Ex-Treme Measures (paperback)

ISBN Digital: 9781509203420
ISBN Print: 9781509203413
Page Count: 228
Word Count: 59616
Rating: Hot
MSRP: 13.99

A Crime Noir Comedy

Men. You can't live with them.

You can't kill them… Or can you?

Vanna Treme runs a domestic investigations agency in downscale Deport Beach, Florida. She spies on cheating spouses while struggling to recover from her own imploded marriage. Vanna's unique PI firm also offers Ex-Treme Measures, special services designed to get rid of the marital problem. Forever.
Ringo, Vanna's trusted assistant, a hunky ex-cop, is worried. Their clients are lying to them, local competition is moving in, and everyone in South Florida is crazy or untrustworthy—or both. But Vanna refuses to listen. She heads for the superficial glitter of Palm Beach, where the hits just keep on coming her way.
Ex-Treme Measures combines humor, action, and evolutionary biology to investigate some of our culture's most pressing mysteries, including why men act like men, and why the hell women put up with it.


“S’up, Van? You’re drinking like you’re in Dublin.” His frown deepened. “It’s that bastard ex of yours, isn’t it? He upset you today.” Ringo leaned farther across the marble-topped table between us, his impressive biceps bulging from under his tight white T-shirt. “I’m gonna have to beat that guy’s nasty ass, no matter what you say.”

Nasty ass. I swallowed hard. Some beer lurched back up my esophagus, so I swallowed again and shook my head. “This is not about Ashton. We got worse shit to take care of.” I held up my empty. “Get me another one of these suckers, and we’ll discuss.”

My assistant did as he was told. That was the best thing about sleeping with a man on an irregular, unpredictable basis. He would do anything to sleep with you again. Including refilling your drink order. Especially refilling your drink order.

Over a second round of ES, my new favorite drink, I told Ringo about Bella and Steven Cantor’s unfortunate business arrangement. I kept my voice real low. Not that the Tam clientele cared to listen. The second best thing about our favorite bar—the Prada crowd has no interest in other people’s business. They’re way too wrapped up in their own.

Ringo shrugged and sipped his beer. “So? We find out who this joker is, where he hangs. If he’s local, I eliminate the competition. He don’t know we exist, but we know all about him. Art of War—prepare to meet the enemy. I’ll handle this. No problem.”

My thirst had eased up, fortunately, so I was able to consider Ringo’s viewpoint on the issue with a somewhat clear head. Three beers, and I’d be three sheets. More, and they’d be scraping me off the walls. Vanna Treme does her Jackson Pollock impersonation. Again.

It was my turn to shrug. “Easy to say, but I don’t think so. Cuz I doubt it’ll be so simple. Here’s the thing. She hired this guy over the Internet. Never met him, has nothing but a phone number and a name. Mr. Grey.”

“As in, Fifty Shades of?” Ringo’s mind was headed down the single track men all jumped on after a drink or two. Already he’d undressed me in his mind and was licking his way up from my bare toes. I could almost feel his sandpapery tongue swirling around my right ankle bone.

When I shivered, he laughed. He knew exactly what I was thinking he was thinking. Because he was. Thinking it, I mean.

I gave him the look. The one that said, Okay, have it your way with me. But let me have a few drinks first.

Copyright © 2018 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.