3rd Degree (Women's Murder Club 3)

I try to crawl.

The pain is officially everywhere including my fingernails, which dig into the tile grout and inch me forward. I desperately grab the base of the toilet and drag my head up over the lip.

For a second, my throat opens and I gasp for air. I begin to heave and the muscles in my chest stretch and twist. One by one, they tear as if razor blades are slashing through them.

There’s a knocking on the door. Quickly, I turn my head. It’s getting louder and louder. More of a pounding now.

Were it only the grim reaper to put me out of this excruciating misery.

But it’s not—not yet at least—and that’s the moment I realize that I may not know what killed me tonight, but I know for damn sure who did it.

Part One: Perfect Couples

Chapter 1

NORA COULD FEEL Connor watching her.

He always did the same thing when she packed to leave for one of her trips: He’d lean his six-foot-three frame against the doorway of his bedroom, his hands buried in the pockets of his Dockers, a frown tugging on his face. He hated the thought of their being apart.

Usually, he wouldn’t say anything though. He’d just stand there in silence as Nora filled her suitcase and occasionally took a sip of Evian water, her favorite. That afternoon, though, he couldn’t help himself.

“Don’t go,” he said in his deep voice.

Nora turned with a loving smile. “You know I have to. You know I hate this, too.”

“But I already miss you. Just say no, Nora—don’t go. To hell with them.”

From day one, Nora had been captivated by how vulnerable Connor allowed himself to be with her. It was in such sharp contrast to his public persona—a very rich and hard-driving hedge-fund manager with his own successful company in Greenwich, with another office in London. His puppy dog eyes belied the fact that he was built like a lion. Powerful and proud.

Indeed, at the relatively young age of forty, Connor was pretty much king of all he surveyed. And in Nora, thirty-three, he’d found his queen, his perfect soul mate in life.

“You know I could tie you up and keep you from leaving,” he said jokingly.

“That sounds like fun,” said Nora, playing along. She lifted up the top of her suitcase that was lying open on the bed. She was searching for something.

“First, though, could you maybe help me find my green cardigan?”

Connor finally chuckled. He got such a kick out of her. Good jokes, bad jokes, it didn’t seem to matter. “Do you mean the one with the pearl buttons? It’s in the master closet.”

Nora laughed. “You were dressing up in my clothes again, weren’t you?”

She headed for the cavernous walk-in closet. When she returned, green sweater in hand, Connor had moved to the foot of the bed. He stared at her with a grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “I know that look.”

“What look?” he asked.

“The one that says you want a going away present.” Nora thought for a moment before flashing a grin of her own. She laid the sweater on the bed and slowly walked up to Connor, purposefully stopping just inches from his body. She was wearing only her bra and panties.

“From me, to you,” she leaned and whispered in his ear.

There wasn’t that much to unwrap but Connor took his time anyway. He gently kissed Nora’s neck, then her shoulders, his lips tracing an imaginary line downward to the jutting curves of her small, pert breasts. There, he lingered, one hand stroking her arm, the other reaching around to remove her bra.

Nora shivered, her body tingling. Cute, funny, and very good in bed. What more could a girl ask for?

Connor knelt and kissed Nora’s stomach, his tongue lightly drawing circles around her little wink of a belly button. Then, with a thumb resting on either side of her hips, he began to roll down her panties. He charted the progress with kiss after kiss after kiss.

“That’s… very… nice,” whispered Nora.