Ultimate Kill
By
Kristine Mason
About the Book
When the past collides with the present,
the only way to ensure the future lies in the ultimate kill…
Naomi McCall is
a woman of many secrets. Her family has been murdered and she’s been forced
into hiding. No one knows her past or her real name, not even the man she
loves.
Jake Tyler,
former Marine and the newest recruit to the private criminal investigation
agency, CORE, has been in love with a woman who never existed. When he learns
about the lies Naomi has weaved, he’s ready to leave her—until an obsessed
madman begins sending her explosive messages every hour on the hour.
Innocent people
are dying. With their deaths, Naomi’s secrets are revealed and the truth is
thrust into the open. All but one. Naomi’s not sure if Jake can handle a truth
that will change their lives. But she is certain of one thing—the only way to
stop the killer before he takes more lives is to make herself his next victim.
I
didn’t pick up my first romance novel until I was in my late twenties.
Immediately hooked, I read a bazillion books before deciding to write one of my
own. After the birth of my first son I needed something to keep my mind from
turning to mush, and Sesame Street wasn’t cutting it. While that first book
will never see the light of day, something good came from writing it. I
realized my passion and found a career I love.
When
I’m not writing contemporary romances and dark, romantic suspense novels (or
reading them!) I’m chasing after my four kids and two neurotic dogs.
Prologue
How many
narcissists does it take to change a light bulb?
One.
He holds the bulb
while the world revolves around him.
“DID YOU FIND her?” He glared at the man he’d overpaid to find
the one thing that belonged to him. Rage simmered in the depths of what most
men might consider a soul. Not him. Essence, the nonphysical aspect of a
person, that which survived after death and all of the other metaphysical,
intangible drivel of poets and priests…that kind of shit was for pussies. He
had one life to live and he’d live it to the fullest.
With her.
Carl Blackborne, the former CIA agent and the investigator he’d
forced into his employment, shifted his gaze to the desk. “I’m sorry, sir,
but…no. That’s not to say that I didn’t discover any new leads,” he quickly
added.
He followed Blackborne’s gaze and looked at the handcrafted
replica of the first ship ever built by his great-great-grandfather. Made of
gold, and worth over three hundred grand, the piece had been in the family for
five generations. “It’s lovely, no?” he asked the investigator and touched the
ship’s golden mast.
Blackborne blinked. “Yes. Truly one of a kind, sir.”
“If you break down what’s in your savings and life insurance,
it’s worth more than you are.”
“I…I don’t know how to respond to that.”
He ran a manicured finger along the golden stern and wondered if
the ship would become damaged if he slammed it against Blackborne’s over-sized
head. “Of course you don’t.”
“Sir, if I may, I’ve exhausted—”
“Do you know how old my great-great-grandfather was when he
built his first ship?” he asked and touched the life-like sailor standing at
the helm of the golden ship. From what he’d been told, his forefather had been
a ruthless son of a bitch. He didn’t emulate the man, nor did he worship him.
He didn’t have to. Not when he was better than him. More powerful. More
coldblooded. More merciless.
“No, sir, I—”
“He was twenty. Twenty,”
he repeated, sliding his gaze to Blackborne. “By the time he was twenty-five,
he was worth over one million dollars. That was in the mid-1800s. By today’s
standards, he would have been worth over twenty-five million. Amazing, no?” He
waved a hand, and leaned into his chamois-soft leather office chair. “Over the
past one hundred and fifty years, his company has endured many ups and downs. Right now, under my rule, it’s up. I’ve
had the foresight to take this company to new places. Literally. My planes,
ships and trucks are worldwide. I’ve made this company a household name. Now that’s amazing shit.”
Blackborne rubbed the back of his neck. “Truly amazing, sir. But
if you’ll let me explain my new leads.”
He folded his hands and rested them on the luxurious,
handcrafted desk. Made of six different kinds of exotic woods, like ebony and
Carpathian elm, it too was worth more than Blackborne. “By all means. It’s not
like I don’t have anything better to do with my time. Right, Ric?”
Ricco Mancini, his aide-de-camp and most loyal confidant, sat
stone faced, his focus on the investigator. “All the time in the world. I see
no reason why Blackborne shouldn’t waste yours.”
Clearing his throat, Blackborne nodded. “Understood. Sorry, sir.
I’ll make this quick. When I was investigating her past, I came across family
lineage that might be of interest. I thought that maybe—”
“How is this a new lead?” Blackborne wasn’t the first
investigator he’d hired, and based on the others, he could rattle off the
woman’s family tree by heart. Hell, he’d stripped that tree of its leaves and
snapped the branches until she no
longer had a family.
“Well, it’s not exactly a lead, just a new avenue.”
“My trucks travel down avenues all the time,” he said, finished
with Blackborne and their conversation. He’d had high hopes for the
investigator. During his previous employment with the CIA, Blackborne had been
known to successfully track terrorists and international criminals.
Diabolically brilliant men who had the means to hide and, if they’d wanted,
never be found. And yet Blackborne couldn’t find a simple woman? Fucking
useless idiot.
“I’m not interested in hearing about avenues—at all,” he said.
“I paid you a lot of money to bring me—”
“I told you I wasn’t sure if I could find her,” Blackborne
countered, his voice rising.
His rage went from simmering to boiling.
No one interrupted him.
No one dared to shout at him.
He slid his gaze to the two men flanking the office’s double
doors. Santiago Ramirez, the Columbian he’d taken under his wing over fifteen
years ago glared at Blackborne’s back. So did Santiago’s counterpart, former
Russian heavyweight boxer, Vlad Aristov. He looked to Ric, whose mouth tilted
in the subtlest of smiles. Knowing that the chance of this conversation ending
well was slim to none, the sadist
would enjoy Blackborne’s faux pas.
“She’s obviously changed her name,” Blackborne continued without
apology. “Covered up paper trails. She has no immediate family, her friends and
associates have no idea where she moved to…I’ve bribed several IRS officials
and even they couldn’t help me. That’s why I thought if I could—”
“Pull up her family tree?” he asked with an easy smile that in
no way matched the raw fury constricting his chest. “It’s a brilliant plan. I
wish my other investigators had the foresight to come up with such a unique
idea.”
“Thank you, sir.” Blackborne relaxed and grinned, obviously not
understanding sarcasm. “I appreciate the compliment.”
He looked to Ric and caught the laughter in his eyes. “What
would you need for this brilliant plan of yours?” he asked, transferring his
attention to the investigator.
“More money and, of course, more time.”
His last four investigators had given him the same request.
They’d eventually come to him empty handed and wound up dead.
“I suggest we expand the scope and not just focus on her family,”
Blackborne said, his tone enthusiastic. “The friends and associates I checked
with…these were people who knew her,
or rather knew of her, when she was in her early twenties. As you know, she
went off the grid around the time she turned twenty. I think if I go back
further, say into her childhood, and find people she was close to, then maybe—”
He raised a hand. “No.”
Blackborne’s face contorted with confusion. “Sir, we might be
able to find a link from her childhood that could lead us to her current
whereabouts.”
“Might…could.” He rested an elbow against the leather armrest
and cradled his chin between his index finger and thumb. “If a broke redneck plays the Lotto enough times, he
might eventually win. If you give a seasoned whore the money to go to college and educate herself, she
could go on to run a Fortune 500 company. Mr. Blackborne, what are the chances
of a broke redneck winning the Lotto and a seasoned whore going on to run a
Fortune 500 company?”
Blackborne looked to the desk again. “Let me rephrase then,
digging into her past may…I mean, it’s probable…” He scratched his head. “Sir, I can’t guarantee anything, I can only
try this route.”
He straightened and opened the desk drawer. “Not interested.”
His fingers stroked the AAC Evolution-45 silencer, a weapon ironically used by
U.S. Military Anti-Terrorist units. He grasped the handle of the gun. “I know
everything about her past. Her preschool teachers, her fourth grade Girl Scout
troop leader, who she lost her virginity to during her senior year of high
school.” His stomach tightened with anticipation as he pulled the lightweight
gun from the drawer and aimed it at
Blackborne’s head. “I know everything about her, except where she is now.”
Blackborne staggered back, holding his hands in front of his
body. “Please, sir. This investigation—”
“Is over.” He tensed for the slight recoil and pulled the
trigger. As if the man had sneezed, a puffy mist of blood burst from
Blackborne’s face before he crumpled to the ground. He slipped the weapon back
into the drawer, then pulled out a file from the hidden center console. “Well,
that was a disappointment.” He glanced to Ric who, in turn, looked to Santiago
and Vlad.
“Get him out of here, then kill his wife and kids,” Ric told the
men.
Without a word, Santiago and Vlad picked up Blackborne and took
him from the office. When the door closed behind them, Ric rose from his chair.
“And the woman?” he asked. “Should I find another investigator?”
“No.” He opened the file and stared at the eight by ten glossy
of her. Although not beautiful in the classical sense, she’d caught his
attention the moment he’d seen her. While she’d been bustling through the club
where she used to work, taking drink orders, he’d pictured her naked, curvy
body on his bed, her long, straight brown hair fanning out along his silk
sheets as she spread her legs and welcomed him. He had eventually made what
he’d imagined into a reality. And after having her once, he’d wanted her again.
Only she hadn’t.
That was her first mistake.
When she ran from him…that was her second.
After he’d found her, he’d tried to be reasonable. He’d tried to
give her everything she would ever need, and she’d rejected him.
That was her last
mistake.
He always got what he wanted. Always. Growing up with enough
money to run a small country, the
world and its contents were his for the taking.
She was his to take.
Ric pressed his hands against the desk and leaned forward.
“You’ve spent eight years looking for her. Are you giving up?”
He looked up from the
photograph and met Ric’s eyes. Eight years. A lot had happened during that
time, and over the years he’d assumed he would eventually grow tired of
searching for her. But he hadn’t. She was the one object his money couldn’t
buy. The only woman who had walked away from him without a second glance. He
never understood why. Quite frankly, he didn’t care whether she wanted him or
not. She was a lost possession he wanted found. “Have you ever known me to quit
anything?”
“Never.” Ric smiled. “Now what?”
He closed the file, then returned it to the drawer. “Now we do
things my way.” He rose from the chair and walked to the windows. As he looked
around the spacious backyard, he found his wife and two children sitting on the
lawn having a picnic lunch. “Hiring another investigator isn’t going to cut it.
We’ve been down that road one too many times,” he said, and watched grape jelly
drop onto his four-year-old son’s pristine white shirt as the boy waved to him.
“And your plan is…?”
“Simple.” He gave his boy a two-finger salute. “If I can’t find
her, I’ll make it so she has no choice but to come to me. When I’m finished,
she’ll beg me to take her back.”
“Interesting,” Ric
said, his voice laced with amusement. “And why would she come to you?”
He smiled, as his wife frowned and worked on their son’s jelly
stain. “Because if she doesn’t, I’m going to kill a lot of people.”
Describe
your books in 3 words?
Twisted, exciting, intense.
Twisted, exciting, intense.
If
you could be any character from one of your books who would it be?
I’m
not very nice to my heroines, but they do get to hook up with the heroes ;-)
So, for that reason, I wouldn’t mind being one of my heroines.
What
is your greatest fear about being an author/publishing your book(s)?
Will
this book live up to the last one? Will people get my characters, my dark
humor, and find the storyline believable? Will the book sell? After having the
books professionally edited and reading through them multiple times, are there
any typos that were missed? These are just some of my fears. But, there’s also
excitement that goes along with those fears. I have an awesome job. I love to
tell stories. I love writing and creating heroes and heroines that I hope
people will root for and fall in love with, as well as twisted bad guys and
storylines that will engage readers.
Would
the 10 year-old version of yourself kick your butt or praise you for what
you've accomplished in life?
She would be praising me, but kicking my butt for not publishing sooner. I’ve worked very hard to learn to become a better writer. I constantly challenge myself, and have never lost sight of my dreams. I’m proud of my accomplishments, and look forward to continuing on this path.
She would be praising me, but kicking my butt for not publishing sooner. I’ve worked very hard to learn to become a better writer. I constantly challenge myself, and have never lost sight of my dreams. I’m proud of my accomplishments, and look forward to continuing on this path.
What
do you do when you finish your book and turn it in to the editor?
I
take my family to dinner, then once the kids are in bed, my husband and I have
a celebratory drink (or three—lol).
What
is your favorite Genre and why?
My
favorite genre to write is romantic suspense. I do have three contemporary
romances available, and enjoyed writing them, but the suspense books are bigger
and allow me to bring in subplots and more secondary characters. And, of
course, villains. I do love my bad guys. My favorite genre to read…I love a
good historical, thriller and horror. I love being swept away to another time
and place, but I also love when a book has me at the edge of my seat and
turning on all of the lights.
Do
you prefer to write alone or do you like to collaborate with other authors?
I
work with a critique partner, who is more like my career partner. I also have a
brainstorming partner. I love being able to bounce ideas off of these two
women. It’s incredibly helpful to talk through the story and work out the
kinks. Writing is a very solitary job, my critique and brainstorming partners
help lessen that and I’m not sure what I’d do without them!
Everyone
uses computers, tablets, phones and no one uses handwritten form or
typewriters, what do you prefer to use?
I
write on my Mac, but I do have a notebook for each of my books. I keep a list
of the characters, locations, certain traits specific to a character, clues
that need to be addressed, timelines and so much more. I don’t plot out the
book from beginning to end, but I do handwrite a rough sketch.
Is
there a ritual you do before you begin your book?
No
ritual. Other than making sure the new story has its own notebook, and I have
the opening line and scene in my head, I simply start writing. But now you have
me thinking. Maybe I should do a little something before I begin a new book ;-)
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