by Fiona Archer
A rush of cold swept through Heath, and for a second, he swore Declan was talking about Heath’s past. His…guilt. And judging him. Jesus, get a grip. Declan neither knew about his family history nor was likely gave a damn.
The others stood, Adam reaching out and shaking Declan’s hand. Seth did the same. Heath refrained, noting the president of Bishop Inc. didn’t offer.
“Jimmy will see you out.” Declan pressed a button on the desk, and moments later, the aforementioned bodyguard appeared.
Back out on the street, Heath stood by his SUV with Adam and Seth.
Seth glanced to Adam. “Can we trust that Declan told us the truth?”
Adam nodded. “Declan doesn’t benefit by doing me this favor. He didn’t try to finger anyone or settle any old debts with what he shared.” He flicked his gaze to Heath. “And he couldn’t give a shit whether you believe he’s legit now or not. So scoring points with the cops isn’t a motivating factor.”
Heath seized the moment to get answers to the mini bombshell Adam had dropped earlier upstairs. “You want to tell me what business it is that you and Bishop have done in the past?”
“Not in any detail,” Adam stated flatly, his expression blank, as if the topic bored him. “He provided intel on contacts I needed for a mission with my previous employer.”
Black ops. Jesus, what kind of information could Bishop provide? Just how fucking wide did the bastard’s net of activities stretch?
Heath didn’t like the scenario. Not one fucking bit, but there was bugger all he could do about the issue.
“We got what we came for.” Seth glanced between his brothers. “Confirmation it wasn’t the Russians who organized the hit on Fox, and how he was blackmailed into the nightclub deal. I call that a win.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m heading home to Harper.”
Adam nodded. “We’ll catch up later today at Seven Dishes.” He glanced at Heath “Talk later?”
“Yeah.” Heath nodded and climbed into his vehicle.
As he drove home so he could shower and spend—he glanced at the clock on his dashboard—the two hours there before he had to leave for work, Heath wondered just how much of Adam’s life over these past few years still remained a mystery to him and his brothers.
The man had lived the last decade and more in the shadows. Even now, as he established his investigations business and spent time with Zach, Heath, and Seth, he still had secrets, parts of him that Heath had no idea of.
Maybe Zach knew more? He had a strong bond that went back years before Heath crossed their path at the juvenile detention center.
If he, maybe even Zach and Seth, too, could find an hour to take Adam for a beer and ask him how he was settling back into life in Seattle…
Heath snorted. Right. Neither of them had a free hour right now. Two murder cases and he couldn’t get a full night with London, let alone a beer with his brother.
As he parked in his garage, Heath pictured Red, lying in her bed, the soft curves of her body hidden under the sheets. But it was London’s clever banter and the way her eyes sparked when they sparred over their differing opinions that delivered the most pleasure.
Well, hell. This most contrary of women had left her mark—deep. Heath couldn’t wait to see just how far his level of frustration could be pushed.
Heath had walked past the doorway from the garage into the kitchen when his phone rang. He groaned. All he wanted was a shower and a cup of coffee.
He scanned the caller ID—Derek. Nobody called at 3:45 a.m. with good news. Answering, Heath said, “If this is your pathetic attempt at crimping my time with your sister, you’ll be happy to know I was called out by Adam.” He grabbed a mug from one of the kitchen cabinets.
“Got a call from country jail. Vargas is dead,” Derek stated in a clipped, angry voice.
Heath froze, mug in hand. “What the fuck?”
“Had his head smashed in by his cellmate. Gave a full confession. Said Vargas raped his sister. Guy’s going down for two murders. Had no problem adding a third.”
“I’m on my way.” Heath ended the call and threw the mug in the sink. Fuck. He ignored the shards of pottery flying in different directions.
He had no tears for Vargas. The bastard was guilty of many crimes. Whether murdering Alyssa Holmes and Donny Jacobsen was among them, Heath wasn’t convinced. But where did that leave his case, now with no suspect?
****
London sat at her desk and sipped her coffee. The sun streamed through the window in front of her desk, drying her wet hair from the shower she’d taken minutes before. For what seemed like the twentieth time that morning she studied the note Heath had left for her on his pillow.
Red.
Urgent meeting. Will call.
Sleep well.
H.
Precise penmanship. Controlled. To the point. And commanding.
That was Heath.
A happy shiver fluttered over her skin at the memory. His deep voice. The hard stare. Combined with his powerful body, which filled her view when he stood close or lay over her.
She loved his dominance, how he refused to let her come until he allowed. And now… Heck her need was more like an addiction. She craved more. To be fully helpless. Cuffed. Under his control.
Closing her eyes, she remembered the firmness of his hold on her wrists in the kitchen. And the pleasure when she’d tugged to get free and he’d held her oh so easily. His mouth had lifted just a tad at one corner, as the wonderful thrill of her submission left her reeling.
Two robins, with their reddish orange breasts, landed in the bird feeder outside the window. Their busy exploration of the seeds reminded her she had a busy day herself.
Having woken just after three and discovering Heath’s note, she’d tried to go back to sleep, but her mind was filled with images of the sexy detective. After that, lying in bed by herself seemed so damn depressing. After making herself coffee, she logged on and chatted with some fans in New Zealand and Australia, including a fabulous reader who ran a Facebook group for fans of all types of romance. It wasn’t until the sun started to rise that London realized how long she’d been online.
But hey, that was the beauty of social media and being able to connect with readers the world over.
Glancing at her rolling carry-on, she sighed. Time to unpack from last night.
Soon there were piles of bookmarks and clumps of pens scattered all over the already crowded surface of her desk. Ah, pens! That reminded her… She grabbed her pencil case and dug for her purple fountain pen. There were notes she needed to go over on some promo ideas but—
She dug deeper, but no pen. Frowning, she dumped the pencil case on her desk and searched her carry-on. Not there either.
Dammit. Her favorite pen. The one she used for, well, everything. Signings, making her notes, plotting before typing. That damn pen was like an extension of her. She was lost without it.
Maybe the pen was still at A New Chapter? It could have fallen off the table and rolled under one of the shelves? The pen had her name engraved on it, so if someone found it and handed it to the staff, they could call her.
Who had packed up the stuff on her table? She tried to picture the scene. She’d been talking to Heath and dealing with Henry acting all weird. And then… Heck, she needed to call Henry since he hadn’t returned her message from last night.
Her phone rang. Maybe that was him? She glanced at the caller ID. “Hey, Harper. How goes things this morning?”
“Okay. I was calling to congratulate you on last night and say thanks again for such a fun evening. The break from everything was good for me.”
London felt a warm glow blossom deep inside. “I’m so glad you came. And you look after yourself right now, honey. How’s your family holding up?”
“Mom’s okay, considering. She’s busy coping with all the people coming to the house and making arrangements for Dad’s funeral.” Harper’s voice went quiet. “I think Sienna is feeling it hardest. She knew Da
d had his faults, but finding out they went deeper than she had guessed has been hard on her.”
“Oh, Harper, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s difficult to accept when we discover a person isn’t really who we thought they were. When that’s a parent, I’m guessing it’s doubly hard.”
Harper’s deep breath sounded through the phone. “True. But hey, I don’t want to dwell on all that right now,” she said hurriedly and cleared her throat. “I wanted to know if you’d like to come in for lunch. Cleo will join us, and maybe I can drag Jinx over, too. Say 1 p.m.?”
It was only ten thirty now, but an idea formed in London’s head. “Sounds great. Hey, you wouldn’t have a quiet corner in the café, somewhere I could write or maybe chat to a friend online?”
“Sure, I have free Wi-Fi. Loads of people come and juice up on my coffee and food as they work. Bring your laptop. In fact, park around the back in the alley behind my building. Call me when you get here, and I’ll meet you at the back door.”
Free parking in downtown Seattle? No way would she pass up that treat. “Thanks!” Then her gaze landed on her pencil case. “A quick question. Did you pack up the gear on my table last night?”
“No, I did the banner with Jinx. I think it may have been Cleo, why?”
“I can’t find my favorite pen. No biggie. I’m just a nerd about that stuff.”
“Hey, you’re talking to a hoarder of office supplies and Sharpies. Trust me, that stuff’s important.”
If that admission wasn’t a reason to love Harper, then London didn’t know what would be. “I’ll check with Cleo. Okay, see you soon.”
After trying on two outfits, she went for a black top that had a scooped neckline and batwing sleeves paired with jeans and some black sneakers. She gathered her hair up in a messy knot, letting some tendrils fall down above her ears. Gold hoop earnings, a healthy swipe of mascara, and her favorite lipstick in a rose color with gold flecks gave her complexion some life. A woman could achieve anything with the right lipstick.
Forty minutes later, she’d conquered Seattle’s downtown traffic and parked behind Harper’s building. Grabbing her work bag with her laptop, notes and pens, she called Harper, who told her to look out for Nitro at the back entrance.
A minute later, a tall guy with dark hair opened the door. His short-sleeve black t-shirt showed off a tattoo of a fire-breathing dragon, its tail winding down the man’s forearm. “Hey there.” He gave London an easy smile.
“Hi, thanks for letting me in.” She’d seen the barista during her forays into Seven Dishes, but apart from giving the guy her order, she had never talked with him. “That’s a cool tattoo you have there.”
“Thanks.” He glanced down at her then held out his arm, inspecting the design. “It’s new. I won a bet with my friend, and he had to pay for me to get this baby done.” With his head turned, she glimpsed the blue streak down the center of his short hair.
London smiled. Harper had what could only be described as an eclectic bunch of people working for her. She’d never met the chef, but had heard her swearing in Russian behind the wall made of different red painted doors that separated the kitchen from the rest of the cafe.
Intrigued, she asked, “Can I ask what was the bet?”
“That I couldn’t build a robot that would pull the clothes out of our dryer and into a basket.” He shook his head. “A cinch.”
“Now that’s impressive.” London chuckled. “Two bachelors?”
His grin was filled with a charm London was sure captured women in their tracks. “Dead giveaway, huh?”
“A little, but even I would be tempted to buy a robot that helped with housekeeping.”
“Not a fan?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather chew glass.”
They laughed as they walked out of the apartment building and then into Seven Dishes.
“Thanks, again,” London said as she looked for Harper.
“No worries.” Nitro headed behind the counter.
London quickly organized for a delivery of baked treats as a thank you for the staff at A New Chapter.
“Hey there.” Harper came out from the kitchen and rounded the counter to give London a hug. “I reserved the best table for doing any work for you. It’s past the regular eating area.” She linked arms with London and steered her to a table on the far side next to the brick wall. A large leather armchair sat at one end and was the perfect height for the table. From above, a gorgeous topaz colored glass lamp hung down over the table, giving extra light. “You’re surrounded by arm chairs and coffee tables. This is where our customers come to read and have a coffee, but there’s nobody here right now.”
“This is perfect.” London dropped her work bag on the table’s wooden surface. “Thanks, Harper.”
“My pleasure. Now what can I tempt you with as a treat for morning tea? Plum flan? Bourbon cream cupcake?”
London’s mouth watered at the suggestions. “You choose. I’ll have a cappuccino, too, thanks.” She reached for her wallet, but Harper held out a hand.
“On the house.” Without waiting for London to agree, Harper walked back to the counter.
London pushed her wallet back into her bag. She’d just have to leave a huge tip instead.
Digging out her laptop, notes, and a few pens, she connected to the café’s free Wi-Fi and logged into Facebook. She thanked the young waitresses who delivered her coffee and a slice of plum flan. And holy moly, the buttery crust of the flan melted in her mouth as the fruit hitting her taste buds was like a burst of sweet ambrosia. Delicious.
After a few fortifying sips of her cappuccino, she began a Facebook live chat.
Fifteen minutes in and she was having a ball. Taking into account the different international time zones, her readers from across the US, Canada and the UK were in full voice, posting comments as she recapped last night’s signing and hinted that she was working on a new project. Now wasn’t the time to make the announcement. That could wait for another live event, coordinated with posts to her website.
Just as she was about to wrap up events, two men, one white and the other African American, both dressed in suits, approached her table. Their serious expressions and the way they stood, as if on guard, immediately put her on edge.
The shorter one with buzz cut blond hair and blue eyes spoke first. “London Shaw?”
“Yes.” She glanced between the two men.
“I’m Detective Snyder.” He held up his ID as he nodded toward his colleague. “This is Detective Reed.”
“Is this about one of my brothers?” She started to rise.
“No.” Detective Reed put a hand out as if to reassure her, and London fell back in her seat, relief flooding her system.
“Do you know a man by the name of Henry Banks?” Detective Snyder studied her.
That relief evaporated in a second.
“Yes. Is he okay?” She sat forward in her chair.
“What makes you think there’s anything wrong?”
She blinked at the accusing tone of Detective Snyder’s voice.
“Well, you’re here asking about him, and last night, Henry was acting so strangely.”
Detective Reed’s gaze narrowed. “You saw him last night?”
“Yeah, at my book signing.”
The taller detective stepped closer to the table. “Ms. Shaw, we’d like you to come with us to answer a few questions.”
Go with them? To answer questions?
London could only stare. What on earth?
“I, uh,”—she shook her head—“I don’t understand.”
From behind Detective Snyder, London saw Harper walking toward her. The woman’s smile vanished as she stared at London.
London guessed she wasn’t hiding her shock.
“Harper?”
The café owner turned as her name was called out. London glimpsed Seth at the counter. Next to him, dressed all in black, was a giant of a man, both in height and size. She saw Harper point in her direc
tion and the men’s gazes centered on her.
“Ms. Shaw?” Detective Snyder prompted.
“What is this about?” She had a right to know if they wanted her to go with them, didn’t she?
“Henry Banks was found murdered this morning.”
London stared, frozen in her seat. Murdered. Her heart started to race. She opened her mouth, but the urge to shake her head and refuse to believe their words was so strong.
The two detectives kept their faces blank as they watched her.
Henry. The first author to offer her encouragement when she began writing her secret project.
Her quirky, socially awkward but endearingly loyal friend.
Murdered.
“But…how?” she managed to ask.
“He was stabbed in the eye,” Snyder said in a flat voice. “With a purple fountain pen engraved with your name.”
“No!” She covered her mouth with her hands in horror. Coldness swept through her like an artic wind, chilling her from the inside out. She searched the men’s impassive faces for something, anything to say this was a vile joke.
Harper ran up. “London, what’s wrong?” She wrapped an arm around London’s shoulders.
The huge guy dressed in black stared at the cops before demanding in a deep voice, “Who are you?”
Snyder took a step back, his face tightening as if he recognized the man. “Detective Snyder, SPD.” He waved toward London “This is none of your business, sir. Please move away.”
The giant folded his arms over his wall of a chest. “Bullshit. This woman is seeing my brother.”
Brother. Black cargo pants. Black boots. A commando. Adam Justice.
“London?”
She looked up to see Seth’s concerned gaze. “Henry’s dead.”
He frowned, but Harper’s gasp caught his attention.
Harper gaped at her. “Your author friend from last night?”
“He was s-stabbed.” London swallowed as a wave of bile burned up her throat. “With my pen.”
Seth and Harper stared at her a moment before Seth pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.
“Ms. Shaw, you need to come with us.” Detective Reed read London her Miranda rights.
