Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6)
by Toni Anderson
COLD JUSTICE SERIES
Cold Secrets
(Book #7 coming soon)
Cold Hearted
(Book #6)
Cold In The Shadows
(Book #5)
Cold Fear
(Book #4)
Cold Justice Series Box Set
, Volume 1 (Books 1-3)
Cold Light of Day
(Book #3)
Cold Pursuit
(Book #2)
A Cold Dark Place
(Book #1)
THE BARKLEY SOUND SERIES
Dark Waters
(Book #2)
Dangerous Waters
(Book #1)
STAND-ALONE TITLES
‘HER’ ROMANTIC SUSPENSE SERIES
Her ~ Romantic Suspense Box Set
(Books 1-3)
Her Risk To Take
(Novella ~ Book #3)
Her Last Chance
(Book #2)
Her Sanctuary
(Book #1)
Hunting For A Killer…
Detective Erin Donovan expects life to quiet down after the arrest and conviction of a serial rapist who terrified her university town last summer. Then two young women are brutally slain and the murders bear all the hallmarks of the campus rapist. Did Erin arrest an innocent man? Now her job is at stake and tensions are high and just when it looks like things can’t get worse, her department gets the help it needs to solve the double homicide—in the form of a man Erin has never been able to forget.
Who Doesn’t Play By The Rules.
FBI Agent Darsh Singh has no interest in reliving the past. Three years ago, his feelings for Erin Donovan had him breaking all his rules about getting involved. Now his only interest in the former NYPD detective is figuring out if she screwed up a rape investigation and helped send an innocent man to prison. But being forced to work together rekindles their old attraction, and as Darsh and Erin fall for each other, the campus predator fixates on Erin. The race is on to identify the ruthless killer before he makes Erin his final victim.
Copyright © 2016 Toni Anderson
Kindle Edition
Cover design by Syd Gill / Syd Gill Designs
Print ISBN-13: 9780994870117
Digital ISBN-13: 9780994870100
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places, and events portrayed in this book are products of the writer’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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www.toniandersonauthor.com
).
For John Wilson Anderson.
Whose life story would make a great book.
H
e spotted her
across the street, blonde hair shining like polished gold in the sunlight, her lithe body tormenting every Y-chromosome in a hundred yard radius. He pulled out his cell and took a snapshot to immortalize the moment. He’d thought she said she was returning later in the week. Obviously he’d been mistaken. He dialed her number and watched her pull out her phone. He waited for the matching smile to form on her lips, for her eyes to light up. Instead, she checked caller ID, grimaced, and let the call go to voicemail.
Horror rushed through him as she re-pocketed the phone and turned back to her companion.
What the fuck
? He killed the connection and collapsed to a nearby bench, hidden from sight by a mass of tangled bushes.
He’d thought she loved him. That she wanted to
be
with him…
God! He’d given her everything she needed, laid it out like a feast on a platter with a fucking apple stuffed in its mouth.
She played you, dumbass.
Fury flayed his skin. Rage so hot and pure that the blood coursing his body burned his bones. She thought she could dismiss him? Like he was nothing? Like he hadn’t risked everything for her? His hand strangled his phone as he imagined it squeezing her alabaster neck.
A noise brought him back to himself, and he drew in a long breath.
A laugh.
A giggle.
His head jerked up. Students milled around. They were relaxed and happy after winter break. The monster had been caught. They were safe. Life could go back to normal.
Sheep.
How could they think they were
safe
when the person they were having coffee with might be a predator dreaming about ripping into their soft, white underbelly? Why were they so willing to swallow bullshit as long as it was confidently labeled “truth”?
The system was broken. Bad guys walked free every single day. Good guys rotted. Innocents died.
Idiots
.
A cute freshman smiled shyly at him from the bench opposite. He stretched his mouth into an answering curve that revealed nothing of the shock and disappointment that still rippled through him. Women liked him. So why the fuck did she think it was okay to ignore him?
A plan formed in his brain—a plan that buzzed along his nerves with the blistering speed of electricity.
Should he do it?
It might mess up things, and he didn’t want to go to prison, but it would certainly get her attention. His brain raced over the possibilities. He knew how to do this. He knew how not to get caught. And it might keep things interesting. Life had been pretty fucking boring lately and, as he’d found out last year, there was nothing quite as satisfying as revenge.
The student hiked her bag on her shoulder and got up to leave. He eyed the flirty plaid skirt she wore over opaque black tights and tall black boots, then jogged to catch up with her. Made a joke. Made her blush.
It was almost too easy.
He laughed and realized he was enjoying himself again. The excitement resurrected something inside him that was both heady and familiar. Something that scared him enough to keep it tightly leashed and under control. Something he’d denied himself for ten long months.
He reined in the thrill that fizzed through his bloodstream. He needed to be careful. The memory of the disgraced former quarterback reminded him he couldn’t afford to get cocky. No way in hell did he intend to share the asshole’s shame and degradation. But he knew the system. Knew the flaws. She was going to regret not taking that goddamned phone call for the rest of her life.
* * *
Cassie Bressinger smoothed
out the single sheet of paper and read Drew’s small, cramped handwriting for the seventh time that day.
Cass,
I was trying to figure out something interesting to tell you, but after only a month I’m already running out of material. I mean, there are only so many adjectives I can invent to describe the three shades of gray that make up the decor here—snot, Minnesota, and dead rabbit are my newest favorites. I probably wouldn’t win any prizes in English class, but as I got kicked out I guess it doesn’t matter.
Three shades of gray—hmm, there might be a book in there somewhere…
Fifty Shades this place is not. Not to say there isn’t plenty of banging going on from the grunts and groans I hear at night. Someone somewhere is enjoying the fuck out of somebody else.
I
think
it’s consensual…
An ironic concern for a convicted rapist but, hey, who wants to be predictable?
Honestly, Babe, I’m at the stage where protecting my own ass has become my #1 priority. Luckily, I’m a big motherfucker and spent years on the gridiron, staring down people desperate to drill me into the ground. I could do with my offensive line in here though…
Crap.
I didn’t mean to talk about this shit and I’m running out of writing paper so I don’t want to start over. Plus, my fingers are getting cramps from holding a pen. Yeah, me, former star athlete whose hands were supposed to be his golden meal ticket. Getting cramps from writing a freaking letter! More irony
Enough about me. How are
you
? What’s happening with your courses this semester? You said you were going to try and get into law school.
Please don’t do that because of me!!!
The last thing I want is for you to be stuck in a stuffy courtroom listening to god-awful testimony and watching people’s lives disintegrate. Run away and join the circus. Take a year off and travel the world.
Seriously.
And make sure you write and tell me all about your adventures, okay? I’m living vicariously. And if you want to have sex with other girls—that’s okay. Feel free to write and tell me
all
about that, too. Kidding! Well…kind of kidding and now kind of horny, which is a pain in the ass. Obviously the DA was right to classify me as a dangerous sex fiend.
Fucker.
Okay, gotta go. Time for me to go line up for sloppy mashed potatoes and sausages that look like severed fingers… Ugh, okay, just grossed myself out.
Don’t worry about me—I got this.
Love you. Miss you.
Drew. X
Someone knocked on the door and Cassie jumped. Tanya Whitehouse sauntered in before Cassie had a chance to hide the letter.
“That from Drew?” Tanya was wearing skinny jeans, her favorite strappy black top, and sparkly earrings. Her lips glowed in glittering magenta. Going out. Doing normal things like a normal person.
Cassie popped a shoulder and nodded.
“He okay?” asked Tanya.
“He’s incarcerated with rapists and murderers for crimes he didn’t commit,” she bit out. “What do you think?”