Bantam Books by
KAY HOOPER
Whisper of Evil
Touching Evil
Out of the Shadows
Hiding in the Shadows
Stealing Shadows
Haunting Rachel
Finding Laura
After Caroline
Amanda
On Wings of Magic
The Wizard of Seattle
My Guardian Angel
PRAISE FOR KAY HOOPER’S
STEALING SHADOWS
“A fast-paced, suspenseful plot . . . The story’s complicated and intriguing twists and turns keep the reader guessing until the chilling ending.” —
Publishers Weekly
“The first book in a ‘thrillogy’ which will feature back-to-back suspense novels by the awesome Ms. Hooper. If
Stealing Shadows
is any indication, readers are in for a terrific thrill ride.” —
Romantic Times
“This definitely puts Ms. Hooper in a league with Tami Hoag and Iris Johansen and Sandra Brown. Gold 5-star rating.” —
Heartland Critiques
HAUNTING RACHEL
“A stirring and evocative thriller.” —
Palo Alto Daily News
“The pace flies, the suspense never lets up. It’s great reading.” —
The Advocate,
Baton Rouge
“An intriguing book with plenty of strange twists that will please the reader.” —
Rocky Mountain News
“It passed the ‘stay up late to finish it in one night’ test.” —
The Denver Post
FINDING LAURA
“You always know you are in for an outstanding read when you pick up a Kay Hooper novel, but in
Finding Laura,
she has created something really special! Simply superb!” —
Romantic Times
(gold medal review)
“Hooper keeps the intrigue pleasurably complicated, with gothic touches of suspense and a satisfying resolution.” —
Publishers Weekly
“A first-class reading experience.” —
Affaire de Coeur
“Ms. Hooper throws in one surprise after another. . . . Spellbinding.” —
Rendezvous
AFTER CAROLINE
“Harrowing good fun. Readers will shiver and shudder.” —
Publishers Weekly
“Kay Hooper comes through with thrills, chills, and plenty of romance, this time with an energetic murder mystery with a clever twist. The suspense is sustained admirably right up to the very end.” —
Kirkus Reviews
“Peopled with interesting characters and intricately plotted, the novel is both a compelling mystery and a satisfying romance.” —
Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“Kay Hooper has crafted another solid story to keep readers enthralled until the last page is turned.” —
Booklist
“Joanna Flynn is appealing, plucky and true to her mission as she probes the mystery that was Caroline.” —
Variety
AMANDA
“
Amanda
seethes and sizzles. A fast-paced, atmospheric tale that vibrates with tension, passion, and mystery. Readers will devour it.” —Jayne Ann Krentz
“Kay Hooper’s dialogue rings true; her characters are more three-dimensional than those usually found in this genre. You may think you’ve guessed the outcome, unraveled all the lies. Then again, you could be as mistaken as I was.” —
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
“Will delight fans of Phyllis Whitney and Victoria Holt.” —
Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine
“Kay Hooper knows how to serve up a latter-day gothic that will hold readers in its brooding grip.” —
Publishers Weekly
“I lapped it right up. There aren’t enough good books in this genre, so this stands out!” —
Booknews
from The Poisoned Pen
“Kay Hooper has given you a darn good ride, and there are far too few of those these days.” —
Dayton Daily News
Read on for a sneak preview of
the sequel to
ONCE A THIEF . . .
ALWAYS A THIEF
Coming from Bantam Books in Summer 2003!
T
he cold fog drifting over the bay began to
obscure the distant, hulking outline of Alcatraz, and Quinn was glad. Though it was no longer a place where dangerous criminals were held, the defunct prison and its lonely island continued to be a stark, visible reminder of the price demanded of those who chose to be lawless.
Quinn didn’t need the reminder.
Still, as he turned up the collar of his jacket and dug his hands into the pockets, he watched the rocky island until the mist enveloped it and rendered it invisible. It was an eerie sight, the fog creeping over the water toward him while behind Quinn the moonlight gleamed down on the city. At least for now, some time after midnight. In another hour, Quinn thought, he probably wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face.
He was beginning to really like this city.
“Why the hell are we meeting here?”
Quinn had been aware of the other man’s presence before he heard or saw anything, so the low voice didn’t startle him. “I thought it was rather apt,” he murmured in response. “Before the fog rolled in, Alcatraz was shining like a beacon in the moonlight.”
“Are you getting edgy?” The other voice held a very slight note of mockery. “You?”
Quinn turned his back on the archaic, mist-shrouded prison and looked at his companion. “No, but I’ll be glad when this is over. I’d forgotten how long the nights get.”
“Your choice.”
“Yeah, I know.” Quinn wondered, not for the first time, if becoming such an accomplished liar had been a good thing or a bad one. It might have kept his skin intact a bit longer, he thought, but sooner or later it was all going to catch up with him—and a great many people would no doubt be furious at him.
His companion seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “We’ve been amazingly lucky so far,” he said. “But you really can’t afford to get in any deeper.”
“I’ll have to.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
Quinn had to laugh, albeit softly. “You aren’t the first to say so. Look, the exhibit opens to the public next Friday. I think we both agree that the sooner this is over, the better.”
“Sure, but if you’re planning on taking even more chances than you already have—”
“I’m always careful.”
That solemn statement was so wide of the mark that Quinn’s companion could only shake his head. “Sure you are.”
“I am. And I plan to be very, very careful during the next step of my plan.”
“Which is?”
“Well, hunting by night hasn’t earned me much. I think it’s time I tried a more direct approach.”
“I’ve got a feeling I won’t like this.”
“No, probably not.” Quinn’s even white teeth showed in a sudden grin. “But I will.”
“May I have this dance?”
Morgan West would have known the voice anywhere, even here in a Sea Cliff mansion in the middle of an elegant black-tie party. Rather numbly, she looked up to meet the laughing green eyes of the most famous—and infamous—cat burglar in the world.
Quinn.
He was dressed for the party, a handsome heartbreaker in his stark black dinner jacket. His fair hair gleamed as he bowed very slightly with exquisite grace before her, and Morgan knew without doubt that at least half the female eyes in the crowded ballroom were fixed on him.
The other half just hadn’t seen him yet.
“Oh, Christ,” she murmured.
Quinn lifted her drink from her hand and set it on a nearby table. “As I believe I told you once before, Morgana—not nearly,” he said nonchalantly.
As he led her out onto the dance floor, Morgan told herself she certainly didn’t want to make a scene. That was why she wasn’t resisting him, of course. And it was also why she fixed a pleasantly noncommittal smile on her face despite the fact that her heart was going like a trip-hammer.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a low, fierce voice.
“I’m dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room,” he replied, suiting action to words as he drew her into his arms and began moving to the slow, dreamy music.
Morgan refused to be flattered, and she kept her arms too stiff to allow him to pull her as close as he obviously wanted to. She was wearing a nearly backless black evening gown, and the sudden remembrance of just how much of her bare skin was showing made her feel self-conscious for the first time.
Not that she wanted
him
to know that, of course.
“Would you please shed your Don Juan suit and get serious?” she requested.
He chuckled softly, dancing with grace and without effort. “That was the bald truth, sweet.”
“Yeah, right.” Morgan sighed and couldn’t help glancing around somewhat nervously, even though she kept the polite smile pasted to her lips and made sure her voice was low enough to escape being overheard. “Look, there are a dozen private guards watching over Leo Cassady’s collection, and at least one cop here as a guest. Surely you aren’t thinking—”
“You’re the one who isn’t thinking, Morgana.” His voice was low as well, but casual and unconcerned. “I prefer the secrecy of darkness and the anonymity of a mask when I’m working, remember? Besides that, it would be rude in the extreme; I would never think of relieving our host of his valuables. Not, at least, during a party. No, I am simply here as a guest—an invited guest.”
As she danced automatically and gazed up at him, Morgan reminded herself of several things. First,
Quinn
was only a nickname, a pseudonym for a faceless thief that had been coined by a journalist years before. Second, if Quinn was here in Leo Cassady’s home by invitation, someone must have vouched for him.
“Okay,” she said. “So what’s the name on the guest list?”
“Now, Morgana, I thought you’d learned by now never to ask awkward questions.”
She stared at him, brows lifting.
“Or maybe that was just my fantasy,” he mused.
It cost her something not to laugh, but Morgan managed. Barely. “I can ask Leo, you know.”
“Yes, I know you can. I’d rather you didn’t.”
“And I should care what you want because—?”
“I’m asking you to?”
“Jesus,” she muttered, adding immediately, “and don’t say it, just don’t. I’m not mistaking you for
anything
divine, believe me.”
“And speaking of divine, you dance divinely, Morgana,” Quinn said with his usual beguiling charm, smiling down at her. “I knew you would. But if you’d only relax just a bit—” His hand exerted a slight pressure at her waist in an attempt to draw her closer.
“No,” she said, resisting successfully without losing the rhythm of the dance.
His smile twisted a bit, though his wicked green eyes were alight with amusement. “So reluctant to trust me? I only want to obey the spirit of this dance and hold you closer.”
Morgan refused to be seduced. It was almost impossible, but she refused. “Never mind the spirit. You’re holding me close enough.”
Those roguish eyes dropped to briefly examine the low-cut neckline of her black evening gown, and he said wistfully, “Not nearly close enough to suit me.”
For her entire adult life—and most of her teens—Morgan had fought almost constantly against the tendency of people, especially men, to assume that her generous bust was undoubtedly matched by an I.Q. in the low two digits, and so she tended to bristle whenever any man called attention to her measurements either by word or by look.
Any man except Quinn, that is. He had the peculiar knack of saying things that were utterly outrageous and yet made her want to giggle—and she always felt that his interest was as sincerely admiring of nature’s generous beauty as it was—almost comically—lustful.
“Well, you’ll just have to suffer,” she told him in the most severe tone she could manage.
He sighed. “I’ve been suffering since the night we met, Morgana.”
“Tough,” she muttered. “Look, I just want to know what you’re doing here. And
don’t
say dancing with me.”
“All right, I won’t,” he said affably. “What I’m doing here is attending a party.”
Morgan gritted her teeth but kept smiling. “I’m in no mood to fence with you.”
“I can see that. Very well, then. I’ve been on the guest list for this party since the beginning, sweet.”
Forgetting to keep smiling, she frowned up at him. “What? You couldn’t have been. Leo’s always planned to throw a party the night before the
Mysteries Past
opening, and he sent out invitations more than a month ago—in fact, nearly two months ago. How could you possibly—”
Quinn shook his head slightly, then guided her away from the center of the room.
Morgan wanted to resist. But somehow she found herself going with him, even while reminding herself she had no business at all consorting with a known criminal.
Strange how she kept forgetting that was what Quinn
was.
He led her from the crowded ballroom without giving her a chance to protest, finding his way easily down a short hallway and out onto a slightly chilly, deserted terrace. Leo hadn’t opened the French doors of the ballroom, probably because it had been raining when the party began; the flagstone terrace was still wet, and a heavy fog was creeping in over the garden. Still, if a guest
did
happen to wander out, the party’s host was prepared: There were Japanese-type lanterns hung to provide light for the terrace and garden, along with scattered tables and chairs—very wet at the moment.
Everything gleamed from the rain and the incoming fog made the garden an eerie sight. It was very quiet on the terrace, unnaturally so, with the thick mist providing its usual muffling effect; both the music from the ballroom and the sounds of the ocean could only just be heard.
Morgan assumed that Quinn wanted to talk to her without the greater chance of being overheard inside, so she made no effort to protest or to ask him why he’d brought her out here.
Still holding one of her hands, Quinn half sat on the stone balustrade edging the terrace and laughed softly as if some private joke amused him greatly. “Tell me something, Morgana. Have you ever stopped to think that I might be . . . more than Quinn?”
“What do you mean?”
His wide, powerful shoulders lifted in a shrug, and those vivid eyes remained on her face. “Well, Quinn is a creature of the night. His name’s a pseudonym, a nickname—”
“An alias,” she supplied helpfully.
He let out a low laugh. “All right, an alias. My point is that he moves in the shadows, his face masked to the world—most of the world, anyway—and few know very much about him. But it isn’t always night, Morgana. Masks tend to look a bit peculiar in the daylight, and Quinn would hardly have a passport or driver’s license—to say nothing of a dinner jacket. So who do you think I am when I’m not Quinn?”
Hungry for more thrills from Kay Hooper?
Don’t miss these chilling tales of paranormal crime-solving from the proven master of psychic suspense . . .
TOUCHING EVIL
and
WHISPER OF EVIL
Available now in paperback!
And watch for the next heartstopper . . .
SENSE OF EVIL
Coming in hardcover from Bantam Books in Summer 2003.