Billionaire Dragon

by Jada Cox

  So, I’d gone through the case files and eaten my anger.

  That was six months ago. I hadn’t brought it up again, despite how much it still got under my skin. I didn’t trust myself to lose my rag entirely. I had decided that I would look at other agencies, but so far, I hadn’t really had the guts. This was too cushy of a job for what it was, and I didn’t trust that anyone else would want me. And if I was really honest with myself, I didn’t want to relive the hiring process again, answering questions about why I was let go from the police force so soon after I had been made Detective.

  I shook myself back to the present, grabbed my travel mug filled with ginger and mint tea, and headed out the door. I marched out of my house, tripping over my own feet, and nearly throwing myself down the three steps that led to the walkway. A little bit of tea sloshed out of the mouth of the mug, and I just about missed it landing on me.

  “Great start to the day,” I muttered to myself.

  I clicked the button on my car keys, and my burnt orange Hyundai beeped its good morning at me. I was about to open the door when I heard voices. I was surprised, because no one around here was generally up when I left for work. This was a mostly retired neighborhood. I was young enough to be anyone of my neighbors’ granddaughter.

  I looked up and groaned at what I saw. “You have got to be kidding me,” I said to myself.

  There, at the old Bernard residence, were six—six—motorcycles parked up, and a matching rider for each was walking down the path. Two of them were palling around with each other, while one was going through a brochure. The other two were sauntering down the driveway like it was their right to be there and then—

  No, I thought with desperation. The last one was putting the house key back in the key box on the door. Damnit. They had been there to view the house. These guys were going to be living here. There went the neighborhood.

  No, I thought. I don’t know that. They might just be checking it out. Besides, there was no way that those guys would be able to afford a place like that. It had a private lake belonging to it, after all. The last I’d heard was that it was upward of one and a half million. But then again, guys in biker clubs got into some shady dealings. Who knew what they could or couldn’t afford.

  I watched them, trying to discern if they were in fact in a club. It didn’t look like it, at least, from where I was standing. There was nothing matching about them other than their approximate ages and that they all rode bikes.

  I watched the guy by the front door. He wasn’t bad to look at. None of them were, really, but he was easy on the eyes, even if he was a biker. He had a darkness about him that was alluring, yet he seemed tidy. He seemed rough yet organized. I drank him in for a moment, wondering what it would be like to get involved with someone like that.

  The guy finished fiddling with the key box and taking off his shoe booties and turned, catching me staring straight at him. I quickly looked down, but I was almost certain that he’d seen me. I made my way to my car, keeping my head down but glancing in his direction. The whole time he kept looking at me, even as I got into my car. Was he just watching me or checking me out?

  I knew that with my tinted windows, he wouldn’t be able to see me, yet he still was watching my car. I looked at him over my shoulder. He was yummy to say the least. I wouldn’t mind if he had been checking me out. His hair was black and slicked back, buzz-cut short on the sides and long on the top. His face was lined with a pretty intense five o’clock shadow covering a narrow, and very pleasing, face.

  But it wasn’t just his face that had my eyes glued to him. Under his black vest and white t-shirt, his muscles bulged out, and I could only imagine what his clothes were concealing.

  I was feeling warm, and it wasn’t from the southern spring humidity. I turned the car on and cranked up the AC. Out of curiosity, I rolled down the window as I backed out and watched the guy sideways as I drove off.

  He never took his eyes off me.

  I got to the office in Midtown in Atlanta. There was a small parking lot behind the building, just big enough to squeeze in five or so cars at a push. Even with the clocks slowing me up and that guy distracting me—and boy, was he a distraction—I managed to get to work early enough to catch my usual spot.

  I pulled the keys out of the ignition and took a sip from my still hot tea, glancing at my watch. I still had a few minutes before I “needed” to be at work.

  I pulled the sun visor down and flipped open the mirror, put my phone face-down on the seat next to me, and put my palms on my legs, closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing. When I opened my eyes, I looked into the mirror, right into my own green eyes.

  “You deserve to be here,” I said out loud. “You deserve the best cases. You are an excellent investigator. You are a detective. You deserve to be here.”

  I took a few more deep breaths until I felt myself relax before opening the door into the city’s heat. No matter where you lived, it was always hotter in the city.

  I hurried inside the building, scanning my pass to unlock the door and heading up to the second floor. We were lucky that we were a big enough agency that we didn’t need to share the building with another company, but it also came with more maintenance that the agency had to pay for by itself, which meant we had to cut back on a lot of things. Ample office supplies was one of them. Regularly stocked toilet paper was another. But at least they kept the AC on to keep us all from melting, for which I was grateful.

  I went to the coffee station to top up my travel mug with hot water but struggled to screw the lid on properly. Sometimes I just didn’t have any luck lining up the little ridges. I didn’t know where the image came from, but I suddenly saw the guy from the neighboring house in my mind’s eye, those muscles damp with humidity. I wondered what it would be like to run my fingers over them.

  “Violet,” Janet said as she approached the coffee station, “what’s got you all flustered?”

  “What? Me? Nothing,” I stammered. “Why?”

  “Your face is beet red.”

  “Just warm out,” I said. “Early start to spring I suppose.”

  I hurried over to my desk before she could say any more. I usually enjoyed having a chat with Janet in the mornings. She was the overall office assistant. She was the one who took the information of potential clients and decided whether or not a case was worth our time. She was the first gate keeper. If she thought it was worth some money, then she passed it along to Don, who had the ultimate say.

  She was also on my side. She thought Don was just as much of an ass as I did, but she had different reasons. While I wasn’t enough of a man to participate in the bigger cases, she wasn’t enough of a lady not to be vulgar toward. Regularly, he would take a swing at taking her out, and every time, would miss. Yet, he never seemed to think he had struck out with her. He was always making comments about her and flirting with her, and not in a nice way.

  I’d told her repeatedly that she needed to report him for sexual harassment.

  “Where?” she asked. “Don’t you know that I’m Human Resources as well as office assistant?”

  It was a joke but a sad one. It was true. We didn’t have an HR department.

  I saw the case on my desk before I even got there. I sighed. Cases meant money, but they always felt like a punch to the gut when I got them. Every time, my heart soared with the hope that maybe I finally would get a real case—a good one. One that proved that the company finally saw that I was worth my salt. And every time, my heart was broken when it was just another client wanting to know if their spouse was having an affair.

  I knew why they picked me for these cases. It was part of the reason they told me I was so valuable. I was the only female investigator here, and it were usually the wives who asked for these cases. Don thought it was better if I delivered the bad news when it turned out the husbands were having an affair. I had the sympathetic tone down, the consoling pat on the knee and the shoulder that the scorned wife could cry on. And I was
a complete sucker for someone in pain. No one should have to hurt.

  I took in a deep breath and reminded myself that I was better at this job than they gave me credit for. I was a good detective. I had been when I worked for the police force, and I still was.

  I flopped down in my office and flipped open the file.

  I read the summary of the case.

  I read it again.

  I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Surely, it wasn’t possible.

  Except it was. It had my name on the front of the file and everything. It was a case—a real case!

  I looked around to see if anyone was looking to see my eyes growing misty. Five years. Five years I had waited to be handed something like this, and here it was, right in front of me.

  I read the file, taking in all of the information. There was a massive money laundering operation on the go. Somewhere in Atlanta, too. My excitement grew as I took in all the details, pulling out my yellow legal pad and taking notes.

  My heart sank as I realized where I had heard the name that was printed repeatedly throughout the case. Skeet Rowe. He was a high-end banker, and he was known for his level of sliminess. I knew his name from when I’d been in the police force. His name was always mentioned in those types of cases that stunk to high heaven, but there was never any evidence to pin anything on him. Any case that surrounded him was usually filed away as unsolved, incomplete, or otherwise put on the backburner.

  This wasn’t a gift. This wasn’t an accolade. This wasn’t a challenge because Don finally got a clue that I could be good for something. No, this was something else entirely.

  This was a sentence.

  Chapter 3 - Malcolm

  “I forgot about delivery,” Julian said. “The wonders of the modern world.”

  “No, the wonders of a stationary life,” Quin replied. “This is what giving up traveling means. We actually have an address for delivery to arrive at.”

  “So, what’s next on the docket?” I said. “We’re all moved in …” my eyes scanned the living room that was completely empty. None of us had anything. We’d been living in tents and hotels for over a decade. “I’m guessing furniture?”

  “I can’t think of anything worse than going furniture shopping,” Wyatt whined.

  “Ditto,” Cory said.

  “Should we hire a decorator?” Dain suggested. “I mean, none of us belong in a furniture warehouse. And the last time we did all have houses, it wasn’t pretty.”

  I laughed, remembering hauling couches and bedframes off the side of the street just so we didn’t have to deal with going and buying them ourselves. “I think that’s a good idea. I’ll hunt around for one online tomorrow.” I bit into my sausage, peperoni, and jalapeno slice and washed it down with a gulp of scotch on the rocks.

  “I’m thinking about maybe getting a job,” Dain said. “Obviously, we don’t need them. But I was just thinking that it might help us settle into a more stationary life.”

  “Really?” Cory asked. “We bought a house. We’re no long living on the road. You want to shackle yourself up to more responsibilities and get a job?”

  “Actually,” I said, “it’s not a bad idea. I mean, before, we were just traveling and partying. Let’s see what it’s like to be adults.”

  “You sound old,” Cory said.

  “That’s because you’re young,” I laughed. He wasn’t that much younger than the rest of us, only a decade or so. But it was enough that I liked to tease him about playing with the big kids. For all that he was born ten years after we were, give or take a year or two, he only looked a couple of years younger than us by human standards.

  “I’m thinking of maybe getting into construction,” Wyatt said. “I could learn a few things that we might be able to apply around here.”

  “Really?” Julian asked. “You want to do construction? Wait until the middle of the summer when you’re standing on the side of a road holding a stop sign, and then tell me that’s what you want to be doing.”

  “I don’t have to stick with it,” Wyatt replied, finishing off his large pizza and grabbing for the breadsticks.

  “You need to do training for construction,” Quin reminded him. “You need some form of certification.”

  “Ugh,” Wyatt grunted. “Alright, you’re right. I don’t want to do that.”

  “I’m thinking maybe security,” I said. “It’s pretty easy. All of us have some form of experience, and with Atlanta only forty or so minutes away, it’ll be easy enough to find work.”

  “Maybe,” Dain said, thinking. “I’m going to think about it for a bit. I think for me, I just want to hang out for a little while, get used to the house, see what to do with it.”

  “Are you going to be assisting the interior decorator then?” I asked. “I’ll research and query, but I’m not handling that.”

  “No way,” Dain said. “I was more thinking about what parties we can get going in here.”

  We laughed. He had a point. This house was nothing if not a party house.

  “But honestly, I’ll handle the interior decorator,” Julian said. “I don’t mind.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll cc you on any emails I send out.”

  “I’m thinking I might try working in fast food,” Cory said. “Or in a movie theater. Free popcorn.”

  “Really? We could get our own popcorn machine and stick it downstairs in our own damn theater,” Wyatt said. “You’d hate it.”

  “Sure, but I’d get a discount on all the movies I want to see.”

  “Because we totally need it,” Quin chuckled as the rest joined in.

  As the guys discussed what they planned to do, my attention wandered outside, to the view of the street. It wasn’t my favorite view. After all, who could say no to a sprawling sea of treetops out the back deck, knowing that the lake just down the path was actually ours. Yet, despite this view, my attention always wandered to the front, to where I’d seen that woman the other day. I couldn’t help it. All my senses were pointing me in that direction, and even the Dragon inside of me was breathing heat into me, threatening to sear my insides if I didn’t keep an eye in that direction.

  I would be lying if I said I didn’t know why. Ever since I’d seen our new neighbor a couple of weeks ago when we were viewing the house, I couldn’t get her out of my head. She had been stunning with her red hair and deep red lipstick. Even being as far away from her as I had been, I’d noticed that her eyelashes seemed to go on forever, and with her button-up shirt and slacks coming together so neatly, her broad hips and very generous chest were on display and exceptional.

  She wasn’t my usual type. I generally enjoyed the long sleek blonds whose hair almost had a tint of silver to it and whose bodies were firm. Our new neighbor was almost the opposite of that. She wasn’t short, but she was shorter than the women I was usually interested in. Her hair was not straight but curly; not pale, silvery blond, but a vibrant mass of screaming red. And her body was not firm, but instead had a mouthwatering plushness that I wanted to feel fill my hands.

  “Can you believe this guy?” Cory said, bringing my attention back into the room. “He wants to take out a few trees.”

  “Just to let some sunlight into the back yard,” Julian said. “Who knows, maybe we could have a garden or something.”

  “A garden?” Dain asked. “Since when have you gardened?”

  “Mom taught me,” he said sheepishly. “It was necessary back then.”

  “Oh, you mean like for food,” Cory said. “None of us eat vegetables.”

  “No, but rabbits do. So do pigs.”

  “We are not turning this place into a farm,” Wyatt said, putting a hand up. “I vote no-go on that. If you want to garden, buy yourself a farm.”

  I stood up from the table as my eyes caught sight of that god-awful orange Hyundai returning to the neighbor’s house. She was in it.

  “I’m going to go,” I said, wandering out of the kitchen.

  “Where are
you going?” Dain asked.

  I ignored him. I couldn’t stop. I needed to meet her, needed to talk to her. My Dragon was urging me forward with the heat of his breath, threatening to devour me if I didn’t at least make the effort. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

  And I didn’t want to.

  I didn’t even bother with my shoes and hopped down the front steps and across the lawn, onto the smooth, sloped sidewalk and directly to the car.

  “Hi,” I said as the woman closed her car door. She looked up at me, startled.

  “Um, hi,” she replied cautiously. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m one of the new neighbors.” I turned and pointed to our new house.

  She rolled her eyes. “One of those biker guys, right?”

  I smiled. “So you’ve seen us.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you around.”

  I put out my hand. “I’m Malcolm.”

  Cautiously and twisting her mauve-painted mouth in consideration, she took it. “Violet.”

  “That’s a nice name,” I said.

  “That’s what everyone tells me,” she said, hoisting her purse further up her shoulder. “Hey, I’ve just got home, so I’m going to head in.”

  “Maybe we could get a drink some time. Or go for a walk? I hear this property comes with a lake. I haven’t checked it out yet. You could come with when I do if you’re interested,” I suggested.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Her tone had all the right notes, but there was something in her eye that caught my attention. She was interested; she was just not letting herself say yes. I smirked inwardly. I knew that look. There were plenty of women who took one look at me and my buddies and thought that we were bad news. That, or they enjoyed being chased. I had seen the true “no’s,” and Violet’s was not one of them.

  “I’ll wear you down,” I said. “I’ll take that as a raincheck.”