Deadly Coincidence (Brantley Walker: Off the Books Book 4)

by Nicole Edwards

  “Hey,” he greeted, aiming for chipper despite the overwhelming guilt that swamped him.

  “Baz.” She was sobbing, her voice bordering on hysterical. “Oh, my God, Baz.”

  Every cell in his body went ice cold at the fear he heard in her voice.

  “JJ? What’s wrong?”

  He could hardly understand her when she said, “Please. I need… Oh, God, Baz. It’s… I don’t know what happened. I… God … I don’t know what to do. I need you.”

  “Don’t know what to do about what?” he asked, although he wasn’t waiting for an answer, already out the door of the barn and making a beeline for his truck. “Are you at home?”

  “Yes,” she sobbed. “Can you… Can you come over?”

  “Of course I can.” He reached his truck, searched above the front left tire for the spare key. There it was, still in the little magnetized box he kept there. “Don’t move, JJ. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  The call disconnected, and he considered calling her back to keep her on the line but figured it would be easier for him to focus if he wasn’t listening to her breathe. Something was seriously wrong. In all the time he’d known her, never once had he seen or heard JJ cry. He figured for her to do so, she would have to be in a pretty bad place.

  He made good time into town then over to JJ’s. More than five minutes but less than ten, then he was walking up to JJ’s front door.

  From the outside, everything looked normal. JJ’s SUV was parked in the driveway. There were no other cars. He took that as a good sign that Dante wasn’t lurking about. Just the thought of JJ bringing him back to her place made his gut cramp painfully tight—almost as painfully tight as when he thought about how he’d had sex with a stranger.

  He took a deep breath, expelled it slowly. He would not think about JJ and Dante. The same way he wouldn’t think about Blondie and the clusterfuck that was last night.

  Another breath in. Out.

  Baz knocked lightly on the door, then stepped back and waited for JJ to answer. When a minute passed and she didn’t, he checked the doorknob, saw that it was open.

  When he stepped inside, his heart stopped beating.

  At least it felt like it, because fear washed over him, more cold seeping into his pores and down into his bones.

  He’d seen plenty of crime scenes over the years, but what was laid out before him looked like something right out of a horror flick. It looked like a bomb had gone off in the house. The furniture was overturned, the rug askew, the television smashed.

  But it was the blood that made it a freak show.

  He steeled his spine, focused, forcing down the fear for JJ.

  “JJ, where are you?”

  A whimper sounded, and he hurried past the blood on the floor and the overturned furniture. He reached the short hallway that was the crossroads of the house. There on the floor in front of the bathroom was JJ. Her back was against the wall, her head on her knees.

  “JJ?”

  When she looked up, his breath lodged in his throat.

  Instantly he was squatting down in front of her. He was scared to touch her, there was just so much blood, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to know where she was injured.

  “We need to call an ambulance,” he stated firmly, taking her wrist, pulling her arm away to find the injury.

  “It’s not mine,” she whispered, her voice rough. “The blood. Not mine. I’m not hurt. And I … I didn’t do this.”

  Baz watched her, trying to process everything she was telling him.

  “I… Oh, God, Baz. Is he … dead?”

  Keeping his voice level, Baz stared down at her. “Is who dead, JJ?”

  She jerked her chin toward the living room. “In there.”

  Concerned she was hallucinating, he kept his voice calm. “JJ, there’s no one in there.”

  “The…” Her eyes were filled with tears. “The finger,” she whispered.

  Turning, he scanned the space, found what she was referring to on the short bookshelf that acted as a divider between the living room and dining area.

  Sure enough, there was a severed finger—a man’s from the looks of it—lying on the open spine of a book, as though tucked there to neatly mark the page.

  JJ sobbed. “I didn’t do that, Baz. I didn’t… I couldn’t… I—”

  “Breathe,” he ordered, turning his attention back to her. “Whose finger is that, JJ?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t do it. I—”

  “I know,” he interrupted, gripping her chin and forcing her to look up at him. “I know you didn’t. I need to know what happened.”

  JJ dropped her head in her hands, sobbing softly. Baz was at a loss as to how to help her. He needed details to figure this out, to decide what the next step should be.

  He gave her a minute, keeping his hand on her knee as reassurance. When she finally calmed down and lifted her head, he leaned down so they were eye level. “Tell me what happened.”

  This time when she met his gaze, he saw her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in red, and her pupils dilated. That mixed with the tears tracking down her cheeks did little to comfort him.

  “I left the diner, came here,” she said in a barely there whisper. “When I got here, Dante was here.”

  “He was here? In the house?”

  “No. Outside.” JJ shook her head, her voice growing stronger the more she spoke. “I was on the porch about to come in when he came from the side of the house. He told me we had to hurry and get inside.” She took a deep breath, her gaze swinging to the living room then back to him. “He was paranoid. When he came in, he went through all the rooms like he thought someone was here. I made him sit down while I went to make coffee.”

  Baz wanted to touch her, wanted to take her in his arms and console her, but he didn’t. Not yet. She was holding it together by a thread, and he didn’t want to fray it any more than it already was.

  JJ reached up, felt the back of her head. “I remember a sharp pain. Someone must’ve hit me on the back of the head. It knocked me out.”

  “Did Dante do this?” he asked, feeling rage begin to boil deep within him.

  “I… I honestly don’t know.” Her gaze swung to the living room. “He wouldn’t.” When she peered back at him, her eyes were wide. “Would he?”

  Since the question was rhetorical—Baz didn’t know Dante—he moved forward with his questioning. “What did he say to you?”

  She took a deep breath, looked away. “That’s the thing. He didn’t tell me anything. He was only here for a few minutes. Five, maybe, before someone knocked me out.”

  “Then what, JJ?”

  “Then I woke up. At eight thirty.” She motioned toward her bedroom. “I was in my own bed. Covered in blood.”

  Ignoring that last part, Baz tried to do the math on the timing. “You came here right from the diner?”

  “Yes.”

  Roughly eight thirty last night. It would’ve only taken her a few minutes to arrive, another few to get Dante into the house, to start coffee. If someone knocked her out, she should’ve come to sometime during the night, not eleven hours later.

  If he had to guess, someone had drugged her after they knocked her out. And he didn’t want to think about what they might’ve done to her while she was unconscious.

  “How do you feel? Do you think you were drugged?”

  She shrugged. “Besides the headache, physically, I feel okay.” Her gaze swung to her bedroom. “It’s a bloodbath in there,” she whispered. “None of the blood’s mine. Not that I can tell, anyway.”

  Baz stood tall once more, dared a look in her bedroom. She was right, there was blood everywhere. So much, if it all belonged to one person, he seriously doubted they were still alive.

  He scanned the space and was about to return to her when something caught his eye. There was a glint of light off something metal on the bed, and that’s when he noticed the knife there. Not just any knife, either. It was the one from the b
utcher block in her kitchen, and if he was right, based on the blood on the blade, it was the one someone had used to hack off that finger.

  He felt his stomach twist in a knot.

  “I didn’t do this, Baz. I swear it.”

  Turning back to her, Baz schooled his expression. He had no idea what had happened here last night, but the one thing he knew with absolute certainty: JJ was telling the truth. She hadn’t cut off someone’s finger and played in their blood.

  “What do I do?” JJ asked, her green eyes pleading as she stared up at him.

  “The first thing we do is call Brantley,” he told her as he squatted down once more.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes, darlin’. Of course I do. Now we have to figure out who did this. And what message it is they’re trying to send.”

  But they were going to need help in doing that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m makin’ pancakes,” Reese announced. “Like you requested last night. Unless you want somethin’ else.”

  Brantley forced his eyes open, groaned when he realized he’d been dragged out of one hell of a dream. In it, he was having his wicked way with the man who, rather than hovering on the edge of a fantastic orgasm, had been … cooking him breakfast? Seriously?

  Figured.

  “Up and at ’em,” Reese commanded. “Breakfast’ll be ready in five.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  So not the way he’d wanted to kick off the first day of the new year.

  “When did I ask for pancakes?” he grumbled.

  “Right as you were fallin’ asleep.”

  Yep. He could see that. Since he’d been sated sexually, his brain had shifted to food. Otherwise, Brantley would’ve been thinking clearly and asked for sex in the morning.

  He rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling. The room was bright, the day already underway.

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost oh-nine thirty. You slept late,” Reese called out before disappearing down the hall.

  But not late enough. He would’ve preferred to finish that damn dream, thank you very much.

  “Why don’t you come back in here and join me?” he suggested, his voice not nearly loud enough to carry through the house. “Get naked and let me use that mouth for a bit,” he rambled to himself. “Christ Almighty, I don’t think I’ll make it through the day.”

  Obviously not hearing him, Reese didn’t return so Brantley could sweet-talk him back into the bed, which meant he had only one option: get up.

  With a lingering disappointment, he crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He was about to flip on the shower when his cell phone rang. Reversing course, he went back to the bedroom, snatched it off his nightstand.

  Baz.

  Probably couldn’t remember where his truck was or maybe he was merely calling him from Brantley’s kitchen, wanting to rub his nose in the fact he was enjoying Reese’s pancakes already.

  “Hey, man, what’s up? I thought you’d be—”

  “We’ve got a major problem,” Baz said, his voice low.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up. “What is it?”

  “JJ.”

  His throat went tight and every muscle in his body tensed. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s alive and unharmed. Physically, anyway.”

  The exhale was filled with relief as he waited for Baz to continue. Brantley had to be cool, had to remain calm. No sense losing his shit if he didn’t know what the problem was.

  “I can’t do this on the phone,” Baz said quietly. “I need you to get to JJ’s. See for yourself.”

  “I’m bringin’ Reese.”

  “Good idea. But leave Tesha at home.”

  In all the time he’d known Baz, the man had never been overdramatic, so he knew something was seriously wrong.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see when you get here. I’m serious, Brantley. Leave the dog at home and get here ASAP.”

  “Give us fifteen,” he told Baz.

  “Hurry. And bring gloves.”

  The call disconnected, and Brantley tossed his phone on the dresser while he grabbed clothes, pulled them on.

  Footsteps sounded down the hall seconds before Reese appeared, chuckling. “What the hell are you doin’? Tactical pants? Seriously? It’s—”

  “We have to get to JJ’s,” he said, cutting off the good-natured ridicule, holstering his weapon on his hip. “Baz called. Said he can’t talk about it on the phone. Come on. We gotta go. And he said not to bring Tesha.”

  He could tell Reese wasn’t happy about that, but he nodded, said, “Give me one minute.”

  It only took three minutes before they were out the door and getting into Brantley’s truck. Another three and they were coming into the town proper.

  Neither of them spoke, although Brantley knew Reese probably had a dozen questions running through his head. Brantley damn sure did, but until he knew what they were dealing with, it would only be wasted breath.

  Because he was one who believed fully in reconnaissance, Brantley drove down JJ’s street once to see if he could get eyes on what was going on. He saw JJ’s little crossover SUV in her driveway, Baz’s truck on the street. Everything else appeared normal. From what he could tell, anyway.

  He circled back around, pulled his truck behind Baz’s, partially in front of the neighbor’s house.

  As they got out, he scanned their surroundings, noticed Reese was doing the same thing. Still nothing set off his internal alarms, so he headed for the porch.

  Rather than linger at the door, Brantley walked right in.

  And immediately stopped.

  Reese was at his side, also not moving as they both took it all in.

  The only view he had was of blood and chaos. It covered the living room, made the usually tidy space look like it belonged in another house, certainly not in JJ’s.

  “Baz?”

  “In the hallway,” he called out. “We haven’t moved from this spot since I got here.”

  Taking that to mean it was safe to move, he stepped past the sofa, past the pool of blood coating the carpet beside the overturned coffee table.

  He maneuvered around the furniture, stopped when Reese called out to him, pointed to the bookcase.

  There, lying on an open book, was a severed finger.

  “Oh, Christ,” he said harshly.

  “I didn’t do this, B,” JJ rasped, her words churning with emotion.

  He peered over at her, noticed the blood on her clothes.

  “I swear to God I didn’t do this.”

  Brantley looked at Baz, saw the man’s concern laced with fear.

  Baz stood tall, motioned toward the bedroom. “There’s blood in there, too. Like I said, we haven’t moved from here. Figured we’d let you decide how to handle this.”

  How to handle this? The question was, what the hell was this? They had a severed finger, far too much blood, all in JJ’s house, which appeared to have been tossed.

  “Who would do this?” JJ inhaled sharply, her words rushed, panicked. “Why? They made it look like I did it. I don’t understand.”

  Brantley wasn’t so sure that was the intention, but he could see where she was coming from. On the other hand, it looked more like a temper tantrum had been thrown during the crime.

  At least, that was his initial take on it.

  “Who’s they?” Reese inquired, stepping over to JJ. “Are you sayin’ it was more than one person?”

  She shrugged, looking so small, so scared. “The only thing I know is that Dante was here last night. He was scared. He called me, said to meet him here. He was hidin’ on the side of the house when I got home, practically shoved me inside and … and I don’t remember much after that. I was makin’ coffee. Someone hit me. I woke up in bed, covered in blood. Dante’s gone and there’s…” JJ took a deep breath, her hand waving in the direction of the finger.

  “There’s a knife in her be
d,” Baz informed him.

  JJ’s eyes went wide. “Oh, my God. I didn’t… Brantley, you have to believe me.”

  Stepping over to her, Brantley cupped her face firmly, stared into her eyes. “I know you didn’t. But I need you to stay calm so we can figure this out.”

  He took a deep breath, moved away from her. As much as he wanted to comfort JJ, to give her all the assurances he could, Brantley knew they had to figure out what the hell happened. And most importantly, where Dante Greenwood was.

  “I don’t wanna go to jail.”

  Brantley glanced at Baz.

  “Honey, you’re not gonna go to jail,” Baz assured her.

  Sighing, Brantley took stock of the house, the scene. As much as he wanted to make the same assurance, he didn’t. Right now, it looked bad for JJ. Based on the amount of blood, if it all came from one person, they would be looking for a dead body, not a nine-fingered man wandering around.

  “JJ said Dante was actin’ paranoid when he came in. Then someone knocked her out. Do you think Dante did this? Lured her here then hit her?” Reese said from beside him.

  “Anything’s possible,” he replied. “But why would he?”

  That was what Brantley didn’t understand. Dante was a lot of things—many of them not at all admirable—but he wasn’t the type to set JJ up for … for whatever the hell was going on here.

  “I’m inclined to think the same thing,” Reese agreed. “But that would mean someone else was in the house.”

  “He called me for help,” JJ explained, her words still rushed. “Why would he do that just to hit me and leave me here? That … that doesn’t make sense at all.”

  “She has a point,” Baz said.

  Yeah. She did. Brantley didn’t understand it either. Dante would have nothing to gain. From what he knew of the man, he got his kicks from leading JJ on, dating her, cheating on her, dumping her, coming back for more only so no one else could have her. Sure, he’d laid hands on her, but JJ had explained the one time that had happened, she’d been the one who had been hitting him. Dante had simply tried to stop her and ended up accidentally hitting JJ in the process.

  No, he didn’t think Dante would hit JJ. Not with the intention of seriously hurting her.