I don’t know how to talk to people if it’s not about dead bodies, murder, and alibis. I just don’t. I don’t pretend otherwise. That’s why Aiden and I get along. After years in law enforcement, he’s like me. Translation: he has no social skills. Date night to us is takeout and a murder file. In other words, why, why, why did I agree to attend a party of any kind, let alone in another city that ensures I’ll have to travel with a friend I haven’t seen in years? My resistance and second thoughts are so extreme that I don’t start packing until thirty minutes before Lana will be at my house.
At present, I’m staring into my closet, wondering which of my numerous dresses fit and don’t fit since I’ve worn none of them in far too long. The idea of dressing up is not such a bad thing. I like dresses. I like being a woman. And truth be told, it’s been a long time since I was a woman, not just an FBI agent. And I’m certainly not worried the dresses will soften me up and hurt my job or backbone. There’s no reason I can’t be a woman and do my job and do it well. I’m actually thinking that maybe, just maybe, I need to be a bit more human right about now. Which, I remind myself, is why I need this weekend.
The doorbell rings and I grimace. Lana’s early and I’m not even close to done packing. I abandon my hunt for dresses and race down the stairs, but I don’t fling the door open as many would, not when I know all too well how many monsters who look like average men and women walk this earth. Instead, I pause, glance through the blinds covering a small window at the right of the door, and find Carson Whitlock standing on my porch. Whit, as I call him, and not to his liking, worked the Spider Man case with me. I have a love-hate relationship with him for about a hundred reasons, which he’ll probably make me list before he leaves.
He has a short memory.
I do not.
I open the door to bring him into view. He’s a big, broad, fit man with dark hair and a goatee speckled with a hint of gray. Well, when he bothers to shave the rest of his face, it is. Today is one of those days.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“Don’t hate me,” he says, holding up two cups. “I brought Starbucks. White mocha. Your favorite,” he singsongs.
“I can’t be bribed.”
“This is Starbucks. Yes, you can.”
He’d be right any other time. But not this time. Not after he went all Eddie Castle on Spider Man by beating the shit out of him, and kept on beating him, even after he was unconscious. He made me lie for him and say we found him that way. Okay, he didn’t make me. I did it on my own, and too easily.
When I don’t move, he says, “I fucked up, Castle, but he killed six people, and one of them was a kid. The kid got to me. Let me come in.”
I hesitate, but damn it, we were friends. I think we still are, but I just don’t know. And he has saved my life, and vice versa, more than once. I take the cup. “Only because you have coffee.” I sip the warm, sweet beverage, which hits the spot oh so well. “And I have to pack for a trip, so follow me to the bedroom.” I turn and start walking, leaving him to shut the door.
I’m back in the bedroom when he catches up. “Where you headed?” he says, leaning on the doorframe.
“Estes Park,” I say, walking into the bathroom and grabbing several items before returning to the bed and my bag. “A bachelor/bachelorette combo party, whatever that means. A friend convinced me to go.”
“Hell yeah. Sounds fun. I’ll go with you. Lots of drinking and stumbling back to the hotel room and shit. I’m in.”
I give him a side-eye. “You’re not going with me.”
“Whatever. I’ve got a case anyway. That’s why I’m here. To get you to profile this asshole for me.”
“How do you have a case?” I challenge, straightening to study him. “We’re on forced leave. Remember?”
“How can I not remember that stupid counselor asking me all about my feelings, like I’d let Spider Man get in my head.”
“He did get in your head.”
“And yours. I’m cleared to go back to work anyway. I don’t know why they’re making me take off two more weeks. You cleared?”
“Yeah, I’m cleared,” I say, and just like him, I had to do the whole feelings thing with the counselor. “And yes, I have to take off two more weeks.” I get back to the real topic at hand. “How do you have a case?” I repeat.
“About that,” he says in that tight, thin-lipped way he speaks when he knows I won’t like what he has to say. “It’s a side gig. Contract job.”
I lower my chin and pin him in a stare. “My father,” I accuse, because he worships him. All of law enforcement worships him. “You’re working for my father.”
“Yes, but—”
“Are you kidding me right now? Acting like my father is what almost got us both fired.”
“I need to work, Castle. You might not need to work, you might want to luxuriate in Estes Park, but I need to work. When I don’t work, I drink, I fuck around. I get in trouble.” He motions to his head. “I get in my own head too much, and I lose my mind.”
I draw in a breath and let it out. I’ve only worked with him for two years, but he’s got ten years of this job on me, and I’ve seen how he gets in his head and it ends no place good. But I also know what’s going on here. My father has been trying to get me to work with him for pretty much my entire career. “You aren’t roping me into working for my father, and yes, you can tell him I said that. You don’t need me to profile for you.”
“It’s a big case.”
“They all are,” I remind him.
“But this PI stuff actually pays big, and we don’t have rules.”
“Which might be why my father was hired to help, but it’ll also be why you get fired.”
“Or I quit and work for your father.”
“There’s a smart decision,” I say dryly.
“What if I said we have three people dead and a potential serial killer?”
“I’d say don’t get killed before I get back to work and can do it myself.”
“Come on, Castle.”
“Stop calling me that,” I snap.
“You call me Whit. I call you Castle. Castle.”
The doorbell rings again. “That’s my friend.” I glance at my watch. “Crap. I’m late. Go entertain her, but don’t flirt with her,” I warn because he’s the biggest flirt I’ve ever known. “Lana is her name, but not your game.” I shoo him away.
He gives me a two-finger salute. “Yes, Agent Castle.” He disappears into the hallway.
I start tossing things into my bag, no longer taking my normal care and time in all things that require preparation. Exactly seven minutes later, I’m lugging my bag down the stairs while Lana laughs at whatever Whit is saying to her. I leave my bag at the bottom of the stairs and head into the living room, where I find Lana batting her blue eyes at Whit.
“No,” I say. “He’s off limits. Believe me, I’m doing you a favor.” I step between her and Whit, facing him. “Go home.”
“What about my case?”
“No,” I say. “And tell my father I know he took a bottle of my cherry wine the last time he was over. I want it back. They aren’t making it anymore.”
He stares down at me and smirks. “All right. I’ll email the file to you.” With that, he turns and heads for the door. I wait until he exits the house, and I turn to find Lana all wide-eyed and smiles.
“He’s interesting,” she says. “And I do like a man with muscles.”
“Oh, please. The man barely showers. Believe me, I know. I’ve done plenty of stakeouts with him.” I grab my bag. “Estes Park, here we come,” I say, and funny how a visit from Whit, which might as well have been my father, has me looking forward to the future, and a weekend, just one weekend, without a murder to solve. And yet, as we load into Lana’s BMW for that murder-free weekend, I’m thinking about the case Whit is working on. I’m thinking about murder.
Copyright © 2024 by L.R. Jones, published with permission from Thomas & Mercer
THE WEDDING PARTY by L.R. Jones
For a bride-to-be and her fiancé, secrets and lies make this a killer celebration in this psychological suspense.
Carrie and Oliver. A couple completely in love and the hosts of a wedding to remember at Colorado’s legendary Stanley Hotel. This is Carrie’s fairy tale come true. Her fiancé, Oliver, is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome; successful; and utterly devoted to her. Now family and friends have gathered to celebrate. It’s sure to be a wild night as the drinks flow freely and the fun begins.
But the morning after is murder.
FBI agent Andi Castle was just supposed to be a plus-one. This should have been a calming weekend getaway from what she does best: catch killers. Instead, Andi’s on the hunt again. The hotel is on lockdown. Secrets are being unearthed. And no one is above Andi’s suspicions. But which secrets are worth killing for? Andi’s forced to find the answers fast…before someone else dies.
Thriller [Thomas & Mercer, On Sale: February 20, 2024, e-Book, ISBN: 9781662508899 / ]
Buy THE WEDDING PARTY: Kindle | BN.com | Amazon CA | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon FR
About L.R. Jones
L. R. Jones is a pseudonym for New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones, whose dark, edgy fiction includes the highly acclaimed novels The Poet, A Perfect Lie, and the Lilah Love series. Prior to publishing, Lisa owned a multistate staffing agency recognized by the Austin Business Journal. Lisa was listed as #7 in Entrepreneur magazine’s list of growing women-owned businesses. She lives in Colorado with her husband, a cat who always has something to say, and a golden retriever who’s afraid of her own bark.
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