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Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Love best-selling fiction?
  3. Also by McGarvey Black
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. Acknowledgements
  60. A note from the publisher
  61. Love best-selling fiction?
  62. You will also enjoy:

“It’s top secret. I really can’t say,” said Zoe, now fully whispering so the two men had to lean in closer to hear her. “I chalk it up to karma because a few years ago, I was in a bank during a robbery. Crazy, right? Afterwards, I worked very closely with the FBI on that case. I even wound up marrying the FBI agent who was assigned to it. And just this week, I witnessed someone conspiring to a murder for hire. I don’t know why but somehow, crime always follows me.”

“Or you follow crime,” muttered the photographer as he gave Devlin a sideways glance and raised his eyebrows. The two newsmen exchanged a look.

“I’ve got your card, Mr. Devlin,” Zoe continued, “I’d be happy to keep you informed as I learn things about any of these cases and am always available for interviews. Of course, it would have to be strictly confidential. My name has to be kept out of it. I’m Zoe Brandt, by the way.”

“Naturally, we never divulge our sources,” said the reporter looking over at his cameraman as the photographer rolled his eyes. “We appreciate your time, Ms. Brandt, but we’ve got to get going. We’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”

“But you don’t have my number,” shouted Zoe as the two men disappeared into the crowd. “Don’t worry, I know how to reach you. I’ll call you.”

Learning nothing about the new murder, Zoe turned around and slowly ran west. The stocky man with the olive complexion still standing in the crowd had watched her full exchange with the reporters. His eyes followed her as she ran west on 110th Street before she turned left and went south down Central Park West.

By the time she got back to her building, it was nearly 9am. The police cars that had been parked in front earlier were gone. With just enough time to shower and change before the all-hands staff meeting at Villa d’Luna at 10am, Zoe breezed by the doorman and jumped on the elevator.

“I think Miranda is going to announce lay-offs tomorrow,” Sean had said the night before while they FaceTimed. “Why else would she be calling us in when the café is closed. Let’s face it, a restaurant doesn’t need a sommelier or a waitress if there are no customers.”