Crash Into You Read Online Nichole Rose

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Insta-Love, Romance, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
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This curvy teacher never anticipated being charged with murder…or falling for the bossy detective in charge of the case.

Ivy Kendall
Cameron Lewis is the man of my dreams.
Bossy, gorgeous, and fiercely intelligent.
When he touches me, I go up in flames.
There's only one problem.
He's a homicide detective.
And I'm the primary suspect in a murder I didn't commit.
I could lose everything, and so could Cam.
But whoever is trying to ruin my life doesn't get to destroy his too. I won't allow it.
One way or another, I will stop them from harming the man I love.
Even if it means sacrificing myself.

Cameron Lewis
Ivy Kendall thinks she's a fierce tiger.
I know she's a harmless little kitten.
She's also quickly becoming the center of my world.
But nothing is ever simple.
Someone is trying to frame her for a crime she didn't commit.
The closer we get to the truth, the more complex the case grows.
Clearing her name will free her.
But learning the truth may destroy her.
I can't let that happen.
I'll protect her, no matter the cost.

Crash Into You is a safe, sweet, and steamy full-length romance featuring a homicide detective and a curvy kindergarten teacher. If you enjoy sassy heroines, OTT protective older men, and steamy mysteries, you'll love this curvy girl romance from Nichole Rose! As always, a sticky-sweet HEA is guaranteed. TW: This book discusses suicide (off-page) and includes brief scenes of violence (on-page).

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

Cameron

"Yo, Lewis!"

I glance up from the file in my hands to find Scott Dennison motioning to me from the front desk of San Francisco's Northern precinct office where I'm assigned, a dopey grin stretched across his face.

"Son of a bitch," I groan, frustration seething through me. My partner, Thomas Jacoby, and I just walked in the door with an armed robbery suspect we've been chasing for the last three days straight. I don't have the time or patience for whatever inane bullshit Dennison has for me. The man lives for fucking me over since I got him pulled from the streets a month ago for kicking the shit out of a low-level dealer.

"Los Angeles is on the phone for you," he yells before I can tell him to fuck off.

Our robbery suspect, a twenty-year-old with big ears and fucked up teeth, whistles like he's impressed. "Better get that, man. You know LAPD is O.G."

"Shut the fuck up," Jacoby and I mutter at the same time. The kid is pissing off both of us with his mouth. He's hopped up on meth and God only knows what else, and he thinks he's funny. He's made a point to talk non-fucking-stop since we picked him up from East Palo Alto an hour and a half ago.

"Take him back and get him set up, yeah?" I say to Jacoby.

"Yeah, on it," he mutters, steering the kid toward the interview rooms at the back of the station with the kid mouthing off the entire way.

I stride toward the desk, motioning for Dennison to hand me the phone. He does so with another big, shit-eating grin. I turn my back on him, not interested in getting into a pissing match with him here and now.

"This is Detective Cameron Lewis," I snap into the receiver, impatiently tapping the file in my hands against the dull gray countertop.

"Lewis. Just the guy I wanted to talk to," Octavio Hernandez says.

Dammit. I bite back a sigh at the deep sound of his voice. Hernandez works Missing Persons for Los Angeles, and he never drops anything easy in my lap.

"What's up, O?" I ask anyway, knowing damn well I owe him one for helping me locate a kidnapping suspect who fled to L.A. with a thirteen-year-old a little over two months ago.

"Got something for you," he says, getting straight to the point. "Twenty-one-year-old kid, Rory Clark, went missing from the UCLA campus late last week after making threats to take a leap from Bay Bridge."

"Shit." I snap my fingers at Dennison, mouthing for a paper and pen.

He hands them over, still grinning at me like he just won the fucking lottery.

"I'm guessing you already got a ping on his phone?" I ask Hernandez.

"Yep. Last activity was in your city at 1134 hours yesterday morning. Phone hasn't been used since," Hernandez says as I jot notes. "But get this…from what we've been able to find, the kid was mixed up in an online relationship with a model. Real name of Ivy Kendall, alias of Ivy Wade. She lives in your city." He quickly rattles off her birthdate and last known address, which is less than a fifteen-minute walk from the precinct office. "She took him for almost fifteen grand before she dropped his ass. He sent her a slew of messages when he arrived in San Francisco. She told him to get lost. Actually told him not to chicken out when he threatened to jump. We're looking at her for manslaughter if this kid doesn't show up soon."

"How'd you get this?" I ask. UCLA has its own police department. They're fully equipped to handle everything from lost property to homicides. If they called in LAPD, the situation is serious.

"Apparently the kid's daddy works for the mayor."

Great. That's just what I need.

"You need me to pick her up?" I ask anyway, circling her name on my notepad.

Hernandez hesitates. "Look, as far as anyone here is concerned, she's our girl, but something isn't adding up."

My curiosity is officially piqued. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking there's something else going on," he says. "She's been using a texting app to contact him, so it's not connected to her. We're trying to get the company to pull records, but you know how that goes."

I snort in response. Getting records from some of these companies is all but impossible. Even in life-or-death situations, dispatch and detectives jump through hoops trying to get a simple location ping and can't even get that much most of the time. Trying to get client information is an exercise in futility. You can be anyone you want to be on text apps.

"From what I've been able to dig up, this girl stopped modeling three years ago and is now employed as a kindergarten teacher. She moonlights as a singer, volunteers on the weekends, and has never been in any trouble. What the hell is she doing messing around with a kid on the internet?"


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