Informationen zum Autor Karen Rose Klappentext Discover New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Karen Rose's brand-new series set in the sultry city of New Orleans and featuring a tough team of high-end private investigators who are after justiceno matter what they have to do to get it. Good cops. Bad cops. Only one will win. After completing her tours with the Marines in Iraq, Molly Sutton knew she could take down any bad guy she met. But when a family tragedy exposes the dark side of her local police, she joined up with her former CO Burke Broussard, who left New Orleans PD to set up a private investigative service for people who couldn't find justice elsewhere. Gabe Hebert saw the toll that working for the NOPD took on his dad and decided instead to make a name for himself as one of the best young chefs in the French Quarter. But when his father's death is ruled a suicide after a deliberately botched investigation by his former captain, Gabe knows his dad stumbled onto a truth that someone wants silenced. Gabe goes to his father's best friend, Burke, for help. Burke assigns the toughest member of his team, Molly, to the case. Molly can't believe she's being asked to work with the smoking hot chef whose chocolate cake is not the only thing that makes her mouth water. Sparks fly as they follow the leads Gabe's dad left them, unraveling a web of crimes, corruption, and murder that runs all the way to the top. Leseprobe 1 The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana Monday, July 25, 9:05 a.m. Well, will you look at what the cat finally dragged in an hour late," Molly Sutton drawled from where she sat perched on the edge of Joy's desk. It was an old desk, a little battered, but beautifully carved. It fit with the art deco decor in the lobby of Broussard's Private Investigations, LLC. Her boss, Burke Broussard, liked nice things and he loved New Orleans. Their office space on the Quarter's edge was a lot more expensive than an equivalent space in the burbs, but Burke swore it was worth it for the foot traffic alone. Their full roster of well-to-do clients seeking "Highly Qualified & Discreet Private Investigators"-as their business cards said in a very dignified script-seemed to prove him right. Scowling, Joy Thomas piloted her electric wheelchair behind the desk with practiced ease. "You shut up. I am not that late." Molly laughed. "You're always here at eight and you know it. Besides, is that any way to talk to the person who brought you coffee?" She held out a cup from the coffeehouse, fixed just the way Joy liked it. "I figured you'd be a little rough this morning, so I came prepared." Joy eyed the offered cup, then took it with a reluctant nod of thanks. "Considering you're the reason I feel like death warmed over this morning, you should have brought me coffee." Molly lifted her brows, unable to hide her smile. "I'm the reason? I don't remember holding your nose and pouring three hurricanes down your throat, Mrs. Thomas." She held up three fingers. "Three hurricanes, Joy. Three." She cocked her head. "Do you see three fingers? Or six?" Joy flipped her the bird. "I see just one." Molly choked on another laugh. In her midfifties, Joy looked so prim, so . . . matronly and proper. Never a hair out of place, she always dressed like a woman going to afternoon tea, a string of pearls ever present around her throat. The only thing missing was elbow-length gloves, and Molly bet that Joy had a pair of those, too. Joy might have appeared prim and frail at first glance, but the woman was strength personified. One of the first Black women to reach detective rank in the NOPD, Joy's career had ended after she was injured in the line of duty. Reinventing herself, she'd gotten her ...

Autorentext

Karen Rose

Klappentext

Discover New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Karen Rose’s brand-new series set in the sultry city of New Orleans and featuring a tough team of high-end private investigators who are after justice—no matter what they have to do to get it.

*Good cops. Bad cops. Only one will win.*
 
After completing her tours with the Marines in Iraq, Molly Sutton knew she could take down any bad guy she met. But when a family tragedy exposes the dark side of her local police, she joined up with her former CO Burke Broussard, who left New Orleans PD to set up a private investigative service for people who couldn’t find justice elsewhere.
 
Gabe Hebert saw the toll that working for the NOPD took on his dad and decided instead to make a name for himself as one of the best young chefs in the French Quarter. But when his father’s death is ruled a suicide after a deliberately botched investigation by his former captain, Gabe knows his dad stumbled onto a truth that someone wants silenced.
 
Gabe goes to his father’s best friend, Burke, for help. Burke assigns the toughest member of his team, Molly, to the case. Molly can’t believe she’s being asked to work with the smoking hot chef whose chocolate cake is not the only thing that makes her mouth water. Sparks fly as they follow the leads Gabe’s dad left them, unraveling a web of crimes, corruption, and murder that runs all the way to the top.

Leseprobe

1

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

Monday, July 25, 9:05 a.m.

Well, will you look at what the cat finally dragged in an hour late," Molly Sutton drawled from where she sat perched on the edge of Joy's desk. It was an old desk, a little battered, but beautifully carved. It fit with the art deco decor in the lobby of Broussard's Private Investigations, LLC.

Her boss, Burke Broussard, liked nice things and he loved New Orleans. Their office space on the Quarter's edge was a lot more expensive than an equivalent space in the burbs, but Burke swore it was worth it for the foot traffic alone. Their full roster of well-to-do clients seeking "Highly Qualified & Discreet Private Investigators"-as their business cards said in a very dignified script-seemed to prove him right.

Scowling, Joy Thomas piloted her electric wheelchair behind the desk with practiced ease. "You shut up. I am not that late."

Molly laughed. "You're always here at eight and you know it. Besides, is that any way to talk to the person who brought you coffee?" She held out a cup from the coffeehouse, fixed just the way Joy liked it. "I figured you'd be a little rough this morning, so I came prepared."

Joy eyed the offered cup, then took it with a reluctant nod of thanks. "Considering you're the reason I feel like death warmed over this morning, you should have brought me coffee."

Molly lifted her brows, unable to hide her smile. "I'm the reason? I don't remember holding your nose and pouring three hurricanes down your throat, Mrs. Thomas." She held up three fingers. "Three hurricanes, Joy. Three." She cocked her head. "Do you see three fingers? Or six?"

Joy flipped her the bird. "I see just one."

Molly choked on another laugh. In her midfifties, Joy looked so prim, so . . . matronly and proper. Never a hair out of place, she always dressed like a woman going to afternoon tea, a string of pearls ever present around her throat. The only thing missing was elbow-length gloves, and Molly bet that Joy had a pair of those, too.

Joy might have appeared prim and frail at first glance, but the woman was strength personified. One of the first Black women to reach detective rank in the NOPD, Joy's career had ended after she was injured in the line of duty. Reinventing herself, she'd gotten her CPA license so that she could support herself and her four kids-then teenagers, now amazing adults.

She was more than their office manager, their bookkeeper. She was like a mother, too.

Having lost her own mother, Molly accepted Joy's mothering with gratitude.

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