Sundays Are for Murder

Sundays Are for Murder
Marie Ferrarella

A serial killer who strikes on Sundays is back in business, and workaholic FBI agent Charlotte "Charly" Dow will do anything to catch him. For Charly, the investigation is personal. Her sister was one of the victims murdered during the psychopath's vicious killing spree. The tragedy destroyed Charly's family…even sending her mother into a mental institution.Now Charly has a new partner–agent Nick Marshall, who is just as reluctant as she is when it comes to trusting other people. Nick has his own problems. He's emotionally detached and has enough skeletons in his closet to keep him from sleeping at night. However, investigating the serial killer keeps him plenty occupied, and Charly herself is fast turning into a compelling distraction.But bodies keep showing up–and someone knows Nick has a secret….

“THERE’S BEEN ANOTHER ONE.”

Charley froze. All the warmth within the room seemed to evaporate in an instant. She didn’t have to ask what “another one” meant.

And it sent a chill through her heart.

The voice on the other end of the receiver belonged to assistant director George Kelly’s secretary. The woman was calling on his behalf to inform the special agents assigned to the serial killer task force that another victim had been claimed by the monster who was laying siege to the southland.

Charley pushed back her hair from her forehead. Damn it, anyway. “When?”

“They found the body this morning. It’s believed she was killed sometime yesterday. Kelly wants to hold a meeting as soon as possible.”

Yesterday. Sunday. The same day her sister had been killed. The same day all the victims had been killed. She was beginning to hate Sundays.

Sundays are for Murder

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Dear Reader,

You know how you sometimes get a song, or more often, a lyric, stuck in your head and it follows you around for hours, sometimes days, teasing you, haunting you, giving you no peace? Well, that’s how it was with Sundays Are for Murder. It began as a kernel of an idea, just a hint, and it refused to leave me alone. It begged for development and when I had no time to devote to it, it would just sit back, popping up to haunt me whenever I had a couple of moments to rub together. Unlike bits and pieces of an idea that usually fade when I try to remember them, this story wouldn’t go away. It was there every December, my usual “downtime” when I try to catch up on the rest of my life, decorate a ten-foot tree and search for new recipes to try out on my unsuspecting family for Christmas. It became the white elephant in the room, except that no one could see it but me (in that respect, I suppose it was more like Harvey, the six-foot rabbit only James Stewart could see in the movie of the same name). Yes, I’ve been carrying the story around that long. So, finally, through the grace of Patience Smith, my beloved editor, Marsha Zinberg, executive editor in charge of miracles, and the powers that be, here’s the story that wouldn’t go away. I hope you find it entertaining (at least there’ll be one less place at the table for Christmas this year).

I wish you love,

To Patience Smith & Patricia Smith (no relation except for wonderfulness), for always believing in this, and to Marsha Zinberg, who let me do it.

You all have my greatest affection.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE