Malice. Lisa Jackson

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Malice - Lisa  Jackson


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      BRUTAL DISCOVERY

      Something was off.

      Bentz felt it in the air, in the silence of the night. When he pulled up in front of Lorraine’s home, the street was empty. Hadn’t Lorraine said she’d seen Jennifer from her window? Worse yet, as he approached he noticed the front door was ajar.

      Had she left it open for him?

      No way. When he’d talked to her, Lorraine had been scared out of her mind. “Lorraine,” he called, slowly and silently withdrawing his weapon from his shoulder holster. “Lorraine? It’s Rick Bentz.”

      Silence.

      Moving silently through the hallway toward the back of the house, Bentz approached an empty dining room with mail piled on the table. As he approached the darkened kitchen, he smelled it.

      The distinctive, metallic odor of blood.

      Bracing himself, he stepped into the kitchen doorway and caught a glimpse of feet, one slipper knocked off, poking out from behind a cabinet. He stepped closer. Her body lay facedown, blood matting the back of her head.

      Lorraine…

      Books by Lisa Jackson

      SEE HOW SHE DIES

      FINAL SCREAM

      WISHES

      WHISPERS

      TWICE KISSED

      UNSPOKEN

      IF SHE ONLY KNEW

      HOT BLOODED

      COLD BLOODED

      THE NIGHT BEFORE

      THE MORNING AFTER

      DEEP FREEZE

      FATAL BURN

      SHIVER

      MOST LIKELY TO DIE

      ABSOLUTE FEAR

      ALMOST DEAD

      LOST SOULS

      LEFT TO DIE

      WICKED GAME

      MALICE

      CHOSEN TO DIE

      WITHOUT MERCY

      Published by Zebra Books

      MALICE

      LISA JACKSON

      ZEBRA BOOKS

       KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Acknowledgments

      There are many people I would like to thank for their expertise and help in the writing and publication of this book. Special thanks to Rosalind Noonan, fellow author and friend, for her tireless help, and to everyone at Kensington Publishing for their patience, especially my editor, John Scognamiglio. Also, in no particular order, thanks to Nancy Bush, Ken Bush, Matthew Crose, Niki Crose, Michael Crose, Larry Sparks, Ken Melum, Kelly Foster, Darren Foster, and my agent, Robin Rue.

      If I’ve missed anyone—hey, no surprise there, but please accept my apologies.

      Author’s Note

      I know I’ve bent the rules and played around with the police department procedures just to keep my story moving; this book in no way reflects the actual police departments of Los Angeles, California, or New Orleans, Louisiana, or their procedures.

      CONTENTS

      PROLOGUE

      CHAPTER 1

      CHAPTER 2

      CHAPTER 3

      CHAPTER 4

      CHAPTER 5

      CHAPTER 6

      CHAPTER 7

      CHAPTER 8

      CHAPTER 9

      CHAPTER 10

      CHAPTER 11

      CHAPTER 12

      CHAPTER 13

      CHAPTER 14

      CHAPTER 15

      CHAPTER 16

      CHAPTER 17

      CHAPTER 18

      CHAPTER 19

      CHAPTER 20

      CHAPTER 21

      CHAPTER 22

      CHAPTER 23

      CHAPTER 24

      CHAPTER 25

      CHAPTER 26

      CHAPTER 27

      CHAPTER 28

      CHAPTER 29

      CHAPTER 30

      CHAPTER 31

      CHAPTER 32

      CHAPTER 33

      CHAPTER 34

      CHAPTER 35

      CHAPTER 36

      CHAPTER 37

      CHAPTER 38

      CHAPTER 39

      EPILOGUE

      PROLOGUE

      Culver City, a Suburb of Los Angeles

       Twelve Years Earlier

      “So you’re not coming home tonight, is that what you’re getting at?” Jennifer Bentz sat on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear, as she tried to ignore that all-too-familiar guilty noose of monogamy that was strangling her even as it frayed.

      “Probably not.”

      Ever the great communicator, her ex wasn’t about to commit.

      Not that she really blamed him. Theirs was a tenuous, if sometimes passionate, relationship. And she was forever “the bad one,” as she thought of herself, “the adulteress.” Even now, the scent of recent sex teased her nostrils in the too-warm bedroom, reminding her of her sins. Two half-full martini glasses stood next to a sweating shaker on the bedside table, evidence that she hadn’t been alone. “When, then?” she asked. “When will you show up?”

      “Tomorrow. Maybe.” Rick was on his cell in a squad car. She heard the sounds of traffic in the background, knew he was being evasive and tight-lipped because his partner was driving and could overhear at least one side of the stilted conversation.

      Great.

      She tried again. Lowered her voice. “Would it help if I said I miss you?”

      No response. Of course. God, she hated this. Being the pathetic, whining woman, begging for him to see her. It just wasn’t her style. Not her style at all. Men were the ones who usually begged, and she got off on it.

      Somewhere in the back of her consciousness she heard a soft click.

      “RJ?”

      “I heard you.”

      Her cheeks burned and she glanced at the bedsheets twisted and turned, falling into a pool of pastel, wrinkled cotton at the foot of the bed.

      Oh, God. He knows. The metallic taste of betrayal was on her lips, but she had to play the game, feign innocence. Surely he wouldn’t suspect that she’d been with another man, not so close on the heels of the last time. Jeez,


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