PRINT
Burning Intensity
El works for the Agency, fixing their toughest problems. James is a thief, and her ex lover. El is used to working through the messiest difficulties, but this might be too much for her to handle alone.
Eleanor Williams and her partner Robert Stevens have been called in to ‘fix’ the slight problem of a stolen Cezanne painting. Used to being assigned the difficult problems, El figures it’s another day at the office. Until she finds she needs an expert consultant. Someone used to the art world, and familiar with the criminal mind of a thief.
A thief like her ex-lover—James Waters.
The relationship between them is messy, nothing like what she’s used to on the job. But with other agents involved in the successful resolution of this problem, she can’t afford to let personal hassles impede her work.
As she spends more time with James, she discovers he’s still the same man she loved to distraction, but he’s also far more layered and complicated than she could have guessed. Facing challenges in her usual forthright manner, she can only hope that he can keep up with her as the situation becomes even more convoluted. And as for the burning intensity that flares between them… Who said life should be easy?
Icy Control
Rob and Sally need to uncover an ancient secret. But he’s losing control—and loving it.
Robert Stevens has known Sally Langtry for almost his whole life. They’ve been friends forever, and he’s always secretly loved her. Sally, an artist, is so sweet he can’t possibly be the right man for her. She’s free-spirited, innocent and optimistic. Rob has always resisted bringing the darkness of his job, the horridness of what he sees day in and day out, into her life.
He is urged by his colleague, El, and his boss to turn to Sally for help in looking for a stolen Cezanne masterpiece. At a loose end and unsure where else to turn, he does so. El and her lover James recover the painting, but Sally’s curiosity is now piqued. She wants to tag along to study the work of art. Rob, always helpless when it comes to indulging her, agrees. Sally helps discover a series of codes hidden within the picture.
Deeply curious now, both Sally and Rob visit the artist whose work Sal recognises.
The action becomes deadly, but it’s too late for them to turn back. Rob tries to protect Sally, but he no longer has the legendary control he’s so used to working with.
General Release Date: 27th June 2014
Excerpt from Burning Intensity
“This is the only chance you’ll be given to avoid rotting in jail for the rest of your life,” Eleanor Williams said as she walked into the cramped interview room. Her Agency partner Robert Stevens came in a few paces behind her.
The room was typical of any one of its kind around the world. Three bare, slate grey concrete walls kept the light from the florescent bulb quite dim. The fourth wall held the traditional one-way mirror. Any fool knew exactly what that mirror signified—that victims, family or management watched the discussion without wanting to be seen.
The thermostat controls remained perpetually a few degrees cooler than was considered comfortable. It was a purposeful, psychological prod to keep those being questioned off kilter. As part of her questioning technique, El frequently found it useful to be able to offer to turn the temperature higher when she wanted to appear courteous—the traditional ‘good cop’ routine.
Thaddeus Brown, however, seemed almost at home in the cool, depressing box. The solidly built, blond man lifted his gaze to meet hers as she faced him across the thin aluminium table. El knew her petite, short frame rarely intimidated anyone, let alone well-muscled, hardened thugs like Thaddeus.
Words, could be quite powerful. El had long ago learned to wield them as sharply as any sword. She also knew her well-deserved self-confidence came across strongly in her body language. When needed, she could back up her physical self-assurance with actions. She worked and trained hard to keep in top shape and knew enough about a body’s momentum to more than adequately make up for the difference between criminals who could be twice her size.
El didn’t need to see behind her as the door thudded softly closed. She and Rob had worked together for years, been friends and partners for more than half her career. Trust bound them together more tightly than many lovers or siblings. Rob would almost certainly be leaning against the door, or wall, relaxed and appearing supportive and confident in her interrogation skills. At six foot four, he towered over practically everyone, but his height was always highlighted when he stood near her.
Powerfully built, Rob could have had almost any physical job he desired, from professional rugby player to a sleazy pub bouncer. Dark hair showed the first, faintest traces of grey, and his warm brown eyes could be frighteningly hard when Rob wished it so.
Sometimes he affected a bored look during their interviews—El knew that was a favoured deception of his. Rob never lost focus, always tracking everything and retaining it for analysis later if needed. His control was icy and complete. She was a perfect counterpoint for him, her long, straight red hair being blamed for her passionate nature and usually fiery impatience.
They both knew with certainty that she could be patient and calm when needed, cool under fire. But she enjoyed getting information from reluctant people—the play of words, the dance and parry of matching wits. Rob plotted and planned—she reacted on the fly. As working partners, they were suited perfectly, their skills complementing and completing one another.
She loved him like a brother, trusted him unlike anyone else. Most of the time they were totally in synch, working as a pair and putting the worst of the bad guys away. While she loved Rob, it would never be a sexual thing—for either of them. El felt proud to defend her country, to do the work they did. It gave her a buzz she couldn’t find any other way.
She rested her palms down on the table, then leaned in close, until her face was right up in Thaddeus’ personal space. He met her gaze steadily, clearly unafraid of her or the power she wielded in this room.
“Why don’t you start at the top,” El cajoled. “Tell me everything.”
El kept her gaze steady on Thaddeus. He watched her with an unblinking stare. El could see the reflection of her pale face in his orbs. They were now close enough that she could feel the faint puff of his breath as he exhaled.
She remained silent, letting the weight of the situation press down on him. After a full minute of mental fighting, Thaddeus scraped his chair back and put distance between them. Metal clinked—the cuff’s chain knocked against the arm of the chair Thaddeus sat in.
His putting space between them was a small win, one that pumped adrenaline and more confidence through El.
Thaddeus ran a hand through his scruffy, sandy-coloured hair. She could see in his eyes that something wasn’t right. Over the years, she’d interviewed, interrogated and taken down countless criminals, many of them murderers with no conscience whatsoever. That hard, blank emptiness was something one couldn’t overlook. After so much exposure to such people it didn’t make her shiver anymore, or even blink.
El didn’t move as Thaddeus ran his gaze slowly down her petite frame. She could feel the weight and heat in that glance, knew he was weighing her worth, judging her as a woman and an agent. El remained cool and calm. She’d been checked out by far creepier men than this. Her skin was thick and her tolerance for slime was high.
Any indication or acknowledgement would give him a sense of power and satisfaction. She watched him steadily, ignoring his lazy enjoyment and giving no outward response to him at all. But the more she surveyed him, the more she realised he wasn’t the ordinary, garden-variety psychopathic killer she was used to. A vibe resonated from him, slowly filling the room.
Excerpt from Icy Control
“Where’s your partner, Stevens?”
Robert Stevens glanced up from his computer screen and swivelled around in his seat. Gary Waldron stood behind him, his back military-straight as he glanced at the currently empty desk of Rob’s colleague and work-partner, Eleanor Williams. Rob scratched at his jaw and hid the grin that wanted to peep out.
While Waldron was a good boss, matchmaking on the Agency’s time was not something he would have condoned. Far from being a fool, Rob knew that nudging El towards the man who held her heart was playing with fire—both with his friendship with El and by wasting the Agency’s time. He knew he shouldn’t have indulged, but El had been miserable without James.
Rob’s friendship with the fiery redhead was deep and strong. He and El were excellent partners and Rob doubted the not-so-subtle setting up job he’d done would have been taken with such grace had anyone else laid it out for her. Still, Waldron didn’t need to know the finer details, or not those that didn’t relate to their current case.
“El’s questioning an external source,” Rob replied. As far as it went, it was truth, just not the complete story. “She has an associate who has ties to the legitimate and greyer sides to the art world.”
“Still no sign of that damn Cezanne?” Waldron sighed.
Rob shook his head. “Not so far, sir. But it’s hardly been twenty-four hours. Calloway, Brown and Phillipe are all in custody and not going anywhere. That means everyone directly responsible for the attack on the National Gallery and the heist of the painting are out of circulation and detained with us. Our chances of recovering the Cezanne are really good. El is following a lead with James Waters and I’m here scrounging for any and all alternate routes of inquiry we can chase.”
Waldron huffed out a short laugh. “You sound like your damn report.”
The words weren’t sharp or annoyed, but the political weight coming from this case and the fallout from the attack on the Gallery was starting to wear on those involved.
“Give me something I can feed these vultures, Stevens. I have the Mayor on the line every hour and half, the damn aristocracy baying for the blood of those responsible for sullying the Gallery’s good name and reputation. I’ve told them we have custody of those responsible, but without answers to why this happened and the restitution of the painting, it’s going to get political and ugly very quickly.”
Rob nodded. He ran a hand tiredly over his short, dark brown hair. He and El had been woken up around three that morning when the second attack on the Gallery had occurred and all hell had broken loose. He’d not had a break since. He was starting to feel every minute of his thirty-eight years. No longer could he work thirty or forty hours in a row without pause—as the grey sprinkling at his temples now started to warn him.
“We’re on it, sir,” Rob said, unsure what else he could say. “El and Waters are chasing things up. I’ll call her for an update within the hour. I’m catching up on this morning’s reports and can have a preliminary summary in your email before the lunch hour is over if you wish.”
“Sometime before my three p.m. meeting is adequate,” Waldron conceded with a sigh. “I’d prefer to have some nugget to give them rather than a load of double-talk that means nothing. You and Williams are the best, though. Do us proud and prove it once more.”
Rob agreed silently. Waldron took a step then paused. His brow furrowed as he seemed to try to recall something, then turned to face Rob again. He had no idea why, but Rob braced himself as if for a verbal punch. Waldron didn’t disappoint, proving Rob’s instincts were as honed as ever.
“Didn’t you have a school chum who was a semi-professional artist? A pretty dark-haired girl. I recall my missus dragged me to a showing of hers for our anniversary a year ago and we bumped into each other there. What was her name?”
“Sally.” Rob cleared his throat when his voice cracked slightly. He didn’t need to think about which friend it had been—El was already on his case to go and chat to his oldest, closest friend. “Sally Langtry.”
“Langtry, that’s right.” Waldron nodded.
He narrowed his eyes at Rob, searching his face. Rob maintained his bland, innocent expression. “Have you contacted her? Or is there a good reason not to? We need to pull out all the stops here. You understand that, right?”
“Of course. I’m keeping abreast of the information we have and then will contact Sally soon. She works late most nights and has another showing in a few weeks, so it would be rude to call her much before noon.”
Waldron took a telling and slow glance at his watch. “I’ll expect you to call her any minute now, as it’s almost half an hour past noon. By the way, my wife adores Miss Langtry’s work. When you have a date for her upcoming showing, I’d appreciate you giving me a heads up. I can curry some favour by getting tickets before Linda has to badger me for them.”
Rob grinned, appreciating Waldron lightening the mood and softening the order to at least outwardly appear more of a request than the command it truthfully was.
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Thank you.” Waldron clasped Rob’s shoulder in a friendly manner. With a quick nod Waldron continued towards his office.
Rob sighed when his boss was out of earshot.
Rob rubbed his face. The last thing he’d wanted was to bring this to Sal’s door. She had always been soft, innocent and eccentric. He’d been half in love with his high school friend since they were teenagers. Rob knew this was the main reason El had teased, poked and hassled him to consult with his whimsical friend. El was a firecracker, a damn fine detective and intense in most areas of her life. The very fact she’d not been subtle in her attempt to set him up and force him into to consulting Sally proved how strongly El felt that they’d be right together. Rob wondered whether he’d really detached his feelings so much that he’d convinced himself there was really no hope for him and the gentle artist.
£11.95 Buy Now
Add to Wishlist
Read a Sample
Send as a Gift
Facebook
Twitter
Newsletter