In this book from USA TODAY bestselling author Marilyn Pappano, one familyâs scandal is responsible for a rising body countâ¦
Even for an experienced NCIS agent like Alia Kingsley, the murder scene is particularly gruesome. Someone killed in a fit of rage. Being the long-estranged son of the deceased, Landry Jackson quickly becomes a person of interest. But does Landry loathe his father as much as the feds suspect?
Itâs clear to Alia that Landry Jackson has secrets, but his hatred for his father isnât one of them. Alia feels sure Landry isnât the killer, but once more family members start dying, sheâs forced to question herself. What if the fierce attraction between her and Landry has compromised Aliaâs instincts?
âYouâre not really planning to walk home with me.â
âWhy wouldnât I?â Alia continued shrugging into her shoulder holster.
Landry swallowed hard. Heâd never been drawn to needy women, and Alia was a prime example why. She damn well protected herself, and he found that way sexier than a damsel in distress.
Beads of sweat were gathering across his skin, and they made his voice thick, even though he tried to hide it with teasing. âWhatâs the plan? If we get mugged, youâll hold them off while I run for help?â
Her gaze was warm and heated him from the inside out. âI donât know how fast you can run.â
âDoesnât matter. I only have to be able to outrun you.â
She smirked. âNot likely. Iâll tell you what, if we get mugged, Iâll handle the bad guys. Then you can thank me later.â
He knew exactly what form he would want that thank-you to take. Blocking the image from his mind, he snorted. âI think getting to kick bad-guy butt in front of me would be reward enough for you.â
***
Dear Reader,
Bayou Hero is a story close to my heart. That kind of sounds as though the others arenât, but thatâs not the case. Itâs just a matter of connecting with this story in different ways than I do with the others. Iâve always heard the advice âWrite what you know,â to which my usual response is, âWrite what you want to write aboutâthatâs what research is for.â But when I do write what I knowâwhether itâs a place where Iâve lived, a pastime Iâve indulged in or my experience as a military spouseâthat special bond is there.
Being a navy spouse, and with my husband being a former cop, I couldnât avoid getting exposed to the Naval Criminal Investigative Service during our military years, especially since my husband worked with them the last several years. I always wanted to do an NCIS book, and finally here it is. And itâs set in New Orleans, my favorite city in the world (outside of Oklahoma, of course), and has a hero and a heroine whom Iâve adored spending time with. I hope you enjoy NCIS, New Orleans, Landry and Alia as much as I have.
Marilyn
MARILYN PAPPANO has spent most of her life growing into the person she was meant to be, but isnât there yet. Sheâs been blessed by familyâher husband, their son, his lovely wife and a grandson who is almost certainly the most beautiful and talented baby in the worldâand friends, along with a writing career thatâs made her one of the luckiest people around. Her passions, besides those already listed, include the pack of wild dogs who make their home in her house, fighting the good fight against the weeds that make up her yard, killing the creepy-crawlies that slither out of those weeds and, of course, anything having to do with books.
Even if every single book doesnât say so, theyâre all for you, sweetie. I couldnât do this without you.
Chapter 1
The Greek Revival mansion sat a hundred feet back from Saint Charles Avenue, separated from the street by a six-foot-tall wrought iron fence. The house was stately, the lawn perfectly manicured and the very air around it smelled sweeter, or so it seemed to Alia Kingsley as she snagged a few feet of curb space and climbed out of her car.
The only things more out of place than her in New Orleansâs Garden District this summer morning were the vehicles that overflowed the mansionâs brick-paved drive and clogged the side street. New Orleans Police Department cars, marked and unmarked; an ambulance, its paramedics standing idle; a van from the coronerâs office; sedans bearing US Government tags; and trucks carrying the logos of the local media outlets.
Yellow crime-scene tape kept the reporters and curious neighbors at bay. Alia flashed her credentials to the young cop standing guard at the end of the drive, and he lifted the tape so she could pass. âWhoâs in charge?â