“This is Washington, D.C., not some giant sandbox. “I guess picking up a burger and six-pack on the way is out of the question?” Not only had the plane been stocked with healthy food, it hadn’t contained an ounce of alcohol. I sighed, my fleeting thoughts of a real meal and decent clothes slipping from my mind. His face turned so red, I thought he was going to pop, but then he rushed out yelling at me to pick you up and take you to meet him as soon as you arrived.” “He had a moment there during that phone call when I wondered. “I figured he’d be here to run me over with the car.” “Did he have a heart attack when he heard?” I asked, wondering why the director had sent Hadley instead of coming himself. “Girl, you are in one heap of trouble,” said the driver, Hadley Reynolds, CIA executive assistant extraordinaire. Instead, a slightly overweight, fiftyish, African-American woman frowned at me, shaking her head. But when I opened the door and slid into the passenger’s seat, the angry, balding man I’d expected to see was nowhere in sight. Apparently, eight-hundred-dollar dresses didn’t come with pockets or holsters, and I didn’t have the kind of cleavage that made a viable hiding place.Ī black Cadillac DTS with limo-tinted windows waited at the end of the runway, so I took a deep breath and headed for the car, steeling myself for the ass-chewing I knew was coming.

One of my shoes hadn’t made it out of the desert, and I clutched what remained of the other shoe in my right hand and my nine millimeter in the left.

I’d been on the plane exactly seventeen hours, twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds, wearing the same eight-hundred-dollar dress I’d worn when I killed a man twenty-five hours earlier. I stepped off the Learjet at the private airfield just before dawn. Excerpt: Louisiana Longshot Book 1: Miss Fortune Mysteries

Louisiana longshot