Blurb:
A fun weekend at a
friends wedding in Denver takes a bizarre twist for Anna Scott when her rental
car is pulled over due to an "anonymous tip". In her trunk...one dead
body linked to warring crime families in Denver and New York. It should be easy
for an innocent woman to be cleared for an innocent mix-up. But was it a
mistake? The police aren't so sure, and neither is the crime boss who wants
vengeance for his son-in-law's death. You see, Anna Scott didn't exist a couple
of years ago, she knows way too much about criminal procedures and about
talking to cops. Anna Scott has a secret, and this twist of fate could not only
expose her, but place her and anyone close to her in danger.
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Hot Pursuit 1 is a remarkable adventurous book that keeps you entertained while reading it!
It’s adventurous with tons of humour, mostly due to the characters’ witty comebacks.
It’s funny as hell.
It’s mysterious and the story twists every once in a while giving it an unpredictable aura.
The characters are magnificent. They’re clever and excellent at what they do. However, their wrong thinking is as frustrating as it is amusing. There’s never a lack of witty comments or what-he’ll-do-now moments.
The story is good at its core. It’s well written and well developed, as are the characters themselves. It’s original and it combines a wide variety of elements; a trait that I happen to love in books.
I only have one decision of our female character to feel ambivalent about. It’s one of those annoying yes-ok-but-still moments. No spoilers whatsoever, but I had to make the remark as vague as it may seem to be.
I definitely want to read the rest of the series, as the first book more than intrigued me.
I really loved the first book and I can’t wait to learn more about our characters and see their HEA….
Oh did I mention that it features some pretty hot sexy scenes????
Adrenaline. Danger. Secrets. Sexyness. Steamy scenes. Adventure. Murder.
All wrapped in Hot Pursuit!
Well done, Jennifer Zane!
So, 4.5 Gorgeous Stars go to Hot Pursuit 1, a spectacular beginning to the Hot Pursuit Series!!
Excerpt:
This woman, Anna Scott, followed the
lawyer with her eyes, but otherwise remained devoid of emotion. She didn’t look
like she was on drugs—she definitely wasn’t amped up on meth, and if
she was on some kind of downer or hooked on pain meds, she’d be
unconscious or glazed over, not quiet and focused. I didn’t think she was in
shock, even if Peters wondered just that. She just looked…in control.
I recognized the two detectives,
Gossing and Werbler, who took seats on the other side of the table. They were
good men and good detectives. If this woman had shot Bobby Lane, they would
wheedle it from her.
Werbler began. “Do you know
Bobby Lane?”
The public defender nodded at the
woman. Anna Scott cleared her throat. “No.”
“Paul Moretti?”
“No. You know I’m from New York. I
don’t know anyone here.” Her voice was soft, but deep with intent even though
the speakers in the wall.
“Ever been to Denver before?”
“No.”
“Ever been to Scorch?”
“If it’s in Denver, then obviously I
haven’t.”
“Come on, Ms. Scott, give us something
to work with here, because otherwise I’m willing to believe you killed Bobby
Lane.”
Anna Scott looked between the
detectives. “You’re the good cop and you’ve drawn the short straw for bad cop.
It’s not going to work. You know my name and all the other information about me
you’ve been able to pull up on the computer in the past two hours I’ve been
sitting here. You no doubt know I’m in town for the weekend with a friend for
his sister’s wedding by seeing our hotel rooms were reserved for the wedding
party.” She swallowed deeply, licked her lips. Why did I find that really hot?
“Boyfriend?” I asked Peters, keeping
my eyes on the other room.
He shook his head. “Two hotel rooms,
so I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure you don’t want some
soda?” Werbler asked, pointing to the can.
“I’m not touching that can so you can
get my fingerprints.”
Werbler’s mouth fell open, but he
shut it quickly.
I lifted an eyebrow at her knowledge.
She was a surprise. And a delight. I watched as the detectives shifted in their
seats.
“Is she a lawyer?” I asked Peters.
“Records say architect. Runs her own
business. Works from home.”
An architect that knew about the law.
“I flew in last night at eleven
thirty, which I’m sure you know. Passenger records are easy enough to obtain,
which I’m sure you’ve done. So being on a plane somewhere over Nebraska at the
time of death with over one hundred other people is a pretty solid alibi.”
“Are you saying you know when he was
killed?” Gossing asked. “Does that mean that you were involved, but maybe
didn’t pull the trigger? Getaway driver, perhaps?”
The detectives were trying to fluster
her. They’d made grown men cry before, but their attempts didn’t appear to be
working now. Her hands hadn’t moved, her skin wasn’t flushed in anger. Nothing.
“I saw the man, you said Bobby Lane
was his name? I saw him in the trunk of the car with the two traffic officers
for about ten seconds. Rigor had set in because he was curled up in the fetal
position. I don’t have to be an ME to know that means he’d been dead for at
least twelve hours.” Anna tucked her hair behind her ear. Her first sign of
movement. Her nails were short with a simple manicure. No wedding ring.
“Not a doctor? Parents? Anyone a
doctor?” I asked Peters, my eyes focused on Anna.
I saw Peters look at a folder on the
desk out of the corner of my eye. “Says her mother died when she was six,
father when she was eighteen. No record of how. No siblings. No living
relatives.”
I saw a small smile play at the corner
of the public defender’s mouth. I could tell she was enjoying this. So was I.
Holy hell, it was like watching a teacher scold two recalcitrant school boys.
But I never had a teacher who looked like Anna Scott.
“Even if I had somehow shot him,” she
continued, “I couldn’t have lifted him up from wherever I’d done it to place
him in the trunk. I’m not big, or strong enough, to do it.”
I couldn’t tell with her sitting
down, but she wasn’t more than five-five. Bobby Lane was a big man, well over
six feet and hadn’t exercised in his life. The extra fifty pounds he’d carried
around his middle was proof.
“Maybe you killed him when he was
standing in front of the trunk and he collapsed into it after you shot him.”
“No blood. No bullet hole in the
trunk. No GSR on my hands.”
“So you’re willing to test for gunshot
residue?”
“I am.”
I had to know more. She was like a
puzzle I had to solve. “Any information on IQ, medical records, being
institutionalized?”
“What, you think she’s a psychopath?
Sociopath? Schizo?”
“Doubtful, but she’s very smart, very
knowledgeable…familiar with all this.” I waved my hand at the room around us.
“How can she look so innocent and wholesome and be so…well versed in police
proceedings? In death?”
“Ted Bundy looked pretty wholesome
back in his day.” Peters shrugged. Not all answers were available. Some
detectives had to dig for it. Sometimes they never learned all the answers.
Peters was well aware of this. “All I know is that she acts like she’s got a
stick up her butt.”
I cocked my head, watched her
closely. “She acts like it. Act being the key word.” I looked at her eyes.
Flat. Unfeeling, but focused. “She’s…scared. She’s hiding behind, what’s the
word?” I snapped my fingers. “Aloofness. As if this isn’t affecting her. I bet
she’s shitting a brick on the inside.”
Anna took a deep breath and I enjoyed
watching her breasts rise and fall. Calm as can be, she continued. “As for the
car, I put my rental agreement in my carry-on when I left the lot at the
airport last night. I assume you checked with the company and know that car
isn’t mine. Since I have an alibi, and the car isn’t mine, the only explanation
is that my car is still in the lot at the hotel.”
It was the detectives’ turn to take a
deep breath. The public defender tapped her pen on the table.
The answer clicked into place for me.
She was right. She’d been in the wrong car.
“Valet,” I said.
“What?” Peters asked.
“The valet.” I pointed at her. “No way
this woman parks her car in a dark hotel lot after midnight when she got in.
She’s too smart to do something as dangerous as that. She flew in with a
friend. I’m guessing he has his own rental since he’s part of the wedding
party. Probably has wedding stuff she doesn’t have to do. A different schedule.
He’s not her boyfriend. You said two rooms.” I paused, considered her through
the glass. “She doesn’t trust him enough to drive her—definitely not a
boyfriend or anyone close then. If he drove his own rental and they got
separated from the airport to the hotel, she wouldn’t chance being alone in the
lot. So she valets the car. She’s in complete control of everything. She has to
be. She’s handling Gossing and Werbler like it’s their first day at the
Academy.” I stood and paced in front of the window. “Fuck, it’s so simple. The
valet gave her the wrong car. What kind is it?”
“Ford Taurus.”
I gave a quick bark of laughter,
turned to look at Peters. “There are a million of them out there. I’m right,
aren’t I?”
Before Peters could answer, Werbler
spoke up. “Miss Scott, your rental is indeed in the parking lot of your hotel.
It seems when you gave your ticket to the valet this morning he brought you the
wrong car. They said you had a burgundy Taurus.”
“Maroon.”
“Excuse me?” Gossing asked, leaning
his elbows on the table.
“My rental car is maroon, not burgundy.”
“You couldn't tell the difference when
the valet gave it to you?” Werbler wondered.
She arched one elegant eyebrow. “I'm
not suggesting the car in question and my rental car are two different colors.
What I'm stating is that the valet you questioned is clearly color blind since
he doesn't know the difference between the two. Perhaps he isn't the most
reliable of sources of information. How many cars did he valet this morning?
How many were a Taurus like mine? You're just wasting my time with this line of
talk as you're both smart enough to have already validated everything by my
rental agreement with the car company ”
Maroon and burgundy were the same to
me, but I was no artist, so what did I know? I couldn’t help but grin at her
don't-fuck-with-me tone and glanced over at Peters. The way she looked, all
fresh and innocent, the way she dressed, all tame and soft, screamed prissy.
But she wasn’t, because that type of woman did nothing for me. Annoyed the shit
out of me. Anna Scott was…an anomaly. I read people. I was good at it. It was
my job to be good at it. Saved my life a time or two. But I couldn’t get a bead
on her. Which made her a challenge, and I loved a good challenge. And if said
challenge happened to make me wonder what she was wearing beneath her prim
little outfit, all the better.
I’d wager her appearance was all for
show. Some kind of outward shell she showed to the world. Beneath, she’d wear
soft lace and satin. Would her skin be as silky soft as it looked? Would her
nipples be as pale pink as I imagined? I shifted against the table. “You’re
right, this is interesting.”
“You’re telling me I’m sitting here in
a Denver police station being questioned for murder because a valet didn't look
at his ticket and gave me a supposed burgundy Taurus instead of maroon,” Anna
Scott stated matter-of-factly.
Werbler and Gossing shifted once
again, embarrassment keen on their faces. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then I’m free to go.” It wasn’t a
question.
She glanced at her lawyer who gave a
quick nod. The woman hadn’t said a word. It seemed Anna Scott didn’t really
need legal council, just the protection one afforded her by law. The protection
of keeping her mouth shut until she’d gotten her ducks in a row to defend
herself.
“Yes, you are,” Gossing told her.
“After you submit to a GSR test.”
“All right.” Anna Scott shifted her
seat back, the metal scraping against the linoleum floor and stood. I was
right, about five-five. Standing, without the table to shield her, she
looked…fragile. Even with her shoulders back, her dark hair like a waterfall,
her chin tilted in a way to make her look like she had a stick up her ass, she
was lovely. Almost innocent of the world, which was the strangest statement
since she’d obviously had a run-in with cops before, regardless of what her record
said. My mouth went dry just taking in my fill. I took a sip of my now cold
coffee. Winced at the miserable taste.
Her thumbs brushed slightly against
her skirt, but other than that she was still. No smile, no sparkle in her eyes
at her victory over the police. I’d be dancing a jig after getting myself out
of a possible murder charge. That, or I’d need new pair of pants. I moved
closer to the glass for a better look. She was damaged. Something had happened
to her, but I didn’t know what. Hadn’t we all? Anyone who made it to adulthood
had to have something happen to them. It’s how you survived that mattered. And
it appeared to me that Anna Scott was surviving. And that was it.
A strange emotion settled in my
chest, one I hadn’t felt in a long time. I tamped it down. No way was I going
to feel something, anything, for this woman. The fact that she looked so
alone—so aloof surrounded by so many—made me want to pull her into my arms and
tell her everything was going to be okay. To protect her. I shook my head at my
crazy thoughts. Women like her and those protective feelings only brought me
trouble I didn’t want.
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