Table Of ContentOlivia lunged at him, knocking him against the closet door.
Agent West cursed, rolled over on top of her and pinned her arms to the
floor. She took the opportunity to knee him in the groin.
He doubled over, wincing in pain. “What is wrong with you?”
She frisked him, checked his pockets, then pulled open his shirt. Nothing.
Nada. No witchcraft tools. “Your eyes were glowing earlier, and now here you
are, in the room where my dad killed himself. That’s too damn weird for me.”
“My eyes? They’ve always been like that.”
“They’re your power.”
He made a face. “Well, thank you very much, but I’m not feeling
particularly powerful right now.”
She thought about her premonition, the vision of them kissing in her loft.
No damn way was she going to let that happen “Truce, then. But if you try
anything funny, I’ll kill you.”
“Likewise.” He got to his feet, doing his best to maintain his machismo.
“Now get the hell out of here.”
Olivia almost smiled. “See you around, Agent West.” With that, she left
him alone, knowing this was the first time a woman had knocked him on his ass.
Dear Reader,
What do you plan to accomplish in 2005? Let Silhouette Bombshell jump-
start your year with this month’s fast-paced lineup of stories featuring amazing
women who will entertain you, energize you and inspire you to get out there and
get things done!
Author Nancy Bartholomew brings on the heat with Stella, Get Your Man.
P.I. Stella Valocchi is on a missing-persons case—but with a lying client, a drug
lord gunning for her and a new partner who thinks he’s the boss, Stella’s got her
hands full staying cool under fire.
The pressure rises as our popular twelve-book ATHENA FORCE
continuity series continues with Deceived, by Carla Cassidy, in which a
computer whiz with special, supersecret talents discovers that she’s on the FBI’s
Most Wanted list and her entire life may be a lie.
Reality isn’t what it seems in the mystic thriller Always Look Twice by
Sheri WhiteFeather. Heroine Olivia Whirlwind has a unique gift, but delving
into the minds of crime victims will bring her ever closer to a ruthless killer and
will make everyone a suspect—including those she loves.
And finally, travel to Romania with Crystal Green’s The Huntress, as an
heiress with an attitude becomes a vampire hunter on a mission for vengeance
after her lover is captured by those mysterious creatures of the night.
Enjoy all four, and when you’re finished, please send your comments to me
c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Sincerely,
Natashya Wilson
Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Bombshell
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
ALWAYS LOOK TWICE
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, attending powwows
and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. She believes
in the power of being a woman and thoroughly enjoys creating kick-ass heroines
for the Bombshell line. But she also thrives on emotion-steeped romances,
writing for Silhouette Desire, as well.
Sheri’s husband, a member of the Muscogee Creek Nation, inspires many
of her stories. They have a son, a daughter and a trio of cats—domestic and wild.
Visit her Web site at: www.SheriWhiteFeather.com.
To Tara Gavin, Melissa Jeglinski, Leslie Wainger, Natashya Wilson and
Lynda Curnyn (the editorial Bombshells at Silhouette) for making this project
happen. To Irene Goodman (my agent) for her enthusiasm and advice. To Judy
Duarte (my critique partner) for her unwavering support while Crystal Green and
I wrote our first Bombshell novels. To Crystal (my other critique partner) for
being wonderfully neurotic with me. To Katherine Garbera (fellow Desirable
and Bombshellite) for her expertise. And to my readers for their interest in this
story, even while I was in the process of writing it. For those of you curious
about the supernatural elements, I researched American Indian witchcraft and
added my own spin, blending fact, fiction and imagination.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
T
he stainless steel table was cold. Olivia Whirlwind could almost feel the
chilled metal beneath Denise Red Bow’s lifeless form. Her body had been
gutted, from top to bottom, through a Y-shaped incision that crossed her chest
then ran down to the top of her pubis. She looked waxy, inhuman, as surreal as a
hollowed-out mannequin.
Death didn’t become her.
And neither did the autopsy room: a row of operating tables, water sloshing
in sinks, surgical instruments clattering upon deaf ears.
Olivia wanted to rescue her, but it was too late. She wished she could go
back in time, before the pathologist had wielded his precision blade. Before
Denise Red Bow had been the third victim of the Indian Slasher.
“Special Agent West should be here any minute.”
Detective Steve Muncy’s voice interrupted the image, bringing Olivia back
to the present, back to a conference room at the Los Angeles Street Police
Station.
She rubbed her eyes, blinked, did her damnedest to clear her senses.
The autopsy was hours ago, but Olivia hadn’t been present. That privilege
had been reserved for the Homicide Special Section detectives and the FBI
profiler who’d been assigned to the case.
She sat back in her chair, knowing Agent West intended to give her a hard
time. She’d yet to meet the elusive fed, but his reputation preceded him.
He didn’t like working with psychics.
So much so, he’d banned her from the autopsy room, convincing the
pathologist that she didn’t belong there.
Although Olivia had been involved in the Indian Slasher investigation for
months, this was West’s first day on the case. He’d arrived just in time for the
autopsy, just in time to see Denise Red Bow flayed out on the table.
Well, bully for him, she thought.
Well, bully for him, she thought.
Muncy bumped Olivia’s shoulder. “Riggs thinks the special agent’s a
hunk.”
At the mention of her name, Detective Joyce Riggs turned, flashed a pretty
smile, then told her partner to piss off.
Olivia couldn’t help but laugh. Muncy and Riggs were an unlikely pair.
At forty-eight, he was short, rumpled and happily married. A dedicated
detective, Muncy lived by his own set of rules, determined to solve every case
the department dropped in his lap.
Riggs was just as tenacious. Only, she came in the form of a single, flirt-
for-the-fun-of-it blonde. Olivia nicknamed them Columbo and Cagney, after the
TV cops they reminded her of.
Suddenly the door to the conference room opened, and Olivia looked up. A
striking man in his midthirties wearing a dark suit and slightly scuffed cowboy
boots took center stage. He stood tall, with tanned skin, thick brown hair,
chiseled features and disturbing eyes. An obscure shade of gray, they assessed
her with cool reserve.
Special Agent Ian West.
There was no damn way she was going to let him intimidate her.
He greeted everyone with a nod, including Olivia. Then he slid some
photographs on the table in front of her. “Ms. Whirlwind, I presume.”
“That’s right.” She didn’t bother to glance at the pictures. She knew they
were from Denise Red Bow’s autopsy. “I’ve already seen them. In my mind,”
she added, reminding him that she was an established psychic. That banning her
from the medical examination hadn’t made a difference.
Detectives Muncy and Riggs remained silent, watching her and West.
He left the photographs in front of her. Finally she picked one up, studied it,
saw that Denise’s scalp was pulled down over her face. The front quadrant of her
skull had been cut away and removed. Standard autopsy stuff.
“Denise doesn’t like this,” she said, pretending the victim was making
contact with her. “She preferred her brain the way it was.”
Agent West wasn’t amused, but she knew Detective Muncy appreciated her
offbeat humor. They’d met ten years ago, on the night of her father’s suicide.
He’d seen her at her worst.
“I heard you were a smart-ass,” West told her.
“And I heard you would try to discredit me.” Los Angeles was her turf, her
city, the place where she’d been born and raised. She had every right to help the
police apprehend the Indian Slasher. The faceless woman in the photograph
deserved that much.
West didn’t respond. Tension buzzed between them, zapping the room like
