The Perfect Stranger
Five weeks later
Detective John D'Ambrosia didn't do parties.
Standing near one of five bars set up throughout the elegant St. Charles Avenue mansion, he tapped his finger against the crystal tumbler, and savored the irony. For a man who religiously turned down invitations to happy hours and crawfish boils, he spent an obscene amount of time finessing invitations to parties at which he wasn't wanted.
But there was a difference. It was the man who said no. The undercover detective never overlooked an opportunity.
Surveying the room, he studied everything. The number of exits. Where each was located. If they were manned. How many security guards mingled with the guests. If they were packing.
Fifteen, he counted, including one dressed like a waiter. Others wore tuxedos, just like the other guests. Even John. The once tailored jacket hung looser than the last time he'd put it on. he'd lost weight.
He couldn't complain. His partner had lost his life. The thought ground through him, crystallizing his attention on the elite of New Orleans. They drank and laughed and postured, while Alec lay in a crypt on the outskirts of the city. h ... read full excerpt from: The Perfect Stranger ebook
