Joan Pickart - Body of Evidence

Dear Reader.

Imagine that one of the country’s most eligible bachelors has been found brutally murdered in his luxurious penthouse. The crime scene suggests that the victim died in a botched robbery attempt, but the evidence indicates the “innocent” victim was engaged in something downright scandalous-a crime that could most definitely lead to murder! Sound like a delicious premise? We thought so. And so did bestselling authors Jackie Merritt, Justine Davis and Joan Elliott Pickart. In this intriguing anthology, the three romantic tales not only follow the crime investigation to its stunning verdict but also show that love is the ultimate reward for the individuals assigned to the case!

In Jackie Merritt’s “Premeditated Passion,” veteran detective Joshua Benton and medical examiner Maggie Sutter are called in to gather forensic evidence to investigate the crime. Though Josh remembers Maggie as being his best friend’s kid sister, Maggie is determined to show this man who’d once played a starring role in all her adolescent fantasies that he’s met his match!

Detective Colin Waters isn’t happy about being partnered with new hire Darien Wilson in Justine Davis’s “Behind the Badge.” But when Darien turns up evidence that the victim led a double life, Waters finds it virtually impossible to resist her charms.

And finally, in Joan Elliott Pickart’s “Verdict: Marriage,” D.A. Evan Stone gets more than he bargained for when a judge orders him to spend an evening with documentary filmmaker Jennifer Anderson. The two quickly discover that there’s a fine line between love and hate… And Evan is in for his own shocking surprise when Jennifer shows up to film the trial.

We hope you enjoy these three romantic tales.

Happy reading!

The Editors

Dear Reader,

When my Silhouette editors asked me to write about a crime, I became quite excited. I’m a big fan of the forensic science shows on television, which depict the modern-day methods of bringing criminals to justice. With such incredible technology at the fingertips of criminologists and law enforcement in general, the percentage of unsolved crimes has to be dropping.

Of course this book isn’t just about murder, investigation and justice. Romance blossoms among the clues and hard work of the Chicago police department, and I’m sure you will enjoy reading Josh and Maggie’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Maggie Sutter’s heart seemed to be beating much faster than was healthy. She knew she had to pull herself together, as she needed every one of her five senses and every cell in her brain functioning on the highest plane for her to properly and thoroughly investigate the scene of a homicide. But the idea of talking to Josh Benton, and working closely with him, simply wouldn’t leave her thoughts.

Maggie rode the elevator to the Gardner penthouse on the thirty-fifth floor of one of the luxury residential apartment buildings on Chicago’s Gold Coast. Taking off her heavy jacket during the rise, she concluded that this was not your everyday street crime. The Gardner name was known to anyone who paid attention to the business section of Chicago’s newspapers, or to the society pages. The family had clout and immense wealth. Old money, Maggie was certain, and the kind of lifestyle only others of the same class could grasp. Maggie had never longed for great wealth, and she was much more affected by working this case with Josh Benton than hearing that the victim was a Gardner.

The elevator doors opened with barely a whisper and Maggie stepped through them and into a different world, a huge foyer with marble floors and walls, and a few pieces of elegant furniture that had probably cost more than she made in a year. Two uniformed cops were on elevator duty in the foyer, and one of them checked her ID and compared the photo on it with her face.

“Has anyone checked this area for prints?” she asked him.

“Not yet. The photographer’s been at it for about a half hour. He took some shots in here.”

Maggie’s gaze went over the frame of the elevator. Places of entrance and exit sometimes yielded all sorts of evidence. “Make sure anyone using the elevators keeps their hands in their pockets,” she said. “And the stairs as well,” she added, eyeing a door to the left that had to lead to a stairwell. She walked away from the two men and entered the penthouse apartment.

In the most incredibly beautiful room she’d ever seen-counting magazines and movies-Maggie saw a woman sitting on a plush, ivory-colored sofa and crying into a handful of tissues. Changing direction, Maggie walked over to her and the cop seated next to her.

Maggie arched her eyebrow inquisitively at the officer, and he promptly introduced the woman as Miriam Hobart. He explained, “She’s been a housekeeper in this apartment for ten years. She found Franklin Gardner’s body. Something woke her…a sound…and she got up to try to locate its source.” That information prompted another gush of tears from the woman and some loud sobs.

Maggie thought for a moment then decided not to question the woman. First of all, Miriam Hobart was still in shock-or appeared to be-and in the weeping stage of grief. Second, this was Detective Josh Benton’s case, and he might not appreciate her questioning anyone without a direct order from him. As primary detective on the case, he would orchestrate the investigation.

The elegant living room was immaculate and obviously not the scene of the crime. The sofa was already contaminated, so Maggie laid her jacket on the far end of it.

“Which room?” she asked.

“The study. Just follow the trail of uniforms,” the officer said.

Maggie did exactly that and wound through large, elegantly decorated rooms until she found the study. The police photographer was still working, and Maggie stayed in the doorway. She could see the victim on the carpet. He was wearing a white terry robe that reminded Maggie of the ones passed out in posh health clubs.

“How much longer will you be in here, Jack?” she asked.

The photographer looked her way. “I’m done. You and whoever else works this case are going to have so many shots of this place…and of the victim…that you’ll despise me.”

“I doubt that.” Jack began gathering his equipment. “Could you hang around for another thirty or so minutes?” she asked him. “I need photographs of the carpet under the body, but it can’t be moved until I do some prelim work.”

“Guess so. I’ll be down in the lobby. Here’s my cell number,” he said, handing her his card. “Just give me a ring and I’ll come back up, but I don’t want to wait in here. After twenty years on the job, I still can’t take the smell of a murder scene.”

“Seen anything of Detective Benton?” she asked, making sure not to sound as though she gave a damn.

“Yeah, he’s around. I saw him last in the master bedroom. Well, like I said, I don’t like murder scenes. Call down when you’re ready for me.”

Maggie nodded and then frowned over Jack’s second reference to a “murder scene,” which this probably was, even though she hadn’t yet found proof of that. Someone thought it was, however. Criminalists were not called out for heart attack victims.