Whiskey, You're The Devil: An Addison Holmes Mystery (Addison Holmes Mysteries Book 4)

by Liliana Hart

  “No, but I was business partners with Travis and a few other guys on the list. As soon as she started her demands for more money who do you think they started taking it out on. They cut me out of a real estate deal I’d sunk millions into and they were getting ready to cut me out of life completely.”

  I unscrewed the bottom of the device and there was a plastic tab covering the place reserved for the batteries. I worked at it with my thumbnail until it popped right off. And sure enough inside was a silver flash drive in place of the batteries.

  Sweat snaked down my spine because I knew the moment they had that flash drive in their hands they’d shoot us point blank. And despite my flippant statement a little earlier, I really wasn’t ready to die.

  Almost as if my prayers were being answered, all of the lights in the room turned off and there was a few precious seconds of surprised silence before all hell broke loose. I had enough wherewithal to launch myself at Rosemarie and take us both to the floor before bullets started flying.

  I choked back a scream as one flew so close to my head that I could feel the heat against my scalp. This was another scenario that hadn’t been covered in my P.I. training. I was starting to think I maybe hadn’t gotten my money’s worth.

  My ears rang and my nostrils burned from the acrid smell of gunfire contained in a small room. Then as quick as they’d gone off the lights all turned back on again in and blinding rush, and hands were pulling me from Rosemarie’s grasp. I was too weak to fight them off, and I hoped it was the good guys who’d won once the smoke had cleared.

  “Addison,” Nick said, but it sounded like he was far away. I blinked my eyes several times and waited for my eyes to adjust until he came into focus. “Are you all right?”

  I read his lips this time because my ears were still ringing something awful. “I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks for rescuing us.”

  “Smart move leaving the phone on. Dispatch got it all and was able to trace your location. Added to all the phone calls we got as soon as you were abducted it didn’t take long to mobilize and track you down.”

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about this morning. I think I might have overreacted.” I couldn’t tell how loud I was talking, but by the way Nick flinched every time I said a word I was guessing it was pretty loud. Not to mention most of the other cops had stopped what they were doing to listen in on the conversation.

  “How’s your head.”

  “It’s still attached to my neck. I don’t mean to change the subject, but I don’t remember your hair being that short on one side of your head this morning before you addled my brains.”

  I gasped and reached up to touch the side of my head, and sure enough, the hair there was only a couple of inches long. A sob caught in my throat and I kept tugging at the hair, hoping I could somehow make it grow longer in an instant.

  “They shot my hair off,” I said pathetically.

  “Look on the bright side. It could’ve been your face.”

  Epilogue

  Friday

  I meant to go into the agency first thing, but I found myself driving the streets of Savannah, watching joggers and bicyclists dodge each other on the sidewalk and a mugger attempt to snatch a lady’s purse in front of the Walgreen’s. She laid him out flat with an elbow to the face, adjusted her coat, and kept walking like nothing had ever happened.

  I’m not sure what propelled me toward the little house Phoebe had just vacated, but the car headed in that direction of its own free will. I took the key from under the mat and let myself inside. I didn’t worry about Spock, Savage, or the other neighbors who might be watching my every move. I just needed to clear my head in a quiet space and think over my options.

  Nick’s reaction to the pregnancy test still smarted. I guess I thought if he was committed enough for us to live together then he’d man up enough to stay committed if that accidental pregnancy test had been accurate.

  I heard a car door slam from the street, but didn’t give it much thought. It was a busy street and people were always coming and going. But I was surprised to hear the knock on the door and Nick stick his head inside.

  “Can I come in?” he asked. His voice was morning deep and stubble was thick on his cheeks. His eyes were tired and a little wary, but I still felt my heart flutter at the sight of him.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I just thought I’d come and look around. How did you know to find me here?”

  “I know you well. And I wanted to say something before you think about moving out and coming back to live here.”

  I opened my mouth to deny it and tell him I’d already give it to Rosemarie, but then I realized it might be a good idea to let him sweat a little.

  “It’s possible I didn’t handle the pregnancy test situation in the best possible way.”

  I arched a brow and crossed my arms under my breasts. “You think?”

  “It took me off guard. And I was pissed you decided to hide it from me if you want to know the truth.” He shrugged and I could tell he was uncomfortable with this conversation. Nick wasn’t exactly known for sharing his feelings. Come to think of it, I was starting to think it was a trait all cops shared.

  I sighed and dropped my arms down to my sides. “Maybe I overreacted a little. I’m sorry about your head.”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up in a smile and he moved a little closer. “Its taken worse knocks.” He kept coming until he stood directly in front of me, his body barely touching mine, but enough for me to feel the heat. And then he kissed me and I felt the stress and worry and pain from the week disappear.

  I could’ve kissed for hours. Days. Nick was a premium kisser. And when he pulled away I might have grasped a little desperately to his shoulders and tried to pull him back.

  “I just wanted to say that I wasn’t myself this week. I had something important on my mind, and it kept growing until it was almost consuming. So just hear me out, okay?”

  He was looking a little sick all of a sudden and I was starting to get worried. What if he had a disease or something and was trying to find the best way to tell me he only had six months to live.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black velvet box, and I saw black spots dance in front of my eyes. My lungs constricted and I realized I wasn’t breathing, so I sucked in a deep breath and stumbled back a step. Nick steadied me by grabbing onto my hands and then he did the unthinkable.

  He knelt down in front of me.

  “Holy shit. What are you doing?”

  Nick barked out a laugh and shook his head, his grasp squeezing my hand once before releasing it. “Only you would say that at a time like this.”

  “I’ll be quiet.”

  “That would probably be best for the moment. So what do you say, Addison Holmes? Will you marry me?”

  My throat closed up and I felt the edge of panic licking across my skin. If I’d been given the choice of picking any scenario that might happen on a Friday morning after I’d been kidnapped and roughed up a bit it never would’ve been this one.

  He opened the box and I felt tears prick my eyes. A few months back we’d had to pretend to pick out engagement rings so we could take incriminating photos of another couple. Christian DeLuce was the premier jewelry designer in Savannah, and I recognized the ring right off.

  DeLuce’s was known for matching the perfect ring to the bride, and he’d pegged me well by insisting that the caviar-sized pearls surrounded by black diamonds was unique and totally me. He’d been right, and I’d fallen in love with the ring on sight. The fact that Nick remembered made it all the more incredible.

  I opened my mouth, hoping the right words would come out, but I think my throat was broken. I coughed once and tried to speak again, but this time it wasn’t me that was the hold up. A knock at the door had Nick swearing.

  We both turned toward the door, and I’m sure it was comical to the casual observer—Nick on his knees in front o
f me and me with a deer in the headlights look on my face.

  Nervous laughter bubbled in my throat when I saw Savage standing on the other side of the screen door, but I managed to choke it back.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” Savage asked.

  About the Author

  Liliana Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than a thirty books. She lives in Texas in a big rambling house with her laptop and cats, and she spends way too much time on Twitter. She loves hearing from her readers.

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  Links to My Other Books

  The MacKenzie Series

  Dane

  A Christmas Wish: Dane

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  Fireworks: Riley (Coming January 2015)

  Cooper

  A MacKenzie Christmas

  MacKenzie Box Set (includes the 5 books listed above)

  Cade

  Shadows and Silk

  Secrets and Satin

  Sins and Scarlet Lace

  The MacKenzie Security Series (includes the 3 books listed above)

  Sizzle

  Crave (Coming March 2015)

  The Collective Series

  Kill Shot

  The Rena Drake Series

  Breath of Fire

  Addison Holmes Mysteries

  Whiskey Rebellion

  Whiskey Sour

  Whiskey For Breakfast

  Whiskey, You’re The Devil

  JJ Graves Mysteries

  Dirty Little Secrets

  A Dirty Shame

  Dirty Rotten Scoundrel

  Down and Dirty (Coming December 2nd 2014)

  Standalone Novels/Novellas

  All About Eve

  Paradise Disguised

  Catch Me If You Can

  Who’s Riding Red?

  Goldilocks and the Three Behrs

  Strangers in the Night

  Naughty or Nice

  If you’re a fan of Addison Holmes, then you’ll love J.J. Graves. A new mystery series by New York Times Bestselling Author Liliana Hart. DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS, book one in the J.J. Graves Series, is FREE at all retailers.

  Fourth generation mortician. That’s a lot of dead bodies.

  I thought I’d be proud to carry on the family legacy, but that was before I knew the job would be hell on my social life. I mean, who wanted to date a woman who drained blood on a regular basis and whose scent of choice was embalming fluid?

  Sure, I got a little lonely sometimes. It mostly happened when I was preparing a body in the middle of the night instead of snuggled up next to someone warm with a pulse. But dead bodies were my business. And I hated every fucking minute of it. I never wanted to take over the family funeral parlor. I wanted to be a doctor. Well, technically, I was a doctor, but I preferred to be one for the living.

  My parents died early last year, and the gossip and scandal involved would have broken someone with a lesser constitution, but I’d managed to hold my head up. Mostly. It was because of my parents that I’d had an impromptu career change. The only thing I had left of them was the crumbling old Victorian I grew up in and Graves Funeral Home—believe me, it was a hell of a legacy.

  I had little choice but to resign my job at the hospital, pack my bags and move back to Bloody Mary, Virginia—population 2,902. The good thing about owning a funeral home in Bloody Mary was that hardly anyone ever died, despite the rather macabre name. The bad thing about it was I had a shitload of student loans to pay back and not a lot of income.

  Did I mention the budget cuts?

  Ahh, my life was simple before the budget cuts. The mayor’s decision to be more fiscally conservative left King George County without a coroner. So, I, J.J. Graves, in a moment of temporary insanity, volunteered for the job. In all actuality, I was strong-armed into taking the position out of a sense of duty to the community and the guilt of tarnishing my family’s good name. Well, tarnishing it any more than it already was.

  Which brought me here. Alone in my bed in the middle of the night. My bedroom so cold white puffs of breath clouded above my face every time I exhaled because I couldn’t afford to crank the heater above 65 degrees. My toes wiggled and fought for release beneath the nubby covers I’d tucked under the mattress too tightly, and goosebumps spread across the top of my skull and tightened the skin so much that it felt as if the follicles might snap off.

  I’d been wide awake for more than an hour, thinking of my family, what was left of my legacy, and how much my life in general sucked. Not for the first time, the thought entered my mind that it wouldn’t be so terrible if I just packed a bag and left everything behind me without a word to anyone. I didn’t have any family to worry over my disappearance. No children to leave belongings to. Sure my friends would miss me for awhile. But eventually the people who’d watched me grow up would only have passing thoughts about that Grave’s girl whose parents killed themselves. All the while I would be starting a new life. Hopefully someplace warm.

  But like I always did, I immediately dismissed the thought. It took more courage than I had to start over and leave everything familiar behind. I needed something in my life besides a half-assed career and a mountain of debt. A man would be nice. A man who’d be willing to have sex would be even better. But chances of that happening were somewhere between negative four and zero. Not because Bloody Mary didn’t have its fair share of men, but because I was just picky. Bloody Mary wasn’t exactly teeming with single males under the age of forty who had health insurance and all their own teeth.

  I huffed out another white puff of breath and rolled over, punching my pillow and clearing my mind of all thoughts that didn’t involve counting sheep. I’d had trouble sleeping since I’d moved home. Maybe it was because the house was empty and made weird noises and my imagination assumed the cold blasts of air and the rattling pipes were the haunts of all my ancestors shaking their heads in pity. Or maybe it was because the mattress was old and lumpy. Who the hell knew? But I’d learned to function on just a few hours of sleep when I was in medical school, so I was used to having bags under my eyes and skin that looked like it never saw the light of day.

  The silence of the house smothered me—a heap of decaying wood and rotting shingles that crushed me with the weight of neglect and responsibility—so I burrowed under the covers, searching for peace of mind and the comfortable spot on the mattress that always seemed to elude me. I’d almost talked myself into getting up and starting a pot of coffee when the phone warbled on the bedside table.

  I cursed out a mumbled, “shit” in surprise and flailed under the covers so my sheets resembled something along the lines of a straight jacket. My pulse jumped and throbbed in the side of my neck, and each pounding beat marched through the synapses of my brain until I became lightheaded with something I recognized as fear. I closed my eyes and let out a sl
ow breath.

  The only time I got calls in the middle of the night was when someone died. I hated death. I hated that my parents had left such a massive responsibility on my shoulders. And most of all I hated that I was the only one the dead could turn to. I missed the living. The dead made me think of too many things I wasn’t quite ready to face.

  Against my better judgment, I answered the phone.

  “Who died?”

  “Very professional, Doctor Graves,” said Sheriff Jack Lawson. “You always assume the worst. What if I was calling to invite you to poker tonight at my place?”

  “At five o’clock in the morning? Who died?” I asked again. Jack had been my best friend since we’d been in diapers, and I knew without a doubt he’d be the one person who’d search for me if I just disappeared one day. I squeezed the phone in a white knuckled grasp as silence reigned on the other end of the line. I prepared myself for the worst.

  “It’s Fiona Murphy,” he finally said.

  “Oh, damn,” I whispered, untangling the covers and sitting up on the side of the bed. The wood floor felt like a sheet of ice under my feet, and I drew them up quickly so they were back under the covers.

  “To say the least.” Sirens and muted voices came across the line, and I knew Jack must be at the crime scene.

  My teeth chattered—I couldn’t tell if it was from the news or the cold—and I gritted them in determination so my words came out clearly. “Where’s George?” I asked.

  George was Fiona’s husband. He was the meanest son of a bitch I’d ever met, and Fiona had a new bruise every time I saw her. George was a gifted mechanic and owned the only garage in town, so despite people disapproving of the way he treated his wife, he had a hell of a customer base and enough money to build a house that was one of the nicest in the county. He also had big hands and a wicked temper, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind he was the reason Fiona was dead at age thirty.