Swift Justice
Authors: Laura DiSilverio
Swift
Justice
LAURA D
I
SILVERIO
Minotaur Books
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK
New York
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS
.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
SWIFT JUSTICE
. Copyright © 2010 by Laura DiSilverio. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Design by Kathryn Parise
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
DiSilverio, Laura A. H.
Swift justice : a mystery / Laura DiSilverio.—1st hardcover ed.
p. cm.
“A Thomas Dunne book.”
ISBN 978-0-312-64150-4
1. Women private investigators—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3604.I85S95 2010
813'.6—dc22
2010028039
First Edition: October 2010
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my mother and best friend, Joan Hankins,
with oodles of love and gratitude
Many thanks to the wonderfully talented and generous people who shared their expertise, encouragement and/or criticisms with me: Patrick Butler (for letting me use the name of his wine store, Purple Feet); Ellory Gillis-McGinnis; Don Jordahl; Commander Bob Kean (Retired), Colorado Springs Police Department; Mariko Layton; Chris Myers; Lin Poyer; Paulla Schreiner; Heather Robinson; Paige Wheeler (agent extraordinaire); and all the folks at Thomas Dunne/Minotaur Books, including my fabulous editor, Toni Plummer, and copy editor, India Cooper, whose suggestions greatly improved
Swift Justice.
Thanks to my daughters and my dog for getting me out from behind the computer for school stuff and walks and shopping and the really important things in life. Most of all, thanks to my husband, Tom, for his continuing love and support, and for being the best husband
ever.
Being with him for seventeen years has made me a better person.
Swift
Justice
(Monday)
The bear had toppled my bird feeder again, the two aspirin I’d gulped with a swig of Pepsi weren’t making a dent in my headache (note to self: don’t try to match Father Dan drink for drink ever again), and I was late for my first appointment of the week. As the owner and currently sole employee of a private investigation business teetering on the edge of solvency, I couldn’t afford to piss off potential clients by being tardy. Unfortunately, the woman tapping her foot outside the door of Swift Investigations did not look like a happy camper when I screeched to a stop in my Subaru Outback.
I assessed the waiting woman through the windshield as I gathered my purse and laptop. She was taller than my five foot three and rangy, dressed in a spiffy red suit and low-heeled pumps. Midthirties, at a guess. Everything about her said “wound too tight,” from the French-braided hair pulling the skin of her face taut to the way her eyes skittered to her watch,
to me, and to the infant car seat at her feet. Shit. Who brings a baby to a business meeting?
I got out of the car and offered her my hand. “I got tied up with a burglary,” I said in lieu of an apology. I’d bet the burglar had snarfed down at least fifteen dollars’ worth of the primo seed blend I put out to attract songbirds. “You must be Melissa Lloyd. C’mon in.”
She bent to pick up the baby carrier as I unlocked the door and flicked the light switch. The illuminated space was simple, clean, and organized, just the way I liked it. Off-white walls made the office look larger than it was. My desk filled the back right corner by a window with wooden blinds. A matching desk, currently unoccupied since my last assistant left to become an aromatherapist, sat with the long side making an L with the door. A closed door led to the small bathroom in the back left corner.
