Title: JESSICA ROSIO, PI
Genre: Adult Mystery
Word Count: 70,000
My Mc's Most Fearsome Obsession is:
My MC's most fearsome obsession is Sunday dinner at grandma's. Yes, she loves pasta and meatballs but it's the fear of her grandmother's cane that insures her ass will be in a seat on Sunday at 2 O'clock. Sunday dinner is a requirement unless you’re dead or out of state.
When some sick bastard steals Fat Sal’s arms and legs two days before his wake, twenty-four-year-old Private Investigator Jessica takes time away from the kidnapping case she’s on to save her friend’s funeral home from ruin.
Missing limbs and kidnappings are not typical cases for Jessica. She catches cheating spouses with cameras and recorders from a safe distance. If met with opposition from said cheaters, she’s not opposed to using pepper spray. Guns—not so much. As a registered PI, a PI with training wheels, she’s not a great shot yet. That, plus the fact she doesn’t want your dead soul friggin’ up her ticket to heaven.
When her investigation leads to her sister’s piece-of-shit husband and ties the kidnapping and mortuary cases together, it puts her in the middle of a black-market organization that kills people for their skin and organs. To say that Jessica is in over her head would be the mother of all understatements.
If Jessica solves her cases, everyone—except the piece-of-shit husband—gets to live happily ever after. But if she fails, her family, her best friend and her new boyfriend, will all end up in the next body bags shipment.
Pins and needles stabbed at the bottom of my left foot as I waited, in a tight squat position, for another cheating husband. A storm rolled in, fat rain drops hissed on the still hot pavement. A crack of lightening lit the amethyst sky, and I pulled back to become one with the siding, gaining cover from the gutter above. I tucked my bag loaded with camera, recorder, pepper spray, and stun gun underneath my army-green rain poncho.
The camera has night vision capability and the recorder can pick up a dog fart a mile away. The other stuff I keep just in case—just in case the person I’m investigating gets a hold of me and decides he doesn’t want to fess up to what I captured on tape or camera. As a private investigator, I use what I’ve got to get the job done, and if I have to zap someone, I use my long legs to run like hell before they wake up.
Another bolt of lightning hit a huge overhanging branch above me. It just missed me as it crashed onto the driveway.
Oh, frig this.
A piece of broken window screen snagged me as I climbed in. Voices floated down the hallway. Cool. Not cool that the douche-bag husband was, in fact, a douche-bag, but at least my night wasn’t wasted. Something was off though—the moaning didn't sound like anyone was having fun. Quietly, I looped my camera over my head and crept forward.