The Next Accident PDF
Preview The Next Accident
THE NEXT ACCIDENT LISA GARDNER The third book in the Quincy / Rainie series Copyright © 2001 by Lisa Baumgartner Acknowledgments For most of my career as a suspense author, I've been repeatedly greeted by the comment, “Wow, you look so nice for someone who writes such twisted books.” For once I'd like to agree. I really am a dull, ordinary person leading a dull, ordinary life. The only real background I have is as a business consultant, and while I suppose characters could die from process reengineering efforts gone horribly awry, I'm not sure anyone other than Dilbert enthusiasts would appreciate that. Thus I have enlisted the help of the following experts to give my plot especially devious twists and my characters especially evil deaths. Please bear in mind that these people patiently and accurately answered all my questions. That does not mean, however, that I used their information in a patient or accurate way. I am a firm believer in artistic license, plus I possess a warped mind. We all have our talents. That said, my deepest gratitude and appreciation to: Dr. Greg Moffatt, Ph.D., Professor of Psychology, Atlanta Christian College, for generously answering my steady stream of questions and offering such fabulous insights into the criminal mind. Phil Agrue, Private Investigator, Agrue & Associates, Portland, OR, who in three hours convinced me that I want to be a defense investigator when I grow up. Gary Vencill, Consultant-Legal Investigation, Johnson, Clifton, Larson & Corson, P.C., whose delight in creating an auto accident/murder scenario was equaled only by his diligence in personally showing me how to tamper with seat belts. Dr. Stan Stojkovic, Professor of Criminal Justice, University of Wisconsin- Milwaukee, for his insights on prison protocol and communication. Dr. Robert Johnson, American University, who was gracious enough to allow me to use his honest academic study as a model for conducting various forms of criminal mayhem. Larry Jachrimo, custom pistolsmith, whose ongoing assistance with firearm details and ballistics techniques enables me to be more diabolical than I ever hoped. He provides me with wonderful information; I do make some mistakes. Mark Bouton, former FBI firearms instructor and fellow writer, for helping bring my FBI agents into the new millennium. Celia MacDonell and Margaret Charpentier, pharmacists extraordinaire, who also have a very promising future as poisoners. Nothing personal, but from here on out, I'm bringing my own food. Mark Smerznak, chemical engineer, great friend, and extraordinary cook. Heather Sharer, wonderful friend, jazz enthusiast, and general shoulder to cry on. Rob, Julie, and Mom for the tour of the Pearl District and steady stream of café mochas. Kate Miciak, editor extraordinaire, who definitely made this a better book. Damaris Rowland and Steve Axelrod, agents extraordinaire, who encourage me to always write the book of my heart, and even better, allow me to pay my mortgage while doing so. And finally to my husband, Anthony, for the supply of homemade chocolate champagne truffles and chocolate mousse cake. You know how to keep a writer motivated, and I love you. PLAN A Prologue Virginia His mouth grazed the side of her neck. She liked the feel of his kiss, whisper- light, teasing. Her head fell back. She heard herself giggle. He drew her earlobe between his lips, and the giggle turned to a moan. God, she loved it when he touched her. His fingers lifted her heavy hair. They danced across the nape of her neck, then slid down her bare shoulders. “Beautiful, Mandy,” he whispered. “Sexy, sexy, Mandy.” She giggled again. She laughed, then she tasted salt on her lips and knew that she cried. He turned her belly-down on the bed. She didn't protest. His hands traced the line of her spine before settling in at her waist. “I like this curve right here,” he murmured, dipping one finger into the concave curve at the small of her back. “Perfect for sipping champagne. Other men can have breasts and thighs. I just want this spot here. Can I have it, Mandy? Will you give that to me?” Maybe she said yes. Maybe she just moaned. She didn't know anymore. One bottle of champagne empty on the bed. Another half gone. Her mouth tingled with the forbidden flavor, and she kept telling herself it would be okay. It was just champagne, and they were celebrating, weren't they? He had a new job, the BIG job, and oops, it was far away. But there would be weekend visits, maybe some letters, long-distance phone calls.… They were celebrating, they were mourning. It was a farewell fuck, and either way champagne sex shouldn't count with the nice folks at AA. He tilted the open bottle of bubbly over her shoulders. Cool, sparkling fluid cascaded down her neck, pooling on the white satin sheet. She lapped it up helplessly. “That's my girl,” he whispered. “My sweet, sexy, girl…. Open for me, baby. Let me in.” Her legs parted. She arched her back, the whole of her focusing down, down, down, to the spot between her legs where the ache had built and now only he could ease the pain. Only he could save her. Fill me up. Make me whole. “Beautiful, Mandy. Sexy, sexy, Mandy.” “Pl-pl-please….” He pushed inside her. Her hips went back. Her spine seemed to melt and she gave herself over to him. Fill me up. Make me whole. Salt on her cheeks. Champagne on her tongue. Why couldn't she stop crying?
The list of books you might like
