Deadly Ambition

  Cover

  Deadly Ambition

  In the aftermath of the most destructive hurricane to hit the Jersey Shore in a century, Elise Burns and the other residents of Ocean Point are doing their best to recover and rebuild, which is why the recent string of robberies hits everyone especially hard. Fuming to catch the thief preying on those who have already suffered so much, Detective Mitch Burns will stop at nothing to solve the crimes.

  When another robbery turns to murder and a college student who’s interning at Elise’s newspaper is caught with the murder weapon in his hand, Mitch is convinced it’s an open-and-shut case. Elise knows the brash and ambitious aspiring reporter would go to any lengths to get a story, but was he a killer? Following clues from the intern’s notebooks and her own reporter’s gut sense, she sets out to track down a thief and a killer and exonerate a suspect she doesn't even like—even if she has to put herself in harm’s way to do it.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  Copyright © 2013 by Laura Bradford

  Material excerpted from Deadly Readings copyright © 2005, 2012 by Laura Bradford

  Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-937349-84-4

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Other Books by Laura Bradford

  Excerpt from Deadly Readings

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Monday, April 5

  6:15 p.m.

  Elise Jenkins pulled her gaze from the pencil-sketched ocean and turned toward the door, the sound of her husband’s voice wiping away the last of the day’s tension.

  “One of these days, I’m going to have to take a picture of you staring at that drawing and send it to your aunt Sophie. I think she’d be mighty pleased to see how much you still love it after all this time. Though if I do, I probably should include a note explaining all the fingerprints on the left-hand side of the glass.”

  She crossed the tiny living room of their cottage and stepped into his waiting embrace. “I can’t help it. The view is just so gorgeous I want to push the shutter open the rest of the way and see it all. Now.” Elise cocked her head upward, only to feel her smile slip away at the sight of Mitch’s tousled hair and tired eyes. “Hey . . . you okay? You look worn out.”

  Mitch Burns’s shoulders rose and fell in a haphazard shrug. “Eh. I’m okay. Just tired is all. Nothing an evening with you can’t cure, that’s for sure.” He reached for her hand and tugged her over to the couch, his legs cushioning his drop while his arm guided hers. “So what were you thinking about just now when I walked in?”

  She pulled the lower half of her legs onto the couch beside her and lowered her head to his shoulder, the contented sigh he emitted returning the smile to her lips. “Nothing and everything, I guess.”

  His answering laugh rumbled against her ear. “Nothing and everything? How is that possible?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I was struck by the irony of the picture and how nothing about the ocean has really changed since the hurricane, yet everything else around us has . . . and in such monumental ways.”

  “It’ll get back to normal soon, ’Lise. We’re almost there already.”

  “Until the next storm comes along.”

  “Or doesn’t,” Mitch corrected, not unkindly. “You’ve gotta remember it’s been years since a storm of Geraldine’s magnitude hit Ocean Point. And when it did, the town rebounded better than ever, just as it will this time.”

  She paused, waited for the reassurance of his words to reach her heart, but they fell short. Still, she tried her best to be positive. “I know you’re right . . .”

  “I hear the but in that statement.” His hold on her shoulders tightened imperceptibly as his free hand nudged her chin until their eyes locked. “What’s bugging you, baby?”

  She sucked in a breath and then released it, mentally wading through her day at the newspaper as she did. “I guess I don’t get why someone would deliberately set out to hurt people who have already been through so much already, you know? It’s just so cruel, so over the top.”

  “You’re talking about the robberies now, aren’t you?”

  It was her turn to shrug as her gaze left his in favor of the wedding gift that graced the snatch of wall above the fireplace mantel, the breathtaking view of the ocean outside a simple window both calming and, at that moment, ire-provoking. “Isn’t it enough that these people lost their livelihoods for eight solid months and have still opted to stay here, in this town, despite the very real possibility that they could lose everything to Mother Nature again one day? Does someone really need to add insult to injury by waiting until the very moment they finally get back on their feet to knock them down all over again?”

  “Trust me, ’Lise, everyone at the department is just as tweaked by this as you are.” He retrieved his finger from the underside of her chin and brushed it through his hair in frustration. “That’s why we’re sending out more patrols than ever at night, even dispatching some officers on foot to make sure no one is lurking in the alleyways.”

  She nodded along with the familiar report. “Ryan told me that this afternoon, though between you and me, I don’t think he was terribly thrilled to hear the news.”

  Mitch drew back. “Oh? And why is that?”

  “Because if you catch the guy doing it, Ryan will be forced to go back to a list of stories he is quick to describe as lame and worthless.”

  “Lame and worthless?” Mitch echoed.

  “I guess you could say Ryan is, um, rather eager to make his journalistic mark,” Elise offered by way of explanation. And it was true. Ryan Morgan, a senior at Ocean Point College, was pursuing journalism with reckless abandon, convinced he would one day be the next Woodward or Bernstein. Only in Ryan’s often shared fantasy, he wouldn’t need a partner.

  Or a photographer.

  Or an editor.

  Or a boss.

  No, Ryan was convinced he knew more about news reporting than anyone else—including Elise and even Sam Hughes, the lifeblood of the Ocean Point Weekly and her beloved boss.

  “Are they all like that?”

  By all, she kn
ew he was referring to the shadow staff put in place by the new partnership between the local college and the newspaper—a win-win proposition that gave several of the school’s prized journalism students real-world experience in exchange for the kind of updated newsroom computers and photography equipment Sam had been salivating over for years.

  She shook her head. “No. Jeremy Rhoades, the guy who is shadowing Dean, is not only talented but also interested in soaking up everything he can from those of us walking the walk every day. And Sarah Middleton, the girl who’s shadowing Patricia in layout, is a pleasure, as well.”

  “Can you get rid of this guy? You know, maybe swap him for another J-student?”

  It was a thought that had crossed her mind a time or two over the past two weeks but one she’d been forced to discard after talking to Sam from her temporary spot at his desk. After all, Sam was right. Most newsrooms had a Ryan. He just needed to be trained, broken in.

  “No,” she made herself answer despite every instinct to say the exact opposite. “He’ll be okay once he abandons his fantasy job for its far more reality-based counterpart. Besides, there’s no getting around the fact he can write, and write very well. He’s also relentless about checking facts. Heck, I get emails from him at three, sometimes four in the morning about all sorts of stuff. And if you saw the kind of time he’s been spending trying to find a heavy-hitting story for Karen’s Famous Footprints series, you’d be shocked.”

  “You mean one of those stories about celebrities who have vacationed here?”

  At her nod, he shifted his body ever so slightly and continued. “So, who’s he writing about?”

  She shrugged then nestled into the crook of Mitch’s arm, the warmth and peace she found there making it difficult to keep her eyes open, let alone answer his question. But, still, she tried, her words peppered by yawns. “Honestly, I don’t know. He won’t even say whether it’s an athlete or an actor. But I do know he set it aside the moment we learned of the first robbery. Of course he was disappointed when he realized what the codes on the police scanner meant that first night, but a crime is a crime, you know? It was still a chance to pen a news story as opposed to a feature story.”

  Mitch’s chin bobbed against the top of her head as he tightened his hold on her upper body. “Are you saying he was disappointed it was just a robbery?”

  She cast about for something to say to soften the truth but it was no use. Besides, Ryan’s ambulance-chasing ways were too close to the surface to pretend otherwise. “I guess I am, yeah.”

  He blinked once, twice. “O . . . kay. So what, exactly, was he hoping for? A stabbing? A brutal fall? A hit and run? What?”

  “If it yielded a dead body, then I’d have to say he would have been fine with any of the above.”

  Chapter Two

  Tuesday, April 6

  9:20 a.m.

  She paused at the door just long enough to flip on the fluorescent overhead light, then made her way to the head of the table with her notepad, pen, and latest copy of the Ocean Point Weekly.

  Tuesday mornings were, by far, her favorite part of the workweek. There was something magical about sitting around a table brainstorming the next issue that never got old. She supposed some of it was the easy banter that was as much a part of the weekly meeting as anything else. She and her coworkers had gelled into a real team over the years with the same professional goal guiding them all. They laughed together, they plotted together, and they celebrated together.

  But it was more than just the sense of team that had defined the weekly staff meeting and elevated it to such an important part of her work. It was the creation process—the fun of watching a simple idea grow and take on a life of its own, exciting everyone in its path until it became a reality.

  The meetings themselves hadn’t changed much in the nearly seven years she’d been with the paper. The banter was still there, the in-depth look at the current issue was still there, and so too was the brainstorming component she adored. But now, instead of Sam sitting at the head of the table, leading each aspect of the meeting, it was Elise.

  She ran her hand along the back of Sam’s chair and released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She knew Sam’s absence in the room was only temporary, but still, it felt off, like she was trying to wear shoes far too big for her feet.

  “Still second-guessing yourself, I see.”

  Whirling around, she came face-to-face with Dean Waters, the amused expression on the staff photographer’s pasty white face making her feel both silly and more apprehensive than ever. “Second-guessing myself about what?”

  Dean’s bushy eyebrows rose upward. “Oh, please. Like I’m supposed to believe the jitters you had last week have suddenly disappeared?”

  She considered protesting his assessment of the situation but realized it was futile. Dean’s photographic eye didn’t cease to exist simply because he wasn’t holding a camera. He saw details the average person missed. Telling him he was imagining things would only make her look more foolish. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly along with the tone of her voice. “I feel like such a poser sitting in for Sam. I mean, who am I to hand out assignments to everyone else? Especially people like you and Karen who have been here longer than I have.”

  He flicked aside her words then claimed the chair to her immediate left, his tall skinny frame hitting the vinyl cushioned seat with a thump. “Look. I know you’re a poser . . . and Karen knows you’re a poser . . . but everyone else? Who knows.”

  Her jaw slacked momentarily, only to tighten up again at the sound of his snorted laugh.

  “Man, you should have seen your face just then, ’Lise. Talk about being taken aback . . . wow.” He tossed a white paper bag onto the table and opened it quickly, his hand finding and liberating a chocolate donut from its depths with all the enthusiasm of a starving man. Shoving it into his mouth, he chewed once, twice and then swallowed. “C’mon, ’Lise, you know you’ve got this just like you had it last week. Unlike me, who’s been eating and wisecracking his way through nearly ten years of weekly staff meetings, and Karen, who’s spent that same time applying and reapplying lipstick, you’re the only one fit to sit in that chair and you know it. All you have to do now is act like it.”

  It was the closest thing she’d ever get to a compliment from a man who specialized in sarcasm and she found herself relaxing ever so slightly. “I miss him, Dean.”

  “I do, too, but if you tell him that I’ll have to kill you.”

  She couldn’t help it, she laughed. No matter how off-color Dean was or how much mileage he got out of embarrassing her in professional settings, he was a good egg. “Your secret is safe with me.” Turning her attention to her notepad, she glanced down the list of assignments she’d prepared the previous night before falling asleep in Mitch’s arms. “When it gets to the business of pictures, I’m turning the helm over to you, mister, so be prepared.”

  “Jeremy already knows my mantra.”

  “Your mantra?”

  “Yeah. Shut up and shoot.”

  Again she laughed, though this time it was with a measure of trepidation. “Um, Dean, you know we’re supposed to be teaching these kids, right?”

  “I’m telling him to shut up and shoot, aren’t I? You don’t get much better direction than that. Perhaps you could do us all a favor and employ the same method with our boy Ryan.”

  “But if you told him to shut up and shoot, he might do just that, knowing he’d be there for all the juiciest parts of the story.” Karen Smith, the paper’s society reporter, strode into the room on her three-inch platform shoes and sat, daintily, in the chair across from Dean. “Because nothing”—she propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward dramatically—“and I mean nothing is worthy of print space except that which Ryan deems worthy.”

  Elise bit back the sigh that accompanied Karen’s words and did her best to find the optimism she knew she needed to display. But it was hard. They were less than two months into the
co-op program between the college and the paper and there were already problems. It was a situation Sam had posed as a possibility before he left for Seattle to visit his sick brother, but one Elise hadn’t really put much stock in. How wrong she’d been.

  “He’s just a little overeager is all.” Even as the words left her lips, though, she knew they fell short of the truth, a fact hit home by Dean’s snort and Karen’s dramatic eye roll.

  “Remember that Famous Footprints article I assigned him this coming edition?” At Elise’s nod, Karen continued, her voice dripping with disgust. “It took me two days to muster anything resembling enthusiasm in him. Then, just as he gets his first whisper of something that could potentially make a really cool story, he tosses the potato in my lap over a few robberies.”

  “Then there’s the matter of his attitude toward Debbie. He talks to her like she’s his personal secretary.” Dean reached into his bag for a second donut and ate it even faster than the first. “I actually said something to him about it yesterday. Told him to watch himself and his attitude if he wants to stay on through the rest of the semester.”

  She took in everything her coworkers were saying and mentally held it next to a handful of incidents she, herself, had witnessed. Like the time Ryan told Patricia her layout stunk . . . And the way he argued with Elise over the size of his byline in relation to the headline . . .

  “You should have seen him when we came into the office just now, isn’t that right, Dean?”

  “What happened?” she asked, swinging her focus between her coworkers.

  “He talked to D-Rod like he was the dirt on the bottom of his shoe, that’s what.”

  “D-Rod?”

  “Yeah, D-Rod.” Dean scooted his chair out from the table just enough to be able to perch his feet across the vacant seat to his left. “You know, the dude redoing the newsroom floor after the first two post-hurricane replacements refused to stay down.”