Passion to Die For. Marilyn Pappano
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“You were leaving.” His voice was soft, his tone not dismayed or disappointed, but disillusioned. “Without saying goodbye. And you weren’t coming back.”
And finally she had no choice but to face him. The lie was there, ready to come out—I needed a break. Just a few days. Charleston or Savannah or Beaufort. I would have been back later in the week. But all she did was nod.
It was as if something in him snapped. He advanced on her, backing her against the wall, not touching her but holding her there all the same, his body mere inches from hers, his hands on the wall on either side of her head, his face bent to hers. “Why?” he demanded, the question all the more fierce for its low, insistent tone. “Because of Martha? Who was she, Ellie? What did she want from you? Where were you going? What about us?”
She took a breath, shallow and painful, and whispered, “There is no ‘us.’”
Dear Reader,
When Detective Tommy Maricci made his first appearance in Copper Lake, I knew immediately that he would be a future hero. Who could resist a tall, dark and sexy Italian-American cop? Not me. I married one. (Though deli owner Ellie Chase tries her best. Otherwise, there’d be no story.)
Having a cop in the family comes in really handy when you’re writing romantic suspense. I’m the rare author who doesn’t like interviewing sources for my books, so my husband handles all that for me. If he doesn’t know the answer to a particular question in any aspect of law enforcement or the justice system, one of his buddies does. Another plus: his years with the police department and the Naval Criminal Investigation Service have given him excellent investigative and interrogation skills, so he can also get the answers for all my non-cop questions, too. A resource, a researcher and my own hero all rolled into one. What more could I ask for?
Hope you enjoy this visit with my second-favorite Italian American cop.
Marilyn
Passion to Die For
Marilyn Pappano
MARILYN PAPPANO
has spent most of her life growing into the person she was meant to be, but isn’t there yet. She’s been blessed by family—her husband, their son, his lovely wife and a grandson who is almost certainly the most beautiful and talented baby in the world—and friends, along with a writing career that’s made her one of the luckiest people around. Her passions, besides those already listed, include the pack of wild dogs who make their home in her house, fighting the good fight against the weeds that make up her yard, killing the creepy-crawlies that slither out of those weeds and, of course, anything having to do with books.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
Ellie Chase loved her job. Owning a restaurant had long been a dream of hers, way back in the times when she didn’t have many dreams, when she was sleeping on the street or scrounging for a meal. She’d savored sweet visions of a diner, a café, a bistro, warm when it was cold, dry when it rained, safe and welcoming and, of course, filled with all the good food her sixteen-year-old belly had ached for.
Tonight, though, she’d rather be working nine to five at some dreary job where all the responsibilities fell on someone else’s shoulders.
She was seated on a stool at the end of their newly installed bar, receipts, schedules and a glass of iced tea in front of her. Outside it was pouring rain, and the temperature was about twenty degrees colder than normal for October in east-central Georgia. In spite of the weather, business had been good—if you counted running out of broccoli cheese soup, fresh bread and banana cheesecake as good. The oven was being temperamental again, and so was Dharma, her self-proclaimed chef. One of the waitresses had called in sick, a customer had mumbled something about a problem in the men’s bathroom and Tommy Maricci had come in for dinner.
With a date.
To top it all off, her feet were aching, her head was throbbing and though it was nearly closing time, no one besides her and her staff showed any interest in going home.
Carmen, her best waitress and unofficial assistant manager, slid onto the stool next to her. “You want me to comp Russ and Jamie for their dinner?”
“Yes, please.” Russ Calloway, owner of Copper Lake’s biggest construction company, had fixed the overflowing toilet in the men’s room, saving her from putting in a call to her overpriced and very-difficult-to-reach plumber. She was grateful, even if he had come in with Tommy and his date.
“I want you to know, I didn’t step on Sophy’s toes, spill her drink on her or spit in her food, even though I was tempted.”
Ellie managed only half a smile. “Sophy’s nice.”
“I know, and if I worked for her over in the quilt shop instead of here, I’d be hating you. But I don’t. The least he could do is take his dates somewhere else.”
“His money is as good as anyone else’s. Besides, I’m so over him that I don’t care.”
Carmen gave her a long look, from the top of her head to the pointed toes of her favorite black heels. Tommy’s favorite, the devil residing on her shoulder whispered. They made her legs look a mile long and showed her butt to good advantage—Amanda Calloway, retired exotic dancer, had taught her that—and they drew the sweetest, naughtiest little grin from Tommy every time he saw her wearing them.
At least, they used to.
“Uh-huh,” Carmen drawled at last. “I can tell from the way you’re hiding in here instead of working out front like you always do. And from all those dates you’ve been accepting.”
“Hey, your social life is active enough for both of us.”
Carmen snorted. “I’m married, honey. My social life consists of work, church, taxiing the kids around and trying to schedule sex with my husband at least once a month.”
“You’ve got five kids. See how well you’re succeeding?” Ellie hadn’t had sex since last April. She’d thought it was make-up sex—her relationship with Tommy had always been an on-again, off-again thing. When it was over, he’d put on his clothes, kissed her, said he was sorry and walked out. She’d known it would happen someday—people always gave up on her eventually—but not that day. It had hurt more than it was supposed to.
But she was over it now.
And if she told the lie often enough, she might even believe it.
With a grunt, Carmen slid to her feet. “Let me start politely hurrying these people along. They need to get home where they belong so we can do the same.”
Ellie’s house on Cypress Creek Road was pretty, cozy, had two bedrooms and was even emptier than her life. It was the place where she stayed, but it wasn’t home. She didn’t belong there. She’d never really belonged anywhere besides the restaurant.
But