“Write that book you promised me the exclusive on. I started today. Since Joey’s dead, we won’t have to worry about a trial.”
“So, you’ll stick around?”
“Mmm.” She picked up a sliver of cinnamon roll and popped it into her mouth. “Tom Fink called. Wants me to come back. Has offered me the crime beat.”
“And?”
“And it’ll be the proverbial cold day in hell before that happens.” She laughed and licked her fingers. “I also got a call from a newspaper in Chicago and one in Atlanta, but…I don’t know. Chicago gets awfully cold in the winter.”
“And Atlanta?”
She lifted a shoulder.
“I thought you wanted the big break. To work for a real, respected newspaper.” Bracing himself on the counter next to her, he held her gaze with his. Thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed. “Just what the hell is it you’re really looking for, Gillette?”
“What do you mean?”
“Out of life. What do you want? You’ve always been so damned ambitious, always talking about going to the big city to make your mark. What now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“Well, then, how about a big, burly, brusque cop to keep me in line?” She took a piece of cinnamon roll and playfully fed it to him.
He grinned around the morsel. “Yeah, right.
That’s
what would make you happy, all right,” he said sarcastically. “It would last five minutes. Ten, tops.”
“Well…it just so happens I have five minutes.”
He stared at her, then glanced at the bedroom door. “You mean…now?”
She winked and twined her fingers through his. “Exactly. See…you figured that out all by yourself. You really are an ace detective, aren’t you?”
Dear Reader,
As I write this, it’s December and, if you’ve finished THE MORNING AFTER, you know it ends in winter as well. It’s fitting, I think, as my next project was DEEP FREEZE, the story of Jenna Hughes, a woman who’s escaped the trappings of L.A. for some peace in the Columbia Gorge of Oregon.
But her past follows her north and a deadly killer who’s been stalking her for years is poised to wreak his own special chilling havoc upon her. It’s winter, the first snow is beginning to fall, and the killer’s blood lust runs deep and cold.
I’ve included an excerpt for the book on the next few pages, so please read on. DEEP FREEZE is now available.
As always, I’ve updated my website with the release of THE MORNING AFTER. So log onto
www.lisajackson.com
for excerpts, a radio commercial and new contests and polls. I’ve also posted the dates and cities where I’ll be signing books on my tour.
Don’t forget to check out
www.themysterymansion.com
and partake of the Quest. It’s an interactive game where you get a bird’s eye view of the lairs of the killers in my recent books. I have games and prizes in this creepy haunted house. Come in and look around.
Keep Reading!
Lisa Jackson
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Lisa Jackson’s
newest romantic suspense thriller
DEEP FREEZE
now available!
PROLOGUE
She was there.
Inside.
Somewhere in the rambling log home.
No doubt Jenna Hughes felt secure. Innocently safe.
But she was wrong.
Dead wrong.
As the first flakes of winter snow drifted from the gray sky and the wind screamed down the gorge, he watched from his hiding spot, a blind he’d built high in the branches of an old-growth Douglas fir that towered from this high ridge. Her ranch stretched out below in frozen acres that abutted the Columbia River.
The rustic old house was the core of what he considered her compound. Graying logs and siding rising two stories to peaked gables and dormers. From lights behind the ice-glazed windows, cozy patches of light glowed against the frozen ground, reminding him of his own past, of how often he’d been on the outside, in the freezing weather, teeth chattering as he stared at the smoke rising from the chimney of his mother’s warm, forbidden house.
But that was long ago.
Now, focusing the military glasses on the panes, he caught a glimpse of her moving through her house. But just a teaser, not much, not enough to focus on her. Her image disappeared as she turned down a hallway.
He refocused, caught a bit of movement in the den, but it was only the old dog, a broken-down German shepherd who slept most of the day.
Where was she?
Where the hell had she gone?
Be patient
, his inner voice advised, trying to soothe him.
Soon you’ll be able to do what you want.
The snowflakes increased, powdering the branches, covering the ground far below and he glanced down at the white frost. In his mind’s eye he saw drops of blood in the icy crystals, warm as it hit the ground, giving off a puff of steam then freezing slowly in splotches of red.
A thrill tingled up his spine just as a stiff breeze, cold as Lucifer’s piss, screamed down the gorge, stinging the bit of skin above his ski mask. The branches above and around him danced wildly and beneath the mask, he smiled. He embraced the cold, felt it was a sign. An omen.
The snow was now falling in earnest. Icy crystals falling from the sky.
Now was the time.
He’d waited so long.
Too long.
A light flashed on in the master bedroom and he caught another glimpse of her long hair braided into a rope that hung down her back, baggy sweatshirt covering her curves, no makeup enhancing an already beautiful face. His pulse accelerated as she walked past a bank of windows then into a closet. His throat went dry. He refocused the glasses, zoomed in closer on the closet door. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of her naked, her perfectly honed body, an athlete’s body with large breasts and a nipped-in waist and muscles that were both feminine and strong. His crotch tightened.
He waited.
Ignored a light being snapped on in another part of the house. Knew it was probably one of her kids.
Come on, come on
, he thought impatiently. His mouth turned dry as sand and lust burned through his chilled blood. The master bedroom with its yellowed-pine walls and softly burning fire remained empty. What the hell was taking her so long?
God, he wanted her. He had for a long, long time.
He licked his lips against the cold as she reappeared, wearing a black bra and low-slung black jeans. God, she was beautiful. Nearly perfect in those tight pants. “Strip ’em, Jenna,” he muttered under breath that fogged through his insulated mask. Her breasts nearly fell from the sexy black undergarment. But she headed into her bathroom and he readjusted the lens as she leaned over a sink and applied lipstick and mascara. He saw her backside, that sweet, sweet ass straining against the black denim as she leaned closer to the mirror and within that smooth glass surface, he stared at her wide eyes, silvery green and rimmed in thick black lashes. For a second she seemed to catch his eye, too look right at him and she hesitated, mascara wand in hand. Little lines appeared between her arched eyebrow, a hint of worry. As if she knew. Her eyes narrowed and his heart pounded hard against his ribs.
Turning quickly, she stared out the window, to the gathering darkness and the snow now falling steadily. Was it fear he saw in her hazel eyes? Premonition?
“Just you wait,” he whispered, his voice lost in the shriek of the wind, the snow becoming thick enough that her image was blurred, his erection suddenly rock-hard as he imagined what he would do to her.
But that instant of fear was gone and her lips pulled into a half smile, as if she’d been foolish. She flipped off the bathroom light, then headed back to her bedroom. She yanked a sweater from her bed and pulled it over her head. For a few seconds he felt ecstasy, watching as her arms uplifted and for a heartbeat she was blindfolded and trapped in the garment, but then her head poked through a wide cowl neck and her arms slid through the sweater’s sleeves. She pulled her rope of hair from the neckline and walked quickly out of view, snapping the lights off as she entered the hallway.
Hot desire zinged through his blood at the thought of her.
Beautiful.
Arrogant.
Proud.
And soon, very soon, to be brought to her knees.
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2004 by Susan Lisa Jackson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 1-4201-1430-1
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