Brenda Novak - Killer Heat

“The Perfect Couple was fast-paced and extremely engaging from the very first page…. Once I started, I couldn’t stop! Definitely, most definitely add The Perfect Couple to your reading list.”

—True Crime Book Reviews

“Novak delivers another expertly crafted work of suspenseful intrigue heightened by white-knuckle danger and realistically complicated romance.”

—Booklist on The Perfect Couple

“I guarantee The Perfect Couple will keep readers on the edge of their seats…The story line sizzles.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“Realistic and gritty, this story grabs the reader by the throat on the first page and never lets go.”

—RT Book Reviews on Watch Me

“Gripping, frightening and intense…a compelling romance as well as a riveting and suspenseful mystery…Novak delivers another winner.”

—Library Journal on The Perfect Liar

“[A] chilling, sensual tale that features a host of skillfully developed characters and intricate, multilayered plotting. Sacramento-based Novak (The Perfect Liar) writes gripping romantic thrillers.”

—Library Journal on The Perfect Murder

“As always, Novak’s plotting is flawless, and her characterizations are rich and multilayered. What sets this story apart from the rest is the intensity of the romance…A keeper.” (4.5 stars, Top Pick)

—RT Book Reviews on The Perfect Murder

To Gail, one of my new B.F.F.s. You’re a generous soul.

May all your good karma come back to you….

Dear Reader,

Not long ago I was invited to speak in front of a writers’ group in Prescott, Arizona. Because I love Arizona, I accepted. I also agreed to stay with one of the group’s members so they wouldn’t have to put me up in a motel.

Once I arrived, I learned that this member didn’t actually live in Prescott, where I’d be speaking. She lived in a place called Skull Valley. I didn’t recognize the name so I had no idea it would be remote. I was driven into the desert and sheltered in this wonderful woman’s guesthouse, but she was a stranger to me at that time and I arrived in the middle of the night, already disoriented as to where, exactly, I was. The main house, which I visited briefly, didn’t feel very close to the guesthouse (which they had to drive me to). If you’ve read any of my suspense books, you know I can have a rather dark imagination. That night the wind blew constantly, rattling the door on the screened porch. It sounded just like someone trying to break in. I lay awake listening and feeling very vulnerable because there was no phone service, internet—or even cellular coverage. I was completely cut off in a strange and lonely place. What would I do if something terrible were to happen to me? I didn’t even know which direction to run should I need help—I could easily have ended up wandering lost in the desert.

Needless to say, that proved to be a very long night, especially when I began spinning a story in my head about the bones of several murdered women being found not far from where I was staying. I tried not to allow such ideas to flow, but the setting was just too perfect. A serial killer began to take shape in my mind…the serial killer in this book. So as you read, think of me huddled alone beneath the covers of a stranger’s bed on a cold night in January, somewhere in the middle of the desert, without so much as a cell phone….

I’d like to extend a special thank-you to Vincent J. Abbatiello and his wife, Jill (Jillsy to her friends) Abbatiello, a lovely couple who live on the gold coast of Long Island and winter in Palm Beach and St. Thomas. Vince is a periodontist and implant surgeon who graduated from Harvard Dental School. Jillsy is an active fundraiser for various charities who loves her show horses and two Maltese, Maxie and Suzzie. You’ll see Jill and Vince’s names pop up in this novel as characters, a privilege they purchased to help me raise money to fight diabetes.

I love to hear from my readers. Please snail mail me at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA, 95611 or visit me on the web at www.brendanovak.com, where you can read about my other books, enter various drawings, sign up for my newsletter, download a free 3-D screensaver (that moves), or check out the results of my latest online auction for diabetes research (something I hold every May on my website). To date, my donors, shoppers and I have raised more than $1 million!

Here’s to love and to life!

Brenda

“Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”

—Carrie Fisher, American writer and actress

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Francesca Moretti thought she couldn’t be seeing what she was seeing. So much junk cluttered the salvage yard that it could be any number of things, right? She wasn’t that close. And it was wrapped in a painter’s tarp and partially hidden behind some wood pallets, sawhorses and stacks of roofing material. But the longer she examined the size and dimensions of that shape, the more convinced she became. It was a human body.

Filled with revulsion, she shrank back into the shade of the closest outbuilding. The blazing July sun, bouncing off the sea of car carcasses, bent bicycle frames, even obsolete farm equipment, made her feel as if she was trapped in an oven instead of running down a lead on the outskirts of Prescott, Arizona. But it was panic and not heat that threatened to suffocate her.

Could this really be happening? Again? In her last big case, she’d located what was left of the missing wife and mother she’d been hired to find. The discovery had made national headlines; Janice Grey’s murder probably would’ve gone unsolved without Francesca. She’d provided the missing piece of the puzzle that confirmed a murder had taken place, which allowed investigators to go ahead and prosecute their prime suspect. But that type of thing didn’t happen very often and certainly not to the same private investigator. Francesca had pretty much decided it would never happen again. Not to her, anyway. And then…this.

Trying to ignore the Doberman who’d started barking like crazy the moment she set foot in the yard—fortunately, the dog was chained to the back of the house—she stared at what appeared to be a shock of brown hair spilling out from under that paint-speckled tarp. She wanted to identify the body, make sure it was her client’s sister, as she suspected.

But that could wait. She thought she smelled decomposition. And, judging by the stiffness of the corpse, apparent from the odd angles underneath the tarp, the body was in full rigor. There was no reason to look any more closely; the memory would only keep her up at night. Better to let the county homicide investigator handle the situation from here on.

Yes, get help. That was what she needed to do. Immediately. She didn’t want to ruin any forensic evidence linking April Bonner to the man who’d killed her.