enough.” He moved his hands to her waist and then pressed her close until her head was tucked beneath his chin. “Lock your door set the alarm, then try to get some sleep.”

  A whole new warmth coated his body while she placed several soft kisses to his pectorals. “You’ve given me reason for some very sweet dreams.”

  “No doubt mine will be sweet.” Downright pornographic.

  He kissed the top of her head before she eased back and buttoned his shirt to the third button.

  “You’re so hard,” she whispered.

  His desperate cock twitched and it wasn’t until he felt her fingertips trace the indention of his abdominal muscles through his shirt that he realized he misinterpreted her spoken observation. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Get a grip, man.

  He took her hands and folded them in his, relishing the soft touch of her skin against his. “You’re not.”

  “Remember, you promised you’d let me know about the flowers.”

  Although protocol warranted he remind her he promised nothing, he refused to spoil the tender moment between them, one void of argument. Instead, he lowered his head and captured her lips with his, taking great car to massage each one before he ended the contact.

  “Sealed with a kiss,” he answered with a smirk.

  She gave him her own grin and then stepped to the door. “Goodnight, Mace.”

  He turned the knob then tapped the panel on the wall before he exited. “I’ll wait on the porch until it’s armed.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mace rubbed both hands down the sides of his face as he entered the PPD and headed down the hallway toward the office he called home. Day six of the investigation had his balls squeezed in a vice and he was frustrated as hell. True to his word, he contacted Mrs. Bridgewater, only to confirm the HOA hadn’t sent Dara a housewarming gift. The secretary also confirmed that she did open Dara’s condo for Owens and that the box was not laying on the doorstep at that time. That led him to believe the flowers had been sent either by an adoring fan or a secret admirer – just as Dara suggested. A low chuckle escaped his throat. As badly as he hated to admit it, Dara possessed an uncanny knack for investigating crime.

  With heavy footsteps, he stopped in front of Jackson’s office and braced himself on one hip against the open door.

  Jackson glanced up from his computer. “What did I miss?”

  “My gut is screaming at me.”

  “Bummer. Did you have a chili dog from Louie’s again?”

  “No, not that gut.”

  “New development?”

  “Dara, Marnie and Alex went to lunch and somebody paid their tab.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t know.”

  His partner leaned back in his chair and buckled his hands behind his head. “They’re gorgeous women having lunch without men. It shouldn’t surprise you that someone paid the tab.”

  “If you paid someone’s bill, wouldn’t you want them to know? I mean, the whole purpose is to get their attention, right?”

  “Right. I would make sure she knew. But Dara’s a celebrity of sorts. Maybe he’s shy.”

  “You’re assuming the tab was paid by a male.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Okay, yeah. And when she returned home, there were flowers on her doorstep.”

  “Card?”

  “Yes. No name.”

  “Again, she’s famous. Don’t things like that happen to her often?”

  “According to her, occasionally.” He gave Jackson the scoop, including the result of his interview with Mrs. Bridgewater.

  “So, Dara has a secret admirer.”

  “Possibly. But the timing sucks, don’t you think?”

  Jackson looked at him while he rubbed his chin.

  ‘What?” Mace crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You’re jealous.”

  “Come again?”

  “You’re jealous. Another man is making a play for Dara and you’re seeing red.”

  “If she hadn’t found a dead body in her living room recently, I might give you that one.”

  “Be careful, Turner. You can’t let your personal feelings get in the way of this case.”

  “You know I won’t let that happen.”

  “Do I?” Neither of them so much as blinked for a good thirty seconds.

  Jackson nodded. “Good enough. So now what do you want to do?”

  “Keep a closer eye on her. I think she and Marnie are up to something and it wouldn’t surprise me if some of the others may be in on it. I’m gonna need your help. She’s too smart not to notice my undivided attention.”

  “Rawlings put a bug on Bri.”

  “I remember.” He smirked. “And so does Dara.”

  “You’re right. It’s gonna be tough, without her cooperation.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Get her cooperation.”

  “Like that’s gonna happen,” Mace scoffed.

  “You could always lock her up.”

  “For what?”

  “Interfering in an official police investigation or withholding information.”

  “You really want me to do that? You’ll have to answer to Alex.”

  Jackson lowered his arms. “On second thought, you’re on your own.”

  “Thanks for your help, partner.” He pushed himself off the door and gestured with his head at Jackson’s computer. “Have you found any leads?”

  “I’ve run backgrounds on everyone we interviewed so far, some of them twice just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Everyone comes up clean. Ryker and Jake are working the field again.”

  “He’s a slippery sonuvabitch, that’s for sure.”

  “What’s your take on the flowers?”

  “I really think they came from him.”

  “Have you told her?”

  Mace shook his head. “Not yet, but I more or less promised her I would.”

  “More or less?”

  “I told her I would tell her what I found out.”

  “Because?”

  “Because,” he spat, “she threatened to nose around herself. At least this way I know the details.”

  Jackson snickered. “Don’t blame you one bit. Women don’t share as easily as they expect us to.”

  “No, they don’t.” He ran a hand across the top of his head and then turned to leave. “I’ll be in my office. Keep me posted.”

  ***

  “Remind me again, Dara, what is it we’ll find out here?”

  Dara led Marnie up the steep stairway of the Primrose Daily Chronicle office building and opened the door. “Are you nervous?”

  “No! I just want to be prepared. You have a distinct track record of getting us into trouble.”

  “I’m hoping to review Evelyn’s reviews over the last few years. Maybe there’s something we missed. A pattern, possibly.”

  “And this is the only option we have?”

  “It’s a start. I’m still trying to come up with something else.” She approached the receptionist and placed her ID on the counter.

  “Hello – “She squinted to read the young woman’s name tag. “Samantha. I’m Dara Hamilton. I –”

  “Dara Hamilton?” The high pitched squeal that left the other woman’s mouth tempted her to cover her ears with both hands. “THE Dara Hamilton, Romance Writer? Oh my gawd! I can’t believe it!�
�� She smiled so big Dara was convinced her face might crack. “I LOVE your books! They are so hot!”

  Dara gave her a genuine smile. “Thank you, it’s wonderful to hear you enjoy them.”

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Hamilton?”

  “I’m doing some research and I really need to use one of your computers to look in the archives.”

  “Certainly! Follow me. We have a private office you can use. The computer has access to whatever you need.”

  “Show off,” Marnie mumbled under her breath.

  Dara just giggled as they headed down a narrow hallway and turned a corner, almost running into a gentlemen she recognized as Tom Swanson.

  “Hey, Dara! Nice to see you!” He placed a hand on her shoulder and then turned to Samantha. “I’ll take it from here, Sam, thank you.”

  “Hello, Tom, this is my friend, Marnie Carpenter.”

  Tom extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  “I heard about your predicament, Dara. How are you?”

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Thanks for asking.”

  “Are you here to research?”

  “Actually, yes. I’m interested in browsing the archived book reviews.”

  Tom’s eyes darkened and suddenly it seemed to Dara he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “Right through this door.” He opened a door opposite of where they stood and waved them inside. “Logins and passwords are typed on the list on the wall next to the computer. You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve got a newspaper to circulate.”

  “Thank –”

  The slamming door rattled several nearby filing cabinets.

  “You,” she finished.

  “Um, Dara?” Marnie frowned. “Is it just me or did the temperature in this room just drop about ten degrees?”

  “I felt it too. Obviously he doesn’t want to talk about book reviews.”

  “Strange that he didn’t even mention Elvira, huh?”

  “Incredibly. Especially since they were uh, close.”

  “Maybe we should ask what he knows before we leave.”

  Dara shook her head. “The less obvious we are, the better. Besides, for all we know his name may be on Mace’s suspect list.”

  “We’re not here to research archived reviews, are we?”

  “Yes, but that’s not all.”

  “Oh Dara,” Marnie groaned, “What have you gotten me into now?”

  “I’m going to hack Evelyn’s email.”

  “That’s a federal offense!”

  “Only if I get caught.” She sat at the computer and clicked keys. “By the way, Alex would be proud that you’ve learned to speak her lingo.”

  “And here we are.” Dara stopped typing when several reviews appeared on the screen. “Hateful, as expected.”

  “Wow,” Marnie mumbled, “she was downright mean.”

  “Definitely. See?” She moved the ball on the mouse to scroll down the page. “Not a single one of them is positive.” She began to type again.

  “Now what are you doing?”

  “Hacking.”

  “Well hurry up!” Marnie spat. “Just in case Mr. I-had-an-affair-with-a-dead-woman decides to check on us.”

  She typed several more lines then pressed the enter key. The next screen that appeared captured her undivided attention.

  “I’m in,” she told Marnie as she read. “And I’m not surprised at all. Her inbox is packed full of hate mail.” She clicked on several messages and opened them in separate windows.

  “These messages are ugly, Dara,” her best friend said from behind her. “This woman was one hated individual.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “But look how many people criticized her review of your book. I love your fans!”

  “Me too. I’m going to print some of these.”

  “Why? That’s evidence against us!”

  “Marnie, if you insist on panicking, I just may have to replace you as my sidekick.” She giggled. “Don’t worry, these are just for my own research.”

  “Don’t get too cocky. There’s no one crazy enough to take my place.”

  “Interesting.” Her fingers paused on the keys. “Very interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Not one of these messages is signed by Romantically Devoted.”

  “That is strange. As much as he writes to you, I expected him to defend you.”

  “Let’s look at something else.” Her fingers flew over the keys once again. Soon a different screen appeared. “Write this down,” she told Marnie.

  Her friend leaned over her and tore off the blank part of the passwords page. “I need a pen.”

  She reached into her purse and handed the writing instrument to Marnie. “Ready?”

  Her friend nodded.

  “166.137.134.25.”

  “What the heck am I writing?”

  “This computer’s IP address.”

  “Why?”

  She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Curiosity.”

  “Dara, you are one smart chick. You’re going to trace your emails aren’t you?”

  “To the best of my ability.” She pressed a few more keys until the login screen reappeared. She stood and shouldered her purse. “Bury that piece of paper deeply in your pocket.”

  “I’ll do better than that.” Marnie grinned as she reached under her blouse and poked the paper into her bra.

  “You’ve read too many novels.” She turned the knob and gestured her best friend out with a wave of her arm.

  “Only yours, Dara.” Marnie returned a mischievous grin. “Only yours.”

  Once she’d dropped Marnie off at home, Dara headed to her townhouse with the IP address tucked in her skirt pocket. Anxious to investigate, she went straight into the house, poured herself a glass of wine, and nestled into the cushions of her sofa with her laptop in tow. She would have to answer her email alone. Since Reagan had a double shift and Annie had a deadline, they had all agreed to skip DRAMA this week. She really missed meeting with her friends. Distraction would be nice.

  She powered up her laptop and scanned the home page as she sipped her wine. Then she updated her Facebook page and read her Twitter feed. The paper crinkled in her pocket as she changed positions. It wasn’t that she procrastinated, really, answering mail just didn’t feel right without her girls. However, it needed to be done.

  She took a big gulp of wine and clicked on the envelope icon. Twenty seven unread messages appeared on the screen and as usual, a familiar address joined the ranks. She replied to each one, purposely saving the familiar address for last.

  Dearest Dara:

  Once again you have filled my heart with your beautiful words.

  Your stories burst to life on the page.

  That cocky reviewer had no right to demean your work.

  She has been silenced and will never have the opportunity to do it again.

  This is my gift to you.

  I remain,

  Romantically Devoted

  Dara read the message again, hoping upon hope the words would change and knowing, of course, they wouldn’t. Adrenaline filled her veins while she opened the previous messages from the same author. How could she have misinterpreted them? A cold shiver traveled her body. Her biggest fan had most likely killed The Rogue Reviewer!

  She frantically clicked more keys, digging deeper behind the source of the messages. Finally, the information she sought flashed on the screen. There, in black and white was the IP address of the computer Romantically Devoted used to send the messages. With a hard swallow, she pulled the piece of paper from her pocket and held it to the computer screen. Something between relief and disappointment poked her when she discovered the two numbers did not match.

  Still not deterred, she folded the paper in half, tossed it to the cushion, and began to type again. She surfed the information highway for several minutes, elated when once again she found exactly what she needed. Now extremely determined,
she shoved her computer to the side, grabbed her cell phone from her purse, and dialed Marnie.

  She didn’t even give Marnie time to say hello. “Grab your catsuit. We’ve got another lead.”

  “Dara,” her friend drawled, “we are not Bond girls and I refuse to burglarize anything.”

  “I’ll pick you up in a few.” She disconnected, stuck her phone in her bra, grabbed her purse and keys and literally flew out the door.

  Just as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, a fleeting thought that she should consult Mace crossed her mind. She quickly dispelled that brief insanity and accelerated. She fully intended to fill in him, just not until she had more information.

  Marnie waited at the curb in front of her house, dressed in black from head to toe.

  “I was kidding!” Dara giggled at her friend’s wardrobe.

  “I figured what the hell? Might as well have some fun. Now, spill.”

  “You will never guess in a million years what I have to tell you. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before now! Really Marnie, this is big. Huge!”

  Marnie grabbed her shoulder and gave it a shake. “I need to know …. Now!”

  “You know I like to build tension.” She swatted at the other woman’s hand. “It makes things more dramatic.”

  “Well, I don’t. I’m dying over here.”

  “Marnie!” Dara smashed her breaks and watched Marnie’s neck wobble like a bobblehead. “You know how I feel about that word!”

  “Sorry,” her friend mumbled as she pounded her forehead with the palm of her hand.

  “Stop. You’ll give yourself a headache.”

  “Then tell me!”

  “I know who killed Evelyn.”

  Marnie’s eyes widened and Dara thought her eyeballs might possible pop from the sockets. “No freakin’ way.”

  “I do. It was Romantically Devoted.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Almost one hundred percent.” She gave Marnie all the sordid details.

  “I think you’re right,” her best friend agreed. “So how do we find out the person behind Romantically Devoted?”

  “I researched online. I have the IP address of the computer used to send me the messages. We’re headed there now.”