If It's Not One Thing, It's a Murder

by Liz Wolfe

  “You killed Natalie because you thought she was David?” I asked.

  “Of course. I couldn’t have that man coming to see Bobbi Jo all the time. Now for you. I won’t let you suffer. Because you’re Bobbi Jo’s friend.”

  “No!” Bobbi Jo screamed.

  “Now, love, it won’t be bad.” He smiled and it was pure evil. “How about a little accident in the pool? I’ve heard that drowning is a very pleasant way to go.” He grasped Bobbi Jo’s arm and motioned me toward the kitchen with the knife. I walked as slowly as I thought I could without pissing him off.

  “Go on.” He motioned to the patio door. “Let’s all go out to the pool.”

  “You don’t want to do this,” I said, trying to stall for time.

  “You’re right. I really would prefer not to, but, I can’t afford to have you around.”

  “They’ll know you did it. Even if you take Bobbi Jo away with you. They’ll find you.”

  We were at the stone patio that surrounded the pool now. Templeton reached down and picked up one of the decorative rocks at the edge of the concrete. I was afraid that Bobbi Jo would try to stop him. And I was sure that Templeton would hurt her if she did.

  Templeton nudged me to the edge of the pool. I looked down at the pattern of light playing across the water and went into that strange state where time slows down. I turned back to see Templeton’s arm rise slowly in the air, his knuckles white from gripping the rock. Just as his hand started to lower, Bobbi Jo moaned and collapsed. I watched her body crumple slowly to the concrete. Her head rolled to the side and back, and there was a bloody scrape on her cheek. Templeton turned toward Bobbi Jo.

  A loud crack split the air and I plunged into the pool.

  When I surfaced, gasping and sputtering, Templeton was lying next to Bobbi Jo, a dark stain slowly spreading across his shoulder. I climbed out of the pool and knelt down next to Bobbi Jo. Her eyelids fluttered open.

  “Is she all right?”

  I looked up at Scott standing over Templeton. He bent over and placed two fingers against his neck, then pulled his hands behind him and slapped handcuffs over his wrists.

  “I have to call this in.” He flipped open his cell phone and punched a speed dial button. While he spoke to the dispatcher, I got Bobbi Jo up and away from Templeton.

  More cops arrived within minutes, along with an ambulance. The EMT cleaned the scrape on Bobbi Jo’s cheek and recommended that she go to the hospital, but she refused. A couple of the cops took preliminary statements from us, but Scott said we didn’t need to go to the precinct.

  Lily came home in the middle of all the confusion and called the doctor to come over and take a look at Bobbi Jo, then hustled her off to bed. By the time the cops had left, I was emotionally exhausted.

  Lily came out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. “She’s fine, just exhausted.”

  “God, I’ve never been so scared in my life.” And I never wanted to be that scared again.

  “How did you know that Sean Castleton was really John Templeton?” she asked.

  I explained about Scott showing me Templelton’s picture and then playing with the software Steinhart had given me.

  “I’m just glad it’s all over and everyone’s safe.” Scott squeezed my shoulder and I patted his hand. I had a special thank-you in mind for him later.

  “I should have figured it out just from his name. Sean Castleton. John Templeton.” He shook his head. “It was right in front of me.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” I said.

  “You’re right. The captain will take care of that for me. But right now, I want to get you home.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Scott took me to his apartment, and I was okay with that. It felt good to sleep with some strong arms around me.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The next morning, Scott dropped me off at home on his way to work. I drove over to the studio and picked up the transparencies and proof sheets that had been delivered.

  It took me a good half hour to get up the courage to put the transparencies on the light table and look at them. But they were pretty good. At least I thought so. There were some duds, but that happens with every shoot. I’d been looking at them for an hour when the art director came by.

  “Hey, Skye. How do they look?”

  “You be the judge.” I stood and gestured for Connie to sit on the stool at the light table. She glanced at the ones I had laid out, then pulled out her loupe and checked the transparencies closer. She removed them and spread out more, checking each one. Finally she looked at the black and white proof sheet.

  “I love these. You’re really good. Want to do another shoot with me?”

  I couldn’t speak so I just nodded my head like an idiot.

  Connie gathered the transparencies and proof sheets and slid them into an envelope. “I’m going to call Steinhart and tell him how good you are.”

  Steinhart. I still had to talk to Steinhart. I swallowed the lump in my throat and followed Connie outside. When I got home, I put on some water for a cup of chamomile tea and sat down by the phone.

  It rang forty-five minutes later.

  “Skye, you are one ballsy bitch. I told you to cancel that job.”

  “I tried to cancel the job, but Ms. Carson—”

  “I don’t want to hear your damn excuses. This is not what I expect from an assistant.”

  “But the photos are good. Connie loved them and she wants to work with me again.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass what Connie wants. I can’t work with an assistant who disobeys a direct order. I don’t want an assistant who takes matters into her own hands.”

  I was guessing I wouldn’t need the formality of a resignation letter.

  “Effective immediately you are no longer my assistant, is that clear?”

  “Yes. Absolutely clear.”

  “Good. I expect you to be in the studio at seven tomorrow. We have a shoot and Paul is sick.”

  “What?”

  “You’re shooting the Northwest People layout tomorrow.”

  “I am?”

  “Well, if you don’t, you’re fired. Try to look like a professional photographer when you show up.”

  The phone clicked and I sat there staring at it. Then I started laughing a little hysterically.

  Steinhart had promoted me to photographer.

  When I left Craig, I had been looking for a new life. And I’d found it. I had my friends, I had my daughter, I had Scott, who was becoming more than a friend, I had a great place to live, and I had an actual career now. But I’d also found what I’d really been looking for all along and just didn’t know it.

  I found the woman I’d left at the altar twenty-two years ago.

  A special presentation of Breeding Evil

  by Liz WOLFE

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Since when is the FSA hiring private investigators for black ops?” Shelby Parker closed the file and placed it back on Ethan Calder’s desk.

  “It isn’t really a black op, Shelby.”

  “And I’m not really an FSA operative.” She’d tendered her resignation to the Federal Security Agency six months earlier, after ten years of living on the edge. One op after another. Having no job skills that really applied in corporate America, other than being sneaky and nosy, she’d opened her own security and investigative firm. And here she was, back at FSA headquarters in Denver letting her former handler talk her into one more op.

  Ethan hadn’t changed a bit since she’d been gone, other than a little more gray at the temples of his dark hair, and a few more lines at the corners of his dark eyes. He leaned his elbows on the desk and tapped his long, slender fingers together. No, he hadn’t changed. He would wait for her to come around to his way of thinking, to agree to his proposal.

  She had no doubt that he knew she needed this job. The check for her advance lay on his desk, and even though Shelby couldn’t see the exact amount, the number of zeros she
counted made her a little giddy.

  For six months she’d been struggling to survive by keeping tabs on wayward spouses, investigating fraudulent insurance claims, and providing bouncer services to a local bar on wet tee shirt night. If she didn’t get some decent cases soon, she’d be living on the edge of poverty. Still, it was an edge that she had chosen. She hadn’t left the FSA because of Ethan, or even because she didn’t like the work. At thirty-three years old, she’d decided that she wanted to run her own show. She wanted something that was hers, something that she controlled.

  Shelby leaned back in her chair and looked at the majestic Rocky Mountains through the ceiling-to-floor windows behind Ethan’s desk. If she decided to take the job, it would have to be on her own terms.

  “I can give you whatever support you’ll need,” Ethan said.

  “You just said that no one in the FSA knows about this. That you can’t even use an FSA operative.”

  Ethan sighed and folded his hands on the desk. “I need you on this one, Shelby.”

  Shelby stood and moved to stare out the glass wall of his office, turning her back to him. Ethan Calder was the best handler in the Federal Security Agency. He had been hers the entire time she’d worked for the FSA. No one was more aware than Shelby that, while she was out saving the world, he was back at headquarters saving her butt with the latest intelligence and best support he could cajole, bribe, or beat out of anyone who might be helpful. But he was distant and cold, and he leaned a little too heavily on the need-to-know theory of information disbursement for her comfort.

  Still, there was no doubt he would come up with some creative way to provide whatever she might require.

  On the other side of the glass wall, people were hunched over computers, speaking urgently on phones or to co-workers. No one just strolled down the hallways created by the cubicles. Footsteps on the utilitarian beige carpet were hurried and purposeful. The FSA offices were always intense. Because there was always something important on the line—like lives and national security.

  Shelby reluctantly admitted that she missed being a part of it—but not enough to give up on her fledgling agency. And her fledgling agency could certainly use the chunk of money Ethan was offering for this job.

  It wasn’t like she was going back to the FSA. It would just be a case—a lucrative case—and wasn’t that exactly what she needed and wanted?

  “So, will you do it?” Ethan walked back to his desk and sank into the chair. It took her a second to bring her mind back to the conversation.

  “Why me?”

  “The op calls for a chameleon. And, you’re the best.”

  “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

  Ethan had often noted that her appearance was one of her greatest assets. Exceptionally plain was the only way she could describe it. Neither attractive nor unattractive. Five feet six inches tall, neither slender nor plump. Although she tended to have more muscle than most women, that wasn’t noticeable in street clothes. Hair that was a combination of dark blond and light brown, eyes that were neither green nor brown, but somewhere in between. Her face might as well be a blank canvas. Eyes, nose, and lips in proportion to each other, and none of them outstanding in any way.

  Shelby looked at her reflection in the glass wall. Totally unremarkable and utterly forgettable. Someone who was easily lost in a crowd. But given a few products readily available at the drugstore, she could transform herself into just about any kind of person she chose.

  “Fifteen people missing so far?” Shelby turned away from her reflection and walked back to Ethan’s desk. She slid a finger under the folder and flipped it open, scanning the first page.

  “At last count. Including Shannon Masterson and her son, Sam. No death certificates. All of them had some connection to The Center.”

  “Dr. Jonah Thomas is the head of The Center?” She turned over another page in the file. “I’ve heard his name before. A scientist, right?”

  “Years ago he headed up a government-funded research facility. He was supposed to verify the existence of psychic phenomena, which he did.”

  “Really?” That woo-woo stuff was a bit much for her to believe in. “I remember him losing the funding for some reason.”

  “Right. It turned out that not only was he verifying the existence of psychic phenomena, he was performing experiments on some of the research subjects. The government dismantled the research facility and sealed all the records.”

  “So, he’s an evil scientist.”

  “And an egocentric megalomaniac.” Ethan leaned forward. “We know that he’s been doing research on psychics for years, along with Dr. Ruth Carlson. He has contacts outside the country that are less than reputable. The Center seems to have unlimited funds that we can’t trace. What we don’t know is what the hell they’re up to.”

  “You’re really hopped up about this.” Shelby couldn’t help grinning at him.

  Ethan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Shannon is a friend. She was my wife’s roommate in college.”

  “Charlotte wants you to find her?”

  “No, she doesn’t know that Shannon is missing. Shannon’s aunt is married to the Ambassador from the United Kingdom. The aunt called me about it because of Shannon’s friendship with Charlotte.”

  “Has she ever disappeared before?”

  Ethan swiveled his chair to look out the window. “Shannon’s what you’d call a free spirit. She’s taken off before, but never without telling her aunt.”

  “So there was no indication she was taking off on some trip or whatever?”

  “No. In fact when Shannon took trips in the past, she usually asked Charlotte to watch Sam for her.”

  “So, the niece of an Ambassador. Why, exactly, is this a black op again?”

  “It isn’t a black op.”

  “OK, not a black op. Just a secret between you and me.” She lifted her eyebrows in blatant disbelief.

  Ethan turned his chair back, sighed, and shook his head. “All right. The deal is that Ambassador Watkins has already called in the FBI to investigate.

  “So, it’s a black op because the FBI is already investigating? Why not just let them handle it?” The boundaries between the FSA and the FBI were blurred at times, but if one agency already had control, the other agency usually didn’t interfere unless they were asked. Professional and political courtesy.

  “It’s not a black op.”

  “Ethan, if the FBI is already investigating The Center, then sending me in could be the end of your career.”

  Ethan stared at her for a moment, frowned and pressed a hand to the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles. Shelby bit back a smile. That was a sure sign that he was about to resign himself to actually giving her the information he’d been trying to withhold. She sat down in the chair across from his desk and leaned back, waiting for the story.

  “FBI Director Fields and Ambassador Watkins have a history that is less than congenial. The Ambassador’s wife is concerned that the FBI won’t do everything they can to find Shannon and Sam.”

  “Must have been something pretty heavy in their history to make her feel that way.”

  Ethan nodded. “Ambassador Watkins. Evidently he’s a hard dog to keep on the porch. He had an affair with Director Fields’ niece.”

  “Oh. Isn’t Ambassador Watkins around sixty or so?” Shelby bit back a smile, knowing that Ethan was sensitive about the fact that he was twelve years older than his wife, Charlotte.

  “Fifty-eight. He’s also tall, handsome, and debonair. Not to mention that he is an excellent gift giver.”

  “I see. And Mrs. Watkins is okay with all this?”

  “I wouldn’t presume to ask, but evidently she’s learned to live with it. I believe she’s willing to overlook certain behaviors that aren’t entirely acceptable to her.”

  “So, she called you because of Shannon’s friendship with Charlotte?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Did you mention this to Chamb
ers?”

  “As director of the FSA, he can’t do anything that would step on the FBI’s toes.” Ethan shrugged. “However, he made it clear that he doesn’t want Ambassador Watkins accusing the U.S. of not doing everything in its power to find Shannon.”

  “I see. Chambers doesn’t want to step on Fields’ toes so he’s letting you bring in someone from the outside. If Fields finds out, he can’t accuse the FSA of anything.”

  “I’m just investigating the disappearance of my wife’s friend.” Ethan spread his upturned palms and smiled.

  Shelby shifted in the chair across from Ethan, picked up the file, and looked at the picture stapled to the inside. Shannon sat on a porch swing in a sundress, her strawberry blond hair curling softly around her face, and one arm around her towheaded son who stood next to her, blowing bubbles. It was obvious from the look on her face that her son was the most important thing in the world to her. What would it have been like to grow up with a parent like that?

  Crap. She knew she was about to agree to the job.

  “You know someone could recognize me in Tucson. I lived there for a while.”

  Ethan nodded. “It’s about time you agreed.”

  “I would have agreed two hours ago if you’d just told me everything,” she shot back. “You know, I totally trust you when I go on an op. Don’t you think it’s about time you returned that trust? Don’t you think that maybe our collaboration would work even better—”

  Ethan cut her off with a wave of his hand.

  “We need to get you inside.”

  Shelby leaned back and sighed. “I can’t believe I just agreed to a black op.”

  “It’s not a black op.” Ethan gave her a rare, onesided grin. “Maybe a little gray, but it’s not black.”

  ISBN# 9781932815054

  Mass Market Paperback / Suspense

  US $6.99 / CDN $9.99

  Available Now

  BREEDING

  EVIL

  LIZ WOLFE

  Someone is breeding superhumans …

  … beings who possess extreme psychic abilities. Now they have implanted the ultimate seed in the perfect womb. They are a heartbeat away from successfully breeding a species of meta-humans, who will be raised in laboratories and conditioned to obey the orders of their owners, governments and large multi-national corporations.