Jagger (Steele Shadows Investigations) Read online

  Jagger

  Steele Shadows Investigations

  Amanda McKinney

  HH Tisevich

  Contents

  Dedication

  Also by Amanda McKinney

  Awards and Recognition

  Let’s Connect!

  Jagger

  1. Jagg

  2. Jagg

  3. Jagg

  4. Jagg

  5. Darby

  6. Jagg

  7. Jagg

  8. Jagg

  9. Jagg

  10. Jagg

  11. Jagg

  12. Jagg

  13. Jagg

  14. Jagg

  15. Jagg

  16. Jagg

  17. Jagg

  18. Jagg

  19. Darby

  20. Jagg

  21. Sunny

  22. Jagg

  23. Jagg

  24. Jagg

  25. Jagg

  26. Jagg

  27. Jagg

  28. Jagg

  29. Jagg

  30. Jagg

  31. Jagg

  32. Jagg

  33. Jagg

  34. Jagg

  35. Darby

  36. Jagg

  37. Jagg

  38. Jagg

  39. Jagg

  40. Jagg

  41. Jagg

  42. Jagg

  43. Jagg

  44. Jagg

  45. Jagg

  Steals and Deals

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 Amanda McKinney

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any mesans, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-7340133–99

  eBook ISBN 978-1-7340133–7-5

  Editor(s): Nancy Brown

  Cover Design: Steamy Reads Designs

  https://www.amandamckinneyauthor.com

  Dedication

  For Mama

  A note from the author:

  Welcome to the small, southern town of Berry Springs! If you’re looking for sizzling-hot alpha males, smart, independent females, and page-turning mystery, you’ve come to the right place. As you might have guessed, STEELE SHADOWS is a spin-off series from the Berry Springs Series. But don’t worry, you don’t need to read Berry Springs first. Think of Steele Shadows as Berry Springs’ darker, grittier, bad boy brother. That said, grab a tall glass of sweet tea (or vodka if you’re feeling saucy), and settle in for a fun adventure that—I hope—gives you a little escape from the day to day… (and maybe a new book boyfriend).

  Enjoy!

  Also by Amanda McKinney

  Lethal Legacy

  The Woods (A Berry Springs Novel)

  The Lake (A Berry Springs Novel)

  The Storm (A Berry Springs Novel)

  The Fog (A Berry Springs Novel)

  The Creek (A Berry Springs Novel)

  The Shadow (A Berry Springs Novel)

  The Cave (A Berry Springs Novel)

  Devil’s Gold (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 1)

  Hatchet Hollow (A Black Rose Mystery, Book 2)

  Tomb’s Tale (A Black Rose Mystery Book 3)

  Evil Eye (A Black Rose Mystery Book 4)

  Sinister Secrets (A Black Rose Mystery Book 5)

  Dragon’s Breath (A Black Rose Mystery Book 6)

  Skull Shore (A Black Rose Mystery Book 7)

  #1 BESTSELLING SERIES:

  Cabin 1 (Steele Shadows Security)

  Cabin 2 (Steele Shadows Security)

  Cabin 3 (Steele Shadows Security)

  Phoenix (Steele Shadows Rising)

  Jagger (Steele Shadows Investigations)

  Ryder (Steele Shadows Investigations) ***Coming Fall, 2020!***

  ★The Beautiful Series, coming 2021★

  And many more to come…

  Awards and Recognition

  THE STORM

  Winner of the 2018 Golden Leaf for Romantic Suspense

  2018 Maggie Award for Excellence Finalist

  2018 Silver Falchion Finalist

  2018 Beverley Finalist

  2018 Passionate Plume Honorable Mention Recipient

  THE FOG

  Winner of the 2019 Golden Quill for Romantic Suspense

  Winner of the 2019 I Heart Indie Award for Romantic Suspense

  2019 Maggie Award of Excellence Finalist

  2019 Stiletto Award Finalist

  CABIN 1 (STEELE SHADOWS SECURITY)

  2020 National Readers Choice Award Finalist

  2020 HOLT Medallion Finalist

  DIRTY BLONDE

  2017 2nd Place Winner for It’s a Mystery Contest

  #1 Bestselling Steele Shadows Reviews:

  “Holy crap! What a book!” -5 STAR Goodreads Review

  “A page-turning blend of suspense, steam, and heartbreaking angst.” -5 STAR Amazon Review

  “My mind is BLOWN.” -Book Blogger, Books and Beauty by Cassie

  “A brilliant, compelling, raw, breathtaking story. Cabin 1 should be read by every romantic suspense lover.” -5 STAR Goodreads Review

  “McKinney’s best one yet.” -5 STAR Amazon Review

  “Scorching.” 5 STAR Bookbub Review

  "My mouth literally hung open when I finished this book. You do not want to miss this one." 5 STAR NetGalley Review

  Praise for the Berry Springs Series:

  "One of my favorite novels of 2018." -Confessions of an Avid Reader, The Fog

  “The Woods is a sexy, small-town murder mystery that’s guaranteed to resonate with fans of Nora Roberts and Karin Slaughter.” -Best Thrillers

  “Danger, mystery, and sizzling-hot romance right down to the last page.” -Amazon Review, The Creek

  "Amanda McKinney wrote a dark, ominous thrilling tale spiked with a dash of romance and mystery that captivated me from start to finish…” -The Coffeeholic Bookworm, The Lake

  “The Storm is a beautifully written whodunnit, packed with suspense, danger, and hot romance. Kept me guessing who the murderer was. I couldn’t put it down!” -Amazon Review

  “I devoured The Cave in one sitting. Best one yet.” -Amazon Review

  “The Shadow is a suspense-filled, sexy as hell book.” -Bookbub Review

  Fair Warning: Jagger contains adult language, content, and steamy love scenes. Just FYI.

  Let’s Connect!

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  https://www.amandamckinneyauthor.com

  Jagger

  He found her covered in blood.

  She promises she’s innocent.

  The question is... Can he trust her?

  Feared just as much on the streets as at a crime scene, Homicide Detective Max Jagger has dedicated his life to one thing—speaking for the dead. Everyone and everything else be damned, including his own demons. During one of the most oppressive heat waves to hit the small, southern town of Berry Springs, the former Navy SEAL is called to a scene where a real estate heiress is found standing over a dead body, holding the murder weapon. The local cops immediately dub it a slam-dunk case, but if Jagg has learned anything from his days running special ops, it’s that nothing is as it seems… including this sus
pect.

  Despite her name, Sunny Harper is as beguiling as a fallen angel. Mysterious, clever, completely unwilling to cooperate, and, perhaps his least favorite quality—mind-numbingly intoxicating. When evidence from the scene suggests an accomplice, Jagg begins to believe that Sunny is both innocent and in danger, despite the towns’ uproar to lock her up. Torn between his growing feelings for his suspect, he takes Sunny to a secluded lake house where he discovers there’s much more behind those enchanting green eyes... including secrets that could take them both under.

  With his career on the line and the clock ticking, Jagg must decide if he can trust Sunny… before they both get burned.

  1

  Jagg

  A thin fog slithered around the headstones like a snake searching for its prey. Or perhaps more fitting for this story, like a virus, spreading, spreading, spreading, slowly consuming everything in its path. But it was too late. The crowd was gone. I was the only one left.

  Come and get me, I thought. I’d spent my entire life tempting the devil and always won. Little did I know what the horned fucker had in store for me next.

  I tilted my head to the moon. Glowing iridescent clouds crowded the spotlight, waiting for the perfect time to steal its light.

  A full moon was coming.

  I did not like full moons.

  I refocused on the swaying milky mist, my back against a tree, my feet planted in front of me. Uneven rows of headstones—most tilted and unreadable—speckled the rolling hills, once a vibrant green now brown with dying, wilted grass. Even the trees seemed to sag. Berry Springs was in the middle of the hottest heatwave on record, according to the weatherman. The night had ushered in cooler temperatures—cooler, as in low-eighties—but no reprieve from the suffocating humidity. It had been six days of three-digit temperatures, and feels-like temps of your-balls-are-guaranteed-to-stick-to-your-leg-all-day. Brutal, if you’re unfamiliar. Or neutered.

  I shifted, the root poking into my tailbone finally making my ass numb. I was hoping that numbness would climb to my lower back.

  No luck.

  I popped another pain pill then hurled a rock into a nearby bush in an effort to silence the screaming cicadas, a million maracas shaking between my temples.

  Despite the bugs and the ball-plastering heat, I couldn’t leave. I stared at that damn trident, etched on the headstone in front of me, until the thing began to blur.

  It had been eight hours since the small, southern town had gathered in their black best, weeping, grieving, trying to understand. Colleagues, friends, family, trying to wrap their heads around a new life suddenly derailed by the finality of death.

  Cheated life.

  Too early.

  Way too fucking early.

  Shadow Hill was a typical small-town graveyard where everyone born and raised within a thirty-mile radius was buried. Located in the center of town, the cemetery was nestled in a clearing outside of City Park, which consisted of twenty acres of manicured woods and jogging trails just behind Main Street.

  I suppose this is where I’m supposed to say I hate cemeteries, like any normal human being. Truth is, I’ve been to so many over the years that they’ve lost that haunting luster. Death was the only thing certain in life. I knew that better than anyone. Some deaths you accept, a normal course of immortality stolen by time, but others were stolen by six rounds to the chest.

  That night was the latter.

  I scanned the tree line past the clearing for the hundredth time. The chatter of the town had died down, as most small towns did after eight pm. Trucks, cars, horses had disappeared from the roads with the exception of a few logging trucks passing by. Three, to be exact.

  I smashed a mosquito the size of a Volkswagen against my forearm, this one double the size of the last. The blood-sucking bastards were swarming and getting ballsier by the minute, probably attracted to the seventeen layers of sweat that had settled under my white dress shirt. Always white, by the way. I don’t do print. Print button-ups are for pussies and men who manscaped.

  Although I tossed the suit jacket and loosened the necktie I’d gotten at the thrift shop earlier that morning, my Hanes had been in a constant state of damp since taking my place among the mourners.

  It had been a hell of a day.

  Not unlike so many before.

  I tipped up my whiskey, my throat numb to the burn of the tepid liquid by that point. Tepid? Who am I kidding? It was like swallowing fresh tar. Something I don’t recommend. Twenty-four hours of vomiting followed by a two-day hospital stint is how that story ends.

  I got that twenty bucks though.

  A whisper of a breeze swept over my skin, on it, that familiar earthy scent of a freshly dug grave. A scent that never failed at triggering memories to loop in my brain like a black and white horror movie. One dead body, two, three, four… spinning, spinning, spinning, their eyes locked on mine begging for answers.

  I swiped the fresh sheen of sweat from my brow.

  I was so damn sick of the heat.

  My hand drifted to the tie around my neck, giving it a few more tugs. Polyester, best I could tell. Silk was also for pussies.

  I hated ties. A noose invented by some overindulgent silver-spoon prick in the seventeenth century had now become a symbol of status in our society—you know, with the printed-shirt people. A man wearing a necktie was considered to have an importance of sorts, always busy, always on the go. Rushing from one very important meeting to the next, with a quick stop off in the company bathroom to rub one out because his barbie stay-at-home-wife never let him stick a finger in anything other than her wallet. Always in his shiny sports car or slick SUV, a weak attempt to prove a masculinity that ironically dissolved the moment he’d asked his nanny to Plattsburgh-knot his tie after pulling his dick from her mouth. Yes, I’m important, the tie told society, despite being bound and gagged at the jugular.

  Ties were like dog collars, in my humble opinion. I hated dogs, too, for that matter. Pitied them, having to always wear their version of a tie—the ultimate noose—slowly tightening over years, going unnoticed by their neglectful owners. The only thing that reminded the dog of years gone by was the deep ache in his back and that damn collar growing too tight.

  Hell, I was that dog.

  A tissue tumbled across the grass, dancing along the mound of dirt like an evil fairy taunting the dead to rise again. For one last chance. One last fight. One last night in a world that had released them to their fates.

  I leaned my head against the tree and contemplated heaven and hell, and good and evil, as I had done so many times before. After years being on the front lines of fighting a concept that has ripped nations apart for centuries, I came to one conclusion: Good is a fluid concept and evil is a guarantee. While good is easily overlooked, our society has turned evil into a separate entity, a faceless label given in an attempt to understand the atrocities that happen on a daily basis. Because something has to be responsible, right? Something, or someone, has to be blamed and held accountable. Evil gives us something tangible to focus our anger on, and therefore, we accept its place on earth.

  Genocide, terrorists’ attacks, rape, murder, torture, all caused by evil.

  Is it?

  Or is it simply a passive acceptance, a way to turn a cheek and dismiss a responsibility that society is too scared to address. Too scared to attack head on.

  Too scared to look in the face.

  That was my job. To face the evil and expose it for what it truly was.

  I didn’t allow myself the luxury of believing in good or evil, simply because they don’t come in black and white facts. Declaring someone evil isn’t enough to get them locked behind bars. Evil doesn’t give grieving families closure.

  My job was to speak for the dead.

  To bring them justice.

  And never, in my career, was that resolve stronger than it was at that moment.

  On that note, I decided to get moving. Hunting, probably a better word for it.

>   I pushed myself off the dirt floor, freezing mid-way like Bigfoot caught on camera. Searing pain shot up my back, waves of nausea following seconds later.

  Always the nausea.

  Goddamn the nausea.

  As always, this pain was followed by a rush of fury. Anger at the realization that I wasn’t the invincible man I used to be. Anger that my life had changed in an instant, leaving me with a constant reminder of what had now become the good ’ol days. Anger that I couldn’t fight the heavy hand of time. A bitch, time was.