Kyra Davis - Vows, Vendettas And A Little Black Dress

Sex, Murder and a Double Latte

“Packs a bigger jolt than a Venti latte at Starbucks.”

—Cosmopolitan

“A terrific mystery. Kyra Davis comes up with the right mix of snappy and spine-tingling.”

—Detroit Free Press

“A thoroughly readable romp.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Blending elements of steamy romance and hard-boiled mystery, this delightfully witty amalgam of chick lit and amateur sleuth mystery (featuring lovable, caffeine-addicted protagonist Sophie Katz)…[is] one of the most impressive genre debuts to come along in years!”

—Barnes & Noble

Passion, Betrayal and Killer Highlights

An Ebony magazine Noted Book

“[A] high-octane hookup.”

—Cosmopolitan [a Red Hot Read]

“Lively writing, action-packed plot and keen character development.”

—Santa Cruz Sentinel

“The perfect summer read…Davis constructs some broad sweeping social commentary in this book…bundled up amongst—what else—murder, fashion and frappuccinos.”

—The GoodTimes

Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate

“Wry sociopolitical commentary, the playful romantic negotiations between Anatoly and Sophie and plenty of Starbucks coffee keep this steamy series chugging along.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Pulls readers in at the beginning…[and] Davis’ inclusion of the crazy sexual fetish ‘furries’ is an interesting twist.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Just the right amount of snazzy dialogue and intriguing imagery, making the reader think they are right there looking over Sophie’s shoulder. Once you start reading this entertaining tale, you won’t want to stop until you find out the ‘whodunit’ and the ‘why did they’ of the murder.”

—Romance Reviews Today

Lust, Loathing and a Little Lip Gloss

“A fresh approach to sleuthing.”

—Library Journal

“Humor, romance and an appealing, spirited protagonist…an entertaining read.”

—Publishers Weekly

“A cast of quirky, wonderful characters, a well-crafted plot and a generous helping of snarky humor make this one a winner. Sophie’s sassy first-person narration is a bonus—she’s one of a kind.”

—RT Book Reviews

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I dedicate this book to my loyal readers. I am always amazed by the tremendous and consistent support that you express both in person at my book-signing events or through your Internet posts and e-mails. You are my motivation, and Sophie belongs every bit as much to you as she does to me. Thank you.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Sunday, May 6th, 10:00 p.m.

Like most people I have two families. The family I was born into and the family of friends that I’ve chosen for myself. That’s normal. It also shouldn’t surprise you to learn that my family is sort of crazy because that’s exactly what everybody else says about their own family. I mean really, telling people that your family is on the wacky side is right up there with confessing to being moody right before your period. It’s so commonplace it’s barely worth mentioning.

So if your family’s like mine and you don’t want to spend your life surrounded by head cases there is only one clear course of action: choose sane friends.

I didn’t take that route. All my friends are completely mad. You wouldn’t be able to get them institutionalized or anything, but suggesting that they are in any way normal would be, well, hyperbolic. I don’t mind though. They’re my family of choice, and although they do occasionally make me crazy, I really do love them, eccentricities and all.

Jason Beck is the perfect example of this. Right now he’s standing across the room from me. I can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the water trapped in his hair, evidence of the swim he hurriedly abandoned earlier in the evening. His goatee is pointing toward the ugly gray carpet like an arrow and his white skin is even paler than normal. I didn’t exactly choose Jason. He’s one of my friend Dena’s two boyfriends. (Yes, I know. We’ll get to that later.) That sort of makes Jason a stepbrother. A wannabe-anarchist/wannabe-vampire/wannabe-philosopher stepbrother. He never manages to achieve more than wannabe status because he isn’t brave enough to openly defy authority when doing so is risky, he has never found a way to make the transition from human being to bloodsucker despite his insistence that Anne Rice’s early novels are really nonfiction, and his musings are only philosophical if you’re drunk or stoned. Still, he is…interesting. One of these days the psychiatric community might be able to come up with a more succinct and scientific definition for whatever Jason is. But the reason he’s become part of my extended family is because he is by far the most endearing lunatic I have ever met in my life. It’s his good heart that has brought him into this room tonight.

Then there’s my hairstylist, Marcus. God, do I love me some Marcus. Of all my friends he’s probably the least crazy one. He’s intelligent, talented, funny as hell and drop-dead gorgeous. With his brilliantly white teeth, smooth mocha skin, perfectly groomed locks…I swear if he wasn’t gay I would have jumped him years ago. But he is gay. Years ago he jumped out of the closet and right onto the first float of San Francisco’s Pride Parade. So instead of sensual rubdowns I have to settle for marginally frisky conditioning treatments. Lately he’s been calling me J-Lodad because he thinks that (thanks to my Black and Eastern European-Jewish ancestry) I look like a cross between Soledad O’Brien and J-Lo. That’s one of the main reasons why I’m willing to settle for the platonic scalp massages: when I’m stressed or sad Marcus makes me laugh.

But not tonight. Tonight he’s facing away from me, a five-month-old People magazine in his hands, just one of the many outdated periodicals lying around the waiting room. He’s not reading it of course. He just needs something to hold on to while he waits for relief from his darkest fears…or the confirmation of them.

On the other hand Anatoly’s current focus is completely on me. Anatoly is…well, he’s my tall, dark Russian lover, my boyfriend, my nemesis, maybe even my soul mate. He lives with me and we are completely dedicated to one another…until we have one of our knock-down-drag-out fights. Then he storms out (or I kick him out) and at that moment we both know that it is totally and completely over.

Except it’s never totally and completely over because he’s Anatoly and I’m Sophie. We can’t stay apart because, to use his words, neither of us can claim ownership of the other and yet in some odd, paradoxical way I belong to him and he to me. You can’t stay away from something that belongs to you for any real length of time. Someone else might try to steal it.