Sandra Brown - Ricochet

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Ricochet: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. No one does steamy suspense like Brown (Chill Factor), as shown by this expert mix of spicy romance and sharply crafted crime drama. Det. Sgt. Duncan Hatcher, a sexy Savannah homicide cop, falls hard for Elise Laird, a dishy damsel-in-distress, the moment he spots her at a police awards dinner. Too bad she's married to Judge Cato Laird, who consistently subverts Hatcher's efforts to bring local drug lord Robert Savich to justice. When Hatcher and his feisty partner, Det. DeeDee Bowen, are called to the Laird home after Elise supposedly shoots an intruder in self-defense, the desperate trophy wife confides to Hatcher that she believes her husband, a secret Savich crony, intended her to be the intruder's victim. Later, as the uncertain Hatcher grapples with his desires, Elise vanishes, leaving behind another dead body. Tight plotting, a hot love story with some nice twists and a credible ending help make this a stand-out thriller. (Aug.)
From The Washington Post
My criteria for book reviewing are pretty clear: Did I believe the characters? Was it a good story, well told? Did I want to put the book down or keep reading? Bottom line, would I read another book by this author?
For Ricochet, my answer to these questions is a resounding yes. It's a great, entertaining read, with lots of surprising twists and turns, credibly flawed characters and a love affair that's as steamy as a Savannah summer.
Hunky yet sensitive Detective Duncan Hatcher is called to investigate the gorgeous and wildly manipulative Elise Laird when she kills a burglar in her elegant home, supposedly in self-defense. Complicating the case is that Mrs. Laird is the trophy wife of a patrician judge who dislikes our hero. Worse, her account of the murder is somewhere between sketchy and laughable.
Hatcher finds himself falling for the mysterious Mrs. Laird, even as he uncovers each new fact that seems to suggest that the murder was intentional and the burglar, Gary Ray Trotter, no stranger. Hatcher doubts Mrs. Laird's increasingly weak explanations, but he still can't help thinking about her body. Here's Mrs. Laird explaining her case to him:
" 'I'd been expecting it for several months. Not a burglary, specifically. But something. This was the moment I'd been dreading.' She pressed her fist against the center of her chest, right above her heart, pulling the fabric of her T-shirt tight across her breasts. 'I knew, Detective. I knew.' Whispering that, she raised her head and looked up at him. 'Gary Ray Trotter wasn't a thief I caught in the act. He was there to kill me.'
" Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as though concentrating hard, trying to work out the details in his mind. Actually, he had to do something to keep from drowning in those damn eyes of hers or becoming fixated on her breasts. He wanted to haul her up against him, kiss her, and see if her mouth delivered as promised. Instead, he pinched the skin between his eye sockets until it hurt like hell. It helped him to refocus. Some."
Then he finds out she used to be a topless dancer. How great is that?
You've seen this femme-fatale plotline before, of course, but it's terrific when it's well done, as it is here. Mrs. Laird may be a double-crossing dame, but she's no dummy, though to tell more would ruin the fun. The storyline is updated by the presence of Detective DeeDee Bowen, Hatcher's no-nonsense female partner. Naturally, Bowen suspects every scheming inch of Mrs. Laird and calls Hatcher on his crush with your basic snap-out-of-it speech. Leave it to a woman to add that touch of testosterone.
The cat-and-mouse relationship between Hatcher and Mrs. Laird kept me turning the pages, and when the mystery blonde vanished in the middle of the novel, I found myself worried about her, even though I wasn't sure I liked her or her employment history. Still, I was happy to be kept guessing until the end, which came as a genuine surprise.
My only quibble is that this bestselling author sometimes settles for phrases such as "copious notes" and even "silver-tongued." She's a better writer than that, and I'm enough of a Strunk and White fan to want her to avoid clichés.
But I'm also a Sandra Brown fan, thanks to Ricochet.
Reviewed by Lisa Scottoline

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Duncan looked directly into her eyes, then turned away.

The judge came into the locker room a few minutes later. “She’s still not herself,” he said without preamble. “On edge. Jittery. I think it will take a while for her to recover from this.”

“It was frightening.”

“And then some. My locker’s over here.” He led Duncan down a row of lockers and when he reached his, he began working the combination lock.

Duncan sat down on a padded bench nearby. “Before I forget, I charged my lunch to your account. Club sandwich and iced tea. You know they charge for refills? I also added a twenty-five percent gratuity.”

“Twenty-five percent? Very generous of you.”

“I figured you would have a soft spot for the waitstaff here.”

The judge gave him a wry look. “You’ve done some background investigation.”

“That’s my job.”

“So you know Elise’s employment history. I suppose you also know what she did before she came to work here at the club.” He stated it, he didn’t ask. “Do you think less of her for it?”

“No. Do you?”

Duncan ’s brusque comeback got the judge’s ire up. The heavy lock thumped against the blond wood locker when he let go of it. Angrily, he turned toward Duncan. Then, rather than take issue, the fight went out of him. He sat down on the far end of the bench.

He shook his head with self-deprecation. “I’m a cliché, I suppose. Actually, I know I am. I knew I would be when I began seeing Elise, not just here at the club, but actually taking her out.”

“Sleeping with her.”

The judge raised one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Gossip spread like wildfire among my friends and associates. Our affair became the talk of this club. Then of all Savannah. Or so it seemed.”

“That didn’t bother you?”

“No, because I was in love. Still am. As much as possible I ignored the gossip. Then a ‘well-meaning friend,’ ” he said, forming quotation marks with his fingers, “invited me to lunch one day for the express purpose of informing me that the cocktail waitress I was seeing wasn’t a suitable companion for a man of my position and social standing. He told me where she’d worked before the Silver Tide. He expected me to be shocked, horrified. But I already knew about Elise’s former employment.”

“You’d done your own investigating.”

“No, Elise had told me herself. She was honest about it from the start, which made me love her all the more. Acquaintances of mine who overtly snubbed her, I consider former friends. Who needs friends like that? But it bothers Elise. She thinks I’ve suffered because of our marriage.”

“Have you?”

“Hardly.”

“You haven’t run for reelection since you married her. Voters may side with those former friends of yours.”

“I’m sure anyone running against me will dredge up her past. We’re prepared for that. We’ll own up to it and dismiss it as irrelevant, and it is.”

“Except that it may cost you the election. Will you be okay with that?”

“Which would you choose, Detective? A judgeship, or Elise in your bed every night?”

Duncan realized he was being tested. He held the judge’s stare for several beats, then deadpanned, “What’s the choice?”

The judge laughed. “My feeling exactly.” He raised his hands, palms up. “In the eyes of many, I’m a man to be pitied, a fool for love. I fell in love the moment I saw her, and I’m still in love.”

Duncan stretched his feet far out in front of him and studied the toes of his shoes. “I believe that.” He waited several seconds, then said, “What I don’t believe is that you had no dealings with Meyer Napoli except inside your courtroom.” He gave up the study of his footwear and turned his head. “You lied about that, Judge.”

Duncan won the staring contest. The initial challenge in the judge’s glare slowly evaporated. Finally he sighed with resignation. “You’re good, Detective.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need your compliments. I need an explanation for why you lied.”

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “So Elise would never know that I had hired Meyer Napoli to follow her.”

Duncan had thought it might be something like that. “Why did you?”

“I’m not proud of it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I can’t believe I resorted to hiring that-”

“Unscrupulous sleazoid,” Duncan said, impatient because he wasn’t getting a straight answer. “ Napoli didn’t come with character references, but you hired him anyway. You hired him to follow your wife. Why?”

“Again, it’s a cliché. The oldest reason in the world.” He looked sadly at Duncan.

“She was having an affair.”

The judge’s vulnerable smile was out of character for the man Duncan knew, but he supposed a cuckold was about as humble a creature as there was. “I had my suspicions,” he replied. “But before I tell you anything more, I want you to understand that it happened months ago. Last year.”

“Okay.”

“It’s over and has been for some time,” he insisted.

“Okay.”

Satisfied that he’d made that crucial point, the judge said, “For months I tried to ignore the signs.”

“She had a headache every night?”

He chuckled. “No. Even at the height of my suspicion, Elise was as passionate in bed as she’d always been. Our sexual appetite for each other never waned.”

Duncan tried to keep his expression impassive, but even if he couldn’t, the judge wouldn’t have noticed. He was submerged in his recollections.

“It was other things,” he said. “Classic signs. Telephone calls she pretended were wrong numbers. Rushing in late for meals without having a good excuse for her lateness. Time unaccounted for.”

“Sounds like an affair to me.” Duncan was perversely glad to cast doubt on Cato Laird’s confidence in his wife’s sexual appetite for him.

“I thought so, too. It got so that the thought of her in bed with another man dominated my mind. It’s all I could think about. If it was true, I had to know it, and I had to know who he was.”

“So you retained the services of Meyer Napoli.”

“Which indicates the degree of my desperation. I refused to go to his office. We met late one evening at a driving range. I practiced my swing while he asked pertinent questions. Did I know who her lover was? How long had the affair been going on?”

He shook his head with disgust. “I couldn’t believe I was discussing my wife with a man of his caliber. His phraseology, the vulgar terms he used, I couldn’t even apply to Elise. It all seemed so wrong, I started to call the whole thing off right then.

“But,” he continued with a sigh, “I’d gone that far, and not knowing was making me miserable. So I gave him the required advance on his fee, and left. That’s the last time I ever saw him.”

Duncan had been following the story, practically anticipating every word the judge was going to say before he said it. It was a familiar story that he’d heard many times over the course of his career. Passion led to possessiveness and jealousy, which spawned all sorts of mayhem, and frequently murder.

But the judge’s last statement didn’t gibe with the rest of it. “The last time you ever saw him? Napoli didn’t come through?”

“No, he came through,” the judge said tightly.

“She was having an affair?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sorry, Judge. You’ve lost me.”

“ Napoli got back to me,” he explained. “He had followed Elise to several clandestine meetings. He identified the man. He had times and places. But…but I stopped him there. I didn’t want to hear any more. I didn’t want it confirmed to me that she was having an affair.”

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