Page 32

32

Special Agent Jack Stone

W elcome to Sugar Pine Lake Thriller Fest! Uncover the mystery! But beware—the plot thickens with every turn.

Below that a smaller sign boasts of over fifty authors at tonight’s signing.

Hundreds of people have shown up for the event, if not a thousand.

“Buddy would have loved this,” I say to Fallon after we ante up at the ticket counter and head inside.

“Buddy would have tried to eat all the books,” she says, looking a bit like a naughty librarian with her hair pulled back into a bun, dressed in a navy pantsuit, and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses on.

I’ve only ever seen her wear them when she’s bearing down on her laptop.

“I fed him,” she says. “Then set him up with the TV and some more of that new kibble in case he feels the need for a snack.”

“I told you he’d love that kibble.” I nod to her specks. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

“They’re my readers. I prefer them in environments like this. My eyes have gotten so used to them I can’t read without them. And don’t you dare make a remark about my age. I’m still younger than you.”

I raise my arms. “I may not look smart, but I’m not dumb either.”

The community center is buzzing with deafening chatter as bodies bustle every which way. Women and men alike, an even split, rush in every direction with a marked enthusiasm as if they were about to meet their heroes and I’m guessing a lot of them are.

But it’s the thick, sweet scent of books that takes me back to my scholastic days.

A hive of crime and mystery enthusiasts swarms the grand hall, decked out in every trope and cliché the genre has to offer.

Cobwebbed corners with faux crime scenes, bookstands stacked with tales of murder, and posters of book covers are blown up and scattered about like billboards. The entire community center is an altar to the macabre tonight, lit by dim, atmospheric lighting that casts long shadows across the faces of attendees.

Rows and rows of authors sit at expansive tables, and next to each of them are stacks of shiny new novels. And each one of those authors seems to have a line of more than eager fans waiting to garner an autographed novel.

Fallon’s lips curl as she takes it all in. “If I wasn’t on duty, I think I’d call a hiatus on my paperback ban.”

“Carbon footprint be darned,” I say with a wistful tick of the head. “I think I’d be right there with you. Which reminds me, are you reading to Buddy? I hear it’s really good for his development.”

“No.” She frowns my way and my eyes zero in on those crimson lips of hers. “And I think you’re confusing him with a child.”

“He’s basically a child.”

“He’s more of an adult than you are. Besides, we both prefer audiobooks anyway.”

A group of women comes sailing in this direction, about my age and on up to fifty or sixty. They’re cackling up a storm, having a good time as they bop along. The blonde on the end shoots me a look as if she wants to make a meal out of me.

“Excuse me.” She giggles to herself as she sways in front of me. “I want to read what you’ve got cookin’ between the pages,” she says before her friend pulls her back.

A light laugh strums from me as I raise my hands in polite surrender. “Sorry, ladies, I’m not one of the authors. Just here enjoying the show.”

They take off and Fallon shoots me the stink eye.

“What?” I inch back. “It’s an honest mistake. I have a scholarly appeal about me.”

She lifts a brow. “Two minutes ago you said you didn’t look all that smart.”

“Two minutes ago I wasn’t mistaken as an author.”

“I guess that means you can be wrong.” Her lips curl with a smile that she’s too stubborn to give.

“I never said that. How about we focus on something other than my intellect? Like Nikki.” I scowl out at the venue as I see it in a whole new light.

I’m about to suggest we pull out that road map they handed out at the registration table and figure out where Damien is seated, but before I can suggest it, a dishwater blonde spots us.

Jewel Barrett comes at us with a cranberry velvet dress that dusts the floor and a stack of books tucked in her arms.

“I’m so glad you came,” she says as she nods our way. “I’m supposed to be helping at Damien’s table tonight, but they’re short so I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off.” She squawks out a laugh. “So what do you think?” She waves a hand at the scene. “It’s organized chaos at its finest.”

“I love it,” Fallon tells her. “I’m a big reader and I love thrillers, so this is essentially my dream.”

“Well, you’re going home with some books, young lady.” Jewel points a finger at her at the peril of almost dropping her own books. “I’ll make sure of it. And hey”—she looks my way—“they’ve got me moderating a panel, can you believe it? Damien will be on the panel. You should come. It’s in the auditorium in the back, in an hour.”

“We won’t miss it,” I say. “I’m not sure if you heard, but one of our agents is missing.”

She cringes. “Damien mentioned it. He said it happened at a bar Owen was working at.” She closes her eyes before stepping in close. “The guy is trouble. I mean, Damien isn’t exactly the easygoing author everyone thinks he is either. But who’s perfect?” She glances over her shoulder. “I guess you should probably know that he threatened to make life difficult for Owen unless he moved. He even hinted he’d use his connections to get Owen’s business audited.”

I glance at Fallon. The guy is dripping with motives at this point.

“We read pages of reports on the fallout between the two of them.” I offer a meager smile. “Hopefully, they can put their differences past them.”

Her lips purse as she tracks someone with her eyes as they walk on by.

Fallon and I glance that way as well.

“Adrienne Sinclair,” Fallon says as the redhead makes her way over to one of the tables nearby and begins chatting with a couple of women. “We spoke with her. I guess this is her domain.”

“She thinks everything is her domain.” Jewel nods our way. “Damien is in the next aisle over, dead middle. You can’t miss him.” She frowns in that direction. “See you at the panel.”

She takes off just as Adrienne finishes up her conversation and we nearly bump into her as she turns to walk away.

Her auburn locks are tucked under her chin and she’s wearing a floral dress that’s as frilly as can be.

“Ms. Sinclair,” I say with an affable smile. “This is quite the show.”

“This is quite the circus.” She chortles before looking to the left and right of us near the floor. “Buddy couldn’t make it?”

“I’m afraid not,” Fallon says. “Probably for the same reasons Mr. Darcy couldn’t be here. They’d be the stars of the show.”

And she’s funny. I shoot her a short-lived grin and she glowers at me.

She’s feisty, too. And I do like to be punished. I’m pretty sure that’s the draw here.

Heck, Fallon is smart, funny, beautiful, and fierce. And I’m betting she has a bullet with my name on it.

She’s the entire package.

“Well?” Adrienne laughs as she leans my way. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, I missed the question.” I touch my ear. “The acoustics are terrible here.”

“Don’t I know it.” She rolls her eyes. “I was just asking if you were going to the panel on suspense in modern thrillers. Damien will be there.” Her cheeks pinch pink. A visceral response is typically reserved for moments of embarrassment or arousal. I’m guessing it’s a fair combination of both.

“You seem especially interested in him,” Fallon runs with it. “Has Damien Cole ever been inappropriate with you?”

The woman opens her mouth and gags. “What? I—I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” She gives a series of rapid blinks. “I mean”—her hand rides to her neck and her fingers tremble like mad.

“His wife is missing.” Fallon doesn’t let up. “She’s out there somewhere and so is our colleague. The Becks are dead. Nora Archer is dead. Whoever did this to those people is looking at life behind bars. What do you know about Damien? Is he the kind of man who would betray the trust of his wife? Is his moral compass pointed on the straight and narrow? Or is the man a monster?”

A sickly moan comes from the woman as she traipses over to a small waste bin and promptly vomits in it.

“Good work,” I muse. “You got something out of her.”

“That I did.” She nods past me. “Well, look who the devil dragged in.”

I turn that way and my adrenaline kicks in.