скачать книгу бесплатно
When No One Is Watching
Natalie Charles
The red-hot passion between them isn't exactly an open-and-shut case…To find her missing sister and an attacker she can't remember, criminal profiler Mia Perez teams up with gorgeous Boston P.D. lieutenant Gray Bartlett. Their prime suspect: a psychotic serial killer. But when Mia's prints are found on the gun used in recent murders, Gray doesn't know what to think. Is the brainy beauty he's falling for being framed? Mia finds herself incredibly attracted to the hero risking his life and career to protect her. Yet she keeps a deadly secret of her past from Gray. Now she needs more than his desire-she needs him to prove her innocence, find her sister… and keep her alive.
The red-hot passion between them isn’t exactly an open-and-shut case…
To find her missing sister and an attacker she can’t remember, criminal profiler Mia Perez teams up with gorgeous Boston P.D. lieutenant Gray Bartlett. Their prime suspect: a psychotic serial killer. But when Mia’s prints are found on the gun used in recent murders, Gray doesn’t know what to think. Is the brainy beauty he’s falling for being framed?
Mia finds herself incredibly attracted to the hero risking his life and career to protect her. Yet she keeps a deadly secret of her past from Gray. Now she needs more than his desire—she needs him to prove her innocence, find her sister…and keep her alive.
He went in for another kiss, but she placed her hand squarely on his chest to stop him.
“No. You need to go to work.”
The spell was broken, and just in time. What were either of them thinking, groping each other on the sidewalk like a couple of teenagers? Getting involved like this was a mistake—a big one. She twisted out of his embrace and smoothed her hair.
“Mia.” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t do this.”
“You should be thanking me.” The kiss left her feeling disheveled, but as she adjusted her dress, she realized there was little actually out of place. She just felt out of order. “You can’t be seen with me, and you definitely can’t be seen kissing me. That’s a great way to end your career.”
“No one’s watching.”
“Someone’s always watching, Gray.” Mia’s gaze darted around self-consciously. She knew he’d taken a bit of a risk having dinner with her, but that could have been explained away. A kiss in front of her apartment, however…
Dear Reader (#ulink_6954aeb9-ab13-588d-ba36-8afba3ab58d3),
There are several reasons why this book is special to me. One is that I wrote it while my sweet newborn son slept cradled in my arms. Another is that it’s set in Boston, one of my favorite cities. Yet another is that it was simply fun to bring Gray and Mia to life.
The title of the book, When No One Is Watching, is a reference to former UCLA basketball coach John Wooden, who said, “The true test of a man’s character is what he does when no one is watching.” Isn’t every mystery story, at its heart, about what happens when no one is watching? Aren’t they all, to a certain extent, about the character of those caught up in the middle? It seemed like the perfect quote to inspire a book about an investigator who follows a trail of clues and learns that she may not be the person she believes herself to be.
I always hope that my readers enjoy reading my books as much as I enjoyed writing them. For this one, I also hope you have someone special to snuggle up with while reading, as I did while writing.
Warmly,
Natalie
When No One Is Watching
Natalie Charles
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
NATALIE CHARLES
is a practicing attorney whose day-job writing is more effective for treating insomnia than most sleeping pills. This may explain why her after-hours writing involves the incomparable combination of romance and suspense—the literary equivalent of chocolate and peanut butter. The happy sufferer of a lifelong addiction to mystery novels, Natalie has, sadly, yet to out-sleuth a detective. She lives in New England with a husband who makes her believe in Happily Ever After and two children who make her believe in miracles.
Natalie loves hearing from readers! You can contact her through her website, www.nataliecharles.net (http://www.nataliecharles.net).
For Talia and Luke, with all of my love. I hope that one day you will experience the thrill of having your heart stolen the way you’ve stolen mine.
Contents
Cover (#uf69c6a88-d76e-5244-b280-ff4f23d68efb)
Back Cover Text (#u4b7ff878-75b1-574a-9d16-df384eae8d65)
Introduction (#ubc6a2250-543b-5927-96cc-4c152c06da9d)
Dear Reader (#u2bfd1d68-89db-590d-a9a9-2c9694a2ec9f)
Title Page (#u1139d6db-e28f-51cd-8ee4-59520aa62118)
About the Author (#u7de99955-25be-5d71-8ef2-3a313be1ad57)
Dedication (#ub75184f1-49e0-5ab7-a779-72670fc1896d)
Chapter 1 (#u57f5556f-6fc2-5f0f-996d-2f237c2f907f)
Chapter 2 (#u75088a5a-0744-5468-9e06-24923399e57d)
Chapter 3 (#u7e599281-3909-57ba-8145-b81b81f235ae)
Chapter 4 (#ub7194966-04d7-591e-b0c3-ba3ea8016261)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_8ff9aebe-2133-503b-90ff-6dfa963fcb50)
Ten months after Lena Perez vanished, a woman’s body was found along the banks of the Charles River. The call woke Lieutenant Gray Bartlett an hour before his alarm was scheduled to go off.
“I don’t want to speak too soon, but it looks like it could be the work of Valentine,” the sergeant said. Gray didn’t need to hear anything more. Valentine meant his case, his killer. Another dead body bringing down his stats.
He rolled out of bed and staggered to his feet, sweeping his palm forehead to chin and back again before stumbling to the kitchen. One of these days he would feel as though he lived here, in this bare-walled shell of an apartment. He stood in his boxer shorts in the center of his kitchen, gulping the thick remains of yesterday’s coffee and passing his gaze across the empty countertops and the sparse table-and-chair set. He tossed his mug into the sink.
The first forty-eight hours were crucial. After that the likelihood of solving this crime went down precipitously. Gray had set the mental timer already, wondering how many hours he was behind. Had the crime occurred two days ago? Five hours ago? He was out the door, showered and shaved, in less than ten minutes. Not quite the timing he’d been able to keep when he was in the military, but Boston P.D. wasn’t the Marines.
Traffic into the city was light. The entire city felt emptier now that colleges had cleared out for the summer. He made the drive in record time and pulled his vehicle into line behind a string of squad cars parked against a hill overlooking the Charles. At the top of the embankment stood a crowd of people craning their necks like geese to glimpse the carnage. The responding officers had strung yellow police tape widely, blocking off the cement stairs that led down the embankment to the river, and closer to the scene, joggers were being redirected. They were looking backwards, too.
It’s the stuff of nightmares, folks. Keep jogging.
A young officer stood in front of the steps leading to the scene, blocking his entry. “Sir, this is a crime scene. You’re going to have to keep moving along.”
There was a time when Gray might have taken such a statement as an affront to his authority, but somewhere along the years, he’d become accustomed to it, and then he’d stopped caring altogether. It was a perk of the job that he was able to dress in plain clothes—today, jeans and a black polo shirt. No need for a uniform when you spent your workday sifting through crime scenes and interviewing junkie witnesses, but the plain-clothes policy backfired when the endless stream of new kids didn’t know who the hell he was. He reached into his back pocket and flashed his credentials. The officer immediately stepped to the side.
“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he mumbled, lifting the crime scene tape to allow Gray entry to the stairs.
The young officer’s face was fat with youth, but lots of seasoned officers still looked fresh out of the academy. What identified this kid as a rookie were his blue eyes: wide and restless with unfamiliar fear. Gray had seen eyes like that at almost every crime scene he’d ever encountered. They were the eyes of disillusionment.
“Officer Hodges,” Gray read from his name tag. “You’re one of the responding officers?”
“Me and Officer Neill,” he replied. His cheeks were flushed and sweaty, and he glanced uneasily toward the bottom of the stairs as if he didn’t quite believe this was happening.
“First on the scene.” Gray pulled his shoulders back as he eyed the young officer. “You lose your breakfast?”
“Sir?” The kid’s wide eyes snapped back to meet his. “No. No, sir.”
“Then you did better than me when I saw my first body.”
“Lieutenant!”
The shout came from the bottom of the embankment, where Gray observed Officer Jude Langley waving to him. Gray brushed past the young officer without offering a condescending pat on the arm, dipping below the crime scene tape to walk the steps to the scene below. “Officer Langley,” he said as he reached the bottom stair.
“Sir. Sorry it’s so early.”
Sometimes Gray had to remind himself that Langley was a Worcester native. He acted more like some transplant from a region of the country where people still said please, thank you and sorry. He liked Langley. The kid pulled long hours and didn’t give him lip. But if he had one criticism, it was that he was too nice. Someone would take advantage of that.
“Unless you put the vic there, you have nothing to apologize for.” Gray accepted the pair of latex gloves the officer held out to him. “What’s the story?”
“A jogger found her. ME’s on the scene, but nothing’s been moved.”
Gray nodded, slipped the gloves on his hands and approached the small crowd gathered ten yards away. The medical examiner was crouched beside the body, but he rose when he saw the lieutenant. Gray had worked Homicide long enough to know all of the MEs, their strengths and shortcomings, which ones played well in front of a jury, and which ones came across as deader than the bodies they carved. Dr. Jonah McCarthy was one of the doctors whose blood still ran warm. In Gray’s opinion, he was one of the best.
“Doc.” Gray nodded to him in solemn greeting. He never made pleasantries at a death scene.
“Good to see you, Lieutenant.” He sighed and crouched down beside the body again. “Young female, probably early to mid-twenties.” Right down to business.
Around them the crime scene unit continued its work. Outdoor crime scenes were exposed to animals, insects and weather. The dead might have all the time in the world, but the living had to move quickly to avoid losing evidence.
Gray squinted at the body from behind his sunglasses. The early summer morning was already promising to be scorching, and the sun rippled across the water like flashes of silverfish. She was lying in the grass, her toes pointed toward the shore as if sunbathing. It didn’t take a medical degree to see that the woman had met a violent end delivered by the edge of a knife. It didn’t take a law degree to know that he was looking at a murder, not a homicide.
“I thought she was pulled from the river?” The vic’s hair and clothing were dry, and her features didn’t carry the characteristic bloat of floaters.
“No, although the body is slightly damp, probably from condensation,” McCarthy said. “She hasn’t been here long, either.” He gently pried open an exposed wound on the vic’s arm. “Temperature’s been above ninety degrees for three days now, and no blowfly larvae. They’re just starting to find her.” As if on cue, a fly landed on her cheek.
Gray crouched next to the doctor, trying not to reel at the stench of death and grateful he’d received the call before breakfast. The victim’s face was frozen in a grimace, and her limbs appeared stiff. “The body’s in full rigor?”
“Yes. She was most likely killed sometime overnight.”
“Dumped here early this morning,” Officer Langley said, pointing to the earth. “No blood on the ground.”
Gray frowned and surveyed the surrounding area. “Have you been able to locate the site where she was killed?”
“Not yet,” said Langley.
“Keep looking.” He nodded at the ME. “What about cause of death?”
“I’ll perform a full autopsy, but it looks like what you’d expect.” He gestured with a gloved finger as he reviewed the evidence. “She was stabbed by a serrated knife before she died, and she saw it coming.” He pointed to the cuts on her forearms and hands—evidence she’d tried to block the attack. “There are a lot of wounds. Someone was angry about something.”
Gray turned away to stare out at the Charles, where life continued as usual. White sails already billowed against the wind, pulling boats across the water. Not far away from this death scene, people were enjoying a pleasant Saturday morning.
An unfamiliar voice cut through his thoughts. “Langley, you’ll want to look for gravel and clay.”
Gray whipped around to see a woman coming from the stairs he’d just walked down. Her slender figure was clothed casually in jeans and a blue tank. Her hair was pulled away from her face and secured at the back of her neck in a messy knot, but auburn tendrils grazed her cheeks. With one hand she clutched a small stainless-steel travel mug, and with the other she shielded her eyes from the sun, leaving untouched the pair of sunglasses that dangled from the center of her tank.
She pointed to the victim. “Her knees are torn, and there’s gravel and dirt in the cuts.” She pointed the same hand at the path along the Charles. “This path is asphalt. The injuries would be different if she’d been killed here.”
“Excuse me.” Gray stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the body. No one was allowed on his scene unless authorized, and he’d never met this woman. “This is an active crime scene. What’s your role in this investigation?”
She faced him, still shielding her eyes, and then lifted the pair of sunglasses and slid them on her face. “There, that’s better.” She reached into her back pocket and removed a business card. “I’m Dr. Mia Perez. I’m an associate professor of psychology at Northeastern.”
An associate professor? She looked as if she was only in her twenties. He glanced to the top of the embankment. “Who the hell let you in here?”
She set her jaw firmly but spared a tight smile. “The officers know me. I’ve done some work for the Boston P.D. It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“What kind of work?”
