Chris Rogers - Bitch Factor

BITCH FACTOR is going to rank as one of the years most stellar debuts. The story is exciting, gripping the reader immediately and never letting go. Sexual tension and out-and-out suspense abound in this outstanding first novel. Keep the name Chris Rogers in mind, for she is definitely going to be a force to reckon with in womens fiction. Move over Stephanie Plum and make way for Dixie Flannigan, the new kid on the bounty hunter block!

This book is dedicated:

To Krystal, Connie, Cullen, and Kelly, my greatest creations, and to Nathan, Matthew, Brandon, Dean, Charlie, Jolly, Steven, Jennifer, and Tyler, for the joy they bring into my life and for loving me no matter how weird I get;

To Dean K, my inspiration, and to Day, for listening to all my stories;

To Lois, Rex, Dorothy, Alice, and Judy for always caring;

To Amelia, Amy, Ann, Kay, Laurel, Linda, Mary, Margaret, Ron, Shirl, and Stan for needling me with gentle criticism until I got it right;

To the entire audit staff, for their tolerance, friendship, and encouragement;

To the masters I shamelessly modeled;

To the taxi driver who unknowingly begot Dixies character; And to Barry, because he insisted.

For helping me keep the facts straight, I wish to thank Jeff Beicker, former bounty hunter; Glenn Gotschall, former Assistant District Attorney for Harris County, Texas; and the entire Houston Police Departmentsome of the finest people and one of the best-trained crime-fighting teams in this country.

It is also my pleasure to acknowledge: Peter Miller, Jennifer Robinson, all the staff at PMA Literary & Film Management, Inc.; Kate Miciak, Amanda Powers, and everyone at Bantam Books. Without their belief in me, and in Dixie, the publication of this book would not have been possible.

If Betsy Keyes had known about the car waiting at the curb that morning, waiting for the moment she stepped into the intersection, she would have worn the purple shirt. Purple was for special days, days she marked with stars in her diary. The most important days got the purple shirt and three stars.

Hopping over a jagged hump in the sidewalk, she shoved a hand in her pocket and pressed a thumb-size metallic noise-maker: Click! Released it. Click!

Sometimes the dark secret Betsy held inside made her feel exactly like a teakettle about to boil over. Squeezing her toy clicker allowed tiny bits of worry to escape, like steam from a teakettles whistle. The shiny black cricket painted on top had worn thin from rubbing against her finger. Crickets were supposed to be lucky, werent they?

Click, click .

But todays worry wasnt the bad kind. Today she would read her story to her sixth-grade classmates, which was worth two stars in her diary, at least. The story was exceptional. The class would love it. Betsy hoped they would love it. They would laugh, certainly, and clap.

A honeybee zipped from a smelly wisteria vine trailing a chain-link fence and buzzed past her hair. She dodged it, skirting a puddle from last nights rain. Maybe shed write a story about an angry honeybee that could only buzz-buzz-buzz, while its secrets stayed locked inside forever.

From the time Betsy was five years old, reading picture books out loud to her younger sisters, shed known she would someday be a fabulous writer. She often skipped the real words and made up her own, inventing new adventures, new characters. Her sisters liked the made-up stories best.

She wished Courtney and Ellie hadnt played sick today. If theyd walked to school with her, she could have practiced her story. Shed whispered to them, before Mama went out to jog, that she didnt think they were really sick. After all, they were both fine at Daddy Jons party last night.

An empty school bus rumbled past, snorting like an old bear. Betsy wrinkled her nose at the smell. Maybe shed write a story about a girl bear with two lazy sisters.

She liked going to school early, before engine roar and car horns and the crossing guards whistle cluttered the morning with noise. It gave her time to think about things like what she might have done to make her real daddy go away. She remembered his dark eyes and the way his hair flopped over his forehead like Courtneys, but she could no longer remember his smile.

Click, click .

Sidestepping a pink and yellow buttercup that had poked up through a crack in the concrete, dewdrops glistening on its petals, Betsy pushed the empty feeling away. Today was for happy thoughts. As she neared the intersection, she recited the first line of her story over and over, because teacher said the opening was so important. It had to grab a reader and pull, like reeling in a fish.

Betsy was so caught up in her words, she didnt notice the car waiting for the moment she crossed the street. She didnt hear the engine ripping toward her until it was too late. As the shiny black cricket bounced from her hand, Betsy knew she should have worn the purple. Today was the last important day of her life.

RECORDED INTERVIEW: January 4, 19

I felt the bump and looked in my rearview mirror at the body lying beside the road . I honestly thought the killing would end there .

From the forty-seventh floor of the grandiose Transco Tower, the law offices of Richards, Blackmon & Drake command a panoramic view of the city. Dixie Flannigan scarcely noticed the view as she pushed through the mahogany doors. Pine needles clung to her denim jacket from shouldering a Christmas tree into the back of her pickup, and her hands smelled of pine sap. A janitor, lazily mopping an inch of water off the womens rest-room floor, had refused to let her entereven the mensand Belle Richards message had said hurry .

Pausing at the receptionists desk, Dixie tossed a green and red handful of Hersheys Hugs on a document the woman was proofing. The military-strict assistant glanced up.

Cheers, Sergeant! Dixie grinned.

The womans scowl lifted almost a centimeter. Whats cheery about adding another damned inch to my hips?

The law firm had hired receptionist Sally Grimm, former martial-arts instructor, after a client stormed through the offices hell-bent on shooting the firms senior partner. Such mayhem would never happen on Sergeant Grimms watch. Today Dixie couldnt resist trying to break through the womans armorafter all, twas the season to be jolly. Didnt that include stone-faced door wardens? Leaning across the desk, Dixie lowered her voice.