Cold Case, Hot Accomplice (Men of Wolf Creek, 1)

Cold Case, Hot Accomplice (Men of Wolf Creek, 1)

Bestselling author Carla Cassidy brings in the Men of Wolf Creek to seek a missing woman Roxy Marcoli cares about three things—her restaurant, her sisters and her aunt Liz. When Liz disappears, she's forced to turn to shameless playboy cop Steve Kincaid. Every time the sexy detective turns on the charm, he gets Roxy's hackles up. Despite his reputation, Steve is no ladies' man. His casual flirting hides the pain of an unbearable loss. As they search for clues, he discovers what lies beneath Roxy's prickly exterior and sharp tongue. As his desire grows, so does his fear. Because it's not just Aunt Liz the killer wants—but Roxy, too. Carla Cassidy is a New York Times bestselling author who has written more than 125 novels for Harlequin Books. She is listed on the Romance Writer's of America Honor Roll and has won numerous awards. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. For the first time in three and a half years, Aunt Liz was late. Roxy Marcoli checked her watch for the third time in the past five minutes and tried not to panic. The older woman had never been late delivering the baked goods that were offered each day to the customers of the Dollhouse. She always arrived at six-thirty, a half hour before Roxy turned the closed sign to Open, signaling the beginning of another day at the restaurant. It was now quarter till seven and still no sign of Aunt Liz. Roxy had already called her aunt's house twice, and there had been no answer. She'd also tried Liz's cell phone, but it had gone directly to voice mail. "Maybe she's held up in traffic," Josephine Landers, Roxy's manager, said as she checked the quiches that baked in the oven. "Yeah, because traffic jams are such an issue in Wolf Creek, Pennsylvania," Roxy replied drily. She couldn't remember the last time she'd heard of a traffic snarl in the relatively small tourist town twenty miles up the mountain from the bigger city of Hershey. "You know she'd never answer her cell phone if she was driving. She'll probably be walking in here any minute now," Josie said, obviously unconcerned about Liz Marcoli's punctuality or lack thereof. What worried Roxy was that her aunt Liz was the one person in the entire world she'd always depended on, the one person who had always been there for her. She checked her watch once again. Almost seven. This was so out of character for Aunt Liz. A thousand scenarios played out in Roxy's head, one worse than the other. Maybe she'd slipped and fallen in the shower. Or she'd been in a car accident and was at the hospital. Half the time she forgot to carry her purse with her, so if she was in an accident and rendered unconscious, it was possible that nobody would know her identity. Stop it, Roxy commanded herself. Stop thinking so negatively. She'd been told often enough by both of her sisters and her aunt that she was prone to always seeing the bad side of any situation. Maybe for once in her life, Aunt Liz had simply overslept. But then why hadn't she heard the phone ring? "Maybe I'll just give Marlene a call and have her run over and check in at Aunt Liz's," she said, more to herself than to Josie. "Whatever you're going to do, you'd better do it fast because our first customers should be coming in any minute." Josie pulled the tray of homemade quiches from the oven. Roxy grabbed her cell phone from her apron pocket and punched in her middle sister's number. Marlene picked up on the third ring, her voice groggy with sleep. "You'd better be profusely bleeding or on fire," she said to Roxy. "Neither, and I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I can't find Aunt Liz," Roxy replied. She leaned one hip against the large butcher-block island in the center of the kitchen. "What do you mean you can't find Aunt Liz?" Roxy could hear the rustle of bedsheets and could easily imagine her blond-haired, beautiful sister sitting up in her bed in her tiny walk-up apartment bedroom. "She didn't come this morning with the baked goods, and I've tried to call the house and her cell phone, but I get no answer." Roxy tried to keep the worry from her voice, but it was obvious Marlene heard it. "You want me to go over there and check things out?" "Would you mind? I'm just about to open my doors, and I can't imagine what's held her up this morning. This has never happened before." "It will take me a few minutes to pull myself together and get over there, but I'll call you back as soon as I know something." Roxy released a small sigh of relief. "Thanks, Marlene. And if she shows up here in the meantime, I'll give you a call back." Roxy hung up at the same time she heard a rapid knock come from the front door of the three-story Victorian home she'd turned into a restaurant. For the past year, the first three customers at the door every Monday, Wednesday and Friday were three of Hershey's finest who, before beginning their shifts as d