Finlay Donovan Knocks 'Em Dead (Finlay Donovan, #2)

by Elle Cosimano

Christopher was dead. They’d found him bobbing on the water’s surface, his eyes bulging and empty, just after dawn. While I couldn’t honestly say I’d ever killed anyone before, this time, there was no denying I was one hundred percent responsible.

I’m pretty sure confetti exploded from my ovaries as he set her gently on her feet.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this. We should have left him in the freezer and padlocked it shut. Cops pull over sports cars. No one pulls over repair trucks. And now I have a melting corpsicle dripping dead-guy juice in my trunk.”

My mouth watered. My mother’s pot roast was, arguably, better than sex. The smell of it, cooking low and slow in the oven, was the nearest I’d come to a tantric experience.