Wanting You Read online

  WANTING YOU

  Hollywood Heat Book 2

  Leslie A. Kelly

  New York Boston

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Leslie A. Kelly

  Excerpt from Waiting for You copyright © 2018 by Leslie A. Kelly

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover copyright © 2018 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever Yours

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10104

  forever-romance.com

  twitter.com/foreverromance

  First ebook and print on demand edition: July 2018

  Forever Yours is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever Yours name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  ISBN 978-1-5387-6124-3 (print on demand edition)

  ISBN 978-1-5387-6125-0 (ebook edition)

  E3-20180702-DA-PC

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  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

  Epilogue

  A Preview of WAITING FOR YOU

  About the Author

  Also by Leslie A. Kelly

  You Might Also Like…

  Newsletters

  Sincere thanks to Caitlin Kelly for the brainstorming, editing, and plotting assistance;

  to the Plotmonkeys—Julie, Karen, and Janelle—for helping to flesh out this whole series;

  To Geoff Symon for the technical help;

  and to my niece Christina, for the police procedural info!

  Did Former Child Star Really Fall?

  Hollywood Tattletale Reporter J. Federer

  November 14, 2018

  LOS ANGELES—Although actor Steve Baker’s death was ruled an accident, questions remain about this summer’s tragedy.

  Baker’s body was found in June at the base of a cliff directly below the home of actor-turned-director Reece Winchester. Though the reclusive star was questioned, police say he was not suspected of any crime and called Baker’s death an accident. But some Hollywood insiders aren’t convinced. Whispers of suicide, or even worse, still surround the case.

  Baker, who starred in the sitcom Dear Family, was once a household name. Part of a teen supercouple, his career took a nosedive after his girlfriend, actress Rachel Winchester—sister to the famed director—fell to her death from a hotel balcony eighteen years ago. Although ruled an accident, no one really knows whether Rachel actually had committed suicide.

  Six years ago, the actor’s father, superstar agent Harry Baker, was brutally murdered in his home. The case remains unsolved to this day.

  Did the series of tragedies prove too much for Steve Baker? Enough for him to follow his long-lost love and take his own life?

  Or is something darker at work?

  Some wonder if his fall was part of a revenge plot by the Winchesters—a family known for carrying grudges, especially against those involved in the sad life and death of Rachel Winchester.

  With one Winchester brother living in the house where the incident occurred, another a former Army Ranger and professional bodyguard, and a third a renowned detective within the LAPD, who knows how deep the conspiracy might go…or what else the powerful but secretive Winchester brothers might be concealing?

  Chapter 1

  Anyone interested in the many infamous murders that had occurred in Los Angeles knew the Cecil Hotel was worth a visit. More than one violent killer had called the building home, and brutal crimes had been committed within its walls. The place showed up on the city’s murder tours and had even landed its own TV series on a cable network, even though it was now known by a different name.

  For Evie Fleming, however, going to the Cecil wasn’t about morbid curiosity. She made her living—a very good one—writing in-depth explorations about notorious crimes. As far as she was concerned, there was no better place to begin her research on the city’s most brutal killers.

  Right now, though, she wondered if that visit might have been a big mistake.

  Because a man was following her down Seventh Street.

  “Hell,” she whispered as she heard his hard footsteps behind her.

  She walked even faster toward the parking garage where she’d left her rental car. The neighborhood was still, silent. When she’d arrived this afternoon, it had been crowded with busy Monday workers from surrounding office buildings. There were few shops, though, and the restaurants catered to the area’s daytime employees, who’d left long ago.

  She should have left earlier too. But her conversation with a talkative old maintenance man at the hotel had been fascinating, and she’d spent hours in his small office. Hours during which the night had grown late, the air had grown cold, and the street had grown menacing.

  Knowing she was now within a block of the garage didn’t offer much relief. The narrow entrance ramp was tucked in between two tiny stores. Even from here she could see they were dark and shuttered with security gates.

  She’d parked on the third level. The elevator was in the back. The front stairs were completely enclosed—a vertical tunnel of privacy for anyone with crime in mind. None of this looked promising.

  Maybe there’s a twenty-four-hour cashier at the exit gate.

  Or maybe it was entirely electronic.

  There’s probably a security guard.

  But there might not be.

  Damn it. By walking into it that garage she might be trapping herself with no way to get out.

  The heavy footsteps on the sidewalk were getting louder. Although it didn’t sound like he was running, he certainly wasn’t strolling.

  Maybe he was totally innocent, on an errand or meeting a friend. But she didn’t think so. A creepy-crawly sensation danced up her spine, the one every woman felt when something told her she was being followed by danger. Her job—the constant immersion in the world of violent crime—made her more suspicious than most. She knew awful things could happen to anyone. At any time.

  Should’ve Uber’d it.

  Yes, she should have. But it hadn’t seemed necessary. The LAPD headquarters building was only six or seven blocks from the Cecil. She’d walked to the station that afternoon, hitting the hotel on her way back. The neighborhood had seemed a little run-down but was still a busy, commercial one. She just hadn’t seen the nighttime potential.

  Big mistake.

  “Okay, what ar
e you going to do?” she whispered.

  Did she go into the garage and call herself a paranoid fool when the stranger kept walking up the street? Did she turn around and confront him, knowing some guys would back off if they knew they’d been looked at and could be identified?

  Identified. Another possibility flared in her mind.

  Without missing a stride, she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. Tapping the screen and thumbing for the camera app, she was prepared to swing around and take the guy’s picture and text it to a friend. Just in case.

  The footsteps pounded harder. The guy was getting closer. Maybe he’d seen the flash of light from the camera. Or maybe he’d realized they’d reached the darkest center of the street.

  “Damn it,” she muttered as she fumbled with the phone. Not even wanting to stop long enough to turn around, she lifted the camera high. She snapped what might have been a picture of her own shoulder, or the street in the opposite direction, and forwarded it in response to the last text message she’d received. Although she knew she should take another—one that she was sure actually showed the guy—her tension had quadrupled. Her heart thudded, her pulse roared, and her brain ordered her to move. Now. Go now.

  Sensing she didn’t have time to do anything else, she obeyed her inner voice and took off toward the next intersection. Broadway. It was seventy yards maybe. She just hoped she got there safely to give it her regards.

  She ran. No, she flew, her long legs eating the sidewalk, her feet steady in her thick-heeled leather boots.

  Although she’d anticipated it, the attack still shocked her. A hard form slammed into her, a powerful arm encircling her waist. Her phone flew from her hand as a strong hand yanked a fistful of hair and jerked her head back against a strong, alcohol-reeking body.

  “Don’t scream.”

  Of course she screamed.

  He let go of her hair, slamming his thick hand over her mouth. Even as she twisted and struggled, he began to drag her toward a narrow service alley between two tall office buildings.

  Evie wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t helpless. She couldn’t let him get her back there, away from any potential passersby. Obediently getting into the car, going into the back alley, or into the strange building was a common mistake victims made when confronted by an attacker. They might think it was safer to go along, but it wasn’t. Because once an attacker got you out of sight and sound of anyone else, the battle was already lost.

  She fought with all her strength, elbows hitting his gut, eliciting a grunt. Her nails clawed the hand over her mouth. Swinging her leg back, she caught his shin with the heel of her boot.

  He winced but tightened his grip around her middle. His other hand went to her throat and began to squeeze. “Stop struggling, bitch.”

  As if. So far he hadn’t produced a weapon. That was fortunate. She just had to get away from him, or at least turn around to give herself a real fighting chance. Anything to prevent him from getting her in that alley. And to get his strong, powerful fingers off her neck.

  Suddenly, she remembered a trick from a self-defense class she’d taken.

  Evie picked up her feet.

  Surprised at having to bear her entire weight, the attacker dropped her onto the ground. She rolled away quickly, knowing he would lunge after her and that he wouldn’t be caught off guard again. Leaping to her feet, she swung around, preparing to jab her nails into his eyes, a fist into his throat, a knee into his crotch.

  But he wasn’t there. Rather than the attacker charging at her, something had come at him. A dark shape, powerful and broad, slammed into the other man, sending him flying.

  Her ridiculous first thought was that Batman was real. Her second was that she was going to start carrying pepper spray. Her third was sheer, utter relief.

  The attacker landed on the hard corner of a cement step and howled in pain.

  “Police. Don’t move,” a deep voice growled.

  A tall man moved toward the thug and pushed him onto his stomach. A gleam of moonlight on metal and a clanking sound told her he was putting handcuffs on her attacker.

  “This is police brutality! I think you broke my arm.”

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t your neck. You think I don’t know what you had in store for this woman?”

  The words being thrown right out there made Evie shiver. So far, she’d held herself together. She suspected only the adrenaline roaring through her kept her from a more emotional reaction.

  She might have been able to fight the guy off. But she might not have. And if she hadn’t, she would probably, right now, be in that alley being robbed, beaten…maybe worse. Jesus.

  Don’t think about it. Just don’t.

  Once the handcuffs were in place, her savior looked up at her. His face was washed in shadow, only the dark eyes gleaming. “Are you all right, Miss…?”

  “Fleming. Evie Fleming. And yes, I’m okay. Thanks to you.”

  She would have aches, pains, and bruises tomorrow from her fall. But all of those things were better than what she might have endured had the big cop with the intense eyes not come onto the scene.

  Just like something out of a crime TV show, he sat the handcuffed creep on a cement step and read him his rights. Pointing an index finger in the guy’s face, he said, “You move for anything other than to breathe, and you’ll regret it.”

  The would-be mugger—oh God, rapist?—groaned. But he didn’t move.

  Pulling a radio off his belt, the police officer called in the crime. After he’d made the call, requesting assistance, he refocused his attention on Evie. “Are you sure you’re not hurt? Do you want me to have them send an ambulance?”

  “No, really, I’m fine,” she said, meaning it. Everything—from her noticing she was being followed, to the jerk being put in handcuffs—had taken no more than five minutes. She might be a bit banged up because of her own maneuvers, but really, the only thing she felt was gratitude.

  Now that her heart was settling back into a normal rhythm, the rush of danger easing out of her with every exhalation, she noticed more about the cop. First, that he was probably about six feet tall but gave the impression of being taller because of his overall bigness. Although he was still cloaked by night, she saw that his body appeared powerful—broad in the shoulder and in the chest, definitely no donut belly. He was in perfect shape. Good thing, since her attacker was probably a bit taller. But the guy wouldn’t have stood a chance against someone this strong.

  “You’ll have to wait to talk to the local responders from Central. They should be here within a couple of minutes.”

  “You’re not from there?” That surprised her. She’d figured she’d been correct in her initial assumption that this neighborhood would be well patrolled, given the location of headquarters up on Second.

  “No, it was just dumb luck. I was dropping off some paperwork. Saw this jackoff start to follow you when I was waiting at the intersection and decided to cruise by and see what was going on.”

  “Thank goodness for me you did.”

  He shifted a little, probably uncomfortable with the praise, as many heroic types were. And she’d already pegged him as one.

  As he moved, so, apparently, did some clouds overhead. Because a shimmer of moonlight emerged and cast light on him. God in heaven.

  He had that kind of strong, angular face, all sculpted bones and jutting jaw, that made women take a second look. She catalogued the sexy close-cut beard, the thick, nearly black hair, and the swoop of equally black brows over dark, deep-set eyes. The chin was hard, the jaw defined, the nose strong but not overlarge, the mouth…oh, Jesus, the man had mouth. A slow, involuntary shiver rolled up her body, but it was nothing like the shudders of desperation she’d been experiencing just minutes ago in this very spot.

  “You’re cold.” He didn’t wait for a reply, instead coming closer and whipping off a soft, worn leather jacket. He put it over her shoulders.

  Funny, now that he was standing so close,
cold was the last way she’d describe herself. The man put off more fire than a jet engine.

  There was something else. He looked familiar.

  Evie couldn’t identify him, and she was almost certain they hadn’t met in person. But she’d seen him somewhere. Maybe when researching one of her books—he was a cop, after all, in a city that had had more than its fair share of serial killer cases. She would figure it out eventually, of that she had no doubt. The man was simply too spectacular to be entirely forgotten.

  “I’m fine, really,” she said. “I think my senses are just a little heightened after what happened.” That had to be why she was reacting so strongly to everything—the moonlight, his mouth, his broad, powerful body, and his heat.

  “Completely understandable.” He frowned. “You know, this isn’t a great area to walk alone at night.”

  “I figured that out. It looked okay when I arrived this afternoon. I didn’t realize how it would be once the businesses closed.”

  “Common mistake all over LA.”

  “First lesson learned.”

  “You’re new here?”

  She nodded. “As of yesterday.”

  He barked a laugh. “Welcome to the City of Angels, Evie Fleming.”

  “If he’s a part of the welcoming committee, I prefer to skip the muffins and the glad-to-have-you-in-the-neighborhood basket.” She managed a tiny smile. “I don’t think I can handle any more of that kind of hospitality.”

  “Sorry about that. It’s not a bad place. Like any big city, you just have to be aware of your surroundings.”

  “Understood. Honestly, I hadn’t planned to be out this late—I lost track of time visiting the Cecil.”

  “Oh.”

  Evie heard a tone, an unmistakably judgy one. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said. He glanced over at the mugger to make sure he still wasn’t moving, but still addressed her. “You’re a horror fan, huh?”

  “No, actually, I’m a murder fan.”

  He jerked his head back. “Excuse me?”