Ultraviolet. Nancy Bush

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Ultraviolet - Nancy  Bush

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      Outstanding praise for Nancy Bush and her Jane Kelly mysteries!

      ULTRAVIOLET

      “Fun to read”

      —Pasadena Star News

      ELECTRIC BLUE

      “With her clever ability to handle the zaniest of life’s circumstances, Jane won’t disappoint readers.”

      —Publishers Weekly

      “Bush has a winner with this wacky, sexy second book featuring an insanely dysfunctional family and a zany wannabe P.I. with a gorgeous and intelligent partner.”

      —Library Journal

      CANDY APPLE RED

      “Funny, sex scenes, good drinks, and a likable dog lift Bush’s first Jane Kelly mystery.”

      —Publishers Weekly

      “Jane Kelly is a new and worthy addition to the private investigator scene. Unique and extremely likable, she has a quick wit.”

      —Romantic Times

      “As long as Bush sticks to writing compelling mysteries, she’ll have a franchise that could soon rise to the level of Sara Paretsky’s great V.I. Warshawski books.”

      —Chicago Sun Times

      “A fun, frantic, sexy murder mystery…I was hooked from the first page. Candy Apple Red is an intriguing mystery that kept me guessing all night!”

      —Lisa Jackson, New York Times bestselling author

      Books by Nancy Bush

      CANDY APPLE RED

      ELECTRIC BLUE

      ULTRAVIOLET

      Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

      ULTRA VIOLET

      NANCY BUSH

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Contents

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      I had mere seconds to get out of the bedroom. There was no bolt for the door and escape back the way I’d entered. I stood frozen, my hands useless appendages in front of me, my frantic heartbeats a roaring surf in my ears.

      Three strong strides and I was at the sliding glass door that led to the bedroom balcony. The door opened soundlessly to an itsy-bitsy, terra-cotta-tiled area wrapped by a wrought-iron rail. I looked down two floors. For a dizzying moment I considered jumping, but the patio below was cold, unforgiving stone.

      I whirled back to stare across the room. Twelve feet of carpet led toward the bedroom door, the only other exit. My pursuer was not far behind. From my peripheral vision I caught sight of the maple tree. I glanced over. Too far from the balcony, but just outside the bathroom window.

      I could hear his approaching footsteps from the exterior hall. Quickly, I scurried into the bathroom and threw open the window. One branch was close enough to reach. For an instant I considered climbing down as I was: gowned, bejeweled, wearing the most expensive sandals I ever planned to purchase.

      Kicking off the shoes, I threw them out the window. I ripped the zipper of the dress downward, yanked the slinky lavender dress over my head, sent it flying after the sandals. As I pulled myself through the window, cursing the space that was scarcely large enough for me to wriggle my shoulders through, I heard the door open. A mewling sound entered my throat but I held it back. I reached for the branch, missed, reached again, arms shaking, fingers splayed.

      I heard his breathing.

      My fingers connected and I hauled myself out with adrenaline-laced strength. I swung my legs upward to catch the limb with my ankles and hung like a lemur. Then I shimmied toward the tree trunk and carefully eased myself down the bole. I lost swatches of skin. My pulse hammered in my ears. My face was wet with tears.

      When my toe hit the ground I drew a breath and glanced upward. He was on the balcony looking down at me. In that strange, heightened moment between quarry and prey, I was very, very glad I stood where I was.

      “Ms. Kellogg?”

      The voice came from somewhere to my right, near the front of the house. I stooped to pick up the gown Violet Purcell had given me, shivering, glad Violet had talked me into the padded lacy bra, equally glad I’d held out for bikini underwear rather than a thong.

      The newcomer was my other admirer, Martin.

      I smiled at him as he approached, hoping my lips didn’t quiver. I could feel the gaze from the man on the balcony boring into the back of my head. I shook out the gown. Stepping into it, I said with forced nonchalance, “Would you mind helping me zip up?”

      I thanked the Fates Martin liked me enough to obey without question.

      Earlier

      There’s a weirdo in every neighborhood.

      The old lady with forty-nine cats. The man who’s formed art pieces out of painted car parts and littered them across his front yard. The couple who’ve carved mysterious symbols in the bark of a tree and hung a plaque on the limbs declaring themselves lovers of evergreens, while fir needles blanket their dilapidated

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