Hot Pursuit- the Complete Collection Read online

  Table of Contents

  HOT PURSUIT: THE COMPLETE COLLECTION

  All Rights Reserved.

  Victim of Desire

  All Rights Reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  Victim of Seduction

  All Rights Reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Victim of Revenge

  All Rights Reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Victim of Devotion

  All Rights Reserved.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Also by Liza Mitchell

  About the Author

  HOT PURSUIT: THE COMPLETE COLLECTION

  VICTIM OF DESIRE

  VICTIM OF SEDUCTION

  VICTIM OF REVENGE

  VICTIM OF DEVOTION

  Liza Mitchell

  Published by Feather & Bleed Press, 2019.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language that may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual. No one is related in this book.

  HOT PURSUIT

  Copyright © 2019 Liza Mitchell

  Edited by Jennifer at Mistress Editing

  Victim of Desire

  Hot Pursuit

  Liza Mitchell

  Published by Feather & Bleed Press, 2019.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language that may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual. No one is related in this book.

  VICTIM OF DESIRE

  Copyright © 2019 Liza Mitchell

  Edited by Jennifer at Mistress Editing

  Proofread by Paula Grundy

  CHAPTER ONE

  ______________

  TAYLOR

  Taylor sat in the small, cramped cab of her truck in front of the Caraway Inn, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for Paige to arrive. She’d pulled up to the B and B at 4:45 sharp. She was always on time—early, actually. It didn't matter that she was on vacation or that she'd had a six-hour drive. Being late was unacceptable. So it only made sense that Paige was always late. The universe had a way of balancing out shit like that.

  She glanced around the empty lot, flipped through a few radio stations, opened and closed her glove box, excavated some dirt from under her nails, then started the whole cycle over again. She wasn’t antsy because Paige was tardy; again, like always, she just didn't know what to fucking do with herself.

  She picked up her work phone—again—expecting to see an update from the precinct, but the screen was glaringly blank, because she was on vacation, and everyone else seemed to understand that concept. She tucked the phone into a small pocket deep in her bag and zipped it closed. She wouldn’t touch it until Monday morning. At least once or twice a day. Maybe every few hours, just in case.

  She eyed the building in front of her. She could go sit on the porch and wait there. Or go inside and make friends with some of the other guests. That’s what normal people do at B and Bs, right?

  She didn’t like making friends.

  She didn’t like polite small talk.

  That’s one of the things she loved about the force—there was no polite small talk. Maybe with politicians. But day to day, she didn’t need a filter. She didn’t need to bullshit about the weather or dance around some delicate subject. In her precinct, people called it like they saw it. She liked the clarity, and her thick skin could take any tough blow from any of the jackasses around her. She’d had three older brothers: no twenty-year-old beat cop could touch her after growing up under their constant physical and psychological warfare.

  She would definitely not be making any friends inside.

  Maybe she could sit outside—there were a couple of metal chairs and benches scattered throughout the inn’s backyard. Though it wasn't quite a yard, more like an overgrown garden. A path wound through patches of chaotic wildflowers. Since it was fall, oranges, yellows, and purples were peppered throughout the greenery. It was an explosion of colors. Not in a good way. Some people might be into that, but to her it just looked like chaos.

  She bounced her foot against the floorboard, trying to decide if she should go sit among the damned flowers. That's what normal people did on vacation, right? But she doubted she’d be able to relax in that overgrown plot. Chaos was not relaxing.

  Normal people would call it a wildflower garden.

  Movement in the back of the yard caught her eye, and she leaned over the steering wheel, trying to figure out what had grabbed her attention. There was no one in sight. Perhaps a squirrel had run up a tree in her peripheral vision? She scanned the garden, pausing at a small shed in the back corner. It looked more like a playhouse than a toolshed, like a tiny Victorian for a little girl. Maybe it once had been, but a wheelbarrow leaned against one side, and an open padlock hung from the doorframe.

  If the door was unlocked, someone probably was just working in the yard. But she hadn’t seen anyone around the entire time she’d been waiting. She stared at the tiny windows, trying to discern if there was any movement inside, but she was so far away. It’s not like this garden needed a groundskeeper. Plus the glare from the sun and shadows from the leaves made it almost impossible to see details with any certainty.

  A flash of red passed by the window, and she excitedly craned her neck, leaning forward, trying to see more. Loud knocks on her window reverberated through the car. She shot out of her seat, her hand jerk
ing just the slightest bit toward her holster.

  “Shit,” she whispered, seeing Paige’s beaming face fill her view. Damn, she was wound tight. Her first instinct was to grab for her gun, even in her own fucking truck.

  Taylor squeezed out of the car, shoving her bouncing friend out of the way with her car door.

  "Hey, hey!" Paige squealed. "Ready for your first vacation in like ten years?"

  "You know it," Taylor responded, barely trying to feign enthusiasm, glancing back toward the shed.

  "I brought a surprise," Paige continued.

  Taylor looked down, expecting to see a gift in Paige’s hands. Instead, Paige grabbed ahold of her arm and dragged her around to the other side of the car—literally bouncing the whole way—and spread her arms wide. "Ta-da!"

  Taylor froze. Standing before her was Paige's brother, her longtime friend and former partner, Shane. At least, he was her longtime friend, until she ruined everything by stomping on his heart. Well, she gently stepped on it? Probably depended on who you asked. It was complicated. Very complicated. Taylor might be unfamiliar with vacations, but she was pretty sure vacations were supposed to be fun. Not complicated.

  But here Shane was. On her now complicated vacation.

  "Hey, Taylor," he said as he moved forward and pulled her into a firm hug. His arms swallowed her whole, like a boa constrictor squeezing its prey. Except, she wasn’t his prey, and she refused to be blindsided by this twist. She lifted her chin and returned his embrace, wrapping her arms around him.

  She stayed in his arms, breathing in the smells of his sharp, clean soap and spicy cologne. She had missed him. She'd missed her friend. Their longtime radio silence had kind of been a mutual thing, maybe? Maybe this wasn’t some wicked trick or a messy complication after all.

  But then he finally let go of her, and she took a step back, rubbing her arms, unable to meet his eyes—suddenly feeling alone and awkward and unsure what to do with herself. Her eyes were drawn back to the shed, just out of pure desperation for something to focus on.

  "Isn't this great?" Paige leaped between them, startling Taylor, dragging her back to the awkwardness at hand. "I figured since I'm here with Carson and it's this whole long weekend trip, I didn't want you to feel like the third wheel, so I asked Shane to come along. Plus, he's the second smartest person I know." She winked at Taylor. "And four brains are better than three if we want to solve our mystery this weekend!"

  Carson appeared from behind Shane and clapped a hand on the other man's shoulder. "Plus Shane is like you, Taylor—he hasn't stopped working for the last two years. I can't even to get him to come out for a drink with me anymore, even if I promise to be his wingman. He's turned into a workaholic hermit."

  "Uh, does Shane have his own room?" Taylor's eyes bounced between the assembled crowd.

  "Sure does!" Paige said. "We have the whole inn to ourselves this weekend. And if we win the game, then we get a free weekend during peak season."

  "So this is really like a thing?" Shane asked. "There really is some sort of murder mystery we're solving? I thought that was some story you cooked up."

  "Oh, it's a thing. A ton of places do something like this; it's basically a game of Clue in real life. We'll get assigned characters with backstories, then a murder will take place, and we’ll have to solve it!" Paige slung her bag over her shoulder and bounced on her toes as she explained the entire concept of a murder mystery weekend to her brother.

  "Chill," Taylor said, resting a hand on Paige’s shoulder. Then turning to Shane, she added, "The Caraway has been written up in a few different places because their puzzle is notoriously hard. So when Paige insisted we take a vacation, this was what I chose."

  "Sounds about right," he said. "You even want your vacations to be work." His eyes sparkled as he walked past her and pointed to the covered bed of her truck. "Are your bags back here?"

  Taylor nodded. He opened the hatch, grabbed her small duffel, and carried it down the sidewalk toward the inn's front door.

  Fuck, he looked good. Nothing had changed about him over the years. If anything, he’d been spending more time in the gym. He was working in private security now, so his size probably worked in his favor to deter any sort of escalation when there was conflict.

  Normal people would see a man like Shane and think about how fucking great his arms would be wrapped around them, holding them down, exploring their bodies. And she’d just thought, Hm, that’s practical. What the fuck was wrong with her?

  Shane’s whole frame filled the narrow steps as he climbed up to the porch. His tight T-shirt and jeans left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and a shirtless Shane was starting to seem very tempting. Maybe she could see herself pinned under those arms if that’s what he came here to do…

  He’d clearly come with an agenda. Was he here for her? Maybe he just wanted to mend their friendship. They’d spent years together on the force. Then she’d been promoted to detective, and he’d shared his feelings, and everything had gone to shit.

  They’d just stopped talking. She’d just stopped talking. It was one of the stupidest things she’d ever done. He’d called and texted for days. At first, she’d just needed time. Then days turned into weeks, and at that point, she couldn’t face him after weeks of thinking. Even if she had made up her mind—and she hadn’t—he deserved better. Then weeks turned into silence. Eventually, he left the force and moved halfway across the state.

  She hadn’t seen him since, until now. When he’d hugged her like the last few years never happened.

  He’d always known what he wanted. But she didn’t want to risk losing Shane, one of her best friends, but that had already happened. Only once, after a ton of tequila, did she ever admit that out loud. But it was too late. And to Paige, not Shane. So what did she have to lose? Time. She didn’t have time to date. She hadn’t been on a date in years. She definitely didn’t have time for a long-distance relationship.

  Paige popped up next to her and slipped an arm through hers. "What do you think?" her friend whispered conspiratorially.

  "I think you might end up dead in the parlor, killed by Miss Taylor with her bare fucking hands," she whispered back as they followed after Carson up the sidewalk.

  “There’s going to be some bare fucking something this weekend.” Paige winked dramatically.

  “All right, that’s a stretch.”

  Although, this was a vacation, and normal people had flings on vacations, right?

  CHAPTER TWO

  ______________

  SHANE

  Shane climbed the steps up the Caraway’s wraparound porch, eyeing the railings and trim—it looked like it may still be original to the house. Elaborate filigrees lined the porch's roof and filled the corners by each and every pillar. He stepped closer to the railing and examined the spiderweb of curls above his head. If these were original, they would have been carved by hand. He blew out a low whistle thinking about the expense spent just on this useless piece of aesthetics.

  Feet clamored on the old wooden stairs, and he quickly turned around and grabbed the handle of the front door, holding it open for the rest of the party. They shuffled into the front foyer, and he followed behind, squeezing in after everyone else.

  The space was so small that it barely fit all their bodies and their luggage. He inched his way forward, pressing himself closer and closer to Taylor until finally, he was able to close the door and felt the entire length of her body against him. He felt another low whistle gathering in the back of his throat.

  Her body was made for his—if there were no clothes between them, her cheeks would be perfectly cradling his cock. She was solid and fit, and he wanted to slide his hands down and around her hips. Her long hair tickled his arm. He wanted to run his hands through her curls, bury his fingers at the base of her neck and pull her head back, cover her mouth with his, and hear her moan. All from a few blond strands against his forearm. He was in deep. He wanted to get in deep.

  He'd wanted Taylo
r since the moment they were assigned as partners. He'd fallen in love with her by the end of their first day together. She was fierce and assertive, never took any shit, and never gave any. He respected the hell out of her as an officer and a friend. They'd worked together for a few years and spent almost every moment of the day together, both during their shifts and after. He'd had lovers come and go, but Taylor always flew solo, unwilling to deal with the rat race of dating apps and blind dates. Even Paige, who prided herself on her matchmaking skills, couldn't set her up.

  Meanwhile, he’d just bided his time on the sidelines, loving every second he got to spend with her, but wishing for more. Waiting until he could get his chance.

  Finally, she'd been promoted, one of the youngest detectives in the precinct. No one was surprised; she was sharp and worked her ass off. He’d waited years for the moment when they were no longer coworkers, when he could finally make her his. And she'd turned him down. Not even turned him down—shut him out.

  Maybe she didn't realize why she'd closed off her heart, but he did. He'd spent the last few years moving through many of the stages of grief—mostly anger and depression—but he refused to come to acceptance. Instead, he'd employed the help of his busy-body matchmaking sister to construct one last chance for him to show Taylor that they should be together. She was his, she just hadn't accepted it yet. It would only take forty-eight hours, but he would show her.

  Taylor squirmed against him and jostled herself into a more comfortable position. He exhaled slowly and stared straight ahead, trying to focus on anything other than her firm, perky ass that was rubbing against his cock.

  She turned around and smiled awkwardly. "Sorry. Did I step on your toe?"

  Shane shook his head wordlessly. This, right here, was just what he'd been imagining. Her pressed up against him, looking over her shoulder, lips parted. Her mouth was like a siren calling out to him. He started to bend over…