"Thrilling, pulse-pounding romantic suspense is impossible to put down."
Reviewed by Suzanne Tucker
Posted September 18, 2006
Romance Suspense
It's been quite a while since Tessa Novak has uncovered a
good story worthy of newsprint. As a newcomer to Colorado
and part of the Denver Independent's Investigative Team,
she's working overtime to justify her place in this elite I-
Team group.
Stopping at a convenience store for a late night cup of
coffee, Tessa witnesses a young, Latino girl's murder. She
keeps reliving the pleading brown eyes, the explosion of
bullets and the lifeless body lying in a pool of blood at
her feet. Tessa can't sleep, her dreams turning into
nightmares. But she has her story -- a first-person,
eyewitness account, a murder being played out on the front
page of the paper. What reader wouldn't be drawn to a story
like this?
There is one undercover FBI agent working with the Denver
Police Department who is not thrilled. Julian Darcangelo
has been following the dark, seedy Russian Mafioso for what
seems to be a lifetime. Tessa Novak has stumbled into a
story much larger than she can ever imagine. Julian must
see to it that Tessa does not print this story. He is too
close to ending this nightmare for his cover to be blown
now. But, for some reason, this reporter has gotten under
his skin.
Julian has resigned himself to a lifetime of no
commitments, no attachments. The kind of life he leads
cannot, and will not, be shared. The sexual attraction
between him and Tessa burns, and the longer they work
together, the stronger it becomes. Tessa is marriage, home
and kids, expecting things he doesn't know how to give.
But, for some reason, she is making him rethink the cold,
empty future he set out for himself. As they face the
perils of this investigation together, Tessa knows that
when it is all over, she will say good-bye to the man she
has fallen deeply in love with. Or will she?
HARD EVIDENCE is a page turner, a pulse-pounding thriller.
The characters are so real, the story so vivid, you know
Ms. Clare must have a long and experienced history of
investigative reporting. And it shows in a majestic way.
One could almost think HARD EVIDENCE to be a prize-winning
documentary with the details and flow of the story, the
impact of the victims, the intense drama, the knowledge
that this really happens in today's society and we feel it
unfolding as each new page is turned.
Whether she is writing her incredible historicals or these
great contemporaries, Ms. Clare proves, once again, she is
one of the best storytellers today. She gives us everything
we need. She loves her reader and it shows. Begin with
EXTREME EXPOSURE, the first in this unforgettable
contemporary trilogy, then enjoy HARD EVIDENCE and wait
patiently, as I must do, for the final installment. It is a
thriller, it is a treasure, and it is tremendous.
SUMMARY
After the murder of a teenage girl, a mysterious man in a
black leather jacket was seen lurking near the crime scene.
Investigative reporter Tessa Novak has him in her sights as
the culprit...
That man was Julian Darcangelo--an undercover FBI agent
working with the Denver police. He's closing in on the
trail
of a human trafficker and killer. Tessa's accusations could
blow his cover--and he wants her off the investigation.
But just as Tessa has made Julian a target of interest, she
is now a target--of the killer. And as they are forced to
trust each other, their physical attraction escalates as
intensely as the threat from a ruthless murderer who wants
to see both of them dead...
ExcerptTessa turned her rental car into the underground parking
garage and had to drive down two levels before she found a
spot. Not only had she lost her car--the first new car
she'd ever owned--but her parking karma sucked. She turned
off the ignition, grabbed her briefcase, glanced at her
watch.
"Damn!"
She was late for her interview with Chief Irving and
the
head of the gang taskforce. Did Christiana Amanpour or
Barbara Walters or Jane Pauley have problems like this?
Somehow she didn't think so.
They don't have Tom Trent for a boss either,
girl.
She'd arrived at the paper this morning to find
photocopies of her mug shot stuck on bulletin boards
throughout the building with the word "WANTED" typed above
it. She might have found it funny if she hadn't lost so
much sleep last night, first arguing with Julian in her
imagination and then fighting nightmares. Even a
triple-shot latté hadn't been able to restore her sense of
humor. She'd vented to Sophie about the arrest and the
interrupted interview--taking care to keep Julian's name
secret--and was astonished when Sophie smiled.
"I think Holly's right," Sophie said. "He likes
you."
"Oh, well, lucky me! I suppose if he loved me I'd be
in
federal prison."
Then, to make matters worse, Tom had spent forty-five
minutes after the I-Team meeting grilling her for every
detail of her arrest, clearly gearing up to bellow in Chief
Irving's ear. It had taken every evasive trick she knew to
keep from giving him the arresting officer's name. In the
end, she'd had to resort to the truth.
"I can't give you his name. He's an undercover
officer." And I want to punch him right in his
sickeningly handsome face.
Tom hadn't been pleased, but, as a staunch advocate of
reporter-source confidentiality, he hadn't been able to
object.
Now she was a full twenty minutes late. She could only
hope Chief Irving hadn't given up on her. She hopped out
of
the car, locked it and hurried to the nearest stairwell,
rehearsing her questions as she ran up the steps, the
staccato click of her heels reverberating off the concrete
walls.
If there was so much violence between gangs and the
city's homeless, why was so little being done to combat
it?
How many reports of attacks against the homeless had they
received over the past five years and how many had they
investigated? What was being done to protect homeless
youth
from gangs and other street predators?
It wasn't the news story she was looking for. It
didn't
answer the question of who'd killed the girl. But it was a
worthy issue on its own, and she felt sure there was at
least some connection between all of this and the
shooting.
¡Por favor
Señor, ayúdeme! ¡Me van a matar!
Please, sir! Help me! They'll kill me!
The girl's terrified screams echoed in Tessa's mind,
made her stomach knot.
Gun shots. Shattered glass.
So much blood.
Lost in her thoughts, Tessa ran headlong into a wall of
chest and found herself staring up into a pair of dark blue
eyes.
Julian.
Startled, she jerked back from him, lost her balance.
Strong arms grabbed her, steadied her, held her fast.
"We just keep running into each other, don't we,
Tessa?"
He was dressed as he'd been the first night she'd seen
him--dark hair tied back in a ponytail, black leather
jacket, jeans. His jaw was clean shaven, his eyebrows dark
slashes on olive skin, his lashes long. And those
lips...
She remembered only too well what it felt like to be
kissed by those lips, the shock of it, her body's
response.
She wished he'd been bald or toothless or had a vicious
scar
on his face--anything to make him less handsome. Somehow
just the sight of him was enough to make her mouth water
and
her brain go blank. Then she remembered how much she
disliked him.
"What are you doing here?"
Clever, Tessa! He's some kind of cop.
What do you think he's doing here?
"I'm the ‘shadowy criminal type,' remember? Criminal
types belong at the police station." He bit his lower lip,
measured her through narrowed eyes. "But if I didn't know
better, I'd say you're following me."
The opposite was closer to the truth, and they both
knew
it. He hadn't run into her by accident last night. He'd
tracked her down.
She laughed. "Why on earth would I want to follow
you?
It's not as if you're going to get all chatty and tell me
what angle you're working on this shooting."
"Not likely." Then his mouth turned up in a slow, sexy
smile that made her insides skitter. "Maybe you're hoping
I'll kiss you again."
Heat rushed into her cheeks, and she gaped at him.
"You're delusional, Darcangelo!"
He grinned a self-satisfied, smug grin that told her he
knew exactly what that kiss had done to her. "Am I?"
She forced her expression to go ice cold and pulled
herself out of his grasp. "I hate to wound your male
pride,
but I haven't given that little peck on the lips a single
thought. Besides, that wasn't really a kiss."
Head high and shoulders back, she stepped around
him.
Julian was tempted to laugh. She might pretend to have
sleet for blood, but he'd never known a woman to melt down
quite like she had over a single kiss, pretend or
otherwise. He could feel her arousal. But why
argue
with her about it when he could prove it?
In one move, he had her up against the wall, her wrists
shackled by his hands, her arms stretched out on either
side
of her head. "You're right. That wasn't a kiss, but this
is."
"Wh-what the--?"
"Shut up." He ducked down, brushed his lips down the
curve of her cheek, ran the tip of his tongue over the
whorl
of her ear. She smelled good enough to eat, her perfume
subtle and sexy and so female. Hungry for her, he sucked
her earlobe into his mouth, pearl earring and all.
He heard her quick intake of breath, felt her body
tense.
"You... are sooo... arrogant!"
"I said shut up." He released her right wrist, cupped
her chin, tilted her head upwards.
Then he kissed her deep and hard.
And she melted.
Her body seemed to go liquid, every soft, feminine inch
of her pressing against him. The contact sent a bolt of
lust blazing through his gut, made him painfully hard, his
erection straining to be someplace more welcoming than his
jeans.
In a heartbeat, the kiss turned rough. Teeth scraped
skin, bit, nipped. Tongues invaded, clashed, plundered.
He
felt her hips move, betraying her need. Then her arms
wrapped around the back of his neck, and she whimpered.
The sound was like gasoline on the fire already raging
in Julian's veins. He groaned, felt his control slip. He
hadn't meant for it to be like this. He'd kissed her to
wipe that conceited look off her face, to prove to her that
she wanted him despite her words last night--not to get
caught up in wanting her.
But he wanted her. Right now. Right here.
Trailing little bites down the silky skin of her
throat,
he slid his hand up her silky nylon-covered thigh and under
her skirt to cup her through her panties. They were silk.
And they were already damp.
Tessa was lost. She was lost in his scent, in the hard
feel of him, the heat of his lips on her skin. If there
were some reason she shouldn't be doing this, she couldn't
remember what it was. God, she hated him, wanted him,
needed him.
She felt the pressure of his hand against her, and her
knees went weak. Rather than hitting his hand away, she
found herself pushing against the pressure, parting her
legs
for him. "Oh, Julian!"
Heat spread in a liquid rush through her belly. And
when he flicked his thumb over the hard bead of her nipple,
she moaned, the sound reverberating up and down the
stairwell.
A door opened.
Footsteps.
He growled deep in his throat, cupped her hard, pressed
his erection against her belly. Then he whispered. "If
you
try to tell me next time I see you that you haven't been
thinking about fucking me, I'm going to call you a
liar."
With that, he released her and was gone.
Shaking, her body on fire, Tessa struggled to compose
herself. She straightened her skirt, picked her briefcase
up off the floor where it had fallen, and smoothed her
hair. How had she let this happen? My God, she'd
practically been having sex with him in the stairwell! And
she'd enjoyed it!
A police officer passed her on his way down the stairs,
gave her a nod.
And then she remembered.
Chief Irving!
She glanced at her watch -- damn damn damn! --
and ran the rest of the way up the stairs.
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