by Berkom, DV
She missed her daughter, wanted her to experience this place that she loved. She and Carlos had visited the Cinque Terre often together, and she’d come this time in the hopes of exorcizing those demons that plagued her sleep. But her daughter refused to come.
And the tequila wasn’t working anymore.
The waiter stopped to take her order, and Leine asked for the fresh fish of the day and another glass of wine.
It had been over four months since the night April discovered Leine’s unforgiveable sin of killing Carlos. Their relationship, though civil, wasn’t anything like what it had been before. April preferred to stay at Marta and James’s place in Santa Rosa and grudgingly came home on the weekends. Whenever Leine managed a conversation with her, she wouldn’t show any emotion at all. It had gotten to the point where Leine would have welcomed anger or rage, or a psychotic break. Anything but the cool indifference of the stranger with whom she now lived.
Leine hadn’t worked in those four and a half months, had wanted to be there for her daughter and tried to make amends, but she couldn’t break through the solid wall April had built around her emotions. Fortunately, Leine’s investments and savings were such that she didn’t have to work, at least for several years. And, in an odd twist of fate, Carlos had willed his estate to her. The thought of benefitting from his death made her ill, and she put all of his holdings into a trust for when April turned eighteen.
The nightmares were getting worse now, and she rarely slept. Her grief at losing Carlos was still raw and seemingly insurmountable, so she fled her home and her indifferent daughter to come to the place she loved most.
A shadow crossed her table and, shielding her eyes, she looked up. A man’s silhouette blocked the sun, and Leine squinted at him, trying to get a better look.
“I’m sorry, but I was admiring the view and was wondering if you’d like some company.”
American accent. Nice cologne. She nodded, and replied, “I’m not much company, I’m afraid.”
He sat next to her and smiled. In his mid to late thirties, he had dark, wavy hair, nice, white teeth, and a pair of friendly brown eyes.
“That’s all right. Neither am I.” He turned his face toward the sun. His prominent chin and nose made her think Italian-American or possibly Greek.
“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing by yourself in a place like this?” His smile softened the lame, well-used line, and she smiled back. There was something calming about him.
“I lost someone very close to me, and I’m here to see if I can feel again. And you?” No use beating around the bush. It wasn’t like she was looking for someone. After what she’d done for a living, what man would want to be with her? The only person who’d be even remotely interested would have to have done the same kind of work as she did. Leine wasn’t interested in an assassin dating service. She was out of that life for good.
He nodded. “Sorry to hear that. I’m here on family business. My name’s Frank, by the way,” he said, extending his hand.
Leine smiled as she shook it. “Leine.”
The waiter came with the drink Leine had ordered, and Frank asked for a glass of the local wine, as well. They sat in companionable silence until the waiter returned, and they toasted each other and watched the sunset. When her dinner came, Frank regaled her with stories of business deals gone bad and shady characters, giving her the impression he might have been connected in the criminal sense.
Well, why the hell not? She’d had a few glasses of wine and Frank was attractive. A member of the mafia would be par for the course. Her previous profession wouldn’t scare him off. Besides, she didn’t deserve an upstanding member of society. Not after what she’d done.
After dinner, they weaved their way along the winding streets of the town, stopping at a small bar for a nightcap. When Leine mentioned it was time for her to go, Frank insisted he be a gentleman and walk her back to her room.
“You must not be from the States,” Leine said, laughing. “Your manners are showing.”
“Actually, I live in LA. And you?”
“San Francisco,” she replied.
“Well, now, that sounds like a match made in heaven, if you ask me. Same coast, but different cities. What’s not to like?”
He walked her to her door, and she turned to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her and she leaned into his embrace. Months without human contact rose to the surface, but she stifled the urge to ask him to stay. Leine took a step back.
“I should go.” She slid the key in the lock and opened the door.
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
Leine smiled. “Why not?” She turned to go inside.
Frank placed his hand on her arm. “Hey, I never got your last name.”
“You’re right, you didn’t.”
Frank grinned, took a step back, and put up his hands. “Okay, I get it. You’re an enigma wrapped in a shawl, or something like that. Well, my last name is Basso.”
Frank Basso, she thought as she closed the door. It’s got a nice ring to it.
THE END
About the Author:
DV Berkom is the bestselling author of two award-winning thriller series (Leine Basso and Kate Jones). Her love of creating resilient, kick-ass women characters stems from a lifelong addiction to reading spy novels, mysteries, and thrillers, and longing to find the female equivalent within those pages.
Raised in the Midwest, she earned a BA in political science from the University of Minnesota and promptly moved to Mexico to live on a sailboat. Several cross-country moves and a multitude of adventures later, she now lives just outside of Seattle, Washington with the love of her life, Mark, a chef-turned-contractor, and several imaginary characters who like to tell her what to do. Her most recent books include A Killing Truth, Cargo, The Body Market, Vigilante Dead, A One Way Ticket to Dead, and Yucatán Dead.
Note from DV:
Thank you for reading A Killing Truth. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please consider leaving a short review at your favorite online retailer and tell your friends about the book. Your sincere feedback means so much to me, and I greatly appreciate it.
If you would like to learn more about Leine Basso or my other thrillers, or just want to connect online, click on the links below.
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Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the following people for their help and support in writing A Killing Truth: First and foremost, Mark Lindstrom for your unconditional support, fabulous dinners, and wicked sense of humor; my amazing editor, Laurie Boris—I consider myself lucky to work with you; Captain Andy for all things trawler-related; Melinda Hursh for your off-the-cuff and no-nonsense medical expertise regarding my damaged characters; Fieke van Berkom for Amsterdam-related questions; my writing group: Ali Mosa, Jenni Conner, Darlene Panzera, and Sharon Kleve; eagle-eyed Mistress of Mayhem, Ruth M. Ross-Saucier; and early readers Michelle and Brian Yelland, and Bev and Larry Van Berkom. Special thanks to TSODA134 (a.k.a. Special Forces Dude)—your detailed input adds an element of realism to my novels that I wouldn’t be able to achieve without your help.
Writing is never a solitary endeavor.
Other books by DV Berkom:
Leine Basso Crime Thriller Series:
Serial Date (Leine Basso #1)
When a former assassin's daughter is abducted, she's drawn into the twisted game of a serial killer who may be a grisly remnant from her past.
Bad Traffick (Leine Basso #2)
Dangerous obsessions take center stage when a former assassin and a homicide detective race against the clock to find a missing girl.
The Body Market (Leine Basso #3)
Former assassin Leine Basso is called in when a celebration south of the border turns into a nightmare.
Cargo (Leine Basso #4)
Haunted by memories of
an op gone bad, former assassin Leine Basso travels to Bangkok in search of a missing backpacker. With help from an old contact, she discovers the man responsible for the girl’s disappearance is connected to a violent Hong Kong triad and is the linchpin of an extensive trafficking network—both animal and human.
Kate Jones Adventure Thriller Series:
Kate Jones Thriller Series Vol. 1 (books #1-4)
The first four novellas in the bestselling Kate Jones Thriller Series: Bad Spirits, Dead of Winter, Death Rites, and Touring for Death.
Cruising for Death (Kate Jones #5)
Kate Jones is on a luxury cruise in the Caribbean when a passenger dies of an apparent heart attack and the ship is boarded by modern-day pirates. Along with two other passengers, Kate is kidnapped by a long-lost enemy who wants to settle an old score.
Yucatán Dead (Kate Jones #6)
Hunted by a ruthless cartel boss, Kate Jones finds herself deep in the Yucatán determined to turn and fight the evil that pursues her.
A One Way Ticket to Dead (Kate Jones #7)
Digging up the past can be deadly...
After years of running from her ex, and his subsequent death, Kate Jones is ready to bury the past and try to piece together a new normal. But first there’s a loose end to tie, and it involves digging up old ghosts that are best left alone.
Vigilante Dead (Kate Jones #8)
Death. Lies. Revenge.
Newly minted PI Kate Jones is finally putting her past behind her. Then she lands a case that changes everything: a young college student with no history of drug abuse dies of an overdose. The deeper Kate digs, the more she uncovers about the deadly drug’s origins, forcing her to choose between doing what’s right...
...and getting revenge.
Excerpt from SERIAL DATE
Leine Basso Thriller #1
Chapter 1
Peter Bronkowski peeled himself away from the prop closet. He needed air. The onlookers parted to give him space.
Oh my God, oh my God, they're going to shut us down. When this gets out the motherfuckers are going to crucify me. All the hard work, the hustling, the endless lunches listening to that blowhard Senator Runyon, all of it would be for nothing. Peter shook his head to clear it. His breath came out in fast gasps, threatening to hyperventilate.
At first, Peter thought it was a grotesque looking mannequin with fake blood stains down the front and side of its torso. The moment reality clicked, a jolt of shock split him, pooled behind his eyes and slid to his gut. With dawning comprehension, Peter realized the blood was real. And it was no mannequin.
It was Mandy.
Peter turned back to the prop closet. Everyone stared at him, as if he had the slightest idea what to do now. Fuck. He couldn't see a way out of this. Too many people had seen the body. He thought of his brother, Edward, but brushed the idea away.
Mandy was dead. Murdered. Sweet, small-town-sexy Mandy. Who would want to kill her? Now Tina, yeah, he could sort of see that, she could be quite the bitch. But Mandy? And which one of the cons did it? No getting around it, he'd have to call LAPD. They'd be swarming all over the place. Better find another home for Edward. He wasn't going to like that one bit. Edward didn't do well with change.
Gene Dorfenberger walked toward him, pushing people out of his way.
“Give him some room! The man can't think with you crowding him like that.” Reluctantly, the small crowd began to disperse, a few stealing one last look at the gruesome sight.
Gene glanced at Mandy's body and shook his head. “Now why would somebody go and cut off her arm?” He edged closer, squatting to take a better look. “And an ear? What kind of sick fuck would do that?”
Peter froze. “Her ear's missing?”
“Yeah.”
Peter shook his head to clear it. It can't be. He took a deep breath to try to stop the dizziness. Everything was spiraling out of control.
Originally slated as low-cost filler for summer, Serial Date had turned into the most watched reality show on television. Less than a year and a half ago he couldn’t get the mailroom clerks to return his calls much less the now regular invitations to private parties and dinners with the network brass. They all wanted a piece and Peter had happily parlayed the lust for the extraordinary profits generated by the show into extra bargaining power.
This is it. It's over. We'll never recover.
“It's going to be rough. You're going to have to do some major damage control.” Gene's sharp gaze traveled from the massive amount of blood soaked into the costumes scattered around Mandy back to Peter.
Peter nodded, his expression grim. “We've got to get somebody legit in here so the cops'll think we're taking steps to keep the contestants safe.”
If Gene took offense at the comment, he didn't show it. “I think I know just the person. It'll take some doing, but I hear she's strapped for cash.”
Peter looked at Gene with disbelief. “She? Gene, we need somebody who'll keep the fucking cops at bay, not another broad on the set.”
Gene shook his head. “Oh, this one ain't just another broad, believe me.”
Chapter 2
Leine Basso dropped her purse on the floor, kicked off her shoes and stalked across her apartment to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a beer. The old appliance clanked in protest.
Holding the cool bottle to her forehead, she walked over to the couch and dropped onto it, sighing with relief. Three down, two to go. God, she hated looking for a job. Especially when it seemed like everyone and their brother was out there doing the same thing.
Leine set the bottle on the thrift-store maple coffee table, leaned back and hiked up her skirt, struggling to peel off her pantyhose. It wasn't easy. The oppressive heat and the high humidity were fairly unusual for Seattle, even if it was the middle of August. Didn't matter if she took a shower or not; once she stepped outside, she was as damp as if she had.
Why didn't I just stay at the last job? Leine paused for a moment in her battle for freedom from the polyester and nylon blend. Oh yeah. Because you didn't like the creep masquerading as your boss and he ended up on the floor with a broken collar bone when he tried to grope you. A real player. Not only that, but he was a few heads shorter than Leine's five-foot-ten inches and she knew from experience that the guy would continue to be on her ass, one way or another, in order to prove himself the alpha dog. A lot of short guys had a chip on their shoulder. Except her husband, Frank.
Correction: her ex-husband.
The marriage hadn't exactly worked out. She made it four years.
Giving up on her stockings for the moment, she crab-walked back into the kitchen, opened the freezer and stuck her head in. Too bad her whole body didn't fit. Between the sound of her breathing and the death rattle of the fridge, she barely heard her cell phone go off.
She backed out and shut the freezer door, stuck her hand in her purse and grabbed her phone.
“Leine Basso.”
“Leine? It's Gene Dorfenberger.”
That was a blast from the past. Why would Gene be calling her?
“Hey, Gene. It's been a while.”
“Yeah. Hey I got a line on a sweet job that you'd be perfect for. The only thing is, it starts right away and it's in L.A. You available?”
L.A. Not her first choice. Too many memories and they weren't happy.
“Depends on the job, Gene. I'm not freelancing anymore.”
“No, no, nothing like that. See, I work for this guy named Peter Bronkowski. He's got a small problem and I was thinking you could fix it for him. He needs some special protection for his TV show. Ever heard of Serial Date?”
“I never watch television.” Leine walked back to the freezer and stuck her head inside again.
Crappy airless one bedroom apartment.
“Oh. Well, it's this gigantic hit reality show that uses ex-cons as dates for really hot looking women, only the guys are billed as serial killers.”
“This is a hit show?�
� Last time she had a TV, she emptied her gun into it after watching a sitcom. Apparently, she hadn't missed much.
“Yeah, the biggest. Anyway, one of the contestants was killed and ...”
Leine brought her head up, barely missing the edge of the old Hotpoint. “How do you know she was killed?”
“Pretty obvious. I don't know of anybody who'd cut off their own arm and ear before killing themselves. Van Gogh she ain't.”
“Any ideas who might've done it? I mean, you've got how many ex-cons on the set? Did you check their records to see which ones did time for violent crimes?” Had the world gone crazy while she wasn't looking? Employing ex-cons wasn't usually a big deal, but putting them in close proximity to a bunch of beautiful women and having them act like serial killers made no sense at all.
“Not yet. Peter's delaying the call to the police until I talk to you. What do you think? Interesting?”
Interesting wasn't the word.
“Why me? Why not some off-duty cop or something?”
“Because I trust you. I don't trust anybody else when it comes to family.”
“What do you mean?”
“You remember my sister, Ella?”
Leine remembered that Gene was holy-shit-scared of Ella, with good cause. A fierce lady, she didn't take kindly to Gene's bullshit. He had the scars to prove it.
“Ella's kid's working on set as a gopher and I can't keep an eye on her all the time. I figured with the two of us we'd be able to make sure she stayed safe.”
“So you think the killer's still hanging out on the set?”
“I don't know. Nobody has a clue, but obviously there are a lot of suspects. I'd feel better if you were here to back me up.”