Suds and Sam on the Lam by Stella Marie Alden

Not my fault, she says. I was just takin’ a few photos, she says. Now, we’re on the run and there’s a price tag of a cool half-mill’ on her pretty, little head.

God help me. After our last fiasco, we agreed. From now on, we’re only investigating divorce cases, missing pets, and petty shit where no one gets murdered, shot, or thrown in jail.
That’s the reason we invested in a new telephoto lens and why she was taking pictures, willy-nilly, in front of a drug dealer’s place of business.
If that wasn’t bad enough, while waiting for our client’s cheater to zip up his pants, she hears a shot. Now, anyone else with half a brain would’ve run for the hills. Oh no, not my Sam. She follows the sound, calls nine-one-one, and while she’s waiting, takes crime scene photos.

Whatever she saw is about to get us killed.