by Fiona Archer
Seth squeezed Harper’s shoulder. “Agent Tollison can’t share that information.”
Far from appeased, she glared at Seth. “So I shouldn’t ask any questions? How would you feel if this was your family?”
Well, hell. His brother was about to get his head handed to him. All the fear and the pent up frustration Harper had been feeling in the last half hour were about to find a release in the form of kicking Seth’s arse.
Before he could intervene, Adam spoke up. “Harper, sharing that kind of information jeopardizes the investigation.” She opened her mouth to argue, but Adam held up his hand. “Honey, the investigation now includes finding the bastards who were behind your dad’s murder.”
Maybe it was Adam’s words or his gentle tone, but Harper drooped back against Seth’s arm, the fight gone.
“Do you know the circumstances of the original investigation, Mr. Justice?” Elizabeth Fox asked Adam.
“Yes, ma’am, I do. Agent Tollison shared those facts with me a few weeks ago when my family was under attack.”
Heath felt everyone’s collective pause. The reference to the imposter’s strikes, and by extension, the shattering conclusion, was a stark reminder of the price that could be paid.
Harper went back on alert. “What did Agent Tollison’s investigation have to do with you, Adam? I mean,”—she gave her head a tiny shake—“what happened with Dillon didn’t involve my dad.”
Seth cursed under his breath, drawing Harper’s gaze.
Heath knew his brother had been dreading this moment for weeks, and sure, the timing sucked. What other option did Seth have except to come clean?
“There was a time we weren’t sure if your father was involved.” Seth wrapped her hand up in his. “Tollison knew Adam from his black ops days. When he saw the connection between you and me, he met up with us to see if I knew anything that could help his investigation.”
Harper drew in a loud breath. Her mother and sister could only stare. Lord knows the women had experienced more than enough shocks for one day.
“You spied on my father, on us?”
Seth tensed at the wounded tone in Harper’s voice.
“No,” Seth dragged a hand through the strands of his short brown hair. “I didn’t know anything to tell, which was exactly what I stated.” He turned to the agent, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “Tell her.”
“It’s true.” Tollison nodded. “Seth never betrayed you, Ms. Fox. In fact, he defended your reputation and character during our meeting.”
Heath well remembered. At the time, he had wondered if the DHS Agent would get out of Seth’s apartment without a busted nose.
He’d have paid good money to see that contest.
Seth lifted his and Harper’s joined hands to run the back of his finger over her cheek. “I’d never betray you.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry. I...” Her sigh seemed to drain all the fight out of her. She slumped against Seth. “It’s a lot to take in.”
Agent Tollison stepped closer. “I’m sorry to have to push further, but—”
“No, I won’t wait.” A raised voice came from the foyer. “I’m seeing her now!”
A man dressed in a dark tailored suit burst his way into the lounge room. “Don’t say another word, Elizabeth.” In his early sixties maybe, he carried a slim leather briefcase. “I’ll handle this.” He turned to face Heath and missed seeing Mrs. Fox raise her eyebrows. “I’m Felix Patton, attorney for the Fox family. Any questions you have for them are to be directed through me.”
Mrs. Fox reached out, gently tapping the fine weave of his jacket’s forearm. “Felix—”
Patton, not bothering to turn around, held up his hand in a silencing motion. “Leave this to me, Elizabeth.”
Heath hid his smile as Elizabeth Fox straightened in her seat. Anger shined in her still reddened blue eyes. “No, I don’t think I will.”
Patton jerked around. “My dear, you’ve been through a shock. Maybe you should—”
“Felix, were you aware of my husband’s private dealings?”
Patton frowned a second before puffing his chest out. “Of course. I was one of Stanton’s oldest friends. He discussed numerous matters with me.”
Elizabeth nodded. She flicked her gaze past the lawyer. “Agent Tollison, Detectives, I suggest you ask Felix as many questions as needed. My husband shared nothing of his exploits with me, but Felix has just volunteered his privileged position as confidant. Who knows what gems he can share.” She waved a hand regally toward the now open-mouthed lawyer. “Have at it.”
Heath’s lips twitched. Damn, it wasn’t hard to see where Harper got some of her sass. In all two of his encounters with Elizabeth Fox he’d thought her a remote, somewhat cold woman. Maybe there was more to her than met the eye.
The way Mrs. Fox stood her ground reminded Heath of a certain redhead who declared to him her secrets were hers to share only if and with whom she chose. An impressive act, considering London had been handcuffed and vulnerable at the time.
Putting thoughts of London—a lady he planned on revisiting soon—aside for a moment, he watched as Patton, despite his protests, was escorted out of the room by one of the DHS agents.
Without missing a beat, Elizabeth turned her gaze to Heath. “Detective Justice, from what you said earlier, you won’t be taking a role in this investigation?”
Not officially. Feeling the hard stares of the men in the room—some cautious, Tollison’s wary—he answered. “No, Mrs. Fox, I won’t. Considering Seth’s my brother, our Lieutenant wants no possibility for anyone to question how the investigation is handled. Detectives Kennedy and Faulkner will be working with Agent Tollison.”
Elizabeth nodded before addressing Adam. “Mr. Justice, Seth tells me you’re a top-notch security expert and investigator. He’s part of your team.”
Adam and Seth exchanged a quick glance before the oldest brother nodded. “That’s right, Mrs. Fox, and please, call me Adam. There’s too many of us Justices in the room otherwise.”
“Fair enough, Adam,” Elizabeth agreed to his request. “And you handle…sensitive matters for high profile clients?”
“That’s our brief. We’re a new venture, and I’m still building my team.”
Considering Adam’s team consisted of him and Seth, and he was working out of Seth’s old apartment until he found appropriate office space, calling his agency “new” was like saying the Titanic was waterlogged.
Heath switched his gaze between Adam and Mrs. Fox. Oh shit. He had a bad feeling about this.
“Mom?” Harper voice held a hint of caution.
Elizabeth patted her daughters’ hands before rising and moving to stand in front of Adam. The top of her perfectly coiffed blonde head reached a few inches below the neckline of his form-fitting t-shirt. “Adam, I’d like to hire you to investigate my husband’s activities.” Ignoring Harper and Sienna’s gasps, she continued. “Agent Tollison and the police have a job to do; I understand that. However, I want someone working with my family’s best interests at heart.”
And have Adam turn maverick if he felt the situation demanded and, therefore, disregarding established protocol between law enforcement agencies when conducting an investigation?
Sweet Jesus. No.
Tollison’s soft curse filled the room. Kennedy straightened up, his brows forming a deep V. And Faulkner? His fists were clenched like he wanted to tear apart a phone book with his bare hands.
For once, Adam didn’t have a quick reply. He took his time before he answered, his tone serious. “You may not like what I discover, Mrs. Fox. If I find proof he’s committed crimes, I’ll be sharing the information with other parties.”
Interesting. His brother didn’t automatically say with the DHS.
“I only ask you to give me warning. I don’t want my family blindsided by a headline in the press.”
“Fair enough.” Adam held out his hand.
Her small, dainty hand was swal
lowed up in Adam’s as they shook on their deal. “Call me Elizabeth, Adam.”
The deadly ex-commando was teamed up with the society dame.
Now things had become complicated.
****
The polished floorboards of London’s sunroom were cool under her bare feet as she walked in from the kitchen. She smiled to herself. It wouldn’t take long for the lazy summer weather to warm up the room.
Hard to believe Sunday had come around so fast. Hopefully, the fine weather would last all day.
She placed her mug of coffee and plate of peanut butter toast on the old wooden farm table she used as her writing desk. Potted plants and stacks of printed white paper sat alongside old mason jars full of pens, pencils, and her collection of Sharpies in different shades of purple—her favorite color. A new laptop—her treat to herself when she started her latest book series— sat in front of a large swivel chair.
For once, the screen saver of Richard Castle didn’t grab her attention. Oh, no. Her thoughts had been taken over by a certain detective.
How many times had Heath’s deep voice with that sexy accent played in her head? And those blue eyes of his—ever watchful—were an image she couldn’t banish, nor did she want to.
She sighed. You’re pathetic, girl. One encounter and she was fascinated by the tall Aussie.
Tall. Her mouth twisted. Such a plain description. But what words would describe him best?
Protective? Yes. When he’d held her prisoner near the garage and swept his thumb over her arm? That small sign of reassurance gave her the courage not to back down.
Confident? Oh, yeah. His touch—firm, not painful—masterful, not bullying. This man knew his own strength and his abilities.
Commanding? Absolutely. The moment in front of the garage when he had dragged her against him and threatened to hogtie her… London’s breath caught at the memory. And the overwhelming rush of excitement despite the inappropriateness of his threat? Uh huh. Commanding worked just fine.
But thoughts of him wouldn’t get her day started. She checked the clock on her laptop. Eight thirty. Two hours until she was due to meet Cleo at A New Chapter, the bookstore her friend managed. Enough time to eat breakfast, check her email, and get ready.
Reaching for a slice of toast, she knocked over a stack of Post-it pads onto the laptop’s keyboard. Her desk was a mess, but hey, that’s how she rolled. Everything within touching distance yet buried.
After taking a bite of her toast, she opened her email account reserved for her author business.
Thirty new emails. One from her agent, reminding London of their phone conference scheduled for Wednesday morning, a few from readers she would open later when she had time to answer properly, and then…
She hovered the cursor over the next two emails. Both were from fellow members of a writing group for published authors. The first was from Henry Banks, a best-selling author of thrillers known for his meticulous research. His subject line stated, ‘Meet with me’.
That was Henry, no social graces, just a demand. But the loner in his mid-forties had been a fountain of help and encouragement to London when she had first joined the writers’ group, and despite his abrupt style, they had developed an unlikely friendship over coffee and pastries.
Glancing at the other email, with the title “Beta read for L Shaw – Chapters One to Five, Untitled New Book”, London decided to leave Henry’s email for last.
Beta reads were a blessing and a curse. Her belly tightened at the thought of opening those emails. A fellow author critiquing one’s work and giving their opinion was like walking naked through a crowd of strangers. Mindless of the writer’s feelings, the critique partner might praise or criticize the work. London had submitted her chapters to the group’s website. Fellow members posted back their comments, allowing everyone in the group to read the verdict.
Here’s goes. With a few clicks, she was logged in and started reading.
By the time she had finished examining all the comments, her stomach felt like a hollowed out pit. The critique partner disliked…no, hated her work. Phrases such as “amateurish plotting” and “lackluster conflict” were just for starters.
London sank deeper in her chair, a boulder-sized serving of self-doubt weighing her down.
Had she gone astray in her crafting of this new series?
If so, what did this mean for her decision to move from writing young adult romance to mystery and suspense?
This author, a huge bestseller in the mystery and thriller genre, had judged her story wanting.
She massaged the back of her neck with her hand. Dammit, she didn’t have time to stress over this today. At least not right now.
Another check of the clock revealed she now had only an hour to get ready and meet Cleo. God, she always ended up running late, even when she tried to plan ahead. At least she’d washed her hair last night.
She’d answer Henry’s email later today.
Dressing in a pair of jeans and simple white t-shirt, London threw on a beaded glass necklace in different shades of blue with matching drop earrings and gathered up her supplies as instructed by Cleo. After loading her large rolling carry-on bag into her yellow VW Bug, she drove from her gran’s house in Green Lake to downtown Seattle and parked half a block from A New Chapter. With a relieved sigh, she wheeled the suitcase into the bookstore right on the dot of 10:30 a.m.
Cleo Washington stood near a display of Dr. Seuss books arranged around a giant red and white hat. Her violet colored eyes shined at the sight of London. “Look at my girl, all ready to play Cinderella.” She laughed and slung her handbag over her arm. “You ready for this?”
“No.” London chuckled. “Cinderella is about right. Am I crazy for allowing you to talk me into today?” Hiring a personal stylist? Wasn’t that for authors who signed million dollar contracts?
With a wave of her hand, Cleo dismissed London’s fears. “Girl, you’re going to be on TV. It’s not every day a local station covers a book signing at the store I manage.”
London had to chuckle at her friend’s reasoning. “True, but the station’s doing a news story about local authors. I’m just one of five they picked. The segments they’re filming about me may not even end up on TV.”
“Maybe so, but I’ve hired a photographer to take shots the night of the show. They’ll be great for the store’s website and promo material, so you’ll need to look your most glamorous. And before you ask, you can use whatever pictures you want. The photographer’s fee is a tax write-off for the store’s owner.”
Write-off or not, that was a generous offer. “Great, thanks so much.” London would let her mom know she was no longer on photo duty. “I can’t believe Jinx Malone agreed to see me on a Sunday.”
Cleo smiled. “Jinx works whatever hours she pleases, and Sunday fitted her best, so it all worked out.”
“London, you read my email?” a male voice asked from behind her.
She turned to see Henry Banks walking toward her. Wearing jeans and a black polo shirt, his exceptionally neat short hair and overall tidy appearance was a trademark of the author.
“Hey, Henry,” she greeted him. Standing at around London’s height of 5 feet 4 inches, Henry seemed short when standing next to Cleo, who was a good three inches taller. “Yeah, I was running late this morning, and was going to reply later. How about we meet up next Friday? Wednesday’s my book signing, and I’m rushing to get some more chapters of my new story finished before I ask you to read it for me.”
Henry looked to the side, likely thinking through his schedule. “That works. I’ve got some questions for you regarding a female character, and need your viewpoint, but they can wait until then.” Typical Henry, his mind focused solely on his ‘world’.
“I know publicity isn’t your thing, but you’re more than welcome at my signing on Wednesday. Maybe stay for a drink?”
“It would be fun to have you here, Henry.” Cleo encouraged.
He stepped back, as
if needing distance from the very idea of socializing. “No, but,”—he shrugged—“thank you.”
London hid her smile. The fact the socially inept, genius author had thanked her was a huge win.
She nodded at the book in his hand. “New Zealand, huh? You thinking of traveling there one day?”
He frowned as he regarded the book. “Picked it up from the travel section.” He nodded toward the back of the store. “Fascinating place, New Zealand. I’ve always wanted to go there. Peter Jackson no doubt doubled the country’s tourism,” Henry said, referring to the director of the Lord of the Rings films which had been filmed in New Zealand. “It’s so far away. I’d be on a plane with so many people. For hours.”
London bit back a laugh. “Yep, but hey, we’ve got to chase our dreams, Henry. I should go hunt down a travel book on Italy. I sometimes imagine spending a month in a villa on Lake Como and writing the next great novel.” She reached out and playfully smacked his arm. “Don’t give up on the dream, buddy. You’ll get there one day.”
“I don’t think so. This is going back.” He nodded to her and Cleo, before heading farther back into the store.
“I’ll admit that guy knows how to write an amazing thriller, but his social skills are non-existent.” Cleo muttered softly to London.
“Aw, you’ve just got to get to know him and look past his…quirks.”
Cleo rolled her eyes. She grabbed the handle of the rolling carry-on bag and looked over her shoulder at the staff member on duty. “Frankie, you set here? Drew’s in the back room unpacking new stock.”
“You bet.” The clerk smiled as she rang up a customer’s purchase. “Have fun.”
Once on the street, the women made their way to Seven Dishes. Cleo’s black hair shone in the sunshine. London had to admit a stab of envy at the stunning simplicity of Cleo’s outfit of simple black pants and a tan colored shirt set off with a turquoise necklace.
Hmm, maybe she should dig out some of her old necklaces she hadn’t worn in ages. Didn’t she have some turquoise, too? Of course it was likely buried in the tangled strands of jewelry she had in the vintage glass bowl on her dresser. She’d have to get them sorted. One day.
