Murderous intent is no match for killer intellect accessorized with stiletto heels.

A Felicia Swift Mystery, Book 1

If there’s one thing Felicia Swift likes more than sex, it’s books. But her dream job at the Library of Congress takes a macabre turn when she finds a linguistics specialist lying dead between his least favorite subjects: Anthropology and Astrophysics.

Worse, the utterly sexy detective seems to have his eyes on Felicia’s curves more than the evidence, which she is convinced points at the wrong man. And she plans to convince him of just that—right after he buys her an apple martini.

Mark Rizzo plans to wrap up this investigation as quickly as possible. Until he realizes the witness isn’t some dumpy, wizened librarian, but a researcher with endless legs, bottomless intellect, and a bulldog determination to complicate this open-and-shut case all to hell.

As Felicia and Rizzo dig closer to the truth, the real culprit gets jittery enough to try something desperate. Leaving Felicia to wonder if their investigation will lead them down the aisle of no return.

Warning: Contains a jaded detective with more scuffs, scrapes, and scars than a well-loved pair of Timberlands. Plus a more fashion-forward (and probably better smelling) sleuth than Sherlock Holmes who’s as picky about her lovers as she is about her shoes—and make no mistake, she’s had plenty of both.