“Kick-ass competence and comedy are a match made in heaven, when the author is Nancy Bartholomew!”
—Jill M. Smith, Romantic Times BOOKClub Magazine
“Stella! Wait!” Pete cried. “Honey, really, come inside. Let’s talk about this.”
I saw Lou Ann behind Pete, hastily pulling on her jeans and hopping around on one leg. She was panicked, and that made me perversely happy. I put the car into neutral and opened the driver’s side door. Pete looked hopeful, probably thinking that with just the right approach he could smooth the entire thing over.
“Well,” I said. “I guess you’d better pick one of us. Are you ready to start over, too?”
Pete looked puzzled, but Lloyd, the black-and-white-spotted mutt, bounded down the steps and leaped into the car.
“Pete?” I said, my voice a sweet coo of encouragement.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Bite my smooth tender ass!”
With that, Lloyd and I drove away.
Dear Reader,
We’re thrilled to bring you another exhilarating month of captivating women and explosive action! Our Bombshell heroines will take you for the ride of your life as they come under fire from all directions. With lives at stake and emotions on edge, these women stand and deliver memorable stories that will keep you riveted from cover to cover.
When the going gets tough, feisty Stella Valocchi gets going, in Stella, Get Your Gun, by Nancy Bartholomew. Her boyfriend’s a lying rat, her uncle's been murdered and her sexy ex is back in town, but trust Stella—compared to last week, things are looking up….
Loyal CIA agent Samantha St. John has been locked up—for treason! With the reluctant help of her wary partner, Sam will hunt for the real traitor—who bears an uncanny resemblance to Sam herself—in Double-Cross, by Meredith Fletcher, the latest adventure in the twelve-book ATHENA FORCE continuity series.
Don’t miss the twists and turns as a former operative is sucked back into the spy life to right the wrongs done to her family, in author Natalie Dunbar’s exciting thriller, Private Agenda.
And finally, a secret agent needs a break—but when her final mission goes wrong, she’s pushed to the limit and has to take on a rookie partner. Luckily she’s still got her deadliest weapon…it’s Killer Instinct, by Cindy Dees.
When it comes to excitement, we’re pulling no punches! Please send me your comments c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Sincerely,
Natashya Wilson
Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Bombshell
Stella, Get Your Gun
Nancy Bartholomew
NANCY BARTHOLOMEW
didn’t seem like the Bombshell type at first. Sure, she grew up in Philadelphia, but she was a gentle minister’s daughter. Sometimes, though, true wildness simmers just below the surface. Nancy started singing country music in biker bars before she graduated from high school. (And yes, her dad was there, sitting in the front row, watching over his little girl!) She graduated from college with a degree in psychology and promptly moved into the inner city, where she found work dragging addicted inner-city teenagers into drug and alcohol rehabilitation. She then moved south to Atlanta and worked as the director of a substance abuse treatment program for court-ordered offenders. Then Nancy turned to the final frontier…parenthood. This drove her to writing. Now Nancy lives in North Carolina, rides with the police on a regular basis, raises two hooligan teenage boys, and tries to keep up with her writing, her psychotherapy practice and her garden. She hopes you’ll love her “daughter,” Stella Valocchi, and thanks you from the bottom of her heart for reading this book.
For Marti
Mentor, Midwife, True Blue Friend
Contents
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 1
In retrospect, perhaps kidnapping Lloyd was a bad idea, not that I regret it. I most certainly do not regret kidnapping Lloyd. It improved both our lives, and I can say that in all honesty, even if my law-enforcement career and reputation have gone straight to the dogs. Before Lloyd, my life was in the toilet, so anything short of the sewer is an improvement. I know what you’re thinking—how can a woman feel her life is on the upswing when she’s just been shot at, arrested and thrown in jail? Trust me, compared to last week, life is most definitely looking up.
Last week I was just a junior patrol officer looking to make detective. All I wanted was my shot at the big time, and thanks to “Needle Nose” Robanski, I thought I was about to realize this lifelong ambition.
Needle Nose was on a one-man crime spree somewhere in Garden Beach, Florida. He had a nasty knack for waylaying exotic dancers, beating them beyond recognition and then finishing the job with a filet knife. I figured I was going to be the one to catch him. I guess I just didn’t realize it would take more than a bottle of blond hair dye, stiletto heels and a fake leather loincloth to do the job. Undercover police work takes conviction. You have to sell yourself in your perp’s world. You have to be one of them and not just pass as a cheap imitation. So I was out there, selling myself, the night old Needle Nose made his appearance.
The manager of the Solitaire Gentleman’s Club, Alfonso Lewis, wasn’t too pleased with my performance. He kept calling my sergeant and complaining I was bad for business, that I had no “customer service orientation.” I ask you, did you ever try to conceal a microphone in a padded bra the size of a postage stamp? Do you know what it feels like to have a hard plastic button nibbling away at your right boob while you’re simultaneously bending down to deliver a drink and trying to keep some jerk’s hand from slipping between your legs?
It was a challenge, but I handled it because I was a professional, and because I wanted Needle Nose Robanski almost as much as I wanted the promotion that catching him would ensure.
My partner, Lou Ann Ross, called in sick that night, so the sergeant sent a rookie to man the surveillance van in the parking lot. He didn’t send just any rookie, either; he sent Leon. Leon was twenty-one, maybe five foot six and weighed in at just under 130 pounds. He’d been with a training coach for three solid rotations before someone finally stuck him on our squad and warned us not to give him anything too important to do. Leon was a hair away from unemployment, and I was his last shot at redemption.
When I saw him pull up, I could only assume that catching Needle Nose must not have been too important to the Garden Beach Police Department. Covering my ass must’ve ranked