Dangerous Desires
Page 1
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Amara titles… Dark ‘n’ Deadly
Bound by Danger
Assassin Games
Lost in Shadows
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Dawn Altieri. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Rd
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
rights@entangledpublishing.com
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Nina Bruhns
Cover design by Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover photography by 2002Lubava1981/Deposit Photos
ISBN 978-1-68281-529-8
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition January 2020
Dear Reader,
Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.
xoxo
Liz Pelletier, Publisher
For every girl who has ever been afraid to go get what she wants.
Chapter One
“Don’t tell me you didn’t go out with anyone this weekend.”
Emma Sloane fought the urge to laugh. Her coworker and best friend Lauren Reed meant well, even if she didn’t realize the hopelessness of her mission.
After leaving the offices of MacMillan Investments, Emma had headed to the bustling Union Square Greenmarket with Lauren—their usual Monday evening routine, doing a little shopping, a little man-watching, and then stopping at the gourmet beverage booth where Lauren was currently harassing Emma over her nonexistent love life.
Lauren tipped the carafe of hazelnut creamer into her coffee. “By the time we left the office Friday, you had six messages on Lovematch. Six, Em.”
Actually, fourteen the last time Emma checked, but Lauren didn’t need to know that.
She snapped a lid onto her cup of English Breakfast tea, lifted her eyes skyward, and tapped her finger against her lips. “Let’s see, I caught up on my laundry and gave myself a manicure…” She slipped a lock of her long dark brown hair behind her ear. “Nope. Didn’t go out with anyone.”
Lauren grumbled and shook her head, sending her shoulder-length golden curls into a tizzy. “I filled out the questionnaire for you, loaned you my killer little black dress, and took that smoking hot photo for your profile. What else do I have to do? Date the guys?”
Emma smirked but didn’t answer. It wasn’t a bad suggestion.
“You are answering one of those guys tomorrow,” Lauren said, her voice stern, “even if I have to write the message myself. Seriously, Em, you have to put a little effort into this.”
Maybe she should answer some of them. But then Lauren might expect her to go out with the guys, too. Lauren made the whole dating thing seem easy. Outgoing and confident, the leggy blonde knew how to get exactly what she wanted—something Emma still hadn’t quite figured out, in love or any other aspect of her life.
“I don’t have time for that at the office,” Emma said, hoisting her canvas bag full of vegetables higher on her shoulder.
“Why, because you’re so dedicated to your job?” It was no secret how much Emma longed for a different career. “Think of how much more productive”—Lauren threw up fingers quotes with her free hand as they merged into the flow of shoppers—“you could be if you blew off some steam with a hot date once in a while.”
Leave it to Lauren to mock Emma’s respectable work ethic. There was nothing wrong with being conscientious about her job. Even if her job bored the hell out of her and she’d give it up in a second.
Besides, the thought of a hot date set Emma’s nerves on edge. She hadn’t been with a man since Justin passed away almost three years ago, mere weeks before they were to be married. The pain of losing him was the worst she’d ever experienced. She had no desire to go through any of it again. She’d been doing just fine on her own.
Lauren shielded her eyes from the sun with her free hand. “Where’s that hot guy with the pickle stand?”
“He was closer to the corner of Sixteenth Street last time we were here.” Emma snickered. “I’m sure he’s got a gherkin with your name on it.”
“Screw that,” Lauren said with a wave of her hand. “My money’s on a big juicy kosher dill.”
“You’re terrible.” Emma glanced around, surveying the other vendors’ offerings. “Do you mind if we head over there by the flowers?”
“Here we go,” Lauren said with a roll of her eyes. “The crazy plant lady has emerged from winter hibernation.”
Emma playfully nudged her shoulder before they crossed the path. Trays of colorful petunias and violas covered the a
sphalt. “That’s not true. You know I’m just as crazy in the winter, too.”
She picked up a small tray loaded with bright pink petunias and turned it side to side to be sure the batch was healthy, excited at the prospect of watching them grow on her balcony. Her mother had ridiculed her love of flowers and gardening and had squashed her dream of becoming a landscape designer. Instead, she’d strong-armed Emma into majoring in finance, a field her mother assured her meant more money—and more men with money. Men who would take care of Emma, just as Evelyn Sloane’s string of wealthy husbands had taken care of her. Until they didn’t.
Emma would have dropped out after one semester if she hadn’t met Justin. He’d convinced her to stick with him at the business school, and now she was stuck, all right. Alone and mired in a job she didn’t want, with no other experience or education to fall back on. Her life needed a whole new direction, but fear and complacency had kept her paralyzed, unable to talk herself into taking the risk to start over and fulfill her own dreams.
She grabbed a second tray of colorful blooms. “You should get a few of these for your place. They’d really liven things up.”
“My place gets all the livening up it needs, Em. Don’t you worry about that.” They rounded the first row of plants toward a table of cut flowers. “There he is,” Lauren said, pointing to the next row of booths. “Hurry up, girl. I need to see a man about a pickle.”
“Go,” Emma said with a chuckle. “I’m going to pay for these and then I’m heading home.”
The market was filled with some of Manhattan’s finest-looking men on a beautiful May evening, yet all she could think about was getting home to plant the flowers out on her balcony.
Maybe she needed more help than she thought.
Lauren sauntered off with a wave. Emma settled her purchases, then as an afterthought she picked up a business card from a box next to the cashier stand. There had to be some way she could apply her talents to the floral industry. The card included an email address. She could reach out to someone, maybe send a resumé… She shoved the card into her purse. One of these days, she swore she’d do it.
She made her way through the crowded sidewalks toward her apartment, struggling to balance the plants, her groceries, and her purse. She could grab a cab, but at the rate traffic was moving, she’d make it home faster if she walked. Maybe that wasn’t the best decision with everything she had to carry, but New York City was alive with people enjoying the warmest evening spring had offered so far. The fresh air carried a promise of invigoration and renewal she desperately needed.
The sky took on an orange glow as the sun dipped between skyscrapers. As she traversed the last few blocks toward her apartment building, darkness settled in more quickly than she’d expected. She headed up the steps to the building’s entrance and shifted everything to one arm so she could access the keypad next to the door with the other hand.
“Need help with that?”
She turned at the odd, raspy sound close behind her, like that of a man trying to disguise his voice. A tall, muscular figure emerged from behind the potted shrubbery, dressed all in black and wearing a ski mask that revealed nothing but his hazel green eyes.
A ski mask? In May?
He gripped her elbow and she gasped. The tray of flowers crashed to the concrete. Her bag of vegetables tumbled to the ground and scattered in every direction. She managed a muffled cry as he slapped a work glove-covered hand over her mouth, filling her nose with the stench of rubber.
He spun her back to his chest and choked off her air with a thick arm around her neck. “Shut up,” he snarled. The malicious command vibrated off her skin, sending a cold chill down her spine. He stepped backward as if to drag her toward the corner of the building.
“Hey!” Mrs. Henderson from 5B hurried toward them, still in her scrubs after her shift at New York Presbyterian. “Get your hands off her!”
The man released Emma so quickly she fell backward and landed hard on the stone planter box next to the doorway. He stood frozen, his furious gaze fixed on her like a wild animal who’d lost its prey and couldn’t decide whether or not to give up. She fought to memorize anything she could about him, but it was all a blur once he turned and took off down the sidewalk.
Mrs. Henderson reached her side, grabbed her hands, and steadied her. “Emma, are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she said as she stared down the street after her attacker, fighting for breath. “I’m okay.”
But who the hell was that?
And oh my God. Had he just tried to abduct her?
Chapter Two
Detective Jake Quinn surveyed the crime scene before him and the chaos swarming around it. The city hadn’t seen a young white female victim in a while, so he’d expected the extra attention, but this was ridiculous.
He stepped out of his black Chevy Tahoe, pushed through the crowd of officers and reporters, flashed his badge to get past the barricades, and signed in with the officer maintaining the logbook.
“There he is,” a voice called out. “About time.”
Jake could almost hear the smirk on his partner’s face. No matter how fast Jake raced to an after-hours call, retired Marine John MacKenzie always managed to get there first.
“Screw off, Mack,” Jake shot back. “What have we got?”
“Unidentified Caucasian female, mid-twenties.” Mack led Jake to the alley where the body lay surrounded by forensics officers and the precinct’s photographer, all busy with their respective tasks.
He caught his first glimpse of the woman framed almost perfectly in the dim, circular glow of an overhead light fixture. Slim, probably about five foot six—although it was hard to be sure the way she was slumped against the brick wall of the building—with long dark hair that fell in soft waves around her face.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath and peered closer.
“Problem?” Mack asked.
“No, just…” No. It wasn’t her. Relief poured out of him along with a gush of air. “Just looks like someone I used to know.”
Even three years later, Emma Sloane still held permanent residence in his mind. Usually, she kept herself firmly ensconced somewhere in a back corner, but occasionally she jumped front and center. Not what he needed at the start of an investigation.
Emma’s fiancé, Justin Windsor, had been run down out in the Hamptons by a driver who never even slowed down. Jake had been an assistant investigator on the case, and he’d been drawn in by Emma’s huge brown eyes, filled with sadness and the need to see justice served. One of the biggest regrets of his career so far was that he hadn’t been able to give that to her and the rest of the Windsor family.
Justin Windsor’s death and Jake’s failure to make an arrest had alienated the entire Windsor clan—one of the city’s wealthiest families and long-time contributors to the New York Police Foundation. It was a literally costly mistake his superiors would love to see him rectify, but he had no idea how the hell to do that. The hit-and-run was the only crime he’d ever failed to crack, and it haunted him almost as much as the death of his own mother.
“Sexual assault. Probable strangulation,” Mack was saying, pulling Jake back to the present. “Waiting on the ME.”
Jake leaned in for a closer look at the telltale red marks around the woman’s throat.
“Last seen with a Caucasian male,” Mack added. “Muscular build, also mid-twenties, wearing a Yankees cap.”
“Great,” Jake grumbled as he donned a pair of gloves. “That narrows it down to about thirty percent of the city.” He dropped to one knee next to the body, searching for anything out of the ordinary.
Christ, the vic really did look just like Emma Sloane.
Damn. He needed to focus.
A scrap of paper beneath the victim’s hip caught his eye. “Anybody get this?”
Mack craned his neck. “Don’t kno
w. What is it?”
Jake reached into his pocket for his basic evidence kit and pulled out a pair of metal tweezers he used to lift the paper. He read aloud what was written on it, “‘These violent delights have violent ends,’” and looked over his shoulder at Mack. “Any idea what that’s about?”
“Damned if I know.” Mack handed Jake an evidence envelope before scribbling the words into his notepad. “And what’s up with all the dead flowers?”
A dusting of tiny petals, dry and brown, covered the victim’s torso. “Lilacs, I think,” Jake replied. His thoughts jumped to the bushes his mother used to grow in the garden behind their home. Every spring, a glass vase in the dining room held sprigs of the tiny purple flowers until they finished blooming in early June.
Every spring, until the one when she was brutally murdered on her own front lawn.
He forced down a wave of mournful regret. Another distraction he didn’t need right now.
“Forensics grab a sample?” he asked.
“Couldn’t hurt to grab another one.” Mack handed Jake another envelope.
After placing a few of the petals in the evidence packet, Jake rose to his feet, snapped off the gloves, and ran a hand through his dark hair. He’d heard rumors that his lieutenant had him on the short list to make second grade if he played his cards right, and he planned to do just that.
He had to stop ruminating over his mother’s death, even though it was the underlying motivation behind every arrest he’d ever made, behind all the ridiculously long hours he worked and his insatiable drive to move his way up the department’s ladder as if every rung he climbed would be the one that finally proved he was a worthy cop…if only to himself.
It would also help if he could clear his head of the woman who’d haunted his thoughts for the last three years and push the memory of Emma Sloane back down where it belonged, permanently. Thankfully, his colleagues hadn’t noticed how distracted he’d been since seeing the dead woman.
He took in the buzz of activity around him. Time to canvass the neighborhood to get some answers and solve this woman’s case.
…
Hours later, after a briefing with Lieutenant O’Shea at the precinct, Jake climbed into his SUV to drive home. Nearly eleven p.m., but he’d be back early tomorrow morning, interviewing the victim’s family, friends, and coworkers to get to the bottom of who’d done this.