Zero Dark Chocolate (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 5) Read online

  Zero Dark Chocolate

  by

  Linsey Lanier

  A Miranda and Parker Mystery

  Book 5

  Copyright © 2015 Linsey Lanier

  All rights reserved. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to your online distributor and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work and helping her earn a living.

  Felicity Books

  ISBN: 978-1-941191-18-7

  ###

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  Paris. The City of Lights. The City of Love.

  Not to mention the food. Gourmet dining. Fine wines. Exquisite French pastries. Especially the ones covered in dark chocolate and crafted by the best chefs in the city.

  But when a dear friend goes missing and Miranda and Parker hop a plane to France to find him, they soon learn the city of romance can also be—a City of Death.

  Edited by

  Editing for You

  More Books by Linsey Lanier

  THE MIRANDA’S RIGHTS MYSTERY SERIES

  Someone Else’s Daughter – Book I

  Delicious Torment – Book II

  Forever Mine – Book III

  Fire Dancer – Book IV

  Thin Ice – Book V

  THE MIRANDA AND PARKER MYSTERY SERIES

  All Eyes on Me

  Heart Wounds

  Clowns and Cowboys

  The Watcher

  Zero Dark Chocolate

  Look for the next mystery later in 2015

  OTHER SUSPENSE BOOKS BY LINSEY LANIER:

  Chicago Cop (A cop family thriller)

  Steal My Heart (A Romantic Suspense)

  HUMOROUS BOOKS BY LINSEY LANIER

  You Want Me to Kill Who? (A Dandy Frost—Ninja Assassin Story) #1

  You Want Me to Go Where? (A Dandy Frost—Ninja Assassin Story) #2

  The Clever Detective Boxed Set 2 (A Fairy Tale Romance): Stories 1-5

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  More Books by Linsey Lanier

  Excerpts

  Chapter One

  How could anything bad happen on such a perfect day?

  Joan Becker stepped out of the glass doors of Le Gastronomique Divine in the city’s fifteenth arrondissement, into the quaint little French back street, and breathed in the foreign-smelling air.

  Paris.

  She’d been in the city three whole days and still couldn’t believe she was really here.

  With the smile that must have now been permanently plastered on her face and the luscious taste of the chocolate and fresh raspberries from her cooking class still on her tongue, she headed for the corner.

  The dessert she and the other students had prepared today had reminded her of her own Chocolate Raspberry Delight, the entry in the Summer Dessert Contest back home that had won her this week of chocolatier and patisserie classes at the famous cooking school.

  Today’s lesson had been even more challenging than the two previous days.

  An individual-sized yellow cake with a cream cheese filling topped by a dark chocolate ganache and garnished with the raspberries the students had selected that very morning from the open air market.

  Their teacher, Chef Emile, had patiently demonstrated how to make the dish while everyone took notes. Then there was a tasting and finally, they each had to reproduce the dessert.

  An elderly gentleman, Monsieur Emile was so tall, he towered over his students, especially in his mile high chef’s hat. With his long arms and dramatic gestures he could be a little frightening.

  But Joan thought his pale blue eyes were kind. She liked the way he quoted some of his father’s sayings, such as Le secret est dans la recette. “The secret is in the recipe.”

  And besides, he’d taken a liking to her.

  Today when he’d tasted her creation he declared it the best of all. Her layers were even. Her flavors were wonderful. He’d even pointed out the artistry of her raspberry drizzle over the concoction and given her a sly wink.

  “Parfait!” he had exclaimed, waving a hand in the air.

  The others in the class had seemed a little jealous.

  Still dizzy from the compliment, Joan made her way down the bustling Paris street, through the pedestrians and bicyclists on the sidewalk and climbed aboard a waiting bus.

  Rather than the Metro, she liked taking the bus back to the hotel because she preferred seeing the sights above ground.

  She’d learned it was considered impolite to smile at strangers on public transportation here so she ignored the grumpy looking man with a beard and a beret beside her and instead grinned out the window at the passing architecture.

  The five- and six-story structures of cream and ivory facades with their fanciful rooftops, charming rounded balconies and delicate iron railings seemed to smile back at her. They were centuries old. Had been here when carriages rolled down this avenue, maybe since Marie Antoinette lost her head. Maybe she’d do a replica of one in white chocolate for her final project.

  There were tons of food places along this street. On every street she’d been to, really. Bistros, brasseries and boulangeries. Patisseries and chocolatiers and cafés.

  She wondered what it would be like to live here, maybe open her own place and make wares to rival her neighbors. Would be a tough gig, here in the gastronomical capital of Europe. Plus she had her own catering service back in Atlanta.

  And there was her honey bun, who was waiting for her back at the hotel.

  Dave liked to wander the nea
rby shops and do some sight-seeing while she was in class. But when she got home, all bets were off. After all, it was a second honeymoon and they were about to celebrate their first wedding anniversary.

  Her smile deepened as she thought of his adorably homely face over strong coffee and fresh baked croissants this morning. With a sly look, Dave had promised her a surprise when she got home.

  She wondered what it was.

  It didn’t matter. She loved everything about Paris and everything about Dave. He’d been her childhood sweetheart. She still had to pinch herself at all the wonderful things that were coming true for her.

  Little Joan Fanuzzi from Brooklyn in the City of Lights and romance with the love of her life.

  She’d always thought of herself as a tough cookie. Life had dealt her some hard knocks. But she’d survived and now…Yes, right now life was just about perfect. Or as Chef Emile would say, “Parfait.”

  She giggled to herself as she got off the bus at her exit.

  She was humming as she rode up the hotel’s quaint little elevator and nearly danced down the hall once it stopped. She couldn’t wait to see what Dave had gotten her.

  She put the old-fashioned key in the door and turned it.

  “Honey, I’m home,” she sang out in her most seductive voice.

  No answer. That was weird.

  “Snookums, guess what Chef Emile said today?” She stepped inside and locked the door behind her. The room was empty. The bed neatly made.

  It was a small room done in plain brown and beige with a wide angle photo of the Arc de Triomphe along the wall. Everything looked clean and tidy, as if no one had been here since the maid. But that couldn’t be right.

  She crossed the floor to the tiny balcony and peeked through the lightweight curtains. No Dave there. Just the pretty wrought iron railing and the city landscape with a smidgen of the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

  She turned around. Was he in the bathroom?

  She scampered over to the old wooden door and knocked. Was the surprise a bubble bath in that old fashioned clawfoot tub? That would be romantic.

  “Dave? You in there?”

  Silence.

  This was getting ridiculous. She opened the door. “Ready or not, here I come.”

  But there was nothing inside but the checkerboard floor, the sink, the tub, the small shower stall that looked like a modern afterthought to the décor.

  Fresh soap and towels neatly arranged on the vanity. Here, too, it looked like the maid had just left. Everything clean and dry.

  What the Sam Hill?

  She stomped back to the bed and flopped down on the mattress, pulling out her cell phone. Least he could do was leave a message. But she’d had her phone off all morning for the lesson.

  She turned it on and checked.

  Nothing. The last text was from yesterday.

  Had he gone off somewhere? Gotten distracted by some shiny gadget in an electronics store? Would be just like him, she thought, pressing his number. Dave could be spacey at times, but he wouldn’t forget his own surprise, would he?

  She’d fuss at him for giving her such a start then forgive him right away.

  How could she not? He was so adorable. And he loved her to distraction. And he was a great father to her three kids. They’d whined when she told them they had to stay with her mother during this trip. And then there were those big brown puppy dog eyes of his.

  She sighed as the phone rang. But then it went to voice mail.

  His familiar voice echoed in her ear. “Uh…hi…yeah. You’ve reached Dave. I’m probably busy now but leave a message and I’ll get right back. Later.”

  “Dave, it’s me,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m done with class and I’m at the hotel. What’s going on? Call me right away.”

  She dropped the phone in her lap and just sat there staring out the window at the city beyond. A strange feeling of dread began to steal over her. This just wasn’t like Dave.

  Something was wrong.

  She picked up the phone again and dialed his number. Maybe he had a bad connection. Again it went to voice mail. She hung up and went to the desk, shuffled through the few papers there, looking for a note he might have left her.

  There was none.

  She went back to the bed and sank down onto the mattress. She glared down at the phone willing it to ring.

  But it didn’t.

  Okay, she thought, nerves and anger getting the best of her. If you’re not coming to me, Dave Becker, I’ll come to you. She got up, grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

  Enough with the fun and games already. Where the hell was her husband?

  Chapter Two

  Miranda Steele picked up her silver fork from the restaurant’s white cloth table and dug into the gooey chocolate and ice cream thing Chef Basardi had personally placed before her a moment ago. The finish to the gourmet meal he’d created of delicate veal in wine sauce, with freshly made egg fettuccine and tiny carrots carved into the shape of flowers.

  The soft classy music caressing her ears, Miranda put a bite of dessert in her mouth—and thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

  “Oh, man, Parker. This is good.”

  With a satisfied grin, Parker sat back and swirled his amber drink, his gunmetal grey eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’m glad you approve.”

  She eyed the dark, salt-and-pepper hair he kept neatly styled, his expressive dark brows, his delicious face and muscular form that every woman in town would kill to be near. As usual he was impeccably dressed in a bank-account-breaking dark blue suit and silk tie.

  But why not? Besides being CEO of the most successful private investigative firm in the southeast, he was Wade Parker the Second’s son.

  Gazing out the window, she scanned the cityscape of downtown Atlanta twinkling below and recalled the first night he took her here to Parker Towers. He’d pointed out all the buildings his father owned. She’d been impressed then. She was still impressed.

  But that wasn’t why she’d married him. No, she’d married him for pure love.

  And maybe the food. She took another bite of the glorious dessert.

  “You know,” she said, pointing to the dish with her fork, her mouth still half full. “I think this is a conspiracy to make me fat.”

  His lips turned up in the sexy half smile that made her heart squeeze as a dark brow rose. “I don’t think you’re in danger of that after your workout this afternoon.”

  How’d he find out about that?

  He’d insisted she stay home from work the past few days and she was getting bored out of her mind. So today she’d gone down to the basement of the Parker mansion and spent an hour or so pummeling the bags in the section they’d converted to a small gym.

  “You shouldn’t push yourself.”

  He was worried about the stitches across her chest from a recent knife wound. But there were only five of them. Nothing like the twenty-five she’d gotten from her ex some time ago.

  With a shrug she picked up her water glass and took a slug to cool down the sting from the ice cream. “I’m fine. You worry too much.”

  “Do I?”

  The look in his eye made her suddenly uncomfortable. In fact, he’d looked at her that way a few times since they’d returned from their last case. It made her nervous.

  It made her wonder about those threatening messages on her old cell phone—and if he somehow had found out about them.

  No. She was being paranoid.

  She’d given the phone to Dave Becker, one of her two best buds at the Agency, to figure out who was sending her those texts. Becker had recently discovered he had a knack for technology and had gone into the Digital Forensics department at the Agency. He had sworn not to tell Parker about the messages, and he was as honest as the day was long. If she couldn’t trust Becker, who could she trust?

  Then again a few days ago she and Parker had driven Becker and her best friend, Fanuzzi to the airport. They were off to Paris for a seco
nd honeymoon. As they’d climbed out of the car he’d managed to mumble to her that he was still working on it. Probably wouldn’t get much done for awhile.

  She put her fork in her mouth and let the chocolate and ice cream slide down her throat while she thought of a different topic of conversation.

  “I had lunch with Mackenzie and Colby Chatham yesterday,” she said after swallowing another sip of water.

  Parker set down his drink. “Yes. How did that go?”

  “Good. Mackenzie's helping Wendy prepare for the Regional.”

  “Is she ready for that?”

  Miranda had wondered that herself. “I think she’s pushing her too hard. Wendy doesn’t have the background Mackenzie did at that age.”

  Parker’s expression grew tender. “You sound like a parent.”

  Miranda looked down at her plate. Didn’t she, though? “Well, Mackenzie is my daughter.” Even if she hadn’t raised her. And Miranda had thought of Wendy as her daughter ever since she’d met the kid.

  And then there was the boy.

  The young man whose name was Timmy, she'd recently learned. The boy from biology class who had been hanging around the skating rink where Wendy practiced making opportunities to talk—or to flirt—depending on your perspective, with Mackenzie.

  Miranda didn’t know how to deal with that one.

  Parker gazed at the woman before him, thinking of all the unfairness she’d been through in her life. Her dark hair in its naturally wild arrangement seemed more beautiful than any style a hairdresser could create. Her lean, muscular form she kept in excellent shape was tantalizing in the silver blue dress he’d chosen for her.

  He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone.

  But for the past few days that intense love had been warring with his intense anger with her.

  Just after their last case, he had discovered her old cell phone on Dave Becker’s desk. And had also discovered several threatening text messages on it. His dear wife, the one he’d made a pact with not to keep secrets from, had given it to Becker to find out who was sending those messages.

  Behind his back.