Carla Cassidy - Scene of the Crime - Bachelor Moon

He was shirtless and his dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been in bed.

Daniella’s mouth went dry. “Is there something you need?”

“Yeah, there is.” He walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze never wavering from her. “I need that kiss we talked about earlier.”

Daniella knew the difference between right and wrong, and she’d always told herself that it was wrong to get involved in any way with her guests, but at the moment she didn’t care. She wanted to be wrong.

She’d expected something simple, something light, but when he reached a hand up to cup the back of her head and pulled her tight against his bare chest, she knew this kiss wasn’t going to be anything remotely resembling simple.

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Dedicated to Annie Hale,

Friend and fellow writer who dreamed of a book called

Bachelor Moon.

Annie, I know the angels are now enjoying your stories,

basking in the warmth of your soul and delighting in the

sound of your laughter. Our loss is Heaven’s gain.

Carla Cassidy is an award-winning author who has written more than fifty novels for Harlequin Books. In 1995, she won Best Silhouette Romance from RT Book Reviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998, she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from RT Book Reviews.

Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Sam Connelly—The burned-out FBI agent wasn’t looking for love and he definitely wasn’t looking for murder.

Daniella Butler—She runs a bed-and-breakfast and has become a killer’s obsession.

Mary Marie Butler—Daniella’s precocious five-year-old daughter is convinced she can turn Sam into the third princess in her little operation.

Johnny Butler—Daniella’s ex-husband. He’d disappeared years ago. Was he back now with a score to settle?

Matt Radar—He was reputed to have killed his wife. Was it possible he had another victim in his sights?

Frank Mathis—Daniella depended on the handyman to keep things running smoothly. Did he harbor dark secrets that nobody knew?

Jeff Tyson—He and Daniella’s ex had been best friends, but now he seems to want more than just friendship from Daniella.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

If he’d agreed to see the FBI psychiatrist like his boss had wanted, this was probably what the doctor would have ordered.

That was the first thought that jumped into Sam Connelly’s head when he pulled up in front of the Bachelor Moon Bed and Breakfast.

Located ten miles from the small town of Bachelor Moon, Louisiana, the huge two-story house was surrounded by large cypress and maple trees and sported a large sweeping veranda. The website had indicated that the house had three guest quarters inside and an additional three in a renovated carriage house.

As Sam parked his car and got out he was greeted with the blessed sound of nothing but nature at work. A bird sang from one of the trees as a light breeze rustled through the branches. Somewhere from the distance he heard a faint splash from the huge pond on the side of the house that the website claimed was stocked with catfish and bass.

Yes, this was just what the doctor would have ordered: two weeks of peace and quiet, fourteen days of thinking about nothing more difficult than what bait to use. He supposed he needed a break from the darkness that had been his life for so long. In truth there were times when he felt as if he’d swallowed a whole night full of darkness.

He stretched his arms overhead. The drive from Kansas City to Bachelor Moon, Louisiana, should have taken only about nine hours, but road construction had added an additional two hours to the trip.

The bed in the motel room where he’d stayed the night before had been abysmal, and he’d gotten little sleep. If he thought about it he could get downright cranky.

This vacation had been forced on him, and Sam didn’t like the idea of time off or anyone telling him what he needed to do. As an FBI profiler he knew that the serial killers he hunted certainly didn’t take vacations.

With a sigh he accepted the here and now and grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat. Although it was just after ten in the morning, already the sun beat hard on his shoulders and the humidity pressed tight against his chest.

At that moment the front door of the house swung open and a woman appeared on the veranda. She wore a long, dark blue, gauzy skirt that the breeze swirled around her slender legs, and a light blue sleeveless blouse that exposed lightly tanned arms and emphasized the press of full breasts.

Long blond hair framed a heart-shaped face, and the smile of welcome that curved her lips caused a flicker of something alien deep inside Sam.

“Hello,” she said as he approached. “You must be Mr. Connelly.”

“Sam. You can call me Sam,” he replied. As he drew closer he realized that she wasn’t just pretty, but she had the kind of classic beauty that required little makeup or artifice. Her eyes were the blue of a summer sky, and her features were elegant without being cold.

“I’m Daniella Butler, owner and operator of this place.” She opened the front door wide to allow him inside.

He swept past her and into a large foyer, aware of the scent of ripened peaches that either came from her or rode in the air inside the house.

“I’ll just show you around and then take you up to your room,” she said.

He nodded, vaguely surprised by his instant attraction to her. God, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything for anyone. He’d turned off his emotions a long time ago.

“This is the common room,” she explained as she led him into a large family-room-type area. There was a television, a bookshelf with books, puzzles and games, a table and a sofa and several easy chairs. “It’s just a place to hang out if you’re feeling sociable.”

The one thing he didn’t intend to feel while he was here was sociable, he thought, as she led him into the next room, a large dining area.

“This is where meals are served,” she continued. “Breakfast is from seven to nine, lunch is eleven to one and dinner is five to seven.” Her voice had the soft drawl of somebody born and bred in the region. “On Sundays the only meal I serve is breakfast, but there’s plenty of dining places in town. I also try to keep little nibbles in the common room if you get the munchies between meals.”