Reckless
Authors: Maggie Shayne
Tags: #romantic suspense, #crime fiction, #witness, #muder, #organized crime, #fbi agent, #undercover agent, #crime writer
Dear Reader,
The story you are about to read was the very
first one I ever published. Now, some ninety titles later, this
story and these characters remain as key players in one of the most
memorable days of my life.
Picture it: small-town U.S.A. in the summer
of 1992. A harried young mother of five little girls with a dream—a
dream she's been steadfastly pursuing for more than five years. I
didn't work outside the home then—I had vowed that I'd get an
outside job when my youngest daughter started kindergarten, and
that time was drawing very near. As August wore on and September
drew near, I began looking at the want ads.
Then came August 24. I returned home from
grocery shopping to find a message waiting. An editor, who said she
would call me back later. I was almost afraid to hope, but she did
call back and all the girls crowded around me, listening. They'd
been with me on this journey for more than five years. They
understood how hard I had tried, how many times I had been rejected
and gone to bed crying, only to drag myself back to the typewriter
to try again. Yes, typewriter. I didn’t have a computer. I had
taken care of a neighbor’s horse farm for a long weekend to earn
the money to go from a manual typewriter to an electric one, and
even that was a big expense back then. I thought corrector ribbon
was the greatest invention of all time. (I had not yet discovered
the internet.)
My girls knew what it meant when that editor
told me that one of the stories I had written was going to be
published. And when I put the phone down, you never heard so much
shrieking, squealing, and laughter in your life.
This book, this very story, was the turning
point from struggling, aspiring author, writing stuff that was
“close but not quite right,” to professional author living a
lifelong dream.
Reckless Angel
was the key that unlocked the
door to my future. It's as precious to me as a part of my
family.
I have gone back through this story and
rewritten it extensively. I’m a better writer than I was back then,
and times have changed. In the original, the heroine didn’t even
have a cell phone.
I think the story is worthy of standing
beside my more recent works, and I truly hope you enjoy it!
Best always,
Maggie Shayne
The Shattered Sisters Series
Copyright 2016 by Margaret S. Lewis
First Published 1993 as Reckless Angel
Cover art and formatting by Jessica Lewis
Editing by Jena O’Connor
Second Edition
All rights reserved. Except for use in any
review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and
recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is
forbidden without the written permission of the author. All
characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination
of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the
same name or names. They arc not even distantly inspired by any
individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are
pure invention.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Excerpt: Forgotten (Shattered Sisters, Book
2)
In the murky, rain-veiled light that spilled
into a filthy alley, Nick watched the gruesome scene play out. The
man who called himself
Viper
leaned over his victim’s body,
his face alternately beige and bright orange in the flickering
light of a broken neon sign. He grunted as he pulled his bloody
blade from the dead man's chest. Nick turned up his collar when the
rain came down colder and harder than before. He was glad of the
rain. There would be less blood.
Something moved and Nick gave a quick glance
up the alley, simultaneously lifting his 9 mm semi-automatic. The
gun's muzzle moved in perfect unison with his eyes until he found
the source of the sound in an overflowing trash bin. Just a rat.
Red eyes glowed in a shiny black coat for an instant before it
scurried away, and Nick resumed watching the little man with the
pinched face and the intimidating nickname. Truth was, the hitman
looked more like a weasel than a snake.
“Boss doesn’t want Vinnie ID'ed right away,”
Nick reminded him.
Viper shook his head, but his slicked-back
hair didn't move. “I've done my part.” He wiped the blade over the
dead man's lapel and started to stand.
Nick worked the action of the gun, chambering
a round to make his point, and Viper's head snapped toward him.
“Lou sent me to witness the hit, not clean up
after it. You don't want to do it, either—that's fine with me. Just
let me come along when you tell Lou why Vinnie was ID'ed before he
was stiff.” He knew his voice was like cold steel. He wanted it
that way. He pretended great interest in the blue-black barrel of
his gun while Viper, who’d been working for Lou a lot longer than
Nick had, and resented being assigned a babysitter, made up his
mind.
After a long moment Viper knelt again to
begin removing items from his victim's pockets. He took the ring
from his finger, ripped the tags out of his clothes. He handed
those items to Nick and bent once more, this time intent on rubbing
the corpse’s fingertips back and forth over rough pavement until no
trace of a print remained. Nick stuffed the victim's belongings
into a plastic zipper bag and pushed it into the pocket of his
raincoat.
Then Viper pulled a small-caliber revolver
from his own coat, held it two inches from the dead face and
thumbed the hammer back.
A sound like a gag made them both swing their
heads toward the sidewalk where a woman stood, frozen, staring into
the alley. Nick's gaze locked with hers. She stared right back at
him, and there was no doubt in his mind that she was memorizing his
every feature, better to describe him to the local cops she
intended to call. Viper lifted his gun her way.
Nick swung one arm downward, knocking Viper's
muzzle off target before the other man had a chance to pull the
trigger. “Finish
this
job, dammit. I'll take care of her.”
She was already off and running, so Nick sprinted for the opposite
end of the alley. She would head around the block—to the closest
place with lights and people. He vaulted the mesh fence that
blocked the alley at the back end and landed with a jarring thud on
the pavement. Then he moved silently, keeping close to the
buildings.
He stopped when he heard her heels smacking
rapidly over the wet sidewalk, waited to step into her path when
she came around the corner at breakneck speed, cellphone in hand,
looking down at its screen instead of up where she was going.
She careened into his chest and the phone
clattered to the ground. He felt the heat emanating from her, heard
her ragged breathing. “Thank God,” she said on a noisy exhale. “I
need––” She looked up into his eyes and she knew.
Before she could pull back, he clamped his
hands on her shoulders. When her full lips parted, Nick said,
“Scream and you die, lady.” She didn't. She pressed her lips tight
and swallowed hard. Nick saw her fear. He felt it. It surrounded
her like a halo of light around a candle's flame. He watched her,
ready to react to her slightest move.
Wild black curls hung past her shoulders and
glittered with clinging raindrops reflecting the city lights. Her
eyes—they looked black, too, but he couldn't be sure in the
darkness—were wide with fear, but alert and intelligent. She was
small, so she wouldn't be hard to handle. The top of her head
didn't quite reach his chin.
He heard footsteps in the distance, half
trot, half shuffle—Viper's unmistakable gait, coming around the
block the same way the woman had. If Nick didn't think of something
fast, the little bastard would probably put them both on ice. He
held the gun under her nose, so she could get a good look. She
refused to glance down. She stared up at him instead, her eyes
still afraid but defiant. He could see the wheels turning behind
those eyes. It surprised him to realize that he knew what she was
thinking. She was weighing the odds, waiting for a chance. She'd
knee him in the balls or try some half-assed move she’d learned in
a self-defense class and run like hell if he gave her an opening.
And then she'd end up dead.
“Listen and listen good.” Nick used his best
street voice and most intimidating tone. “The guy you hear coming
is a killer—a pro. When he gets here, he's gonna make you his next
job, then he's gonna do the same for me 'cause I didn't off you
myself. You got one chance. You wanna see tomorrow, you do what I
say,
to the letter.
You got it?”
She didn't acknowledge the question in the
slightest, but just kept watching him with those unbelievably huge,
liquid eyes. He blinked and made himself continue. “When I let go
of you, run past me, same way you were heading. I'm gonna fire one
shot, and you're gonna hit the pavement and play dead for all
you're worth.”
Viper's footsteps drew nearer. The woman’s
gaze flicked away from his to glance back over her shoulder. She
looked up at him again, a little of the defiance gone. “What if I
don't?” The words sounded as if they were forced through a space
too small for them.
“If you don't, lady, then the second shot
will be for real. And I never miss.” He let the words fall heavily
between them, saw her go a shade paler. She glanced down at her
cell phone, lying on the sidewalk at her feet. He did too, and then
he stomped on it. “It’s me or him, lady. Only difference is, he’ll
kill you.” He looked up again, waited for her to meet his eyes, and
added. “I won’t.”
After a drawn-out second, she nodded.
Nick drew a steadying breath, released her
shoulders and stepped aside to let her go by him. “Go.”
She ran. Nick picked up the cell phone, just
in case, pocketed it, and waited for Viper to come around the
corner so he’d have a good view, then raised the gun, aiming over
the woman’s head and squeezed the trigger. He never realized he'd
been holding his breath until she went down and he released it all
at once. She lay still, facedown on the sidewalk some forty feet
away. Viper reached him a second later.