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Back Bloody Vows Save as PDF
Chapters (49)
  1. INDEX
  2. CHAPTER ONE
  3. CHAPTER TWO
  4. CHAPTER THREE
  5. CHAPTER FOUR
  6. CHAPTER FIVE
  7. CHAPTER SIX
  8. CHAPTER SEVEN
  9. CHAPTER EIGHT
  10. CHAPTER NINE
  11. CHAPTER TEN
  12. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  13. CHAPTER TWELVE
  14. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  15. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  16. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  17. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  18. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  19. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  20. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  21. CHAPTER TWENTY
  22. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  23. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  31. CHAPTER THIRTY
  32. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  33. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  41. CHAPTER FORTY
  42. CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  43. EXCERPT FROM
  44. THE POET
  45. PROLOGUE
  46. CHAPTER ONE
  47. CHAPTER TWO
  48. ALSO BY LISA RENEE JONES
  49. ABOUT LISA RENEE JONES

But I’m working on that. Or I will.

Soon.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It’s three o’clock and I sit at the bar that overlooks the kitchen, watching our chef team cook, while sampling delicious food, writing out stacks of notecards related to my investigation. As for who is preparing that delicious food—Michael Roswell is a remarkably good-looking man—tall, dark, and handsome personified. He’s also an acclaimed chef, who assures me he has no family of his own and in fact, he enjoys spending his Thanksgiving cooking for others. His helper is Naomi, a pretty blonde who doesn’t speak, anger crackling beneath her surface that seems to be directed at Chef Roswell. There’s a subtle intimacy between them that defies their avoidance of eye contact with one another. And yet—I don’t believe they’re a couple. Whatever the case, what bothers her does not bother him. He’s humming to Christmas music that isn’t playing anywhere but in his head. But there’s more to their story, and another day I’d try to figure it out but not today.

Right now, I have a murder to solve, and that’s my focus.

The jar of blood was a message.

I didn’t need pretty little DD to tell me that brilliant tidbit of information. Now I have to discover the answer to a puzzle. What message? I write out a notecard with every idea:

— I’m better than the Umbrella man.

— More blood will spill.

— You beat him. You won’t beat me.

— It’s not over.

— I’m coming for you.

— You stupid bitch, you will never figure this out.

— Look here, so you won’t see the truth.

Kane sets a glass of wine in front of me and sits down. He’s in jeans and a dark blue sweater. I’m in jeans and a red sweater. My mom loved the holidays and she always wore red on Thanksgiving to launch the season. Who said I wasn’t sentimental? Me mostly, but my mother was the good part of me, the part that wasn’t a sinner, and since the house I inherited from her burned down, I’ve been disconnected from her. It’s not a good time for me to feel disconnected from my good side.

Kane figured that out, too, smart man that he is. So much so that, at my prodding, there’s a stunning tree decorated in silver and red in our living room that towers seven feet high. No one, most certainly not my brother, would believe Kane and I did the decorating, but we did. And to our surprise, we enjoyed every moment. Who says you can’t stab a man to death one moment and hang ornaments the next?