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Series: Lexi Graves Mysteries, Book 16 |
Private Investigator Lexi Graves is pleased to clear up her latest assignment. It’s a simple case of misguided suspicion after all. Then her brother, Detective Daniel Graves, turns up on her doorstep, alone, blood-spattered, and almost entirely incoherent. What happened to him? Where did he come from? And what, if anything, did he leave behind? Springing into action, the clues Daniel provides for Lexi lead her to a terrible scene that holds more questions than answers. Biggest of all, who is trying to frame Daniel for murder? With Daniel’s memory sketchy, and now a wanted man, Lexi is determined to untangle what appears to be a case of murder-for-hire. It will take everything she’s got to unmask a dangerous foe before her brother goes down for crimes he insists he didn’t commit. |
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CHAPTER ONE
“We need to stalk someone right now,” I said as I tilted my sunglasses so I could peer over the rims and observe my prey.
“I’ll be right there!” yelled my best friend, Lily, in a pitch so excited and loud that I had to move the phone away from my ear. Of course, that was my fault. I shouldn’t have started the conversation with such a lurid statement. I could have started with a simple hello or a how are ya, but no, I suggested stalking. Of course, that kind of was my job as a private investigator. Only I didn’t do it for fun. I got paid to do it. Fun was merely an unintentional perk.
“You’re not going to ask me whom we’re stalking?” I inquired.
Lily barely considered the question. “Uh... no.”
“Or where we need to go?” I persisted. “Maybe, why?”
“I figured you were going to tell me that.”
“True. I was.”
“So...?”
“Whom, where or why?”
“Where, then? I don’t care whom. I’m on the fence about why. I’m just down for stalking. Where should I meet you?”
“You’re the best! I’ll text you the address.” I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, pushed my sunglasses on top of my head, and lifted my camera, pointing it at my targets as they headed into a coffee shop. The woman carried two shopping bags with her, a summer dress in one, two paperbacks in the other. The man had a canvas satchel, which he wore on his hip, half slung towards his back. I’d been following the couple all day and they’d done nothing at all. No, that wasn’t quite correct. They’d done plenty of things — errands, a little shopping, a movie — but all of them were as boring as hell to observe and I would definitely have to see the movie again so I could fully watch the screen. Yet our client was convinced they were corporate spies, passing on the big, bad secrets of the real estate world. I just hoped his business was more solid than his theory.
While I followed them, never more than a hundred or so feet away, even when we were in our vehicles, I’d thought about all the spies I knew from film and TV. James Bond. Hot. Jason Bourne. Somebody definitely thought he was hot but I wasn’t sure who. Ethan Whatshisname from Mission: Impossible. Pretty hot. Although he’d be a lot hotter if I understood any of the plots to that film series.
Then there was Adam Maddox, my ex-boyfriend, turned fabulous friend, but technically, he’d been an undercover detective when I met him so I scrubbed his name off the list.
Where were all the female spies?
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