Code Runner
By Rosie Claverton
Book Two of the Amy Lane Mysteries
Ex-con Jason Carr has faced down the toughest thugs in Cardiff, but being assistant to a brilliant, eccentric hacker who hasn’t been outdoors in ten years has its own challenges. Still, he and Amy Lane can solve cases even the cops can’t crack. And when a corpse washes up on a beach, Jason can’t resist chasing the clues—or defying Amy by infiltrating the very gangs he once escaped.
Amy is distraught when Jason’s pursuit gets him framed for murder. He’s thrown back in prison where he’s vulnerable to people who want him dead. He needs Amy to prove his innocence. Fast.
But Amy hasn’t been honest with him—her panic attacks aren’t getting better. And now, with everything that makes her feel safe ripped away, she must stand alone, using her technological skills to expose a baffling conspiracy and a new kind of online crime. Can she clear Jason’s name before danger closes in?
89,000 words
Dear Reader,
September might herald the end of summer fun and the vacation season, but the one thing you and I both know, as avid readers, is that we can always escape the daily grind thanks to books! This month, Carina Press is placing extra emphasis on the mystery genre, with the last week of September dedicated to not only our entire backlist of mysteries, but also four brand-new frontlist releases in four different subgenres of mystery.
Within the mystery program, we welcome debut author Ricardo Sanchez with his novel Elvis Sightings. In this unique mystery that absolutely delighted our team from the first moment we read it, Floyd is a private detective who lives his life the way he thinks Elvis would have wanted him to—fast and hard in a sequined jumpsuit—and if he can avoid the billy clubs of government agents, a Viking reenactment and the amorous attention of the bearded lady sheriff, he just might prove, once and for all, that Elvis is still alive.
Rosie Claverton brings us the second book in The Amy Lane Mysteries (a series that has some of my favorite Carina Press covers!). Welsh amateur sleuths Amy and Jason return in Code Runner, with Jason framed for the murder of a gang runner. When his prison transport is broken open, Jason is caught between the police, the gangs and the mastermind behind Jason’s downfall, while Amy races to prove his innocence.
In Mistress of Lies, a historical mystery by Holly West, a young beggar girl claiming to be Isabel Wilde’s niece—previously unknown to her—shows up unexpectedly and reveals that Isabel’s brother Adam was murdered, compelling Isabel to take up an impossible task: discover the truth about her brother’s death, twelve years later.
And joining these three in the mystery category, with a new release in her Patience Price Mystery series, Julie Anne Lindsey brings us Murder in Real Time. When a popular reality show host is murdered at the local bed-and-breakfast, Patience’s small town is overrun with grieving fans, paparazzi and a gunman who puts Patience in the crosshairs.
If mystery isn’t your favorite genre, we have nine new releases in September in romance subgenres. Starting with contemporary romances, first up is Breaking His Rules by Alison Packard. If you love the friends to lovers trope as much as I do, you’ll love this story of two good friends pretending to be a couple at a coastal wedding, who find things get passionate when their true feelings rise to the surface.
Rebound flings are supposed to have soft landings, but one sexy cop is about to fall hard in Christi Barth’s fun romantic caper Love on the Boardwalk. And in Emma Barry’s Private Politics, when a glamorous non-profit fund-raiser becomes entangled in a political scandal, she turns to a savvy DC blogger for help clearing her name. As their hearts and ambitions collide, they find that everything in Washington comes with a price.
If you like contemporary romance with an edge, reach for new adult romance Losing Streak by Kristine Wyllys. Rosemary Young was just another bartender until her boyfriend, Brandon Williams, lost a bet, leaving them with no choice but to sell their souls to the Lane’s crooked king.
Author Stina Lindenblatt returns with Let Me Know, a contemporary romance with a new adult flavor. College freshman Amber Scott is propelled into the media spotlight when love letters she supposedly sent to her stalker surface prior to his upcoming trial.
Switching gears to three books outside the contemporary romance genre, I’d like to turn your attention to Tyler Flynn’s newest male/male historical romance, Hunting the Spy. Nathan Kennett is hunting down a traitor who is selling the secrets of England’s defenses to the French rebels—could it be Sir Peter Ross, the man he loves?
Don’t miss the final book in Jeffe Kennedy’s fantasy romance Covenant of Thorns trilogy. In Rogue’s Paradise, our scientist heroine discovers the origin of the fae and of her own nature, and whether she can make true love actually work. And it’s not too late to catch up with the first two books in this fantastic trilogy, Rogue’s Pawn and Rogue’s Possession.
Eleri Stone’s Gun Shy has a wonderful Firefly-esque Western feel in a paranormal romance world. When criminal boss Gideon Moore sends men to steal the fort’s dwindling supply of Reaper cure for sale on the black market, Jane Fisher offers to guide Lieutenant Lyle Dalton through the shady side of Storm King Territory in an attempt to recover the serum.
And last this month, we’re thrilled to present Shattered Bonds, the final book in Lynda Aicher’s Wicked Play erotic romance series. At the same time, we’re sad to see these characters go, as Lynda has captivated us with the emotional ups and downs of the relationships between this compelling cast of characters. Don’t miss this book, in which everything could change when the past comes back to destroy the members of The Den. Look for Game Play, the first book in Lynda’s new erotic romance trilogy, in spring 2015.
Coming in October 2014, Dana Marie Bell returns us to the world of Maggie’s Grove, we welcome co-authors Eileen Griffin and Nikka Michaels and their incredible male/male romance duology, and R.L. Naquin is back with her urban fantasy Monster Haven series.
Here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Dedication
For my parents—supporting me always,
no matter what path I choose.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to my excellent editor, Deb Nemeth, for nudging me in the right direction and ensuring I get there, and to all the Carina Press family for helping bring my books into the world.
Thank you to Dr. Laura Walton-Williams and Dr. Claire Gwinnett of Staffordshire University for sharing their fascinating insight into underwater forensics. Thanks to Nick Phillips, Ray Brown and all at Barry Yacht Club for helping me fathom out the tides. Any remaining errors are my own.
And thank you, Huw—because without you, your unfailing patience and support, this would still be an impossible dream.
Contents
Chapter One: Overheard in Cardiff
Chapter Two: Cash in Hand
Chapter Three: A Dark and Stormy Night
Chapter Four: Beachcomber
Chapter Five: Beside the Seaside
Chapter Six: A Long Way from Home
Chapter Seven: The Devil’s in the Details
Chapter Eight: Chasing the Dragon
Chapter Nine: Lost Boy
Chapter Ten: Deal or No Deal
Chapter Eleven: Uh-Uh
Chapter Twelve: Black and White
Chapter Thirteen:
Bail Out
Chapter Fourteen: Bang Up
Chapter Fifteen: Boys Don’t Cry
Chapter Sixteen: For Whom the Bell Tolls
Chapter Seventeen: Baby, You Can Drive My Car
Chapter Eighteen: Blood Brothers
Chapter Nineteen: The Price of Doing Business
Chapter Twenty: Somebody That I Used to Know
Chapter Twenty-One: Off the Grid
Chapter Twenty-Two: Silence in the Library
Chapter Twenty-Three: Hanging in the Balance
Chapter Twenty-Four: Airtight
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Scenic Route
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Welsh Inquisition
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Fortune Favours the Wet
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Hacked Off
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Shiver
Chapter Thirty: Run Rabbit Run
Chapter Thirty-One: Shelter from the Storm
Chapter Thirty-Two: Granny’s House
Chapter Thirty-Three: Separation Anxiety
Chapter Thirty-Four: Tell Me a Story
Chapter Thirty-Five: Are You Being Served?
Chapter Thirty-Six: Who Knew
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Troubled Water
Chapter Thirty-Eight: She Ain’t Heavy
Chapter Thirty-Nine: On a Steel Horse
Chapter Forty: Follow the Code
Chapter Forty-One: We’re Off To See The Wizard
Chapter Forty-Two: Trial Run
Chapter Forty-Three: Come Together
Chapter Forty-Four: The Marketplace
Chapter Forty-Five: Knight’s Move
Chapter Forty-Six: The Lion Wakes Tonight
Chapter Forty-Seven: Feint
Chapter Forty-Eight: Barnstormer
Chapter Forty-Nine: Siren Song
Chapter Fifty: The Waiting Room
Chapter Fifty-One: A Funny Sort of Justice
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One: Overheard in Cardiff
DS Rich Porter was sick to death of Cardiff.
What was supposed to be a capital city was a soggy little nothing town—no prospects of promotion, no chance to shine. He wished he’d realised that before he’d accepted the transfer, but the Met had been all abuzz with their work on a serial killer case and he’d been enthralled by the manhunt, the digital forensics, the cutting-edge police work.
But what he’d found was a bunch of past-it detectives who had blundered through the investigation and only found the bloke because of some nerdy girl with a computer and her criminal sidekick. It was a sham from start to finish and now he had their useless unit attached to his CV.
At least the lads back home in Camden had taken pity on him and organised a piss-up to make the most of the May Day weekend. He needed to be back among the living in London.
Making his way down St. Mary’s Street in Cardiff’s piss-poor excuse for a city centre, Rich checked his watch, rubbing at the rain that splattered it. Twenty minutes—he could stroll it. He passed McDonald’s and the chavs propping up the windows, disaffected youth in fake designer gear and gold-looking chains. He clocked three of them who he’d seen on the unsolved boards in the office. Petty theft, possession of a negligible amount of cocaine, school arson. What a gallon of twats.
Speaking of twats... Rich became aware of a skinhead coming up behind him on the street, and automatically pulled his jacket closer. He subtly checked him out in the reflection of the shop window: a tall, broad twenty-something with a light coating of stubble on his cheeks. He wore a nice leather jacket—looked vintage, but you could buy that crap from the indoor market for a pittance. Cheap Chinese crap that kids thought made them look cool.
This boy didn’t look like the usual breed of neo-Nazi scum, but DI Hesketh had been wittering on about an increased presence of English Defence League—or was that Welsh Defence League?—hooligans on their streets. They were supposed to be on the lookout for racially motivated crimes, but Rich had never been keen to police what was going on in someone’s head. And if the Welsh bastards wanted to keep Wales for themselves, they were welcome to it.
Yet this kid made him antsy precisely because he didn’t fit the bill. He had his shoulders hunched down and was walking at a pace that his long legs could easily have exceeded. Why was he walking so damn slowly?
Rich suddenly felt a deep sense of unease, the hairs on the back of his neck rising up. Had he done something to piss off the boys down in grubby Splott? Had they sent a friend to take care of him? He regretted leaving his badge at home.
It wasn’t yet nine o’clock but the streets were dark and quiet, falling into the lull between the day’s shoppers heading home and the nightlife coming out to play. There were barely twenty people the entire length of the street and no one close to them. The skinhead could easily come up behind him, slide a knife between his ribs, and that would be him done. Nobody would even know until Rich spilled his lifeblood on the ground, spreading pink in the rainwater gutters of the street.
Rich picked up his pace, crossing the street and resisting the urge to look behind him. He had to get to the station—it would be busy there, crammed with witnesses. There was safety in numbers.
As he rounded the corner for the station, Rich caught sight of him again. The guy was following him! Rich all but ran through the rain, his jacket flapping about him as his feet pounded the pavement. He had to get to the platform.
Rich ran into the station concourse, his breath catching in his throat. Shit, the barriers were down. Trying to get control of himself, he joined the queue for the ticket machine, keeping his eyes fixed on the door. But the skinhead didn’t appear and, by the time he got to the machine, his hands had stopped trembling.
He was getting paranoid in this claustrophobic town. It wasn’t like London, where you could lose yourself in the flotsam and jetsam. Here, people knew a man. They knew where to find him.
Rich passed through the barriers with his head down, going straight to the platform and huddling in a spot away from the numerous leaks in the roof. He was done with this godforsaken place. He would put in for the first transfer that came up, and fuck how it would look.
He took a deep breath and let it out. On the other hand, he was making something out of nothing here, wasn’t he? The guy wasn’t actually after him. Rich was just jumpy and it didn’t mean anything. When he got back from his weekend away, he could look at the whole situation and where his options were. Maybe Cardiff still had some potential.
And then, in slow-motion horror, the skinhead came up the platform steps and stood ten feet away from him. Rich tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, wanted desperately to avoid choking on his own saliva, and dying of fear like some fainting Victorian wench in a Hammer Horror.
But the man caught his gaze, looking at him a little strangely, and looked away.
Rich closed his eyes in relief. He was just getting a train. He was plodding through the rain to catch a train like every other body with sense, getting away for the long weekend. And Rich had just made a tit of himself in the centre of Cardiff. He hoped there weren’t any perps who’d recognised him. Or, worse still, his fellow officers.
The London train trundled in, stopping with a piercing screech of brakes. Rich gratefully got on it and tried to find a seat, peeling off his damp jacket and jumper to let them dry on the overhead luggage rack.
He tried not to flinch as the skinhead pushed past him and took the next seat down, removing his leather jacket to reveal a variety of old-school tattoos. The guy was built and Rich slipped into his seat, trying to avoid his attention. The bloke might not be following him but the last thing Rich needed was to start the weekend with a broken nose.
Rich relaxed into his seat, pulling himself tog
ether and trying to forget his silly dash across the bus station to escape his imaginary stalker. He wiped his phone carefully on his jumper before having a check of Facebook and Twitter. Nothing doing. He refreshed the apps, but new messages refused to load. He switched the phone on and off, and still nada. The signal bar wasn’t showing any data connection at all and this stretch of the line could usually be relied on for a bit of reception.
Since he had nothing better to do, he decided to call his mother. But the bloody phone still wasn’t playing ball. “Calls to this number are not available from this handset. Please wait while we connect you to customer services.”
“Fuckers.” Rich went to check his balance on his banking app, only to remember that he didn’t have any signal. He swore again.
An old lady across the aisle looked at him disapprovingly and he ducked his head to give the illusion of privacy and waited for customer services to pick up.
“Hi, you’re through to Natalie—how can I help you today?”
The perky Glaswegian woman just made him more irritable. He put on his best interrogation voice. “You disconnected my phone. Why?”
“Let me just check your details. Can I have your full name and security phrase please?”
Rich racked his brains for whatever password he’d thought was a good idea at the time. “Richard Anthony Porter, and umm...it’s probably Lampard.”
“Could you spell that for me, sir?”
Rich wanted to rant that none of it was difficult and did the silly little bint really not know the most famous member of the England squad? “My name or the answer?”
“The answer please, Mr. Porter.”
“Lampard. L-A-M-P-A-R-D. The footballer, yeah?”
“Thank you. Let’s see...” She clacked some keys in the background. “It appears your direct debit failed to go through. You need an alternate payment method.”
Rich stood up and rummaged around in his jacket for his wallet. He flicked through his cards, before choosing the MasterCard.
“Yeah, I got a credit card here—”
Code Runner (Amy Lane Mysteries Book 2) Page 1