Randi gave the man the once over. He wasn’t bad looking if you liked that unkempt, disheveled kind of guy. But the way he looked at her was unsettling. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise along with the creeping spread of a blush.
Nosey bastard! This was a café for Christ’s sake, not a bar. And there had been a tragedy here tonight. She shot him a patronizing smile. “We’re sharing a private moment.”
He didn’t move. “It’s strange you gals seem to be having such a fun time considering the circumstances. Maybe you can explain that to me.”
What the hell was this guy’s problem? What kind of idiot would pick this particular time to hit on a woman? Just another ball-scratching egomaniac on another Sunday. And he obviously did not recognize a brush off when he heard one.
Frustrated that she was still stuck in the diner, needing to shower and to get the hell out of the constricting uniform, this guy’s attitude had pushed her over the edge.
She spoke in slow, carefully chosen words that he could understand. “Look Buddy, it’s really nice of you to come over here…but we are really tired. It’s been a long night and we don’t need your concern, or your charm. We’re just three friends trying to lighten the mood after a crappy evening.” She paused to make sure he was paying attention. “If you want to meet the woman who fell on a dead body then take a number. And if you were hoping to get lucky.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “Then you can take a flying leap, ’cause that’s never going to happen.”
CJ and Sarah sat wide-eyed at her uncharacteristic outburst. To her astonishment the stranger remained, concreted in place and staring down at her as his lips spread into a slow, lopsided, sexy smile.
Unbelievable! “Are you hard of hearing?” There was a sudden edge to her tone. She crossed her arms, which pushed her cleavage up ever higher. “Look, Shitforbrains, do I need to call a cop? This place is swarming with them.”
The man dug a wallet out of his back pocket and flashed her his detective badge. “You don’t say.”
Good art is subjective. Bad art can be murder.
The Randi Lassiter Series, Book 1
Randi Lassiter is twenty-nine, divorced, and remarkably content with her non-existent social life. Mainly because she moonlights for an attorney, nabbing adulterers—like her ex—with her camera. When she stumbles across a mutilated body, it takes fast talking to convince the arrogant detective she’s not a suspect. One look at him, and she pegs him as a guy who uses his sexy smirk to separate women from their panties.
When Detective Jon Bricksen is named the lead investigator the first murder this microscopic town has seen in forty years, he questions his decision to leave the death and violence of Milwaukee behind. Randi’s cleavage—and her questionable sleuthing skills—aren’t making his job any easier. Theirs is a mutual aggravation society until her small-town network results in critical progress. Forced into an uneasy alliance, they battle a growing attraction—and a killer who’s out to make them the stars of his next piece of deadly performance art.
Warning: Prepare for a thrill ride of disturbing plot twists, profanity, dirty thoughts, and filthy behavior. Who knew small town life could be this exciting?