Excerpt from HOOKED by Caitlin Rother:
Inside the glass doors, she kissed him one last time before taking his hand and leading him toward the front door, where she stopped and whispered in his ear. “Goodnight, Surfer Man.”
With her left hand on the doorknob, she turned to look up at him, waiting for him to move. But he stood there, frozen, holding her other hand. Transfixed by those eyes. She seemed so intensely present and in control. She had him. And he couldn’t let go of her.
His mind was fuzzy, and his body felt like one big, aroused nerve, buzzing with sensation. He slowly pulled her hand behind her and kissed her gently. Then harder. As her other hand fell from the knob, he took it and put it behind her as well.
Easing her back against the wall, he leaned into her, letting go of her hands and pressing his hips into hers. Her hands fell to her sides as she rolled her head back seductively. She wrapped one of her legs around his thigh, tilting her hips tighter against him as they began to rock back and forth.
He grabbed her around the waist with one arm, cupping her ass with his other hand, and lifted her up. She wrapped her other leg around him and her arms around his neck, holding onto him as he stepped back from the wall, balancing her weight on his hips. Kneeling on one leg at a time, he gently laid her down on the sleeping bag, just as he’d imagined.
Taking off his jacket, he threw it on the floor, and set his gun on top of it, far enough away from them that it wasn’t a hazard, but close enough to grab if he needed it.
She looked beautiful, half of her face cast in soft light, the rest in shadow, as she watched him unbutton and pull off his shirt. He’d seen a similar expression on a few women before, but never one so fierce or so confident in her sexuality. It scared him a little. She was different. Almost like a man. Yet her eyes said she wanted him to take control. To ravage her.
They had gone past the point of stopping now. Stone’s voice was gone. All he heard in his head was white noise.
Kissing the warm skin of her breastbone, he made his way down to the warm crevice between the cups of her bra. He rolled her to the side to wrestle it off and reveal the breasts he’d been longing to see. They were perfect, just as he’d expected. Round, lush, and firm.
As he leaned down and flicked his tongue on her nipple, it immediately hardened against his tongue and she moaned. It had been so long since he’d had a nipple in his mouth, he felt himself growing harder too.
Laying against her, her warm, cushiony breasts pressing against his chest, it was like that first buzz off a martini. The heat spread through his entire torso. She moaned again as he buried his face in her neck, where he kissed her again, and back up to her lips.
She unbuckled his pants and rubbed his stomach, slipping her hands under the waistband of his boxer briefs. As her fingers went lower, he grew more aroused. He wanted her, but he wanted all of her. He wanted this to last.
He unzipped and pulled off her jeans, leaving her panties on. Slowly easing his hand down, he caressed her, guided by her breathing. They were both moaning together now, rhythmically and in sync, like a train. It felt so right—until they heard the sound of tires crunching on the driveway below.
They both stopped, mid-gasp, and turned toward the noise, which was loud and distinct, because, as they both realized, they’d left the sliding glass door open.
How stupid was that?
Although he’d felt lightheaded before, the adrenaline shot through him like a bullet. Still on his knees, he bolted upright and cocked his head to listen. Katrina reached for her bra, fastened the hook, and quickly buttoned up her blouse.
Putting his finger to his lips, he stood up and pulled his jeans back on. Grabbing his gun, he slunk over to the slim strip of wall at the edge of the glass doors and leaned back to peer down below, trying to stay out of view.
Guess it’s lucky I stayed.
From his vantage point, all he could see was that it was a black SUV of some kind—with its headlights off.
Not a good sign.
The car’s engine idled for a few moments and the driver’s side window lowered an inch or two, then the motor shut off. There was no movement until Goode saw the orange end of a lit cigarette. The apartment complex, as old as it was, didn’t have any lighting in that area, so he couldn’t see the license plate, especially with the headlights off.
Is he waiting to see if anyone comes out to ask him why he’s in a private turnaround at one in the morning? Is this the same dude who hit Katrina’s car with the rock, or is there more than one party involved here?
The driver’s-side door slowly opened, and a cigarette butt came flying out, followed by a man’s leg and a black, rubber-soled shoe, which stomped on the butt. A moment later, the rest of the tall, stocky figure stepped out of the car, dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans, and silently pulled the door to. As the man turned around and looked up at the balcony, Goode retreated further, hoping he’d moved fast enough to avoid being spotted.
Standing with his hands on his hips in the driveway below, the man’s body was a silhouette and his face shrouded in darkness, but Goode could see from his linebacker build that he was not the slender, fake officer from the security footage.
By then, Katrina was standing in the hallway, her arms folded against her chest. She looked to him for some kind of silent answer, but he could only shake his head and shrug.
The man walked a few steps toward the breezeway and the diagonal stairwell that led up to her apartment. Goode’s heart pounded as he listened for footsteps on the stairs. But he heard nothing.
With rubber-soled shoes on, he can be quiet. I can’t tell where he is. I’m pretty sure I locked the front door and turned the deadbolt. Or did I?
Katrina’s mouth had fallen open, as they both waited apprehensively for the man to try the door to get inside.
I’ll just have to wait to see if this goon tries to come in, so I have the jump on him.
Goode stepped carefully over the sleeping bag to the door and checked to make sure the deadbolt was set. Check. Then he put his ear to the wood for any sound or movement in the stairwell. Still nothing.
A few minutes ticked by, but all Goode could hear was his own heart beating and the blood pounding in his head.
What is he doing out there? Is he still sussing the layout? Or is he done and waiting for another goon so they can enter via the front door and the balcony simultaneously? Then there would be two of them and only one of me.
Goode almost jumped out of his skin when, without any warning, he watched the doorknob turn and heard the door bump against the deadbolt. He’d forgotten to turn the lock on the doorknob…
Text copyright © 2025 by Caitlin Rother
Katrina & Goode #1
A Thriller
In this suspenseful thriller by Caitlin Rother, a journalist and cop fight a sexual attraction as they join forces to expose a layered scheme of dark and dangerous secrets.
When investigative reporter Katrina Chopin and surfing homicide detective Ken Goode lock eyes, there’s an immediate attraction. Sparks fly as they bond over cocktails, sharing their common experiences of being orphans and losing loved ones to suicide.
But the next time they meet, it’s from opposing sides of a high-profile case. Two biotech execs, whose company is developing a groundbreaking sexual enhancement drug, turn up dead in the wealthy seaside enclave of La Jolla Farms, where Goode can readily see that the forensic evidence doesn’t add up.
As they work their own angles, sometimes together and sometimes at odds, their growing attraction threatens to cost them their jobs—and their lives. As Katrina and Goode pursue answers behind these mysterious events, a secret stalker taunts Katrina with details of her tragic past, which takes her to the brink of death. But once the duo rips the mask away from this beautiful paradise, the corrupt underbelly behind all that glitters is revealed.
Thriller Crime | Thriller Police Procedural [ Thomas & Mercer, On Sale: February 1, 2026, Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9781662532351 / ]
Caitlin Rother is the New York Times bestselling author of 16 books, ranging from true crime to crime fiction and memoir. She has worked as an investigative journalist for nearly four decades, including 19 years at daily newspapers. Her journalism has been published in Cosmopolitan, the Los Angeles Times, The San Diego Union-Tribune, the Chicago Tribune, The Washington Post, The Boston Globe, The Huffington Post and The Daily Beast. She has appeared more than 250 times as a crime commentator on TV/radio and podcast shows including 20/20, Crime Watch Daily, People Magazine Investigates, Nancy Grace, On the Record, Snapped, and numerous shows on Investigation Discovery, Netflix, Reelz, E!, A&E, and various PBS affiliates. Rother also works as a book doctor, writing/research coach and consultant, and sings and plays keyboards in a jazzy bluesy trio.
No comments posted.
© 2003-2026