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Izzy McNeil is hot on the trail of one of Chicago's most notorious gangsters. Not that he realizes the crimson-tressed enchantress, a self-proclaimed "lapsed lawyer," is moonlighting as a private investigator. But when an unexpected run-in trashes Izzy's cover, she's swept into an evil underworld where she is definitely not safe.
That is until Izzy receives help from an unlikely source: the ultimate guardian angel. And the last person she ever dreamed she'd see again. Now Izzy is racing from Chicago to Rome, all the while battling personal demons, Mafiosi killers and red hot emergency desires....
This enriched edition of Red, White & Dead contains bonus content by author Laura Caldwell, an eBook exclusive!
- Sales Rank: #799783 in eBooks
- Published on: 2012-10-15
- Released on: 2012-10-15
- Format: Kindle eBook
Review
A fresh, intelligent, and emotional thriller served up with a snappy repartee and sassy dialogue. Laura Caldwell writes with an assured ease, showing a true sense of style and story, delivering a brilliant and complicated heroine. Red White and Dead can be read quickly, but I'd recommend it be savored slowly. Great book. --New York Times bestselling author, Steve Berry
About the Author
Laura Caldwell, a former civil litigator, is a a Scholar in Residence at Loyola Law School where she is also an award-winning law professor. Caldwell's first book, Burning the Map, was selected by Barnes & Noble.com as one of The Best of 2002. Following that, A Clean Slate received a starred review from Booklist. Caldwell began publishing thrillers and suspense novels in 2005. Both her debut mystery, Look Closely, and The Rome Affair, the novel that pulled her into the Mosley case, received critical acclaim. Laura's newest, an international thriller called The Good Liar, has been heralded as "a massive achievement." She is published in ten languages and over twenty countries.
Before beginning her writing career, Laura was a trial attorney, specializing in medical malpractice defense and entertainment law. She is published in the legal field and is currently an Adjunct Professor of Law at her alma mater, Loyola University Chicago, where she teaches litigation writing and international criminal law. Laura is also freelance magazine writer and has contributed to several anthologies.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
When it happened, it happened at night, the way bizarre things often do.
For a Sunday, and nearly midnight, the restaurant was buzzing. That's the way Sundays work in Chicago. Often the city is quiet—most people tucked under sheets by 10 p.m., newspapers sprawled on the floor below them. Other times, on a Sunday in June like that night, when the weather plays nice—the occasional puffed cloud skimming across a crystallized blue sky, a sky that gently settles into a soft black without losing the day's warmth— things can get a little raucous. And I'm the kind of girl who likes a raucous Sunday now and again.
So even though Rush Street wasn't my usual hangout, if I'd been surrounded by friends at that corner table at Gibsons Bar, the one by the windows that looked onto the street where people still strolled and lights still burned, I would have been very happy. But I wasn't with friends.
Dez Romano threw his arm over the back of my stool. Dez, short for Desmond, had dark black hair, even though he was surely a few years past forty, and it curled in pleasing twists, like ribbons of ink around his face. The somewhat thick bridge of his nose was the only coarse thing on Dez Romano's face, and he managed to make that look spectacularly handsome. He was so confident, so lit up with energy that you began to think every man should have such a face.
The story I'd been told by John Mayburn, the private investigator I moonlighted for, was that Dez had been named by his mother after a Catholic cardinal whom she admired. The religious connotation hadn't helped. Dez was now the head of his family business, as in the family business. Dez was, as Mayburn had said, "the new face of Chicago's organized crime."
Dez smiled at me now. I thought a smile by such a man would be flashy, a surface grin that easily revealed danger underneath. But it was genuine. Or at least it appeared so. I'd been told that, in some ways, Dez was the new kind of Mafia—the kind who had friends from all walks of life around the city, who opted, when possible, for courting rather than strong-arming, who made large donations to charities, not because he or his family business wanted something from them, but simply because every respectable business did so.
I returned Dez's smile, thinking that the problem with Dez wasn't his looks and it wasn't that he lacked generosity, whether toward a woman like me, whom he'd met at the bar, a woman supposedly stood up by a flaky friend or toward his associates. The problem was, at least according to the suspicions of the federal government, Dez ran an intricate business, an arm of the Italian Camorra, believed to be more ambitious and more ruthless than the Cosa Nostra faction made famous by The Godfather movies. In other words, Dez was also the old kind of Mafia. He wasn't afraid of strong-arming or something much more violent. No, not at all.
"So, Suzanne," Dez said, using the alias I'd given him, "where to from here?"
I laughed, looked at my watch. "It's almost midnight. I'd say home is where I'm going from here."
"And where is home?"
"Old Town," I answered vaguely.
I really did live in Old Town. When Mayburn first taught me to assume a cover name in order to conduct surveillance, he told me to always blend in some reality— some truth that couldn't be easily tied to your real life—or otherwise you'd forget or confuse yourself, and you could land in some very real trouble.
The blending of such truths hadn't exactly helped. My occasional moonlighting gig for Mayburn had gotten me into more than a little trouble, but I hadn't been able to turn him down this time.
I need a favor, Izzy, he'd said, earlier that night. I want you to hang out at Gibsons. Act like you're meeting a friend at the bar, act like the friend canceled on you. Dez Romano is always there on Sunday. Throw that red hair over your shoulder and give him the famous Izzy McNeil smile. Talk to him. See if he says anything about Michael DeSanto.
I didn't say that there was no "famous Izzy McNeil smile" that I knew of. I didn't point out all the things that could go wrong with this little "favor." Instead, I agreed rather quickly. Not because I needed the money, which I did, but because Mayburn was in love, the first time I'd witnessed such a thing. And yet it appeared he was about to lose his beloved to Michael DeSanto, a banker we'd helped put in jail for laundering money for the Mob. Correction: laundering money for Dez Romano.
"My car is outside," Dez said. "Let me give you a lift."
"That's all right. I'm a taxi kind of girl." I pointed out the window, where a few Yellow Cabs and Checkers floated by. "I won't have a problem. But thank you for dinner." I waved at the table toward the bottles of wine and grappa and the desserts in which we'd barely made a dent.
Dez answered that it had been wonderful, that he'd like to see me again. "I guess I should have asked before," he said, with a shy shrug that surprised me. "You're single, right?"
I answered honestly— "I am."
A few short months before, I'd juggled three men, and then suddenly there were none. Today, one was staging a comeback, and I wasn't sure what to do about that. In the meantime, although I was occasionally tortured about those who had left my life, I was free to date whomever I wanted. Even a ranking member of the Mafia, if only as a part-time job.
If I hadn't known who he was and what he did for a living, I wouldn't have blinked before agreeing to go out with Dez. I was about to turn thirty, and with my birthday fast approaching, it seemed the dating gods had flipped a switch in my head. I had never dated anyone much older than me, never really been interested, but now Dez's forty-some years compared to my twenty-nine seemed just fine.
Dez leaned his elbows on the green-and-white tablecloth and shot me a sexy kind of smile. "Would you go out with me sometime? Officially?"
Officially, I was about to say, Sure, This was what Mayburn had hoped would happen. I would listen for anything having to do with Michael DeSanto, and if nothing came up, I'd establish a contact with Dez so I could see him again, so I might learn something about Michael in the future.
I looked out the window once more, thought about how to phrase my answer. And then I saw him.
He was standing across the street at a stop sign, wearing a blue blazer and a scowl. He glanced at his watch, then up again, and as the cars slowed, he began to cross the street, right toward us.
I opened my mouth. I must have looked shocked because Dez followed my gaze.
"Hey, it's DeSanto," he said fondly. He looked back at me.
I clamped my mouth shut and met his eyes, trying to cover my panic with a bland expression.
His eyes narrowed. "You know DeSanto?"
"Um…" What to say here? Actually, we met when I was pretending to be friends with his wife, Lucy, in order to sneak into his office and download files to incriminate him. Isn't that ironic?
Mayburn and I had decided that if I was successful tonight and got to Dez Romano, and if I could somehow steer the conversation toward Michael DeSanto's name, I would ask about Michael, maybe volunteer that I'd once met Lucy—the woman Mayburn was now in love with— at my gym, or someplace similarly benign. But that plan had assumed I wouldn't actually see Michael; it assumed that Michael wouldn't pull open the door to Gibsons, and walk right in, and find me with his buddy, Dez.
I stood up. I leaned forward, hoping to distract Dez with a little cleavage. It worked. His narrowed stare relaxed. He glanced up at me and, to his credit, then kept his eyes there.
Meanwhile, my eyes shot toward the door. And there was Michael DeSanto, stopping to say hello to the maître d'.
Frig, I thought, attempting to stick with my stop-swearing campaign despite the circumstances. But I gave up quickly. Fuck, I thought. What is he doing here?
According to Lucy, her wayward husband was out of jail on bond, and although he was friendly with his compatriots of old, like Dez (all of whom had managed to avoid prosecution through one loophole or another), he wasn't doing business with them anymore. Rarely saw them much at all. As such, Lucy had felt it her duty, especially for her kids, to break up with Mayburn and give it a go with Michael, the father of her children, the man she was, or at least had been, in love with. And so their Lincoln Park home once again blazed bright, as did the lights on the security gates surrounding it. The whole thing had rendered John Mayburn bordering on positively vacant, which spooked me. Which was why I'd found myself agreeing to try and infiltrate the world of organized crime.
Yet now Michael was here, just out of jail, clearly stopping in to see Dez Romano. And about to come face-to-face with the person who was instrumental in putting him in jail. Me.
I took a step away from Dez, muttering, "Be right back."
I moved in the direction of the bathrooms, but when I realized it would put me in a collision course with DeSanto, I shifted, started to go the other way. I froze when I realized the exit and the bathrooms were both just beyond where Michael was standing.
He stopped then, completely still, looking at me with his eerily light brown eyes. He froze in exactly the same way an animal does when assessing a dire situation— with the knowledge that this might be the end, this might be the time to meet the maker, but with a sure clarity that there was going to be a fight before the end came.
I froze, too. I wished at that moment that I was better at this stuff, but no matter how much I'd learned from Mayburn, the whole undercover thing was simply not in my blood.
And so, lacking anything better to do, I gave Michael DeSanto the same smile I gave lawyers at Chicago Bar Association events when I didn't recognize them—a sort of Hi, how are you? Good to see you kind of smile.
Physically, DeSanto looked a little like Dez Romano, but he wasn't even glancing at his friend right now. His intent stare stayed focused exactly on...
Most helpful customer reviews
6 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
enjoyable mystery
By Harriet Klausner
In Chicago, since losing her job as an entertainment lawyer, Izzy McNeil works for private investigator John Mayburn. After her undercover work exposed Michael DeSanto as a crook (with the help of his wife), she is working on his associate Dez Romano, head of the family business. However, her identity as Suzanne is exposed when Michael sees her with Dez. They chase after her into a garage when a man calls out to "Boo" enabling her to escape.
Mayburn, who loves Michael's wife, tells Izzy to leave town. She decides to head to Rome to talk to her paternal Aunt Elena because only her mom and her late dad called her "Boo". Mayburn agrees to conduct research in the States. In Italy, Izzy is joined by her best friend Maggie and two hunks as she learns of her family connection to the Camorra mob, but remains ignorant to how deep and that they are aware of her presence in Rome and Naples.
The third Izzy "Red" thriller (See RED HOT LIES and RED BLOOD MURDER) takes a family spins on both sides of the Atlantic. The story line is fast-paced as the Italian mobsters try to scare the heroine back to Chicago so the American side of the family can quietly silence her; a killing of a red headed Yank in Italy would be international headline news as opposed to just local in the Windy City. Although lacking the humor and anti-noir feel of the previous two story lines, RED, WHITE AND DEAD is an enjoyable mystery with a few terrific twists as fans and Izzy try to figure out what is going on.
Harriet Klausner
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Good, But Not Great
By A Reader
I loved the first two books of the "Red" trilogy, but while I was glad to finally be finished with the Sam stuff, I found this one somewhat disappointing.
The storyline really stretched credibility, but worse, there were too many loose ends left hanging. While this is good for future adventures of Izzy, it wasn't good for the final book of a trilogy. What happens now to Izzy's mother and her husband? What happened to the guy Maggie met in Italy? Was he part of the Camorra? What happened with Mayburn and Lucy? Did Elena go back home? What was up with the explosion? Nothing was wrapped up as it should have been to send off what was packaged as a trilogy.
Looking forward to more books by this author, but hope she doesn't make this mistake again.
2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Red, White & Dead
By Deborah A. Matthews
After reading the first two books in the series, I couldn't wait to start this one. I read it over Labor Day weekend, and I couldn't put it down. Izzy once again finds herself in hot water, this time with the mob. In addition to that, she finds herself wondering about the death of her father, and if he really is dead. In her quest for answers, the mob trouble and the search for her father become entangled. She also begins to understand herself better and her romance heats up. I can't wait for more Izzy adventures!
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