"We aren't who our pasts say we are. Damage doesn't define us. We define ourselves."
Die For Me by Cynthia Eden
StandaloneGenre - Romantic Thriller
Multiple POV - 3rd person
Heat - 3.5
Format/Source - ebook purchase from Amazon
She thought her fiancé was the perfect man—until he turned out to be the perfect killer…
Katherine Cole is running for her life, desperate to escape the Valentine Killer—so-called because he stabs his victims through the heart and leaves them holding a telltale single red rose. Still he tracks her to New Orleans and begins carving a bloody path to her door. But this time, Katherine refuses to run any farther. This time, she’ll do anything to stop the madman she once loved, even trust the sexy cop promising to keep her safe…
Detective Dane Black never lets his emotions interfere with his job, even as the Valentine Killer surfaces in New Orleans to stalk his prey. But when Dane agrees to protect the killer’s ex-fiancée, Katherine Cole, he can’t ignore the passion kindling between them. After a single unforgettable night binds them body and soul, Dane knows he won’t rest until Katherine is safe in his arms—and the Valentine Killer is dead.
Dane is the detective investigating this new series of kills. He isn't sure if it's the same killer or a copycat, but when Katherine, the woman who the killer wouldn't kill, walks into his precinct, he can't turn her away. Is she a victim or an accessory to murder? She's drop dead gorgeous, he can't resist her, but has he let a killer into his bed?
Full of twists and turns, I couldn't guess where the author was going to take this story next. From the clues and the kills and the drama, to the sizzling chemistry between the characters, I was hooked. The fact that I didn't figure out the end before I got there made this story such an entertaining read.
– 1 –
It had taken Savannah Slater a long time to die.
New Orleans police detective Dane Black stared down at the dead woman, noting the series of shallow cuts that lined her arms. Then his gaze rose to her chest. She’d been stabbed in the heart, and it looked as if the killer had twisted the knife once he’d plunged it into her chest.
Hell. The scent of blood and death was heavy in the air. Behind him, Dane could hear the sound of retching, no doubt coming from the fresh-faced uniform who’d found the body tossed like garbage near the edge of the park.
Even Dane’s stomach had knotted at the sight of her body, and he’d sure come across his share of twisted shit when he served his tour in the Middle East.
“You ever seen anything like this?” The uniform had gotten enough control to voice the question. “I mean, Jesus Christ, it looks like someone tortured her.”
Because someone had. Her wrists had been bound with rope, her ankles tied with the same thick hemp. Duct tape covered her mouth—no doubt to muffle her screams while her attacker worked on her.
It hadn’t been an easy death. Not with all of those slices on her arms. Some deep enough to sever veins and tendons. But those wounds hadn’t killed her. The perp had just been playing with her until the moment he drove his knife into her heart.
Dane leaned forward. The victim’s right fingers were curled around something. His eyes narrowed. It looked like…Savannah Slater was holding a bloodred rose in her right hand.
Hell no.
Dane’s back teeth ground together as he stood. Savannah Slater had been missing for just over seventy-two hours. When the reporter hadn’t shown up for work, her boss had started hunting for her. Hunting was what they did best at the New Orleans News Journal.
Dane had thought the reporter might have just gone in deep for a story. He’d figured that she’d turn up with a cover-grabbing headline.
She’d be grabbing the headline, all right. Only he’d never expected this…
Just a few days until February fourteenth. Valentine’s Day. And with the way she was killed…that knife in the heart…and that rose in her hand… The press would flip when they made the connection. “Yeah,” he finally said slowly, “I’ve seen something like this before.” Not up close and personal, but he’d heard the stories. Stories of other women who’d been tortured and killed. Just like Savannah. But not in New Orleans. Those killings had happened years ago, way up in Boston.
Not down in his city.
He studied her body again. The wounds on her arms were deliberate and far too perfectly placed.
“Why’d the prick dump her here?” Dane’s partner demanded. Mac Turner ran a hand over his cleanly shaved head. Sweat glinted lightly off his dark-coffee skin. “My niece plays at this damn park. Any kid could have found the body.” He exhaled. “Dumping a body for a kid to find. Another sick freak on our streets.”
“He left her here because he wanted attention.” The perp hadn’t wanted to wait several days or weeks for the body’s discovery. This was an in-your-face dump. They’d been lucky, though, that no curious six-year-old had stumbled upon it. The reporter had been found just after dawn by a jogger.
Dane stared down again. Savannah Slater’s dark hair feathered over the ground. She’d been beautiful. By all accounts, she’d been well liked, had a great family, lots of friends.
Such a waste.
A crime tech took a photo, and the flash lit up the scene.
“Sometimes I hate this job,” Mac muttered as he turned away.
Sometimes Dane did, too.
The uniform, looking like he might be sick again, stumbled back. His horrified gaze was still on Savannah—hell yeah, the sight of her tortured body could make a person gag. That hole left in her chest was huge. But this wasn’t Dane’s first ball game, not by a long shot.
He studied the scene with clinical eyes. Duct-taped her mouth. Bound her wrists and ankles. The flesh around her wrists was bruised a dark brown. How long had she been bound? The whole time she’d been missing? She wouldn’t have been able to fight back that way. She would have been the perfect prey.
After one final look at the victim, Dane headed for his car, his shoulders hunched. Before he’d taken even five steps, the roar of oncoming vehicles reached him. His head lifted, and he saw a news van rushing way too fast around the curve up ahead.
Sonofabitch. The feeding frenzy had already started. The first van was followed by another, and another…and another.
“Cover the body!” he barked. “And make sure no one contaminates my crime scene.” He’d put up tape, done his best to block off the area, but if some overeager reporter came stumbling through…
He’d arrest the jackass.
Then the reporters were there, swarming with their microphones as the cameramen lumbered behind them.
Dane took a deep breath, tasted death once more, and prepared to face the sharks.
It had taken Savannah Slater a long time to die.
New Orleans police detective Dane Black stared down at the dead woman, noting the series of shallow cuts that lined her arms. Then his gaze rose to her chest. She’d been stabbed in the heart, and it looked as if the killer had twisted the knife once he’d plunged it into her chest.
Hell. The scent of blood and death was heavy in the air. Behind him, Dane could hear the sound of retching, no doubt coming from the fresh-faced uniform who’d found the body tossed like garbage near the edge of the park.
Even Dane’s stomach had knotted at the sight of her body, and he’d sure come across his share of twisted shit when he served his tour in the Middle East.
“You ever seen anything like this?” The uniform had gotten enough control to voice the question. “I mean, Jesus Christ, it looks like someone tortured her.”
Because someone had. Her wrists had been bound with rope, her ankles tied with the same thick hemp. Duct tape covered her mouth—no doubt to muffle her screams while her attacker worked on her.
It hadn’t been an easy death. Not with all of those slices on her arms. Some deep enough to sever veins and tendons. But those wounds hadn’t killed her. The perp had just been playing with her until the moment he drove his knife into her heart.
Dane leaned forward. The victim’s right fingers were curled around something. His eyes narrowed. It looked like…Savannah Slater was holding a bloodred rose in her right hand.
Hell no.
Dane’s back teeth ground together as he stood. Savannah Slater had been missing for just over seventy-two hours. When the reporter hadn’t shown up for work, her boss had started hunting for her. Hunting was what they did best at the New Orleans News Journal.
Dane had thought the reporter might have just gone in deep for a story. He’d figured that she’d turn up with a cover-grabbing headline.
She’d be grabbing the headline, all right. Only he’d never expected this…
Just a few days until February fourteenth. Valentine’s Day. And with the way she was killed…that knife in the heart…and that rose in her hand… The press would flip when they made the connection. “Yeah,” he finally said slowly, “I’ve seen something like this before.” Not up close and personal, but he’d heard the stories. Stories of other women who’d been tortured and killed. Just like Savannah. But not in New Orleans. Those killings had happened years ago, way up in Boston.
Not down in his city.
He studied her body again. The wounds on her arms were deliberate and far too perfectly placed.
“Why’d the prick dump her here?” Dane’s partner demanded. Mac Turner ran a hand over his cleanly shaved head. Sweat glinted lightly off his dark-coffee skin. “My niece plays at this damn park. Any kid could have found the body.” He exhaled. “Dumping a body for a kid to find. Another sick freak on our streets.”
“He left her here because he wanted attention.” The perp hadn’t wanted to wait several days or weeks for the body’s discovery. This was an in-your-face dump. They’d been lucky, though, that no curious six-year-old had stumbled upon it. The reporter had been found just after dawn by a jogger.
Dane stared down again. Savannah Slater’s dark hair feathered over the ground. She’d been beautiful. By all accounts, she’d been well liked, had a great family, lots of friends.
Such a waste.
A crime tech took a photo, and the flash lit up the scene.
“Sometimes I hate this job,” Mac muttered as he turned away.
Sometimes Dane did, too.
The uniform, looking like he might be sick again, stumbled back. His horrified gaze was still on Savannah—hell yeah, the sight of her tortured body could make a person gag. That hole left in her chest was huge. But this wasn’t Dane’s first ball game, not by a long shot.
He studied the scene with clinical eyes. Duct-taped her mouth. Bound her wrists and ankles. The flesh around her wrists was bruised a dark brown. How long had she been bound? The whole time she’d been missing? She wouldn’t have been able to fight back that way. She would have been the perfect prey.
After one final look at the victim, Dane headed for his car, his shoulders hunched. Before he’d taken even five steps, the roar of oncoming vehicles reached him. His head lifted, and he saw a news van rushing way too fast around the curve up ahead.
Sonofabitch. The feeding frenzy had already started. The first van was followed by another, and another…and another.
“Cover the body!” he barked. “And make sure no one contaminates my crime scene.” He’d put up tape, done his best to block off the area, but if some overeager reporter came stumbling through…
He’d arrest the jackass.
Then the reporters were there, swarming with their microphones as the cameramen lumbered behind them.
Dane took a deep breath, tasted death once more, and prepared to face the sharks.
2 comments
Wonderful review Nat!! This sounds really good!! xox
ReplyDeleteThanks Kat! 💟
DeleteThis was a great thriller :)
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