Wicked Release (29 page)

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Authors: Katana Collins

BOOK: Wicked Release
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WICKED EXPOSURE
Nothing left to hide . . .
 
A forensic photographer with the NYPD, Jessica is devastated to receive word of her sister's death in a robbery gone awry. But when she arrives home in Portland and the local PD asks her to take pictures, she finds more than she bargained for. With each new photo she exposes more of her sister's secret erotic life. And when she shares her discoveries with Sam, the super-sexy local detective, she experiences passion she never knew possible. But Jessica soon learns she's merely a pawn in a deadly game of betrayal and revenge and begins to wonder if her next picture could be her last....
 
Read on for a special excerpt.
 
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1
L
eaves crunched as Jess Walters dropped her bags to the ground before the bright pink door.
Pink.
Her least favorite color ever. She groaned, looking up at the three-story home. What had Cass been thinking buying this atrocity of a house? Sure, it reminded Jess of the house they had grown up in together—in a cracked-out Barbie-meets-suburbia sort of way.
Jess rooted around inside her bottomless purse until she felt the familiar chilled metal of jagged keys. Placing a hand to her camera bag, she inhaled deeply. The feel of the soft leather beneath her palm was calming. The camera was as much a part of her as her own hand. The key slid into the lock easily and with a click the deadbolt turned. After a steely breath, she gave the door a gentle push and, gathering her bags, walked across the threshold. Light flooded the entryway and spilled into the living room. Tears choked the back of her throat, but Jess quickly swallowed them down.
Nothing was out of place—typical of Cass. There were no books strewn about like in Jess's own home in Brooklyn. No piles of dirty laundry and bras flung over the couch. Jess dropped her bags by the stairs, closing the door behind her. The foyer had a vase filled with pinecones and some sort of branch-like plant sprouting out the top.
The dining room opened into a quaint kitchen and Jess dragged her hand across the polished dining room table as she wandered through the first floor. Again—spotless. Except for one almost-empty coffee cup that sat uncleaned in the sink. Red lipstick rimmed the edge.
Red?
Jess thought as a jagged breath expelled through trembling lips. The lip color was so unlike Cass. Jess lifted the glass, grasping it in two hands. God, she would have hated that this dirty cup was left here for a couple of weeks, Jess thought as the tiniest smile tugged on her lips.
Leaning against the counter, Jess fumbled for her cell, dialing her Kings County precinct. It rang twice before a nasally accented voice answered. “NYPD, Seventy-sixth precinct, how may I help you?”
Jess recognized Deb's voice almost immediately. “Deb, hey, it's Jess. I just wanted to make sure you had my temporary address to mail my most recent paychecks.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Jess . . . ?”
A heavy sigh stifled in Jess's chest and she caught it before she let it escape into the phone. “Yes. Jessica Walters . . . Seventy-sixth precinct's forensic photographer?”
Silence hummed on the other end but then Jess heard the click of computer keys.
“Jesus Christ, Deb, we've worked together for four years. I talked to you last week—remember? I'm in Portland for a few weeks to get my sister's—”
“Oh, right, right, Jessica!” And yet, despite the exclamation, there was still a vacancy in Deb's voice. That lack of warmth, of connection. Yeah, sure, NYPD was a huge department, but come
on
. “Where should I send your check to?”
Jess gave Deb her sister's address and hung up quickly; the familiar hollow feeling carved out into her chest as she looked around the three-story home. Lifting the coffee cup in her hands once more, she turned it over, examining it. The porcelain was smooth and the edging was gilded with a pewter design.
Never in her life had she felt so alone. Their parents died when Jess was a freshman in high school—a car crash. A fucking hit and run to be exact. One that left her parents caged under their crumpled car. A shiver tumbled down her spine. She was alone now. Totally and completely alone. She had no grandparents, no cousins, no aunts, no uncles. Her sister was the only family she'd had left. It was depressing how quickly Jess had been able to pack up her belongings and come to Maine. There was no one she needed to call; no one she needed to check in with.
For a while, that had seemed freeing, having zero ties to any place. Being able to pick up and travel whenever she wanted. But now? Now it just felt damn lonely.
Jess sighed and turned the water on, soaping up a sponge. “When I get home, I need to get a dog or something,” she muttered to herself. “Something that will miss me when I'm gone.”
“Dogs are a lot of work, you know,” a voice behind her said.
Jess screamed, spinning to find a man standing there. The soapy mug slipped through her wet fingers, shattering across the linoleum floor with a deafening crash.
The man eyed the broken cup for all of a moment before bending to clean up the pieces of shattered ceramic.
“W-who are you? Why are you in Cass's house?” Jess trembled, pressing herself against the counter and feeling behind her for a weapon. Her fingers grazed a knife's handle and she wrapped her palm around it, sliding it behind her.
The man looked up at her from his crouched position. He had light brown hair and striking blue eyes. The smallest hint of an amused grin flashed across his face as he stretched to a standing position, dropping the broken glass into the trash can. “I'm sorry.” He brushed his palms on his jeans and extended a hand. “I'm Dane.”
Jess eyed his outstretched hand, still clutching the knife behind her. “Hello, Dane” she said, and paused. “You didn't answer my question.”
He gave a light chuckle and dropped his hand back to his sides. “Well, since your first question was ‘who are you?' I actually did answer you. And you—wait a minute.” His eyes narrowed and scanned her face before the smirk spread to a full on grin. “You're Jess, right? Cass's sister?”
Jess relaxed her shoulders, giving a little nod, but didn't let go of the knife yet.
“I've heard a lot about you. It's nice to finally meet you.”
“And yet, I still know nothing about you and why you're here.” Fear trembled at the base of her belly. The guy seemed okay; nice, even. But that didn't change the fact that he was a stranger lurking in her sister's home.
“Cass set up an appointment for me to have a look at some leaky pipes upstairs.”
“She must've done it weeks ago.” Jess narrowed her eyes, studying the man up and down.
“Yeah, it was a couple weeks ago. I was called out of town for a job in Boston and Cass didn't seem to mind the extra wait.”
He walked over to the far right cabinet, grabbed a pint glass from the top shelf, and filled it with water. Her eyes wandered over his shoulder to the thin bookshelf on the other side of the room. A framed photograph of her sister and this man—Dane—rested on the top shelf. The two of them in front of Cass's bright pink house, each holding a hammer and grinning from ear to ear.
“You seem awfully comfortable in her home.” It was an observation as well as a question. Jess loosened her grip on the knife and slid her hand away from it. She took a few kickboxing classes at her gym. In a worst-case scenario, she could deposit a quick kick to the groin and run like hell.
“Ayuh,” he said, his Maine accent becoming more and more prominent as Jess spoke to him. “Cass and I have been friends since she bought this place. Needed quite a bit of work at first.” He looked around as though remembering an old friend. “Wouldn't be able to tell it now, huh?”
“Yeah. Except for that awful color outside.”
Dane laughed. “Now, that's true. Cass was never about to change that, though. It was one of the reasons she bought the damn place to begin with.”
“So, you and Cass were . . . friends?”
Dane nodded. “Absolutely. I taught her how to boil a lob-stah.”
Jess snorted. Her sister damn well knew how to boil lobster. They were raised here in Portland. Which meant Cass used the excuse as a way of getting closer to this guy. The thought brought a warmth in Jess's chest. “Well, how hard can it be to throw a lobster in a pot?”
“You'd be surprised. It's more humane to kill them first, anyway.” From his pocket, he pulled a little orange bottle and tossed a pill into his mouth, swallowing. He drank the rest of the water with a glug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Jess wasn't sure exactly why she was warming up to the guy, especially considering the hellish week she'd had—but she was nonetheless. And her instincts were usually spot-on.
“So, where's Cass, anyway?” he asked, glancing at his watch. “Still at work probably, huh?”
Sorrow frosted over in her gut. “Oh God,” Jess whispered, covering her mouth. “You don't know.”
Dane tilted his head. “Know what?” His chest hitched. “Is Cass okay?”
Jess inhaled slowly through her nose. She'd had to make a few of these calls already and they ripped her heart out every time.
“Dane, I'm so sorry . . . Cass died.”
Photo by Katana Photography
Katana Collins
splits her time evenly between photographing boudoir portraits and writing steam-your-glasses romances. In addition to navigating life as a small business owner, a first-time homeowner, and a newlywed, she is the author of the Soul Stripper trilogy and the graphic novel
Cafe Racer,
co-written with her husband, Sean Murphy. She and her comic book artist husband commute back and forth as they please between Brooklyn and Portland, Maine, with their ever-growing family of rescue animals. She can usually be found hunched over her laptop in a café, guzzling gallons of coffee, and wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes impractical) shoes. Visit her on the Web at katanacollins.com.
WICKED SHOTS
 
Living on the edge . . .
 
Cassandra Walters has always followed the rules . . . until now. Introduced to the erotic pleasures of total submission, she spends her nights in the company of her master, doing as she's told and surrendering to exquisite ecstasy. But indulging in her newly discovered passion is a problem for Cass. She's caught in a drug smuggling ring with no way out and nowhere to turn. Cass is not just running scared. She's running for her life....
SOUL STRIPPER
 
With immortality comes a craving that can't be satisfied, a
need never fulfilled. . . .
 
Once an angel, now a demon, Monica is still a succubus with an insatiable desire for sex. The more the better. Soul-stealing orgasms beat out dealing with her broken heart any day of the week. Monica has no interest in being near both her ex-lover and his new girlfriend, so she's not thrilled when she's asked to join them in investigating a string of murders that are clearly beyond the pale. But when she sees that one of the victims has her Celtic family crest carved on his arm, she realizes she may finally find the answers to her past she's been searching for all these years....
SOUL SURVIVOR
 
It's called Sin City for a reason. Nowhere else are the
temptations so great, the sex so good, and the demons so
bad . . .
 
By day, Monica is a barista in a local café. It doesn't pay a lot but it puts her up close and personal with her sexy boss, Drew. Unfortunately that's as far as a succubus can go unless she wants to take his soul. Monica needs mind-blowing sex to sustain her and she finds her victims every night at a local strip club where she's an exotic dancer. But when her powers begin to diminish and her fellow succubi start turning up dead, all bets are off. Monica realizes she's the one immortal who has a chance in hell of making things right....
SOUL SURRENDER
 
Who knew sex could be so deadly . . .
 
A fallen angel with a bounty on her head, Monica's a succubus with an unquenchable craving for sex. With one pulse-pounding orgasm, she consumes just enough of a person's soul to keep her alive. Of course that means human lovers are off-limits, and so she keeps her distance from Drew, the one mortal she actually cares about. But Drew's been missing since his escape from Hell, and now her boss, Lucien, has gone MIA. Chased by every assassin this side of immortality, Monica has no choice but to abandon her low profile and put her own eternal life in danger....

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